Free Universal Carnal Nowledge

Vidi, vici, veni

I fumbled for my watch.

"Christ! Is that the time?"

Gina, of course, was gazing ceilingward in glassy-eyed bliss and could not reply. I scrambled into my clothes and hailed a cab, and as it carried me to London Bridge Station I rang the client and gave some excuse for my lateness. This particular client was based in an inconveniently remote south-eastern suburb; the principal thing I remembered from my only previous visit was that there was evidently some kind of college in the area that specialised in African students, mainly female, because there had been a remarkably high proportion of attractive young black women about, gabbling to each other in unintelligible languages.

I was pleased to see, when I left the station at the other end, that the black girls were still very much in evidence but sadly I had no time to ogle them. I had to rush to the client's office, which fortunately was only a few minutes' walk away.

When I left, however, it was another story. I had checked the timetables and knew I had twenty minutes before the next train back to central London. My intention was to catch that train and go straight home where I knew Kylie would be happy to welcome me. I had no intention of entangling myself with pretty students, but there was no harm in hanging around for fifteen minutes or so and watching a few of them drift by.

There was a bookshop a few doors from the station that obviously catered for the college. I like bookshops, so I made my way inside and pretended to look at the shelves whilst casting appreciative sidelong glances at the delightful African scenery. I was careful, however, to keep moving and not settle close to anyone. Then I saw her.

There were a couple of things about her that instantly struck me.

They were attached to her chest.

They were

simply enormous

.

I am not saying she had big tits. The expression "big tits" does not begin to do justice to what she had. Alicia had "big tits" but this girl dwarfed Alicia. Instantly, FUCK-fuelled lust overrode everything else in my brain and I knew there and then that I had to have her. The only question was how.

As she approached me and walked by I took a better look at her. Like a lot of African girls, she was quite chunkily built, filling a pair of jeans very nicely. She was by no means, I had to admit, the prettiest girl in the shop; she looked rather sulky and preoccupied. But all these considerations were trivial compared with her tits.

She was wearing a man's rugby shirt of the traditional baggy variety. It was far, far too big for her and almost seemed to envelop her upper body except that it was relatively tight across the chest. She had tucked it into the jeans but because it was so big it hung very loosely around her. As she passed me I tried to see how much of the space within this huge shirt was occupied by her tits but it was difficult to tell, which I am sure is why she had chosen this particular garment.

I followed at a safe distance as she went to the Business Studies section and started to look through the shelves. This is, frankly, one of the least interesting sections of any bookshop but I too began to browse it. I tried to edge my way nearer to my quarry without attracting her attention.

It was my imagination, I know, but I could almost feel my FUCK-powered brain analysing her scent and working out how to synthesise the right pheromonal response. But surely I did not imagine the sensation of sweat beginning to seep out from my armpits and groin. I inched closer. She shifted a little away; was it coincidence? She had given no explicit sign, but I sensed she was aware of my nearness and felt crowded. I was in an agony of suspense. If I made another move toward her she might leave altogether, then what should I do? To try to show I was merely another customer I picked a couple of books randomly off the shelf in front of me, then moved a little away from her.

That her shift had not been coincidental was shown when she responded to my move away by edging back to her original position. But it was a fatal misstep. She could not have dreamt that by that tiny adjustment of place she had changed the whole course of her young life. For it meant that the innocent act of replacing the books I had removed would involve reaching across in front of her face. Watching her mighty chest rise and fall, I waited until she had breathed out and then, almost trembling with excitement and desire, I reached over and replaced the books just as she inhaled.

My timing was perfect and the response was immediate. She took a normal inward breath but then, as I pretended to have some trouble slotting the book back into place so that I could stay leaning towards her with my arm extended in front of her face, she suddenly, without exhaling, drew in air greedily until her lungs were full and her chest rose so high that it seemed to extend horizontally in front of her. She held that breath for a long time, and when the exhalation finally came it was like a slow longing sigh.

It was all I could do to stop myself from punching the air with a yell of triumph. The indications were tiny – no one else in the shop would have noticed anything unusual – but I knew that I had hooked my fish. She slowly turned her head to look at me as if for the first time. Her sulky expression was replaced by a nervous faraway smile that improved her appearance enormously, and in her eyes was that tell-tale sparkle. I pretended to be unaware of her while she started to edge closer.

She was almost touching me now, picking out books and pretending to look at them while inching still nearer. I could easily hear her breathing, which was very slow and very, very deep. When she removed a book I saw her hand was shaking. To confirm that she was mine I abruptly left the boring Business Studies section and headed for Science, where there were some interesting-looking books on astronomy. I could see out of the corner of my eye as I walked across the shop that my departure seemed to leave her at a total loss for a moment; then she too suddenly discovered an interest in the stars and hurried after me. As I browsed she again took up position as close as she decently could (rather closer, in fact) and the same thing happened when I switched my attention to Modern European History.

My train was due soon. To give her plenty of notice of my intention to leave I very deliberately retraced my steps and like a conscientious customer I returned the various books I had collected to their proper places. With a look of alarm she hastened over to Economics where she engaged in a hurried whispered conversation with a young black man, apparently also a student. This was a surprise; I had not realised she was with someone. He was a big strapping lad, too, well over six foot and powerfully built; almost certainly he was the original owner of the rugby shirt. "Lucky boy," I said under my breath, thinking of the pleasure that incredible bosom must have been giving him. "But," I added, "your luck's just run out."

Obviously she was giving him some excuse for suddenly leaving and he did not like it, but in the end with an irritated gesture he dismissed her not only from the bookshop but also, had he known it, from his life. I left the shop and took a slow walk to the station so that she would have no trouble keeping up.

When the train arrived she got on the same carriage but at the opposite end, sitting so she could keep an eye on me. No one else would have imagined there was any connexion between us but we were joined by an invisible chain. At London Bridge I transferred to the tube, again taking my time, and once more she boarded the same carriage.

When we got to my station I walked slowly home, glancing back every so often to see a top-heavy black girl following at a safe distance through a part of London that was presumably entirely strange to her. As I opened my front door I saw her standing on the other side of the road, watching me. I hurried to an upstairs window to see what she would do next. It did not escape me that Alicia had said she would have behaved like this, but she had not been able to say what she would have done if she had succeeded in following me home; maybe now I should find out.

The poor confused girl merely stood there for a long time, staring at the house. Eventually she sat on someone's low garden wall and still she stared. I was just beginning to think I ought to go out and talk to her when she slowly stood up and, after another long look at the house, terrified me by taking a couple of hesitant steps back in the direction of the station. I was about to rush out and intercept her when she changed her mind and sat on the wall again.

Long minutes passed as I watched her. Then she abruptly stood up, with much greater resolution this time, and marched briskly across the road directly toward the house. She had made her decision.

I rushed downstairs and opened the door the instant she knocked. When she saw me she looked overwhelmed; I stood elaborately to one side and gestured her to come in. She complied, stumbling on the step. Her head lowered and held to one side, she would not look directly at me, and she seemed to be hyperventilating. Still no word had passed between us.

Now that I saw her so close her incredible chest seemed huger than ever. Almost without conscious thought, more in obedience to the rampant erection that told me I had to have her, I took three steps up the stairs. She made as if to follow me. Needing no more encouragement I went upstairs and she more hesitantly followed.

In the bedroom I started to undress. Now she did look at me, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, but she made no move either to remove her own clothes or to leave. When I removed my trousers her eyes fixed on my massive throbbing cock and opened yet wider. Her breathing was now even more laboured. She shook her head slowly back and forth and for a moment I thought she was about to speak.

Then, slowly, never taking her eyes off my cock, she bent down to manoeuvre her feet out of the black boots she was wearing, the unbalancing effect of her tits forcing her to put a hand against the wall to steady herself. Then she stood upright again and unfastened her jeans, easing them past the curve of her buttocks and down to the ground. The huge rugby shirt now hung free, its front dangling far in front of her belly. As I removed the last of my clothing she gathered up the enveloping shirt in her hands and lifted it above her head.

It was my turn to stare. Her bosom, in fact the whole of her upper body, was swaddled in a vast bra. It was obviously custom-made, probably at considerable cost. Two stupendous cups, made of a heavy fabric with some kind of elaborate internal wire support, contained and almost covered her breasts. The straps holding the cups were so broad they extended almost from the point of the shoulder to the neck but even so I could see that the weight they carried made them press uncomfortably into her shoulders. More thick material extended some way down her torso from the bottom of the cups and from the way she was fiddling behind her back it was evident that the whole enormous apparatus was held in place not by normal clasps or clips but by laces, like a corset.

I wanted to help her as she struggled to loosen the laces but I was unable to move. Finally they came free and the sudden release of constraint allowed her breasts to settle. She winced in pain as this put even more weight on the straps, which she hastily slipped off her shoulders and down her arms. As the monster bra fell from her, her breasts were finally revealed.

My legs literally buckled. Had I not been standing so near the bed I should have fallen on the floor. As it was I sat down heavily and simply stared. Never had I seen anything like this. The girl was a phenomenon, almost a freak. I had guessed she had chosen the rugby shirt to disguise her proportions but only now did I realise how well it had done its job.

There seemed to be no upper chest area at all above the breasts; even unsupported, their outward sweep began immediately below the line of her collarbone and seemed to continue for ever, stretching far out in front of her and to either side before finally, almost reluctantly, curving back and round and up again to form a stupendous cleavage that ended at the base of her neck. Although she was standing up straight, the lowest point of each breast was well below her waist, but this must not be thought to imply that they were saggy. Their bulk projected them far forward of her torso as well as downward and to the side. Their deep even chocolate complexion was flawless except for the huge black areolae from which her nipples proudly projected.

I could not speak. All I could manage was to gesture feebly that she should approach me. With hesitant steps she drew close. I wanted to raise my hand to touch her but my arms would not co-operate. Then she took another step nearer and my lips brushed against her left breast.

I kissed it tenderly, hardly daring to touch it, and finally managed to lift my hand to ease her gently to me. With both hands I reached behind her and my fingers tenderly explored the line of her back and her generous buttocks. Then I grasped her more firmly to pull her against me and envelop my face in her vast enfolding bosom. She gave a tiny gasp of sensual pleasure. As I pressed my lips against her breasts, her fingers began to run up and down my arms, then my back.

The vast bulk of her tits bore down on my arms, allowing me to shift these great pillows of flesh slightly upwards and together so that they pressed against my head while my lips and tongue explored the chasm between them. It seemed endless; as I delved deeper I just found tit and more tit, two infinite soft warm walls of chocolate flesh pressing against me from either side. An age seemed to pass before I found her torso and planted a warm kiss on it.

So utterly did her breasts envelop me that I found it hard to get air, and I was forced to lower my arms to reduce the pressure. The movement shifted my hands from her buttocks to her thighs and as I began to explore between her legs my fingers became wet. As I ran them upwards, I found juices oozing copiously from her quim.

I withdrew one hand and gently took her arm and manoeuvred it under her breast so that her hand slipped between her legs, with the palm facing upwards to press gently against her dribbling cunt. With my head still between her breasts and my lips touching tenderly on her torso I felt rather than heard her little moans of pleasure as I rubbed her hand back and forth. When I judged that her palm and fingers were sufficiently juicy I pulled her hand away and folded her oily fingers against my now enormous and inflamed cock. Tenderly massaging the juices into the shaft, she reached down to her cunt with her other hand to capture more of her oozing fluids.

Two oily hands fondling my cock was almost more pleasure than I could bear. Unless I made a move quickly I was going to explode all over her instead of within her. Reluctantly detaching my face from her tits I lay back on the bed and swung my legs up off the floor. She climbed on the bed on her hands and knees and straddled me, resting a hand on each of my shoulders and keeping her arms straight so that her head and shoulders were high above me. Even in this position I could feel the weight of those monstrous tits on my chest; she shrugged her upper body so that one of them lurched heavily forward and my lips could fasten on the hugely protruding nipple.

I grasped her hips firmly and gently pressed her onto my eager cock. She gave a shuddering gasp as it found her opening. I had intended to enter her cautiously for fear of hurting her but my cock seemed to slither easily into her oozing cunt as if it were the most natural thing in the world (which of course it was). It felt almost as if she had somehow created an internal vacuum and was sucking me in. Almost before I realised what was happening she had accommodated my full length; the entry was so smooth, almost gentle, that she did not seem to have come, but she gave a low appreciative moan and that dreamy smile was playing on her lips again.

I pulled back a little for my next thrust, or rather I tried to. Her cunt, so accommodating a moment ago, seemed somehow tighter. Again, more deliberately, I tried to withdraw slightly and this time there was no doubt about it; there was a definite constriction at the neck of her cunt as if some muscle had tightened around me.

I had never encountered anything like this before, but I had read about it. I think it is mentioned somewhere in the writings of Sir Richard Burton, the nineteenth-century explorer, that Arab slave-owners in East Africa told of "grippers": girls that could tighten their vaginal muscles around a penis. Burton, if it was Burton, commented drily that slave-girls with this faculty were highly prized.

I had thought this was merely a fable. But now I knew different: whether by conscious act or primal sexual instinct I could not tell, but she held me in a firm grasp and would not let go. If I could not pull back, maybe I could press forward; I grabbed her buttocks and forced them downward while driving my cock into her as hard as I could. She squealed sharply with pleasure or pain and the grip relaxed slightly to permit even deeper penetration. Then she pulled up a little, but only so that she could bring her hips violently down on me; the impact shook the bed and her breasts literally rippled. Again and again she raised her hips only to slam them down, faster and faster, while she bent her arms so that the weight of her tits bore down upon me, forcing her nipple into my mouth. I was almost smothered in tit, while faintly from far above me I could hear her cries of delight rising to a higher and higher pitch.

I was being fucked, well and truly fucked by a woman in the throes of a ferocious sexual passion. I did what I could to respond with my own thrusts but I could hardly compete with her wild bucking. As she reached a crescendo she came with a great triumphant yell of orgasmic catharsis and relaxed, gasping desperately for breath.

It was my turn. The intensity of her passion, although overwhelming and almost frightening, had also been incredibly exciting and I could feel a huge load of spunk desperate for release. Hungrily I drove into her, again, again, again. Freeing my face from her breast, I could see that although she was panting for air and covered in sweat she was still aware of what was going on and she even made her own efforts to respond; she wanted more and she was going to get it. My every thrust sent great fleshy ripples through her tits and as I fucked harder the two vast globes began to swing so that they separated and came together with a sweaty slap; I could even feel on my face the puff of air forced from between them each time they collided.

And I came. I came and came and came, jet upon jet filling her cunt until I could feel the pressure of hot spunk against my cock and still I came. Endless bolts of cum rushed up within my shaft in their desperation to add to the sticky white ocean bathing my cock.

And she too came. She did not cry out this time. She started to twitch, then her entire body was racked by spasms that intensified as blast after blast of spunk flooded into her, while her breath came in short desperate gasps. Her breasts magnified the quivering into violent shaking. I was genuinely frightened for her but I knew I could not stop pumping until every drop was drained from me. Her convulsions grew stronger and stronger and then, as I finally ran dry, she gave one final massive shudder and collapsed into complete immobility.