Cathy Modeno had been married for fifteen years - she had gotten married right out of the private high school her parents had sent her to a young preacher that her parents had introduced her to.
Fifteen years later she was happily married and looked even better than she had in school. She had been to skinny back then, except for her breasts. The rest of her body had caught up as much as it could; her belly had the slight curve of mature womanhood, and her ass and hips had finally rounded out, but her big DD cup breasts, which had been that size since she was fifteen, were still the most prominent feature of her body.
Thus it was that she wore very modest dresses, like the one she had on today. She had been at her neighbors before coming into the church this afternoon, and her new neighbor had gotten her drunk. She barely made the drive up here, but she had hours of work to do. Surely she would be straightened out before she had to leave; at the moment she knew she could barely walk straight, and her mature body felt hot and flushed for some reason.
Cathy was thirty-five, but she would have passed for twenty-five any day. She had long black hair, tied almost always in a bun, and she was wearing a flowing dress that buttoned up the front all the way down to her trim waist.
The dress was modest enough, and she always kept it buttoned all the way to the base of her slim throat, as she did all of her dresses and shirts at all time. The only stab she made at dressing chic was the underwear her sister always sent her; today she had on a white bra, silk half cups, and white silk French cut panties.
Wearing the underwear, instead of the stodgy stuff her mom sent her, made her feel dirty. She did not like to think about what else it made her feel.
Cathy was a six inches over five feet, and the dress, modest as it was, could not hope to conceal her impressive bust line. She was barely tanned, and she had a heart shaped, delicately boned face with high cheekbones and almost almond shaped eyes. Her body, when she allowed herself to look at it, was like something out of a dirty magazine.
She almost hated her large breasts, their size was bad enough, but their sensitivity and the way they made her feel out of control and wanton the few times her husband played with them made her feel cheap and wanton. She could nearly achieve orgasm just by pinching her nipples hard enough. No matter how much she begged, though, her husband Bob would never pinch or squeeze them hard enough.
She looked up as the door swung open, and the handyman was there. Cathy came around the front of the desk, trying not to wobble as she walked, and she tried just as hard not to slur her words.
The handyman at the church had always intimidated her - he was as old as her father, but in excellent physical shape, with a hard, well defined body and a ruggedly handsome face. He had been bald for as long as Cathy could remember, but it did not detract from his powerful presence.
That presence, as always, made her somewhat uncomfortable today. She smiled at him, and failed to notice that his eyes, cold blue chips in his tanned face, were staring at her chest.
She failed to notice or remember that she had unfastened a good portion of the buttons at the front of the dress when she was moving the chairs. She had thought she was in the church alone, after all, with no one to see, and she had been sweating.
"Hi, Taylor," she said, smiling up at him, still not noticing that his cold blue eyes met hers for just a second before flicking back downwards.
Taylor - that was the only name the big handyman answered to, and no one knew if it was his first or last name - realized Mrs. Modeno was more than a little drunk. He could smell the alcohol plain as day.
He stepped a bit closer to her; his eyes went once again to her chest. He had known the woman had some big breasts but he had never guessed they would be this large! Her dress was undone far enough where he could easily see the upper portion of her bra, and it was more like a bra a stripper or porn star would wear, pushing her big, heaving tits up and out for his inspection.
Taylor returned her greeting, thinking all the time. He had been secretly lusting after this little stuck up bitch for the better part of five years, ever since she and that lame dick husband of hers had come here.
But she never gave an inch; she always dressed more than properly, and spoke to everyone in a proper method. He had never even suspected she drank alcohol until today.
Taylor liked this job, but he liked fine pussy better. What he was about to try could get him fired, but he shrugged his massive shoulders. He could get a job just about anywhere, and he had the military retirement in any case.
Cathy blinked at what Taylor said, not believing her ears. "What did you say to me?" she asked, backing up a step and bumping into the desk behind her.
"I said you're really showing your tits off today," Taylor said again, and he reached out and drew one big, calloused finger from the base of her pretty little throat downwards, till the pads of his fingers were grazing the soft upper slopes of her breasts, pushed into greater prominence because of the sexy little bra she had worn.
Cathy looked down at her chest, and watched with horror as she realized her dress was unbuttoned enough for the intimidating man to gaze at her round, firm mounds. She stared at his finger for a long moment, not believing her would have the temerity to touch her!
"Get your hands off me this instant!" Cathy said, and this time winced when she heard the words slur.
"I don't think so," Taylor said softly. His fingers were still grazing the silky soft flesh of her tit slopes. Cathy blinked when the man refused her, and gaped in surprise when he said softly, "You know, you stuck up little bitch, I think this is the time we should get better acquainted."
As he talked, Taylor's left hand came up and unfastened the next button. "You shouldn't have come in drinking today, you little bitch," he said again. Cathy swallowed, her heart suddenly thumping heavily in her chest. She ignored for the moment that his left hand had worked another button loose - now almost all of her bra was visible, and her taut, curved tummy was peaking out.
"What . . . what do you mean?" she asked, trying not to slur, wishing she had had some gum, wishing that her neighbor had told her what was in the lemonade she was serving. Cathy had had three big glasses, and it was nearly the first time she had been drunk.
She was surprised that Taylor had noticed it, and she was even more surprised when he said in his quiet voice, "If you don't let me have a feel of them titties, the whole fucking church is going to hear you were working here blotto," Taylor said.
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head, and he knew it was a gamble - he would have no way to prove that she was drunk, but he was hoping that she was to drunk to realize that.
Cathy blinked up at the man, trying desperately to clear her head. "No!" she said, her voice almost to loud. "You . . . you can't do that, please, Taylor, it would ruin my husband!" she wailed softly, and then looked down again as he unfastened the last button on the dress, this one just above her waist. "Ohnnn, god, no, please don't touch me!" Cathy cried.
