Dr. Tolliver's Bosom Balm

There he was, standing before her and grinning broadly: Doctor Thornton Ignatius Tolliver, in the flesh. Flesh here being the operative word. Up close, that reproductive organ in its full erectness looked absurd. She would be inclined to dismiss it as fake, some grotesque, oversized sculpture made of discarded butcher's cuts, but it was clearly very, very real. Alive, almost. If Doctor Tolliver were not travelling the West purveying his wares, Bronagh would not be surprised to see him in the cast of a carnival freak theatre alongside the bearded lady and the man with webbed feet. The dark opening at its towering pinnacle winked and glistened, drooling watery fluid, salivating at the prospect of release. The whole shaft twitched and strained as though fighting at the leash of whatever tonic kept it from running wild, devouring anything female in its rabid wake.

The feral nature of the erect penis was strangely at odds with Doctor Tolliver himself, who, also now observable at close quarters, seemed the very model of genteel urbanity. His grooming was immaculate, his scent of cologne tastefully minimal. He was slim for his age, and if Bronagh had a complaint it was that he looked perhaps a little too slim. Undernourished, even?

'Your name, madam?' Doctor Tolliver held the bucket aloft alongside his nodding priapism.

'Bronagh, O...' Bronagh began. The surname stuck in her throat. 'Bronagh Kelly.' It was her maiden name. There was a little confused murmuring from the crowd of female spectators. Bronagh dropped two dollars into the bucket. They jingled loudly. What had Tolliver said? Sixty dollars? Thirty women had already tried their best to coax that monstrous penis to issuance. Or perhaps only a few who had chanced their luck multiple times. Bronagh was glad now that she had arrived late and missed all of this. She only had these two dollars on her person, and she may have been tempted to take her turn much earlier in the proceedings, underestimating the power of Doctor Tolliver's stamina tincture. Now, some thirty masturbatory encounters later, he was much closer to the brink of being overwhelmed. And Bronagh knew that her abundant bosom considerably raised her chances of winning. Tolliver was making a concerted effort to maintain eye contact with her, which she took as evidence that in doing so he was avoiding glancing down at her creamy, freckled bounty.

Beyond relying on her burgeoning young bosom as visual stimulation, Bronagh had not really considered how exactly she would manipulate Doctor Tolliver's fiercely scarlet erection to climax, and this lack of a plan struck her as the travelling medicine hawker wound back the long hand of the alarm clock by a full minute and set the timepiece on the table.

The clock was ticking, and the room fell silent.

Bronagh raised her skirts from the ground a little and bent at the knees to kneel on the blasphemously repurposed prayer stool at Doctor Tolliver's polished black boots.

A jeer from the crowd did little to draw Bronagh's focus from the pink cobra that stretched out from the scientist's groin towards her chin. It was throbbing and trembling so much that she wondered if it might simply go off within the sixty seconds entirely of its own accord, but on the other hand it had probably been doing that for the past hour, and the Doctor would know better than to let this contest go on past the tonic's period of efficacy - if, indeed, the tonic had anything to do with it at all.

Then, Bronagh felt that tingle in her nipples once again, that overwhelming feeling of warmth spreading through her chest to her every extremity, the feeling she had tried to ignore earlier in the day when she had given her breasts that sensuous shimmy-shake.

Realising that there was probably only half a minute left to go, Bronagh summoned up her confidence with a fortifying intake of breath.

And that did it.

In the space of mere seconds, the neckline of Bronagh's hastily-customised green dress conceded the fight against her uncomfortably-compressed bosom. With a rapid succession of rips, snaps, and pings, the needlework unpicked itself and the whole front of the garment flew open. Without this fabric prison to keep them in check, Bronagh's impudent puppies leapt forth, expanding from tightly flattened orbs to quivering, full-scale torpedoes, and the first thing they did with their new-found freedom was to grab the first couple of inches of the tip of Doctor Tolliver's erection and to sandwich it for dear life.

Doctor Tolliver's self-restraint lapsed instantaneously. He let out a strangled moan of pleasure and with what seemed like a reflex action began to buck his hips back and forth, propelling his rigid penis in and out of the profound, tight cleft between Bronagh's sumptuous breasts, the copious amount of anticipatory fluid lubricating its obscene passage. So taut and close-set were Bronagh's breasts, and so enthusiastically solid was Doctor Tolliver's penis, that neither party even bothered to use their hands, but they were both breaking the rules of the contest - Bronagh by accident, Tolliver as an involuntary response to finding his penis in so cosy a bosom.

'Cheat!' went a call from the crowd, to be joined by other heckles and vocal complaints.

'He's fornicating her!'

'Between her bubs!'

'I've never seen the like!'

If the act of inter-bub fornication came as an unprecedented shock to the hitherto unshockable women of Cannon Town, it was nothing compared to the alarm being experienced by the owner of said bubs, Bronagh O'Shea, who was eyeing the repeatedly appearing and disappearing plum at the head of Doctor Tolliver's member with growing dread, knowing that its owner had clearly lost all rational self-control and had past the point of no return towards issuance.

And, just as the alarm went off, the inevitable happened. A column of fluid, as thick and white as fresh cream, shot into the air from between Bronagh's breasts. Bronagh didn't see where it landed, but she had a suspicion it was on top of her hair, and in any case it wasn't the last of the eruptions, several more of which shot upwards in front of her face as Doctor Tolliver continued his animalistic penetration of her young, growing chest.

'Cheat!' went the call again, amidst the general controversy and commotion.

Bronagh looked up and met Tolliver's eyes, bulging as hard as his shaft and looking back down at her and her miraculous bosom with awestruck devotion.

'I want my money back!' screamed a woman.

'She's ruined it!' exclaimed another.

'They're going to tear the place apart,' Bronagh said to Doctor Tolliver, her breasts still sandwiching his throbbing, twitching penis, which was pumping its last weak loads of seed onto them. 'Help me, please.'

Tolliver turned to face the baying crowd of furious women, his wilting erection stretching a garland of semen to its tip from the depths of Bronagh's bared bosom beside him. 'Ladies,' he said with an attempt at a smile on his trembling, post-climactic face, 'Do accept my apologies, this was an understandable mistake in the face of an unavoidable...'

'Get them!' cried a middle-aged woman.

'Curses!' hissed Tolliver. He grabbed Bronagh's hand, hauling her roughly up to her feet, her naked, seed-strewn melons jostling heavily before her. 'Let's get out of here.'

He kicked over the table, causing the bucket to clatter to the floor which sent dollars flying across the stage. But there was no time to collect the proceeds as a frightening posse of woman was making its way around the side of the stage and even climbing up onto it from the front.

'At least they're not armed,' Tolliver called over his shoulder to Bronagh, whereupon a loud crack from behind was followed by a bullet hitting the wall above his head.

'Oh sweet Mary!' wailed Bronagh as they clambered over the toppled paraphernalia of Tolliver's travelling show. 'Do something!'

Tolliver, penis lolling from the front of his britches, threw open a door at the back of the stage, which Bronagh had assumed would lead back outside, but which simply led to a small, cluttered room. Bronagh shrieked as she found herself flung inside, onto a small sofa. 'It's a dead end!' she shouted at him. 'We're trapped!'

As another shot cracked through the air of the old church hall and the first battallion of irate women began running across the stage towards them, Tolliver threw over a screen bearing his logo to barr the way, and then backed into the cluttered room with Bronagh, slamming the door shut behind him.

'You fool!' shouted the bare-bosomed, freshly-anointed Irish rose in the semi-darkness. 'What do we do now!'

Doctor Tolliver pulled a lever above his head, sat down on a small stool just inside the doorway, and said, 'Hold tight'. Bronagh, to her surprise, heard the whinnying of two horses, and to her further surprise found herself thrown out of the sofa as the entire room began moving and shaking at great speed. It wasn't a room at the back of the hall: it was Tolliver's horse-drawn carriage!

'What's going on?' Bronagh spluttered. She had landed with her naked chest in Doctor Tolliver's lap, and felt his pink snake erect itself between her plump breasts anew, the arousal no doubt expedited by the violent wobble which the carriage's motion was precipitating. Bronagh couldn't believe this was happening again. 'Oh for the love of... Stop it will you now!'

'Y-you started it,' Tolliver managed to say. The carriage was hurtling forward at great speed.

Bronagh felt his hands grab her bosom from either side as the now once more fully-expanded penis shuddered its way in and out of the abyss that cleft it. 'Hands off!' she snapped.

'I- I'm just trying to lift them offffffff...' But it was too late. Tolliver was spending yet more seed all over the place again, most of it getting onto Bronagh's breasts and face.

A bump in the ground beneath sent Bronagh flying backwards onto the sofa once more. The loud commotion of the church hall riot was now faded to silence, and all they could hear was the clatter of the carriage wheels on the dusty ground below.

Then, a small clank, hiss, and click, and a dim, softly flickering orange light flooded the carriage. Bronagh could see again. Tolliver's hand was on a switch on the carriage wall, the light was coming from some kind of unusual lamp on the ceiling. His erection towered from his groin. The unexpected second bosom-fornication had clearly left his need for expenditure unresolved, and it stood erect, spluttering and recoiling like a headless chicken.

Bronagh's hands flew to her bouncing bare chest, and instantly flew away as her fingers slapped the vast puddles of wet seed that coated both bountiful globes. 'You pig!' she said. 'You've got it all over me!'

Tolliver rose unsteadily to his feet in the moving carriage, took a cloth from a desk to his left, and threw it to Bronagh. 'Cover them up please, Miss Kelly,' he said. 'I can't look at them without... without...'

'Without what, exactly?' said Bronagh suspiciously, and thrust forth her bare, pink melon-sized breasts in defiance, letting the rocking of the carriage send them into rhythmic undulations.

Tolliver's eyes glazed over as they landed on those marvellous mammaries, and his penis strained forwards.

'Oh go on, finish yerself off,' Bronagh said with a roll of her own eyes.

With a nervous smile, Tolliver advanced on her, and, steadying himself against the wall, plunged his erection between her jouncing puppies. Within moments he was finally purging himself fully, this time in long, slow, flowing issuances.

Bronagh wondered if this was a commonplace way for men to relieve their urges, and if her own sexual existence with Donald, once upon a time, had been in some way abnormal. He had done her between the legs and taken very little interest in the rest of her body. She had always found the experience rather uncomfortable, painful sometimes, and so Tolliver's preference, strange and bewildering though these circumstances were, struck her as something of a pleasant alternative.

Tolliver stumbled back onto his chair with a sleepy smile. 'Thank-you,' he said. 'Now, please, if you wouldn't mind...' He gestured towards Bronagh's nudity whilst half-averting his eyes.

Bronagh placed the cloth over her bosom, feeling it adhere to her skin by the sheer volume of sticky effluvium that Tolliver had freshly deposited all over its surface. The carriage still hurtled through the evening with seeming autonomy. 'Where are you taking me?' she said, raising a feisty copper eyebrow.

Tolliver raised a finger. 'Rescuing, Miss Kelly,' he said emphatically. 'I rescued you.'

'I didn't need rescuing,' Bronagh said with a proud sniff. 'You, sir, have kidnapped me, violated me...'

'That mob of harpies would have skinned you alive!' Tolliver insisted. He seemed highly offended by the suggestion of impropriety. 'I would sooner have left you at the mercy of the Apache natives than to let those scorned womenfolk get their claws into you.'

Bronagh said nothing. Her bosom heaved and meandered under the cloth.

Tolliver continued. 'I was going to suggest we let the horses take us around the district until we can be certain that we've not been followed, then I'll take you back to your residence, or wherever you would rather be.'

Bronagh thought of home, of Donald, probably still out cold on the kitchen floor. She never wanted to return there again. But, the other hand, what choice did she have? Donald was all she had.

'Of course,' said Tolliver, clearly sensing her hesitancy. 'You would be most welcome to lie low with me, until such time as...'

'I shall not lie with you, Doctor Tolliver,' Bronagh bridled. 'You have had your dirty way with me quite enough now.'

'Lie low is a turn of phrase, Madam. I just mean to hide for as long as is needed for the animus against you to subside.'

'Where are we now?' Bronagh changed the subject slightly to give herself time to contemplate her scant options.

Tolliver rose, clutching a leather strap on the wall to steady himself, and consulted a circular opening in the wooden console that stretched most of the length of the cabin. The panel 'Here, see for yourself,' he said.

Bronagh likewise rose from the chaise longue and stumbled across the small, rapidly jerking room to join Doctor Tolliver at the console. Beneath the circular opening was a glass compass, and beneath that a parchment map of the Cannon Town environs scrolled diagonally at a steady rate, lit dimly from beneath. They had already travelled a considerable distance due north-east, almost as far as the river.

'How is the map doing that?' Bronagh asked. She had never seen anything quite like it.

'Gyroscopes, magnets,' Tolliver said with modest vagueness. 'Anyhow, what I suggest is that we-'

The carriage hit a pothole big enough to throw Bronagh backwards across to the other side of the carriage, where her posterior hit another wooden panel. This one flipped upwards, spring-loaded, ejecting Bronagh back to her feet, and the device began to tinkle a loud, raucous, and fiendishly fast ragtime melody. Bronagh turned in fright to see that it was a miniature player piano, the keys moving with the same eerie sentience that seemed to be propelling the carriage.

Almost instantly, a shot rang out, a bullet splintering the door just behind Tolliver's head.

'Dammit!' Tolliver hissed. 'You've blown our cover! They must have been on our trail all of this time!'

'How was I supposed to know that was a pianoforte!' Bronagh protested over the incongruous whimsy of the herky-jerky musical accompaniment.

Tolliver slammed the device shut and kicked its underside to silence it, then yanked a rolling screen of grey galvanised rubber over the back door just in time for another bullet to crack through the door and leave a deep indentation in it. 'Bullet-proof enough for now,' he muttered, then returned his attention to the ingenious magically scrolling map. He turned to Bronagh. 'Down periscope!'

'Down what now?' Bronagh just heard gibberish.

Tolliver let out a strange noise of exasperation, reached up, and yanked down from the carriage ceiling a telescopically-mounted brass cylinder, handles on either side and rubberised goggles between them. 'Look to see how many there are!'

Only just managing to keep up with this endless succession of alarming developments, Bronagh positioned herself before the periscope goggles and raised her hands to the levers that protruded either side of it. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the view, but she found herself confronted with the view out front. Two horses below, the sun setting over the river beyond. 'W-we're nearly at the river!' she reported.

'I know that!' Tolliver snapped. 'You're looking the wrong way!'

Bronagh began to rotate the brass cylinder by its handles just as Tolliver stood to help her by rotating her by what turned out to be her own "handles", which, the cloth having unstuck itself and flopped to the floor, found themselves protruding, nude once more, into the path of the Doctor's approaching hands.

'Oh sweet mercy!' Tolliver cried, suddenly no longer his rational self as his fingers sank into the sperm-coated twin prominences of Bronagh's ample womanliness. 'Oh they're magnificent!'

'Keep your mind on the job!' said Bronagh. She tried to jiggle her breasts free of Tolliver's lust-crazed manual attention, but the motion only seemed to elicit moans of erotic indulgence more rasping and guttural than before. He caressed and squeezed in a manner that Bronagh found annoyingly arousing, even in these hectic circumstances. Now was not the time for that warmth to radiate inwards and outwards from her pink nipples.

'Even if I wanted to, I couldn't,' Tolliver cried between moans of bosom-groping ecstasy. 'My hands are stuck on with seed!'

'A likely explanation!' Bronagh spat cynically, then tried to ignore the tender massage her swollen breasts were receiving and, now rotated by one hundred and eighty degrees to the aft, looked through the goggles. 'Two of them on horseback!' she said, describing the sight of the retreating landscape and the Cannon Town cowgirls. 'No, three! But only one armed.'

'Very good,' Tolliver managed to say in his chest-induced blissful state. Grabbing Bronagh's breasts more firmly, he steered her back round to face the direction of rapid transit.

Bronagh's eyes froze open at the view through the periscope visor. The river shore was approaching at a shocking rate. 'We're going to hit the water any moment now!' she yelled. Another bullet hit the back of the carriage, but the prospect of drowning did not appeal any more greatly than that of being shot dead. 'The horses will veer one way, left or right, along the shoreline, will they not? They won't just go straight toward the water, correct?'

Tolliver avoided the question. 'My hands are still stuck to your magnificent bosoms, Miss Kelly,' he said. If it was a contrived lie fabricated in order to have his continued way with said bosoms, it was a poorly-timed occasion to do so, and so Bronagh was inclined to believe him. Tolliver continued to address her from below. 'I need you to reach up and pull down the lever above you, to the right of the periscope shaft.'

Bronagh, eyes glued to the hurtling view before her eyes as firmly as Doctor Tolliver's hands were glued to her chest, reached up with her right hand and fumbled above her until she found a stout wooden lever aligned horizontally with the carriage roof.

'That's the one,' Tolliver said, gripping Bronagh's breasts for dear life.

'You want me to pull it now?'

'Wait as late as you can before we hit the water.'

'Hit the water? This is a horse-drawn carriage, Doctor Tolliver, not a steamboat! We're seconds away from drowning!'