When Megan Peters opened her mailbox that morning she found a single letter; a plain white envelope with her name typed on the front, a central city postmark and no return address. Walking inside to her kitchen she sat down with a cup of coffee and opened the letter. Once she began reading she forgot all about the coffee.
'Dear Mrs. Peters,'
it began.
'This letter is in the form of an offer which you may like to accept. I wish to propose a game, which you may or may not like to take part in. Please be assured that no harm will come to you and no contact will be made with you other than by mail.
'The game I propose is this. I will send you an instruction which you will follow. Once again, I must stress that no harm will come to you. The things I will ask you to do will involve no risk. You can stop any time simply by ignoring an instruction, If you do this no new message will be sent and the matter will end there. I hope this will not be the case as I think you will enjoy the game immensely.
'Your first instruction will be to indicate whether you wish to continue. In order to do this I would like you to walk out into your backyard at two o'clock this afternoon wearing something you wouldn't normally wear at that time of day. Perhaps a nightgown would be suitable. I look forward to your walk in the garden.'
It was signed
'the Watcher.'
The letter ended there and Megan's first impulse was to screw it up and throw it in the bin. Then as she thought a little more her frown was replaced by a smile. 'Why not,' she thought, 'it might be fun,' and there had been precious little fun in Megan's life since her husband died suddenly five years ago. Now in her mid-fifties she lived a rather lonely life.
Contenting herself with various household chores she occupied her time until shortly before two when she walked upstairs, her mind made up to go ahead, ridiculous as it seemed. But perhaps that was part of the attraction.
In her bedroom she undressed down to her bra and panties, and looked in the mirror. What she saw didn't fill her with enthusiasm. Her massive breasts were encased in an enormous white bra, while matching cotton panties covered her ample hips and bottom. Way too much flesh for her five foot six frame, she thought, but that's the way it is. Megan walked over to her drawer and pulled out an old flannel nightgown. She was about to put it on when she stopped. The letter had said something you normally wouldn't wear at that time. 'Well, I'd normally wear my bra and panties,' she said to herself. Then she grinned and shrugged. Why not. Putting the nightie down she reached behind and unhooked her bra. Without its support her breasts sagged a lot and, unfettered, they hung down nearly to her waist. Then she slipped off the panties. She looked at her herself in the mirror. It was definitely her breasts which dominated. Her husband used to disparagingly refer to them as her 'udders,' and tell her that she should be hooked up to a miking machine like all good cows. The comments hurt, but he seemed to like grabbing hold of them whenever he could.
When she pulled on the nightie it came to just below her knees, and it was obvious she had nothing on underneath it. The outline of her breasts showed clearly and they jiggled as she walked. The fabric of the nightie rubbed against her nipples, making them harden and push against the fabric. Her bown shoulder-length hair had been ruffled by the changes of clothing, so she gave it a few strokes with a brush to settle it down.
Megan wandered around the house for a few minutes, her pulse racing, then when the kitchen clock struck two she took a deep breath and walked out the back door onto the concrete decking. The garden was not large, but it was secluded, with large trees growing around it. No one could see in, but if Megan had looked closely she may just have spotted a small camera and microphone hidden in one of the trees, its lens focused on the decking. She was vaguely aware that some such thing must have existed, because how else would the Watcher know what she had done. While Megan may have suspected she chose not to worry. She walked around the decking, then down onto the lawn. She found the afternoon sun pleasant, also the way the nightie rubbed against her flesh.
She had planned to make only a quick appearance, but she was enjoying the walk and found the idea that someone was watching more than a little arousing. Megan strolled around the garden, even stopping to pull a weed or two, then she sat on a deckchair soaking up the afternoon sun. 'Might as well give him value for money,' she thought, and she only returned to the house when the sun dipped below the trees.
After spending the rest of the day in the nightie, she changed it only, and almost reluctantly, for a clean one at bedtime. That night she did something that she hadn't done for years, using her fingers to bring herself to a shuddering climax.
After that first experience Megan waited anxiously for the next letter. It arrived two days later and she almost raced inside to open it.
'Dear Megan,
'I must thank you for consenting to take part in this little game. I had hoped you would. Thank you also for putting on such an impressive show. I thought you might just walk out and then back in, but the time you stayed out makes me very grateful. I noticed that you have very large breasts, and I certainly enjoyed watching them move around under that nightie. Please do not be embarrassed. I love big breasts, especially ones which sag a lot as yours seem to do.
'As you liked sitting in the sun I would like you to do some more, perhaps this time with a little less covering. if you have a bathing suit you can wear that, if not put on some underwear, come outside and do some sunbathing. I look forward to seeing you.'
As Megan had not owned a bathing suit for years she had to settle for the second option. Shortly after lunch she stripped down to her bra and panties, applied some sunscreen to her ample frame and walked outside. The sun was warm and again she followed her previous day's outing by walking around the garden before settling down in a deck chair for a couple of pleasant hours, interrupted only by a trip to the toilet. Once again her arousal had to be satisfied that night.
Two days later there was another letter.
'Dear Megan,
'Thank you once again for such a pleasant afternoon. I must say that I was a little disappointed with two things. First, your bra tended to cover far too much of those gorgeous breasts, and second, that you went inside, presumably to visit the toilet. So, I would like to see more of those boobs and I have no objection, in fact, I would welcome the opportunity, to observe you releasing your bladder.'
Megan felt disappointed that her show was not so well received. While she could understand the watcher's desire to see more of her breasts she was stunned that he would want to watch her pee. Still - and it might not happen anyway, but for the rest of the morning she helped things along by drinking plenty of water.
She walked out onto the decking that afternoon wearing beige pants and a matching three-quarter length cardigan, underneath which she was naked. As she moved her tits wobbled under the cardigan as if they had a life of their own. Megan walked around the garden building up her courage for what she planned to do next.
Then with a deep breath she made the decision. Standing on the decking and facing the trees she slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. As she undid the last button, she took another deep breath and held the cardigan wide open. After what seemed an age, but was really only a few seconds she sat down in the deckchair leaving the cardigan hanging open and her breasts dangling down.
