NOTE: Look behind you. That might be your boss. Reading this stuff at work could get you fired. So don't. Hey kid! I know the librarian's not around. But if she finds out you're reading something like this at the public library, she won't let you use the computer anymore. Then you'll NEVER get to see those pictures of Sable. For the rest of you-- if you find this sort of thing illegal or offensive, please don't look at it. Thanks.
Brian sat at his kitchen table, reading the morning paper. A feature article on health and relationships mentioned that oft-sited statistic about most men daydreaming about sex about 2,000 times a day. Brian sniffed. Not him. His experience with women was so limited, he dreamed about merely TALKING to a woman about 2,000 times a day. Brian was twenty-six, and he only just moved out of his parents' house last week. He had a decent job, a nice apartment, a reliable but not flashy car. And he wasn't that bad-looking, he thought. He could stand to drop a few pounds, but if he could only meet the right girl, that wouldn't matter.
Who was he kidding? Meet the right girl? He never grew out of that fear that every boy has in high school... the fear of calling a girl on the telephone. When you're sixteen, dialing a girl's entire phone number except for the last digit, and then hanging up in a panic is normal. Even endearing. For a twenty-six year old, it's pathetic.
Brian sighed. He met girls at work now and then. Sometimes he even braved a few lines of conversation. But he always knew they thought of him as pleasant enough, but harmless. Non-threatening. A friend. He'd give anything to be a little threatening. HarmFUL, even. Okay, not harmful, really, but you get the idea.
Brian allowed these bothersome thoughts to drift from his mind. He set aside his personal problems and went back to concentrating on the mixture of entertainment news and smarmy columns in the feature section of his newspaper. But then, an advertisement caught his eye. Look at this, he thought. It's as if someone has been reading my thoughts... as if this ad is talking right to me.
MEN- DO YOU HAVE TROUBLE WITH WOMEN? Or do you have no trouble with women because you have no contact with women? Shyness is not terminal. Your problem could be a simple disorder. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and could easily be taken care of through therapy. Our two-week program, consisting of one-on-one work with medical personnel as well as trained relationship surrogates, may be all you need. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 - 2710
Brian raced for the phone and began dialing. And this time, damn it... he dialed all SEVEN digits.
Allison woke up on her living room couch, still in her short, tight, out-on-the-town dress. She stared at the TV set, which was playing the pre-dawn news for early risers and insomniacs. She groped for the remote and turned down the volume. The chirpy voice of the anchorwoman was bugging her. Allison had been out the night before, but she ended up going home early and falling asleep on the couch. Another night of getting dressed up and going to clubs. Another night of looking for single and available guys. And another night of watching all the guys drift toward the busty girls-- leaving average girls like Allison high and dry... and alone. Shit, she thought! Do all guys have this selective eyesight that only allows them to see a girl's bustline? That's so unfair, Allison thought. She knew the rest of body was pretty okay. She had long legs that looked great in heels. Curvy hips, a slim waist. Her pixie face was framed by long auburn hair. But between the shoulders and the waist? Not much going on there at all. God, if only there was something she could do about that. But surgery was expensive. And maybe even unsafe. Oh, well, thought Allison. Another evening wasted.
She rose from the couch and headed toward the front door of her apartment to fetch the morning paper, teetering on her heels. Should have taken them off before she fell asleep, she thought. The paper lay on the mat outside the door. Allison brought it in and sat at the kitchen table, stopping at the fridge to open her usual morning Diet Coke. She opened the paper to the features and fluff section. A small understated ad caught her eye. My god, she thought. This is exactly what I was just thinking about. It's almost as if this ad is talking directly to me.
WOMEN--DO YOU FEEL THAT SOME GIRLS HAVE ALL THE LUCK? THE BIG GIRLS--RIGHT? There's hope. Call us. We're specialists. We don't do nose jobs, face lifts, or cellulite scraping. Our clinic does breast augmentation, and breast augmentation only-- so nobody knows it better. AND WE'RE NOT PLASTIC SURGEONS! Our technique combines nutritional supplements with psychological conditioning, climaxed by our Exclusive Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. Call now-- you owe it to yourself. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 - 2710
Allison reached for her cell phone and began to dial.
Brian approached the huge but nondescript building where Dr. Swell's clinic was supposed to be on 43rd Street. No sign-- no markings of any kind. Just the address. He walked in. A glass door immediately to his right was stenciled with "DR. EVELYN SWELL/THERAPIST". He walked in. It looked like any doctor's waiting room. Brian walked up to the receptionist's desk. He was startled to see no receptionist there. In the seat was a cardboard sign, hand-lettered in magic marker. PLEASE BE SEATED. THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH YOU SOON. Brian did as he was told-- he sat down. He picked up an old women's magazine. Automatically, he paged to the end, looking for one of those ads about realistic falsies "just like they wear on BAYWATCH!" Or maybe even one of those old, unbelievable bust increasing formula ads. He'd always looked for those... even in his mom's magazines. After a moment, Brian had the odd feeling he was being watched. He hurriedly shut the magazine, and looked up just in time to see the doctor come into the room. "You're Brian?" she said, peering at some notes on a clipboard. Brian stood up. "Yes, ma'am."
"Come right on back. We're all ready for you."
She turned on her heels and began walking down the hall. Brian followed. The encounter was so quick and businesslike, he barely had a chance to see what the doctor looked like. Brian wondered why there was no receptionist. A little odd.
The doctor turned into a room that looked more like a den or rec room than an examining room. She turned to face Brian and invited him to sit down in one of the comfortable-looking armchairs there.
Now Brian could get a look at Dr. Evelyn Swell. He began his look by examining her white high heels-- a little higher than he expected to see on a doctor. And they weren't the thick, clunky heels you see nurses and the like wearing. They were thin-- spikes? Is that what they were called? Brian wasn't sure. They led into long, smooth legs clad in smoky black stockings. The stockings were held by garters that Brian was surprised to be able to see. Her white skirt was much shorter than you ordinarily would see in this kind of professional setting. She wore a white lab coat that clearly was designed to hang down past her skirt's hemline. But Dr. Swell had the kind of figure that tended to foil whatever her clothes had in mind. She posessed the kind of prodigious bust that pointed right out at you and dominated her whole upper body-- hell, her whole body, for that matter. Apparently in an attempt to downplay her bust size (as if it were possible), the doctor had pulled the lab coat closed-- or as closed as was physically possible. This pulled the bottom of the coat so far up that rather than hanging to just above the knee-- the coat ended just above her waist. When Brian managed to pull his eyes away from her... her... well, the front of her upper body, he got a glimpse of her mouth. That mouth crinkled into a sly smile. Brian immediately averted his gaze in embarassment.
"Well, Brian, I don't have to ask you why you're here. I know. I know the ad you responded to. And I don't think I have to subject you to any elaborate psychological evaluation to get to the root of your problem. It's obvious," said the doctor.
"Obvious? You mean you can tell WHY I can't talk to women?" Brian asked, startled.
"Sure. Tell me," she challenged, turning her head away from him. "What color are my eyes?"
"I--I'm sorry, doctor. I don't know."
"Do I wear glasses?"
"Um... yes. No! I'm sorry."
"Color of my lip gloss?"
"D-don't know," Brian stammered, nervously.
"How about the color of my hair? Do I wear it short or long?" asked Dr. Swell.
"I... I really have no idea." Brian hung his head in shame. "I didn't do very well, did I?"
"Oh, no. You did beautifully. You fit the profile perfectly!"
Brian didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but he was pleased. He did SOMETHING perfectly.
"I know how to treat you," the doctor said, hurriedly making some notes.
"How? I mean, what's my problem?" asked Brian.
"No problem," said Dr. Evelyn Swell, cheerfully. "You are what some therapists would call a mild fetishist. I prefer the term partialist."
"What does that mean?" Brian wanted to know. "Is it bad?"
"It simply means you are PARTIAL to one part of a woman's body more than others. You couldn't describe any part of me north of my bustline. Am I right?"
Brian looked nervously to either side of the doctor's face. "I... I guess so. I'm... I'm ashamed. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be ashamed of! Nothing to be sorry for! You can't talk to women because you've been trying to talk to the WRONG women! You need to concentrate on the kind of woman you're really physically attracted to!" said Dr. Swell, scribbling some more notes. "I want you to begin your therapy right away. It will be structured a little like the driver education courses you remember from your teenage days."
"How so?" Brian wanted to know.
"Theory, lecture, classroom-- followed by on-the-road training," smiled Dr. Swell. "You'll work with me to learn how to please a woman of real substance. Large-breasted women like a man who can appreciate their special gifts. Tit women attract tit men! And you're a tit man."
Brian scowled. "A... tit man? It sounds awful."
"It's not awful. It's wonderful. So far, you've just been unable or unwilling to admit it."
"But don't women resent being reduced to body parts?" Brian asked.
"Oh, my goodness." Dr. Swell shook her head. "Sounds like well-intentioned gender-based propaganda has worked too well on you. That's a misconception, put forth by people with an agenda. The truth is this. You might be surprised to hear this, but large-breasted women are often shunned by women and men alike. They're called fat-- cow-like. Naturally, it's not true. Women act out of jealousy... and I believe men sometimes act that way out of fear of what their buddies will think. I want to make you into a man who knows what he wants and what he likes-- and doesn't give a rat's ass what another man thinks about it!"
She made her speech in such a stirring manner, Brian wanted to cheer. "Great! But how?"
Dr. Swell put her arm around Brian's shoulder, which brought her marvelous bust into yummy proximity. "The way tit women can tell the tit men is this: you must concentrate in every way on the woman's breasts. In your gaze, your attention, in the way you have sex... we'll begin tomorrow at six. I'll give you quiz questions on how to pay attention to a woman. All your answers must be breast-centered."
The very idea turned Brian on. "But... does that mean I can never do anything else with a woman? Wouldn't she like me to pay attention to her other parts?"
"Of course, but not right away," counseled Dr. Swell. "That comes with time. The important thing in initial encounters is to signal to her that you LOVE TITS! Are you with me?"
"Yeah!" shouted Brian, scaring himself a little. "But doctor... one thing confuses me. Why was this office so hard to find?"
Dr. Swell fidgeted uncomfortably. Brian went on.
"Why don't you have a receptionist? Why does it seem that you're the only person in this entire medical complex?"
She grabbed his face forcefully and spoke in a low whisper.
"OK, Brian, listen up and listen good. I provide a valuable service for men like you. You can't get this help anywhere else. But medical authorities and even law enforcement officials aren't too sure about me. This is an underground operation."
"Underground?"
"Yes. You will pay me in cash. You will tell no one. It's been my experience that men like you are so desperate they don't mind. Am I wrong?"
"No," agreed Brian. "In my case, you're not wrong."
"Good. Then we understand each other. The problem the law has with my practice is the 'on-the-road' training I referred to before. The 'trained relationship surrogates' you read about in the ad."
"Ohhhhh," said Brian, trying to signal that he understood-- even though he didn't understand at all. "What does that mean?"
"It means sexual surrogates. I employ trained professionals. Medical people-- women who will meet with you at the end of your two weeks training. You'll get to practice what you've learned!" she beamed.
"Wow."
"Police hear 'sexual surrogates' and immediately assume it's prostitution. But of course, you realize it's not," said the doctor.
"Of course," nodded Brian, now so turned on he could hardly speak.
"So tell me," the doctor continued, confident her secret was safe with Brian. "Describe your ideal woman."
"Oh, I don't think I have an ideal. I'm more of a 'total package' kind of guy," he answered.
"Brian!" snapped Dr. Swell. "That's bullshit! Consider your answer to this question the beginning of your therapy."
He sighed... a sigh that shook off a lifetime of hangups and rationalizations. "All right," he began. "My ideal woman has enormous jugs. That's the first, and probably the only thing you notice about her. She could, and probably does, have great legs, curvy hips, a creamy complexion, and long auburn hair, but still-- the first thing you say when you see her is 'My god, look at those enormous jugs!'"
Dr. Evelyn Swell smiled. This one was going to be easy.
Allison clutched the scrap of paper that she'd written the address of Dr. Swell's clinic on. 44th street. This must be it. It was a huge building... at least a full city block square. But there were no signs... nothing to indicate what was inside. Allison pushed open the lobby door and looked around. It sure didn't look like much. A glass door immediately to her left caught her eye. It read "DR. EVELYN SWELL/TOP BODY IMAGING". "Top". Pretty clever. She must mean to say it's the best AND that's the part of the body we image. The "top"! She walked through the door into the lobby. No receptionist. Just a hand lettered sign, saying something about how the doctor will be right there. From down the corridor, Allison heard the click of high heels. Dr. Evelyn Swell entered, a little winded.
"Hi," offered Allison. "Are you the doctor?"
"Yes," said Evelyn, breathless from rushing all the way to the other side of the building. "You must be Allison. Take your shirt off."
"Right here? Shouldn't we go into an examining room?"
"As you wish," shrugged Dr. Swell, as she led the prospective patient into an antiseptic looking area. "Now--strip!"
Allison went along gamely. If this doctor could help, Allison would have to cooperate. Dr. Swell examined her medium-sized breasts. "It's not that they're that small. But I would just love to have... more! Can you really do it without surgery?"
"Certainly. Our treatment is centered around a nutritional supplement that turns your metabolism on its ear. It totally changes the way your body processes nutrients-- especially fat and carbohydrates."
"How does it work?" asked Allison.
"It works beautifully! Just about everything you eat goes right to your bust. The rest of you remains unchanged," claimed Dr. Swell. "If you eat right, after two weeks, you'll have the breasts of a 300 pound woman-- on your frame!"
"My god, that sounds perfect! Is it safe?" Allison wanted to know.
"So far," said Dr. Swell.
"Is it... you know-- approved by the drug people?" the patient prodded.
"Not a drug. A nutritional supplement. The drug people can't even be bothered to test it."
"And that's the whole treatment? Isn't there some awful exercise program?" asked Allison, making a face.
"No exercise. But I like to enhance the supplement with sexual fantasy," advised the doc.
"What kind of fantasy?" Allison seemed dubious.
"You center thoughts on your breasts and how men react to them," said Evelyn. "Even before the changes in them start occurring, you imagine that every man you meet is fixated on your breasts-- and the mere sight of them makes him involuntarily ejaculate. You smile proudly and mischieviously at the way he just ruined his pants!"
Allison giggled. "And that helps?"
"Probably not, but doesn't it sound like fun?" laughed Dr. Swell.
"Yes," Allison agreed.
"Oh," said the doctor. "I almost forgot! We won't reshape your body and then just throw you to the wolves. Ours is the only program around that includes Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. You'll work with a professional sex surrogate. He'll teach you to perform with your new equipment, and you'll learn what true tit-men like in bed."
"That sounds thrilling, doctor," considered Allison. "But... well, it's kind of... you know-- unconventional. Even a little suspicious. I mean no disrespect, but can I... talk to some former patients? May I see your credentials?"
The affable specialist turned combatative. "Now, Allison-- listen up and listen good. I have the training, I have the M.D. But medical authorities aren't too crazy about me. They say my methods haven't been tested in controlled environments, and I have no proof that they work. But they do! You have to believe me! And besides... you're willing to try anything, aren't you?"
Allison admitted she was. "I'll give it a go, doctor. When do we start?"
Dr. Swell smiled. "Thanks for the confidence. We'll start right now. Here's your first dose--two tablets and a glass of water. Take them and after a minute, begin telling me a fantasy. What's the first thing you'll do with the breasts you've always wanted?"
As Allison swallowed the pills, the doctor went on. "The medical authorities always said it wasn't ethical for a doctor to try a new technique on herself."
Allison swallowed hard. "You gave yourself... those? With this treatment? Wow! Doctor, never mind what I said before. Shit, doc, I'm your girl!"
"Glad to hear that," said the doctor. "And that fantasy--?"
Allison exhaled. Her eyes took on a farway look just before she began talking.
"Before I even let a man look at them, I want to lift my titties to my own mouth and taste the nipples. I want to feel them hardening between my lips..."
Brian came to the clinic every day for his therapy session with Dr. Swell. He'd sit and concentrate on her questions, trying to come up with every possible big boob answer. They'd work long and hard. And the estimatable Dr. Evelyn Swell provided a tantilzing combination of inspiration and distraction. She would sit NEXT to Brian, rather than across from him, undoubtedly to encourage the young man to sneak peeks down her blouse. The undulating cleavage spurred him on.
"Now-- how does a tit man greet his woman?"
"Uh--with a kiss?"
"Wrong. He takes his two strong hands and covers as much boob as he possibly can, and hefts them up, giving the nipples a good 'honk'," said the doctor. "It not only tells her what he has in mind for later, it tells every envious man in the vicinity that 'these juggies belong to me'!"
"Got it," said Brian. "Give me another."
"When a tit man is out with his big-titted woman... and he sees another woman with big boobs, what should he expect of his woman?" the doctor continued.
"An introduction?" guessed Brian.
"I'll accept that," agreed Dr. Swell. "In a perfect world, your woman would notice this new pair of biggies herself, and approach her without your asking. By the end of the evening, you should have your happy face surrounded with four big soft tits. Let's continue..."
Allison sat in Dr. Swell's waiting room, smiling at the way she had to hold her magazine at eye level in order to read it. Her naturally built-up bust prevented her from holding it in her lap the way she might have just a week and a half ago. The nutritional supplement had worked beyond Allison's wildest expectations. It sent every gram of fat right to her chest, stacking and molding piles of buoyant flesh where there had been nothing. And the pills seemed to increase her appetite, too... so happily, her boobies were now bouncing out of control and pleasantly dominating about every aspect of her life.
Allison started getting impatient waiting for Dr. Swell. Spinning her rack-related sexual fantasies had become her favorite part of the therapy. Not only because they were fun, but Allison thought they had an effect on these two gorgeous and gargantuan specimens on her chest. They truly were as big as the breasts of a 300 pound woman... but the intense sexual concentration of both doctor and patient took two big burlap sacks of fat and flesh, and turned them into enormous guided missiles of sex appeal.
"Allison!" beamed Dr. Swell, as she walked into the waiting room. "How are they?" she asked, probing and pulling on Allison's new big cans.
"Big, heavy, and wonderful," smiled back Allison. "I can't wait to tell you more. I don't have to fantasize about men's attention anymore. It's become a reality!"
"Isn't that a turn-on?" giggled the doctor.
"Yeah!" agreed the patient. "I like to time their dicks, to see how long it takes them to get hard once they see these big babies bouncing around."
"How long does it take, usually?" Evelyn wanted to know.
"Well, I count one-one thousand... two-one thousand-- and that's usually it! If it takes longer, that just means there's more there to GET hard!"
"What do you do then?" asked Dr. Swell.
"Depends on my mood. Ask for a phone number. Or reach for their balls and just squeeze!" Both woman laughed heartily.
"Allison, I'm proud of you. You'll be ready for your first Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy session by the end of the week. Is Friday at 8:00 all right with you?"
"Sure!"
Dr. Swell gave Allison's boobs a lingering once-over. "And to think-- you've still got a few days' worth of growing left. God, you're going to be every tit-man's dream, sweetie!"
"Just one would be fine, doctor," said Allison, shyly.
"One other thing, Allison. You'll want to show off how gorgeous your boobies are bra-less... but don't. Wear a bra. It's important."
"Really? Okay... I'll have to buy one. I haven't worn one once since the growth. But if it's that important..."
"It is," the doctor said seriously. "Get one that fits and holds them high. Send me the bill. I'll consider it a gift."
"All right doctor! I'll be there," said Allison, "ready to play... and BE played with! So will these!"
She reached in front of her and gave her nipples a hearty "honk" as she bounced into the doctor's examining room.
Dr. Swell followed her in. "Now! Let's hear your latest titty fantasy--!"
Brian sat nervously in one of the doctor's easy chairs. It was time for his Sexual Surrogate session. He'd reviewed the material over and over, and was pretty sure he was ready. Dr. Swell had briefed him on the format. He was to pretend the surrogate was his girlfriend, who'd invited him over for a casual evening of snacks and TV. He was to treat her as Dr. Swell had instructed him... both to force himself to face up to his true desires and to learn how to please what the doctor called "the tit-woman". If at any time he made an error, the session would be halted. Brian would have to figure out what he'd done wrong, and correct it at the next session.
Dr. Swell poked her head through the door. "Ready, Brian?"
"Ready, doctor," he answered, standing up and walking toward the door.
"You can do it, Brian. I know you can. Come with me. I'll take you to where the session will take place."
"All right," said Brian, as Dr. Swell led him to a part of the medical complex he'd never seen before. Suddenly, he panicked. "Wait! What's her name?"
"Brian, you know I can't tell you her name. She's a professional, and she's playing a role."
"I know," said Brian. "But she's supposed to be my girlfriend. What do I call her?"
Dr. Swell turned around and gave Brian a reassuring smile. "You can call her... Allison."
"Allison. Allison. I like that," muttered Brian as he stepped toward the mock "apartment door" where the session was to begin. Brian looked around to say one more thing to Dr. Swell. She had vanished. He knocked on the door.
The door opened to reveal a vision so lovely, and so dripping with pure unadulterated sex, that Brian had a hard time taking it all in at once. The sexual surrogate--"Allison" was dressed in ridiculously high heels that turned and bent her gorgeous legs, womanly hips, and jutting curvy ass into an unnatural but arousing '50s pinup girl pose without even trying. She wore denim shorts that seemed to be at least one size too small, so tightly did they fit. Her face had a playful and pixie-like quality, but her eyes showed a smoky sexuality that openly argued with the innocence of that smile. The lush hair framing that desirable face was auburn-- Brian's favorite color.
But no matter how hard Brian tried to look her in the eye, his own eyes involuntarily kept returning to that delicious vision a little further south. Her bust, her bosom... her tits, for Christ sake! Brian had never seen anything like them. The girl wore a tight white cotton number that clung to her like a second skin, tucked in at the waist to empasize the vast difference between those two measurements, and cut low in the front to properly adertise the merchandise. My god, they looked like the tits of a 300 pound woman. But not fat and shapeless. These were full, sleek, and yet bouyant and bouncy. The way they overflowed at the cleavage showed Brian that no matter the size of the garment, it was a struggle for both of these tits to occupy the same space. And the nipples. Even though it was clear this girl was wearing an industrial strength bra, those two pointer sisters were doing their best to announce their presence through all that fabric and engineering. Not only were they announcing their presence-- they were pointing at Brian, seeming to say,"Him. Yes, he's the one."
Her low, throaty chuckle showed she appreciated all this appreciation. She helpfully did a full turn, like a runway model. Through her tight blouse, Brian got to see that there were at least eight hooks on the back of that boulder holder... bras don't need eight hooks unless they've got a lot of work to do.
Remembering his training, Brian stepped forward and pawed the girl's breasts. Allison responded with a sharp intake of breath. Brian lifted, gauging their heft. He was impressed. So impressed that he lowered his mouth onto the visible cleavage. It wasn't a kiss, a lick, or even a suck... this was a slobber.
"Ooooh, baby, it's good to see you, too!" Allison finally said.
"Hello, Allison," said Brian, coming up for air. Brian tightened his grip on the undersides of her breasts and spun her around in the doorway. "Come on in," he laughed, leading her inside the apartment by her considerable casabas.
Allison shut the door behind her. She reached to untuck her blouse and pull it over her head. "Here, let me get all this out of the way--" she began.
"Don't -- you -- dare," warned Brian, lowering her bulk onto a nearby couch. Brian stripped, holding up a hand to show her that he meant for her to remain clothed. "I've always wanted to this," he smiled.
Allison looked up at his member with anticipation. "Watch carefully," said Brian, as he held its bloated head in his hands, and proceeded to poke and probe until his maleness had worked its way between her two big boobies... with her blouse and bra still on!
"Push those busters together to keep me warm and safe," he said, and Allison quickly obeyed. "Oh, my god," said the girl, completely turned on by the idea of him depositing a load between her boobs and into her bra.
"I want them to squeeze it out of you...I want these titties to take care of you and your big friend... I want you to make your deposit...in the bank of my boobies!" she sang out in ecstasy.
Brian felt his overfilled balls empty out. A little early, but that was understandable. Allison was still looking up at him lovingly, pushing and pulling her breasts about as though using them as a mixmaster on the potion he'd just placed in her enormous bra cups.
"Now you can take off that shirt and bra. The shorts and panties, too," Brian grinned.
"What panties?" smiled Allison in mock innocence. "Oh, baby, you bet," she said, springing into action. Brian smiled at the way her boobilicious bra busters jumped and danced at nothing more than the action of her tearing off her clothes. She endearingly placed the bra on the floor so as not to lose any of Brian's still-fresh juices. With the cups turned up like that, it looked like two chef's salad bowls sitting there.
Brian stepped down onto the ottoman and sat. "Let me play with them," he said. Allison eagerly moved herself in front of Brian. "No, no," he admonished. "Behind."
She grinned devilishly as she carried out his instructions. Standing behind the sitting tit-man, she seperated her knockout knockers by hand and pushed the back of his head into the resulting space. When she dropped her hands, Brian's head was warmly and lovingly surrounded by Allison's lovely tits.
"That's it," he said, his voice strangely distant. He reached forward, groping for her nipples. When he found them, he played... gripping, releasing, toying, even twisting. Allison let loose with what sounded for all the world like purring.
This is what Brian had dreamed of his entire life. Reaching forward to play with the nipples of a beautiful woman who was standing BEHIND him. After several minutes, he pulled himself free. There was an audible 'pop'.
"Now I want those lovely things to caress my cock between them all night long. But I want your tongue licking my balls, too. Lie down on the couch!" "Okay, baby! Here-- watch how they stand up a little and flop and slope a little when I lie down. Those little girls' little tits can't do that!" Allison almost squealed.
"No, they can't," Brian agreed. He knelt over her beautiful face. His balls dangled on her lips while he waved the length of his cock toward her cleavage.
Slurping both balls into her mouth, Allison grabbed her tits with both hands and used them to clamp around the head of Brian's cock. The resulting friction was so arousing to both parties that Brian hunched his head forward to kiss the lips of Allison's private parts.
At that moment, a blinding light was turned on. Dr. Evelyn Swell's voice was heard over a public address system. "The session is over for the evening! Please return to the room."
Brian and his lovely auburn-haired partner both beat a hasty retreat, barely looking at each other.
When he finally, made it back to the doctor's den, holding his clothes in his hands, he was met by Dr. Swell. There was both pride and disapproval in her expression.
"Not too bad for a first session, Brian. You know what you did wrong, don't you?" she asked.
"Yes. I shouldn't have tried to lick her... her... you know," Brian mumbled.
"Cunt. It's called a cunt. And yes. You're right. Maybe on the fifth date, but here and now, it must be tits, tits, tits. Will you be able to start again tomorrow evening at 6:30?"
"Yes!" Brian spoke up, pleased he'd be getting another chance. "I want to try the standing tit-fuck in the shower! I want to probe her hard nipples with the head of my cock! I'll try..."
"That's the spirit! Make your plans! See you then," said Dr. Swell, hurrying out.
Allison was furiously pulling at her nipples, having made no attempt to get dressed again when the doctor came into her examining room.
"He's wonderful!" exclaimed the beautiful patient. "Where did you find him? He behaves JUST like a tit-man! And he stayed in character as "Brian", too! He's a gem."
"I know," said Dr. Swell. "You know what needs to be corrected don't you?"
"Shouldn't have let him suck my cunt. Sure. I'll get it next time," Allison said, hefting the weight of her boobs herself.
"Would you mind working with this one again tomorrow? At 6:30?" the doctor asked.
"Mind? Look at these nipples and tell me if you think I'd MIND," challenged Allison, shoving them in the doctor's face.
"God, I could hang my lab coat on those," wondered Dr. Evelyn out loud. "All right. See you then. Here-- don't forget your bra."
"Oooh! Right! Any more still in there?" Alison wanted to know. She reached into one cup, her entire forearm dissappearing from view. When her hand reappeared, four fingers were glistening with creamy and gooey essence of Brian. Allison swirled it around her left nipple.
"Just let yourself out when you're done, Allison. Well done. See you at 6:30," said Dr. Swell, walking down the corridor that went from one lobby to the other.
She wondered if maybe she should take out a THIRD ad in the daily paper. "DR. EVELYN SWELL... UNCONVENTIONAL MATCHMAKER." Enticing as the idea was, she decided against it. There must be a Society of Professional Matchmakers out there, she thought. That's all I'd need...someone else mad at me.