This story was original posted by me on another site under a slightly different pen name. All characters are over 18.
Big Tits, Big Dicks and Fantasy Fucking!
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I suppose a lot of people would consider me to be a slut now. But I don't think it's my fault, really. I mean, what else could have happened?
I was one of those girls who started to flower into womanhood early. I was a skinny young girl who wore a B-cup brassiere when I was still in the sixth grade. I was completely embarrassed by my development. I dressed to avoid showing my rapidly blossoming femininity. Layered clothing became the norm along with a shoulders-hunched-forward posture. I tried to hide my rapidly blossoming figure. To no avail. Growing as rapidly as I did it was impossible to hide my figure. I was going thru bras so fast!
But I soon learned that my developing figure made me popular with the boys and by junior high I had stopped trying to always hide my womanly figure.
When I was a senior I was carrying by far the largest breasts in school - a huge, out-thrust pair of natural Double F-cup wonders. In the tight sweaters and peasant blouses that were all the rage I was a stunning sight! I had a date every night that my parents would let me out of the house.
And, I must admit, I had developed a well-deserved reputation. My breasts are extremely sensitive! Once a boy got his hands on my tits my resistance faded to nothing. And my suitors were quick to discover my weakness. Many was the high school date that degenerated into a sweaty grope in the back seat of his dad's car, the movie forgotten, while my lucky date pawed and squeezed my mammoth rack or sucked on my eagerly straining nipples while I gave him a hand job. Many days I attended school with my nipples still throbbing from the intense suckling they had received the night before.
In college nothing much changed except that I found that I loved to suck cock! With my plush lips wrapped around a straining dick I could really enjoy myself! And the young men I dated loved it as well! Some dates never got a chance to savor the tight moist love hole between my legs because I would exhaust them orally.
I wore the normal clothing of the period, neither flaunting nor hiding the huge bosom that required I buy custom bras and tailored dresses. Nothing off the rack would fit, I would buy something that fit my top and take in the bottom section. I became quite a seamstress! I was no longer ashamed of being the most top-heavy girl in school. I rather enjoyed being the constant focus of male attention. I dated as often as I wanted, of course, and continued to enjoy an extremely active sex life did.
And my boobs continued to expand. I proudly carried a set of milkers that defied gravity and did not really need the support of a bra! By the time I met my husband-to-be I was a colossal Double H. I was the object of the advances of every horny tit-loving college boy. I was proud of the admiring glances I got everywhere I went from the men, and that all of the girls were jealous of my figure. Some days I would not wear a bra, just so I could see boners sprout wherever I went.
Brad was a grad student older than I was by several years and he always treated me like a lady. He looked me in the eye, not in the chest. There was none of the back seat groping that had been my earlier experience. We went to the movies, dinners, and took long walks across campus. He was a real gentleman at all times and he kept his hands to himself. I appreciated his interest in what I had to say and enjoyed his sense of humor. As our relationship developed and I started to see Brad exclusively,I dressed, once again, in a more conservative manner. It seemed to be appropriate, somehow.
We were married the month following my graduation from college. It was only after we were married that I discovered the truth. It was not just that Brad was a gentleman, it was also that his sex drive was not nearly as strong as mine was. Sex with him was a once a month event. Usually over with quickly. Brad was not, as so many of my other lovers had been, a "boob man". And he paid my breasts little attention. And, of course, as a result, I felt little incentive to display them either, buying minimizer bras and other clothes that once again downplayed my most prominent features.
I worked to be satisfied with my role; I joined the young woman's church group, baked at home and became a good "haus Frau".
Brad had found a good position as a research chemist at a large multinational corporation and focused himself entirely on work and being a "good provider" as he put it. He just provided very little for me between the sheets. As the months went by I adjusted to the much lower level of sexual activity.
Even with as little sex as we enjoyed it was inevitable that I became pregnant. It took two years into our marriage. With pregnancy came an increase in my breast size as well. An increase which my husband did not seem to appreciate.
With the birth of our daughter, Deirdre, I experienced yet another growth spurt. And my breasts retained their size despite my bottle feeding Deirdre at Brad's insistence.
When Brad died in a plant accident a year and a half later, he left behind a young daughter and a wife whose sex life had diminished to a humdrum monotony and who habitually shrouded a massively generous figure from casual view. Because of insurance and a generous settlement I was set financially for life.
After a suitable period of mourning I started to date once again. I looked younger than I was - which I attributed to the wholesome life I had enjoyed. I was still a very attractive woman. And my figure still attracted plenty attention even though I chose not flaunt it.
And I found that I enjoyed dating. I enjoyed flirting with men once more, something that I had NEVER done while married! Many men asked me out. And I accepted a fair share of the invitations.
I rediscovered my enjoyment of sex. My vastly over-sized titties were still as sensitive as ever. Perhaps more so, due to the lack of stimulation that they had received from Brad.
But I found that the relationships were unfulfilling somehow. I could not imagine what was missing. But somehow, no matter what, every relationship ended quickly. The sex was not satisfying.
The men would arouse me wonderfully. They would suckle at my oversized nipples and grope my huge tits, and plush bottom. Then insert their rigid dicks into my cunt, thrust a couple of dozen times, and groan their relief as they spattered their discharge into my clutching cunt. Somehow I expected more! I was still a young woman with needs! Needs that were not to be satiated with a five minute interlude. Needs I often found myself meeting through masturbation after my date had left.
After several years of frustration I resigned myself to the use of dildoes and vibrators. Many nights I would play with myself, sucking my own hard-nippled tits, pounding a dildo in and out of my spasming cunt and teasing my clit with a vibrator. By burying my mouth in my tits I would stifle my cries of excitement as I came time after time. Although my daughter, Deirdre, slept in another part of the house I did not want to awaken her or embarrass myself by being too loud.
Over the years I devoted my self to raising my daughter. I became deeply involved with my local church. As I continued to dress conservatively I also stopped dating altogether. I desperately wanted to be a good role model for my wonderful growing young daughter.
By the time Deirdre was ready to graduate from High School I was nothing like the young woman that had fucked her way through college. I was an upstanding, church-going, single mother. I dressed to hide my plump and still over-ripe figure, I didn't date - I focused my attention on my daughter.
Deirdre was a lovely, innocent young girl. While her figure was stunning she had been spared the travails I had suffered caused by my overly voluptuous figure. Deirdre was an otherwise slender eighteen year old girl who had developed to the point that she wore a 34EE bra the summer after her senior year in high school - which is when this story begins. As a loving parent I had tried my best to protect her from the nastier parts of the world. I was careful about whom she dated and made sure that she was always home at a decent hour.
During her last summer at home before college she began to date the young man next door. Harold was a bright boy, a little shy, and small for his age. While a year older than my Deirdre, he was in a grade behind her due to an extended childhood illness. I deemed him a suitable young man and allowed Deirdre to go out with him several times.
On the night before her departure for college Deirdre had her final date with Harold. As she had promised, she and Harold were back by 11 PM. As it was her last night at home for a while I permitted them to sit on the porch swing for a while after returning home.
I knew that Deirdre was a good girl and would not let things get out of hand. Nonetheless, I felt it my duty to keep a motherly eye on the young boy. And that is what sparked the events of this past year.
As I said, they were sitting on the swing on the front porch. I had not heard anything for several minutes so I peeked out the front door, which faced the swing. To my amusement the two young friends were kissing.
I was less amused to see that young Harold had put his hand under my Deirdre's sweater and was attempting to fondle her! And to my complete dismay I noticed that Deirdre's hand was on Harold's thigh! And moving toward his crotch!
