One Tit Bride

One Tit Bride

Copyright Oggbashan July 2015/June 2020

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Asha is a work colleague in the same company but she works in a different department and in a room along the corridor. She is Anglo-Indian and her English father is a very tall man. Her mother is tall for an Indian woman. The result is that Asha is over six feet tall with a golden brown skin and long black hair. Sometimes she wears sarees at work and looks spectacular in them, but most of the time she wears a midi length skirt and a top which emphasises her considerable cleavage. I like her appearance best when she wears a particular saree. It is a bright royal blue in heavy silk and she wears it with a front-hooked crop top. The top is fairly loose and high necked but is in a shimmering dark blue. I don't know why I like that outfit best. Some of her other tops are low cut, tight, and show her massive cleavage, but there is something about the way Asha behaves wearing that saree and top that I find almost irresistible.

Although I had been aware of her for over a year since she started work along the corridor we hadn't really met. We would say 'Hello' if we passed. Was I imagining things, or was her smile broader and her greeting more personal for me when she was wearing that royal blue saree? Every time she did, my erection was hard and painful.

We hadn't made any real contact except as people working close together until the office Christmas Party. Asha was wearing her royal blue saree and I was trying to think of an excuse to talk to her. One of the men from her room got too drunk, and although married, grabbed Asha's breasts. She was embarrassed and unsure what to do. She might have been about to hit him when I hauled him away and insisted that Asha was due to dance with me.

I didn't know whether she could or would dance. I just wanted to avert an awkward situation. The drunk man I had shoved away might have objected until he saw how big and tall I am -- substantially taller than Asha and the largest man in the whole building.

"Thank you, Malcolm," Asha said.

That surprised me. I didn't know that Asha knew my name. I opened my arms and she came into them for a slow dance. I was very aware that I had a desirable woman in my arms whose large breasts were against my chest. We talked and introduced each other. She was a slightly uncertain dancer. Because of her height she was used to leading her partner but she didn't need to with me. At the end of the dance she was resting her head on my shoulder. I liked that.

She led me off the floor to sit down in a corner and before I knew what she had intended she was sitting on my lap, spreading the folds of her saree across my legs. She kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you again, Malcolm," Asha said. "That could have been awkward. I have to work with him. He's drunk, probably so drunk he won't remember what he tried to do but if I had hit him that would have been remembered. Your intervention defused the situation."

"I can understand why, especially if he is drunk, Asha. You look fantastic."

"You think so? But you didn't try to grab my tits, Malcolm, not even when I pressed them against you while we were dancing."

"That doesn't mean I didn't have ideas, Asha."

She laughed.

"But a gentleman doesn't, and you are a gentleman, aren't you, Malcolm? You can exercise restraint. But you need a reward for rescuing me."

Before I knew what she intended, she took my hand to a breast which pushed against it.

"See? I'm a handful."

My eyes opened wide as she slid my hand inside her short blouse and against her bra. She moved to shield me from everyone else before straddling me and kissing me very effectively. I was short of breath when that kiss ended.

"Why, Asha?" I asked when I could.

"Why? Because I know you like what I look like. If we pass in the corridor your face brightens every time and when I'm wearing a saree, and particularly this one?"

Asha pointed at my crotch.

"That gives me an immediate salute. It might embarrass you but it makes me smile inside. So many men see me as coloured or even less than them. You? You have an automatic reaction to a woman you find attractive. You don't care that I'm not White British."

"Don't care?" I protested. "I like Asha exactly as she is."

I might have said more but Asha kissed me again.

When the kiss stopped she settled herself against my shoulder.

"You're not drunk, Malcolm. Everyone else is, even me. Why not?"

"I brought my car to work today. I have several parcels I need to take home, Christmas presents for my nephews. They're already in my car. I've kept them at work so they wouldn't see them because they're often in my house. Because I'll be driving I've been on soft drinks."

"But I haven't, Malcolm. Perhaps that's why I'm on your lap. I've wanted you for some time and maybe the alcohol has made me act instead of waiting. If you have your car, could you take me home? It's on your way. I live in Leytonstone."

"How did you know it's on my way?"

Asha kissed me before answering.

"I know a lot more about you than you know about me -- like your home address, that you have no girlfriend, you own your own home about one hundred yards from your brother and his sons..."

"And I didn't even know you lived in Leytonstone but I do know you live with your parents and sister. That's about all I know, Asha."

"The only other things you need to know, Malcolm is that I have no boyfriend at present and I want you to fill the vacancy. Will you?"

Mentally I shook myself. My dream woman wanted me to be her boyfriend. Perhaps I didn't know as much about her as I should. What I did know was that all her colleagues liked her and appreciated her intelligence. Those thoughts only took less than a second.

"Asha, I would be delighted and honoured. Are you sure?"

Her answer was another kiss.

Half an hour later we were on the way to her parents' house. Asha invited me in for coffee and introduced me to her parents. Her father was only a couple of inches shorter than me, and Asha's mother was at least five feet ten inches. Asha's mother kissed me. That was nearly as pleasant as a kiss from Asha.

+++

Throughout January Asha and I went out together many times and I was frequently at her parent's house for a family meal. I couldn't believe just how happy I was with Asha and how much she seemed to like me. Our office colleagues were amused by our infatuation with each other. Asha was right. The man who had grabbed her breasts didn't remember anything from the Christmas party.

I bought tickets for the local Valentine's Day dance. I collected Asha from her parents. She was wearing one of her more dressy sarees with a tight short top. After the dance, in the back seat of my car she encouraged me to play with her breasts as I had done many times before. By using my hands and mouth I could arouse her to a squealing set of orgasms. I had barely started when a felt a couple of lumps in her left breast that hadn't been there before.

That was the start of our nightmare. Within days she had been diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. I took her to a whole series of hospital appointments including long and distressing sessions of chemotherapy. Asha was appalled that she lost all her long hair that she and I liked so much. I had to keep reassuring her that I loved her, with or without hair. But the chemotherapy wasn't wholly effective. After a visit to the oncology consultant I sat in the back seat of my car in the hospital car park with Asha crying all over me.

We had been told that unless Asha had a radical mastectomy of her left breast she might die within months. Agreeing to it was a no-brainer. If she had the operation she might, probably would, live. If she didn't? She would die -- soon.

But accepting the need was one thing. Accepting the loss of a breast, as well as her hair? Asha clung to me as if I was a lifeline but she was worried that I would reject a one-breasted bald woman instead of the woman I loved. I tried as much as I could to reassure her. I loved Asha the person and whatever happened I would still be there beside her. It was sooner perhaps than I had originally intended but in that hospital car park I asked her to marry me.

That led to more floods or tears. I couldn't, shouldn't marry a dying woman who might survive disfigured. I loved her breasts. She loved me playing with her breasts, and now one would be gone. It took me a whole hour before I persuaded Asha that I was serious and I wanted to marry her even if she became one-breasted.

When Asha told her parents they were upset as well and my proposal was a small mitigation. At the end of the evening Asha's father and I were hugging two crying women in a group hug.

The operation was ten days away and the wedding three months. Neither of us felt much like planning for the wedding until Asha had survived the operation but her parents did. We agreed it would be a quiet low key affair with only a few close relations present but the operation was more pressing.

After the operation I visited Asha in hospital. She was still groggy from the anaesthetic but seemed pleased to see me. The next day she was more coherent and worried that I might not marry her. I tried to reassure her before I went to see the oncology consultant for information about aftercare. The consultant was convinced that all traces of the cancer had been removed. A scan in ten days' time would confirm that. But the main thing I had to do was persuade Asha to keep moving and using her left arm otherwise the scar tissue might impair its long term mobility.

Over the next week Asha and I were often in tears as I encouraged her to keep moving her left arm. I hated to see her in pain and she hated me for forcing her to work through the pain. She swore at me often. I knew that Asha in pain wasn't behaving like the woman I loved. It was difficult sometimes. Often I was in tears in my lonely bed because I had been unkind to Asha during the day.

The scan showed that the cancer had been removed, all of it. She would need several sessions of radiotherapy to prevent a recurrence but her life expectancy was now normal. The oncologist was very pleased with Asha's arm movement.

"That's amazing," he said. "You should have complete use of that left arm for the rest of your life."

"Malcolm's been cruel to me," Asha complained.

"Maybe he has, but you should be grateful. Without your exercises and his 'cruelty' you might have had a weakened arm. I 'm sure he hated pushing you but that's love."

"It is?"

"Yes, Asha. Malcolm has been pushing you for your own good, even if you hated him at the time."

"I did, but now?"

Asha demonstrated her left arm movement by flinging it around my neck and pulling me into a kiss. She then kissed the oncology consultant on his cheek.

"Thank you, both of you," she said.

+++

The wedding preparations were under way. I was firmly told that all I had to do was turn up, in my best suit, bearing the ring. That was an understatement. I chose Alan, one of my cousins, to be my Best Man, a role he had performed effectively several times for other friends and relations.

We had chosen an unusual church -- St Thomas the Apostle at Harty on the Isle of Sheppey. It is old, small and has no electricity. Lighting is by candles only. We would have the reception in the nearby Harty Ferry Inn and Asha and I would spend our first bight there. Because it isn't our parish church we would have to have the banns read in our own parishes and at Harty. No one at Harty in the small Sunday congregation was likely to care.

Asha had chosen two of her office friends to be bridesmaids. She had ordered a bridal saree and two bridesmaids' sarees from an East End Indian clothing supplier. Apparently there had been some amusement and lots of giggling as she and her mother showed the two English bridesmaids how to wear and walk in a saree. Asha's father had taken some of the family's collection of gold jewellery out of a safe deposit box, jewellery that Asha's mother and grandmother had worn on their wedding days. He had also bought some new gold jewellery especially for Asha.

There were two things that were worrying Asha, despite my frequent assurances that they didn't matter. Her hair was re-growing after the chemotherapy but was still very short, slightly more than a short fur on her head. It would be months before her hair was shoulder length and years before it was back to her previous waist length. She would be wearing a wig for the wedding.

The other thing that upset her was the imbalance caused by losing one breast. Her bra flopped over the empty space and she had to remember to compensate for the loss of weight of her large breast on that side. If she forgot, she walked with a lean to the side where her right breast still was. Her first prosthesis had been the right shape but was lightweight, carved out of a lump of polystyrene. It was intended to give her operation scars time to heal so didn't press against her chest.

The final prosthesis arrived about ten days before the wedding. Asha and her mother had to modify all her bras to make a pouch in which to insert it. It was put in from below and the opening sealed with Velcro strips. Asha was pleased because it was the exact size and weight that her left breast had been. She was no longer unbalanced and could wear all her clothes without modification. The only problem she had with it was when she became sexually excited, her nipple had been retained and like her right one became erect, digging in to the back of the prosthesis. She had modified the polystyrene one by cutting a small hole in the back to accept the nipple but she couldn't do that with the new one.

I was barely aware of the details of the wedding. I was so excited that Asha was becoming my wife that I went through the ceremony in a daze.

Asha looked magnificent in her bridal sari and all the golden jewellery she was wearing. At the end of the reception, she, her mother and the bridesmaids went to our hotel room to change Asha into the royal blue saree I liked. The golden jewellery was returned to her father who put it in a safe bolted to the floor inside the boot of his car. He would return it, including Asha's new jewellery, to the family safe deposit box tomorrow.

Asha came down to collect me and take me up to the bridal suite. As usual, as soon as I saw she was wearing that royal blue sari, I was instantly erect. We stood side by side to say goodbye to all the friends and relations. I was surprised to be passionately kissed by so many saree-wearing women even if many were wearing one for the first time. Every female guest at the wedding had decided to wear a saree.

Asha took me by the hand and led me upstairs. Once inside our suite she turned to me and said:

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. You are getting less of a woman than the one you proposed to."

"Sorry? I'm delighted, ecstatic and overjoyed that Asha is now my wife." I replied.

I kissed her. I had to help her to remove her wig, held on with multiple hair pins. She still looked worried once her short hair was revealed. I kissed it, stroked it and showed that I loved what she had, even if it was nothing like what it had been. It will be with time, but I love what she has already.

"Do you like this saree, Malcolm?" Asha asked.

"You know I do, Asha," I replied. "Every time you've worn it I am instantly erect."

"I noticed, even when we were just strangers in an office corridor. It has almost the same effect on me. Do you know why?"

"No, Asha, why?"

"It doesn't show my cleavage but the blouse is front fastening and loose."

"So?"

"Underneath I always wore a front-fastening bra. The two things together gave me ideas about what I could do to you, even when you didn't know me."

"Ideas? What ideas?"

"Now we are married, I'll show you. I won't be the same but I think you will get the idea. Turn your back for a moment until I say you can turn around."

I heard a rustle of clothing.

OK, Malcolm, turn around and get down on your knees."

I did. I was facing Asha's back. She moved very close before turning herself quickly. Before I knew what she intended my head was against her naked chest. Her bra and blouse had been undone and Asha's was holding them out like blinkers either side of my head. The side of my head was against her massive right breast. If she had done this when she had two, I would be smothered in her cleavage.

"I wanted to smother you, Malcolm. But with one breast it is difficult. However there is still a remaining nipple that needs your lips."

It did, it was erect. I opened my mouth and sucked.

"I think my breasts were as big as your head, we'll see."

What did Asha mean? She showed me. She fastened her bra behind my head before adjusting the shoulder strap so my face was pulled tight against her. The lower edge of the bra was clamped across the back of my neck. I couldn't extricate my head from its embrace. Then Asha pulled her short cropped blouse over the bra, fastening the hooks and eyes. Not only was I confined in her bra I was now in complete perfumed darkness. As a final step she took the loose end of her saree and wound it around my body over my arms before knotting it.

Mu hands and arms were entangled in the heavy silk of her saree. I couldn't extract them to free my head from the imprisonment inside her bra and blouse. I relaxed and concentrated in arousing the nipple between my lips, I was so busy I didn't notice that Asha had unwound the saree around her lower body before wrapping it tightly with me pressed against her legs.

"Yes!" Asha exclaimed. "I thought I could. Now you are trapped, Malcolm, your head held by my bra, your arms and body wrapped and hidden inside my saree. You're mine, and I'm not letting you go until I am satisfied."

I couldn't make the obvious retort that of course I was hers. We had just married. My mouth was forced so hard against her that I couldn't speak. I kept sucking and nibbling at her erect nipple.

"I had wanted to do this every time you became erect when I was wearing this saree, Malcolm. I had intended to trap you in my cleavage. Now I can't but this is nearly as good for me. I hope you are enjoying it too."

Again I couldn't answer but I was ecstatic to be this close to Asha and arousing her. After a few more minutes she was groaning and writhing as she went through a series of orgasms. Her body became warmer and her perfume was even stronger, almost as if I was drowning in it and her.

Eventually she relented and released my head but that wasn't the end of my encounter with her royal blue saree. She was wearing a blue satin saree petticoat that tied at the sides. She pulled it up around both of us before tying my wrists in the waist ties. She wrapped her heavy silk saree around the two of us, pulling it tight with her arms free before she knotted it. I was sheathed in blue silk and my erection was sheathed in Asha. I held on as long as I could while Asha pumped up and down on me. When she was content that she had satisfied herself I was almost exhausted but when she pressed her bra over my face I came before falling asleep still enveloped in blue silk.

Twice during that night I woke, still trapped as Asha's prisoner inside her saree as she rode me again. In the morning she released me to go to the toilet, shower and shave, before she repeated the trapping of my head inside her bra and then let me ride her with her petticoat and saree lifted above her waist.

+++

Over the next month Asha bought two more black cropped blouses, and two sarees in heavy silk, one matching the Royal blue one, and the other in bright red, like her wedding saree but without the heavy embroidery. Now she always had an outfit available to imprison me, even if one was in the wash. Every time she took out her prosthesis I knew where my head was going.