The Day That My Bra Was Too Tight

In our bedroom, we keep a constant reminder of that day. I can recall every detail of it. I don't just mean ordinary memory in the mind but physical memory, too. My whole body reacts to the recall.

I will tell you from the beginning. That would be at a compulsory first Friday afternoon monthly staff meeting at work. We all dreaded them but we were forced to endure. I think I resented them more than most of the others. Since that day, I have perfected the art of daydreaming and fantasizing while I appear to pay attention. That meeting had started a train of memory that made fantasy easy.

The afternoon had been long and boring. The department head had brought up the worst collection of trivia that I could imagine. Then we all droned on about it and nothing was accomplished.About halfway through I began to divide my time between daydreaming and trying to hide the fact that I was wiggling and squirming to find a position where my bra didn't pinch so badly. By the end of the meeting, my whole attention was on my itching and aching breasts.

I thought about excusing myself to the women's and taking the damned thing off but I knew I couldn't escape detection. My figure had become just a bit fuller and my breasts were not quite as firm as they had been when I was younger. Actually, the bra was an older one left from my slender and firmer days. It was still pretty and almost unworn and I had selected it on impulse. It was a mistake. I toughed it out and longed for home and a chance to shed the thing.

In the parking lot after the meeting, I dialed home on the cell phone before I started the car. "I'm on my way." I told him, "Be ready to rub my boobs with lotion. This bra is a killer and I itch and hurt in all the places where it pinches me."

There was a long silence. Then he said, "Sure. When you get here, take off everything except your bra and meet me in bed. I'll take it off for you." He hung up the phone before I could question or object.

I thrilled at being given an order. My sexuality has a submissive side although we have never discussed it. I was excited about letting him be in charge of removing the source of my torture. I felt my nipples swell with anticipation. That increased the discomfort but it also filled me with a perverse pleasure. I imagined his big and expressive hands as they unbound me and stroked and kneaded, wet and slippery with the lotion. I struggled to keep my attention on the road as I felt the moisture begin to flow in my panties.

Inside the door, I did as he said and was quickly naked except for the offending undergarment. I looked at myself in the big mirror by the door. I usually only use it to check my clothes when I leave the house. Now I stood there and looked at myself nude except for the damned bra. If I hadn't known it already, I could have told I was horny by the way I stood and by the look on my face.

The tormenting bra was as pretty as I remembered. It was pale blue with little rosettes and some lace along the tops of the cups. It lifted my breasts and pushed them together for an effect of more cleavage than I had when they were free or more sensibly restrained. It also gave them a bit of a pointy shape that I liked. In the mirror I could see where it was too tight. There were ever so slight rolls of flesh around all the edges where it didn't quite contain my breasts and the rest of me. Clearly, it didn't fit me anymore.

I roughly scratched through the bra with my fingers and palms as I had longed to do for the whole afternoon. I was tempted to tear the thing off and scratch directly but I kept his instruction in mind. I anticipated whatever game he had in mind.

I quickly went to the bedroom. I found him lying on his back on the bed. He was naked. His cock was fully erect and slathered with lotion from the bottle that lay next to him. He had obviously started without me.

"Take this damned thing off me," I demanded.

"Not yet," he replied. "Come up here," he said, patting his hips. I straddled him and squatted down. He was inside me immediately. There were no preliminaries. There was enough lotion on his cock to slide into me without effort even if I had not been so aroused and wet from anticipation. Almost immediately I felt my arousal building to an orgasm and I began to writhe on him.

"No," he said sharply, "no climax until your bra is off."

"Then hurry," I pleaded, "please hurry."

"There's time enough for that," he said. "First tell me where it bothers you." He squirted lotion on his hands and began rubbing my thighs.

I hadn't expected that and I recoiled a bit. But his hands were heavenly on my legs and the perfume of the lotion filled my senses. Except for my aching breasts I would have enjoyed just that for a long while. I steeled myself to sit on him perfectly still and began to explain.

"Here," I said with my fingers under my left breast, "it pinches and itches and hurts. And now you have made my boob swell so much that it hurts even more. The right one is about the same and the nipple is pushing out so much that it itches against the cloth."

By now his hands were stroking my hips and waist, gradually rising toward my breasts. I was sure he was going to touch them and my orgasm began to build again. I moaned a little and moved but he slowed his hands and said in a matter of fact voice said "Wait. First tell me when you first noticed that your bra was bothering you."

"No. Please," I almost whimpered. "Take it off." He just smiled and I began to tell him how I felt during the meeting. "First I noticed it pinching my left boob. I tried to move my shoulder to get comfortable but it only got worse. Then I felt it on the right side and then all over." My voice shook and I struggled not to climax. I actually tried to distract myself by recalling the printed agenda of the awful meeting.

Now his lotioned fingers were tracing the outline of my bra. He went along the bottom from the back to the front. Then he traced the straps over my shoulders and down my back. His fingers came around the top and followed my breasts at the tops of the cups.

"Did you think of me?" he asked. "Did you picture me stroking your poor hooters?" His crudeness thrilled me.

My voice only gurgled in the affirmative. My whole body was electric and wound like a spring. I struggled to contain myself. His hands were on the fabric of my bra and touching all the places I had told him about. I whined as I tried to stay perfectly still. Then he took his hands away. Through half closed eyes that refused to focus I saw him put huge puddles of lotion from the bottle into his hands. I wound even tighter.

His hands went slowly behind my back and without fumbling, undid the clasp. I anticipated my breasts falling loose, but instead he held the undone ends and pulled even tighter. Then my agony was even more exquisite. I was suspended in time and space and my breasts and the scent of the lotion and his power over me were my whole reality.

"Please," I whimpered, "Please." Now tears were pouring down my face.

Then, suddenly, he let go and my breasts tumbled free. His hands were all over them, roughly scratching, kneading, stroking. I writhed and bucked and screamed at the ceiling. Every time my orgasm began to subside, he touched my breasts in a different way and I came again.

I lost track of time and even forgot to count like I often do. Actually, my climaxes were probably not even countable because ther seemed to be no ends or beginnings. There was just one long and continuous orgasm. At some point he tumbled me onto my back and began to satisfy himself as well as me. He was heavy on me. My breasts flattened with the weight of his body and I felt wonderfully helpless. That raised me to new heights and I begged him to hold me even tighter as my body responded to his power.

The sun was down before we began to relax and simply lie intertwined in each others juices and the lotion. After a long time I asked "Do you think I should wear that horrid thing again or should I get rid of it?"

He fumbled around and found the bra somewhere on the bed. It was sodden with lotion. He rubbed it on our cheeks as he gently kissed me. The scent and feel of it brought me to the edge of another climax. "I have a better idea," he said as my body trembled. "Let's frame it and hang it on the bedroom wall for inspiration." Then he playfully pinched my nipple and I was over the edge again.