Thy Neighbor's Wife
(and Other Sins)
A Fantasy
by
RICHARD O STEELE
Copyright 2001 © Richard O Steele. All rights reserved
Chapter 7
Peter decided that his best bet was to find Lakisha again and this time to have a more substantive discussion — not to mention some detailed follow-up! — with the giant-breasted young kid. As a result, he took to skipping meals to walk up and down Market Street during his lunch hours in search of this fantastically buxom teenage beauty. That vision of Lakisha's swinging rump and quivering tit flesh as she walked ahead to rejoin her friends had gotten branded into Peter's brain. He just had to find the unbelievably busty kid. And this time, he would figure out some way the two of them could get together in private to confer about her remarkable figure!
After two weeks of walking back and forth between City Hall and the river, the result was ... nothing! Lakisha simply was not to be found. It was slowly dawning on Peter that the extraordinarily busty kid had just happened to be in the same part of town as Peter on that one day and that day only, and that lightning was simply not going to strike twice in the same spot. Short of cruising black areas of the city — a fool's errand because she could live just anywhere ... West Philly, North Philly, South Philly ... hell, Lakisha could live across the river in New Jersey, for that matter — his chance of encountering her in this city of some 1.5 million people was nil. Forget it, Peter told himself, you simply blew it. You'll just never find her again.
On the day Peter finally gave up his quest as hopeless, he decided to finish his walk by grabbing a bite to eat. It was a hot afternoon in July, and Peter was famished. Since he was just around the corner from the Reading Terminal, and because he loved traditional Philadelphia cheese steaks (though he knew that cheese steaks — cholesterol-laden piles of grease-heavy beef lathered with Cheese Whiz and fried onions which were then ladled onto a hoagie bun — would not, in the long run, love him), Peter ducked into the converted railroad station and headed for Rick's Steaks — a premier spot to order that local delicacy.
As he demolished his foot-long steak, Peter looked up and noticed a girl sitting on a tall stool about ten yards from his table. He almost dropped his cheese steak on the floor! She had crossed her legs so that her skirt, extremely short to start with, had crept up nearly to the top of her thighs. What a pair of legs the girl had. And they were on full display!
A look at her face revealed that girl was very attractive. She was young, too — Peter guessed she was around twenty. She was not exactly beautiful — her face was a bit too round and soft-featured for that. The girl looked eastern European — maybe Polish. She looked in fact like a younger, better-looking version of Martha Stewart who, notwithstanding her WASP pretensions, is of Polish ancestry herself.
The young woman simply exuded an earthy sexiness; a look at her cute face, pug nose, round features, and thick, generous lips were alone enough to give a guy a boner. It had already done so to Peter.
She was reading a copy of the Philadelphia Daily News. She was holding the tabloid newspaper fully open at chest level while she was reading, so that only her face and legs were visible. But what legs! And what a nice looking face!
The girl then folded up the paper and put it down on the counter. Peter's jaw dropped. His eyes dipped down to the girl's chest which until a second ago had been obscured by the newspaper she was reading. His eyes widened. This girl was just enormously buxom. Jesus Christ! She was wearing a tight, tit-hugging blouse with the top two buttons undone. Peter found himself staring into a fantastically pronounced cleavage. It must have been three or four inches deep at least!
And then there were the tits that were just straining against that blouse. God! They were literally the size of bowling balls! They were not quite in the league of Lakisha's watermelons but the young woman clearly made Heather look like she needed falsies! And the comparison with Amanda was ... well ... it was not worth making any comparison of that kind at all!
Peter could tell that the girl had been checking him out before he had noticed her. He guessed she had been eating a steak at the counter. When she was done, she had swiveled around on her stool to glance at the paper but had then noticed Peter. She had apparently remained on her stool to finish her soda while giving Peter the eye. And now the eye-giving was mutual!
The huge busted girl caught Peter looking and gave him a warm smile in return. Peter hurriedly looked down at his cheese steak; he did not want to stare at the girl! After all, this was how everything had started with Heather in LA! Still, his giant sex snake was already as stiff as a board! This girl's sexy face, amazing legs, and giant tits were driving him into a sexual frenzy!
Peter could not help himself from sneaking a peek; a moment later he looked up only to see that the young woman was still looking at him. Intently. What's more, she actually seemed to be thrusting her tits in his direction! On top of that, she grinned and then gave him a subtle wink. Shades of Lakisha!
The buxom young beauty finished her drink, fished in her purse for a pen and began to write something on a card. She then slid off the stool, at which point Peter thought his raging boner would explode at the sight of her micro-miniskirt rising even higher up on her thighs ... the girl was almost exposing her pussy! The way she pushed out her tits in the process of getting off the stool was almost unbearably sexy as well. What a set of legs! What a body! Above all, what a fucking pair of tits!
The young woman headed in the direction of Peter's table. He first looked at her legs. Jesus! Her skirt was barely long enough to cover her snatch — it was so short! Nearly the full expanse of her sleek thighs was visible. Her legs were really sensational. But for her massive bosom they would have been sufficient by themselves to mark her as an exceptional piece of ass. She was getting a lot of attention from the crowd sitting at Rick's long steel tables. The buxom young woman seemed oblivious, however; she was clearly used to being stripped to the bone by male eyes.
Peter then trained his eyes at her bosom and became transfixed as he saw her massive bowling ball tits wobble and quiver as she got closer and closer to his table. The metronomic click of her high heels got louder and louder; all of a sudden the girl was passing Peter's table and walking out into the main portion of the Market.
As she passed, however, she surreptitiously dropped a business card at Peter's elbow. Peter picked it up:
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Peter then flipped the card over. On the back of the card, the huge breasted girl had scratched a note:
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Jesus! Talk about things dropping into your lap! He had been searching the streets for Lakisha and then Toni suddenly shows up out of the blue. But what to do? Toni certainly had the massive sort of tits he was looking for. But she probably was looking for a relationship of some sort. Peter was looking for a pair of tits to molest, not a mistress! An actual relationship was not something he needed! Or could afford to get involved in! But those tits! Besides, the girl was obviously eager to get something going with Peter. He was, Peter was convinced, faced with a sure thing! But did he dare act on it?
After looking Toni over, Peter was pretty sure he knew her story. He was willing to bet she had grown up in Northeast and had gone to a Catholic all-girl high school. No college; instead she headed for Center City with her diploma in hand to look for secretarial work. With her unbelievable body and pretty face, she undoubtedly became a front-desk receptionist ... instantly!
Peter also was pretty sure he knew the type of law firm at which Toni worked. It was in all likelihood a one-man office near the courthouse that specialized in criminal law. Most likely, the clientele that walked through the door was burdened with DUIs, minor drug charges, wife-beating charges, and petty theft and shoplifting offenses ... that sort of five and dime legal grunt work.
Peter was sure that Mr O'Malley did a workmanlike job on such cases; he probably had a good reputation among the sort of folks who found themselves in that kind of trouble. Peter was certain, however, that what really brought the business into the office was Toni's massive bosom ("You got a DUI last night? ... bummer! Hey, look, go see this guy O'Malley down on Arch Street ... he got my brother-in-law off last year ... look, this is the lawyer you want 'cause he's good, see ... plus he lets you, like, pay over time, too ... and wait'll you see his secretary. She's got, like, the biggest tits in the friggin' world! You won't believe your fuckin' eyes! Like, a look at her is almost worth getting the fuckin' ticket!")
That was, in fact, part of the problem. Peter had figured out the situation pretty accurately. Mr O'Malley was becoming, as they used to say in '40s and '50s film noir, a bit "fresh". The man had scrupulously kept Hands Off for the first two years Toni had worked for him but he was now starting to harass her just a little bit. Several weeks ago he had begun patting Toni on the shoulder as he passed her desk. A couple of weeks later he had graduated to squeezing her shoulder when he stopped by to drop off some pleadings for revisions. Only last week, his hand had strayed down to her right biceps and delivered a soft, even familiar squeeze. Plus his furtive peeks down her blouse were beginning to turn into prolonged examinations. Toni was a naturally friendly girl but Mr O'Malley had misinterpreted her good nature. He had seriously misinterpreted it!
Toni had little doubt where things were headed — if Mr O'Malley had his way, that is. The fat, bald, old lecher was on autopilot; he was cruising right toward Toni's massively swollen 36K treasures. For her part, Toni had no intention whatever of letting him grab a handful of tit. The spectacularly bosomed young woman was very particular about who was allowed to squeeze and knead her oversized melons. Mr O'Malley, needless to say, was not on that list. Not even close!
Toni was not above slapping the asshole down if he made an uninvited move on her abundant mass of tit flesh. Still, abandoning ship before the lawyer began "innocently" to brush up against her tits — the likely next step, Toni figured — was probably a better way to handle matters. There was no point in building a reputation as a quarrelsome bitch that would make getting another job more difficult ... though with her figure, Toni figured there was always another job right around the corner.
Toni was thus ready to shake the dust of Arch Street off her feet; she was also interested in stepping up in class. For one thing, she was tired of being the primary draw that brought in the business — at least for the dreary $350 a week Mr O'Malley was willing to pay her. Toni was no dummy; she knew why Mr O'Malley had installed her at the front desk to greet prospective clients. And from the slack-jawed stares she endured from the greasy-haired jerks who made up most of the firm's clientele, it was clear that she was bringing in a hell of a lot more money then her three and a half bills a week reflected. Essentially, she was showing it off for nothing. Fuck that shit!
Peter was an obviously-moneyed Main-Line type; even though he wore a wedding ring — which Toni had spotted just as he had quickly spotted her lack of one — the guy was still worth a try. He was awfully good looking, after all. He might be good for some after-work drinks, a little kissie face at the end of the first date, and perhaps, on some subsequent date, some though-the-blouse touchie feelie if they hit it off. Maybe, if they really hit if off, a whole lot more than that might happen some weeks down the road. Most important of all, if they got really, really involved, he might offer the possibility of a better job in a much classier office.
Besides, she was full up to here with the diet of Cottman Avenue greasers that up to now had comprised her social life. Even a fling with a married guy would be a nice switch from jerks like that— especially with one as good-looking and prosperous as the guy across the way. From the hot looks he was giving her, Toni could safely assume that that act of dropping off her telephone number would meet with a very warm reception!
Toni was right! The reception of the card was as warm as could be; the difficulty for Peter, though, was to decide what to do about it. It was one thing to have an overnight fling with Heather on the West Coast; it was quite another to begin what could be a much longer-term one with Toni, a woman who lived in the same metropolitan area as the Wyeths. The prospect of Amanda finding scribbled phone numbers in his pockets, noticing lipstick on his collars, and — gasp! — fielding phantom late night phone calls if Toni got into behavior like that, were all potential red flags that screamed "NO!" to Peter.
Still, Peter by no means tossed the card into the trash with his cheese steak wrappers. He carefully put it in his shirt pocket and later secreted it deep in the pages of his office copy of the Thorndike Encyclopedia of Banking and Financial Tables (3rd ed. 1987). That was the same book, by the way, in which he had hidden the list of telephone numbers Heather had given him. He would decide later what if anything he would do about Toni's very enticing offer!
As he put Thorndike back on the shelf, however, Peter ruefully thought to himself, "God! Am I becoming an accomplished sneak or what?" Peter did not like himself very much at that moment. But his fixation on giant breasts seemed to be spinning out of control. He was going to do whatever was necessary, it seems, to get his hands and mouth on a pair of humongous tits! He could just see it coming! But he seemed to be powerless to get out of the way.
As one might expect, Peter's encounter with Toni only fanned the flames of his big breast fixation. He kept flipping open his copy of Thorndike and looking thoughtfully at the back of the business card. And thinking. Several times he nearly picked up the phone and rang her up. Yet his certain knowledge that such a step was utter madness kept from taking that fatal step. As a result, he steeled himself to do no such thing. When his willpower actually kept him from dialing the number, Peter wondered if though sheer gritty determination he might be able to keep things under control.
Matters went downhill one evening in September, however. Peter and Amanda were both dead tired after hard days at work; they had just enough strength to sprawl on the couch and watch television. Amanda had appointed herself that night's custodian of the remote control device. After surfing the channels a couple of times, she paused at the local Fox channel.
"Oh, look, Peter," she cried, "Fox is debuting its latest sleaze tonight. Let's check it out for a second."
The show was just starting; the opening credits showed a trio of tanned blondes in miniature bikinis sensually strolling down the beach. The girls were extremely beautiful and almost impossibly curvy. As Peter noticed immediately, the one in the middle was sporting a huge pair of full, erect tits. The twin scraps of cloth serving as her bikini top were doing nothing much to keep those luscious globes from tumbling out of the young beauty's garment. This show was hot stuff!
"This is Walker's Cove," Amanda explained. "It's the junky new successor to Baywatch. It's supposed to be amazingly sexy sleaze! Even for Fox!"
Peter's eyes continued to center almost laser-like on the buxom blonde in the center. Suddenly a shock ran up and down his back. That blonde was Heather! Jesus!
"Look at the one in the middle," Amanda said, almost as if she were reading Peter's mind. "Her name is Heather Scott; she's this year's Pamela Anderson. Except her tits are ten times bigger. Can you believe those things? I wonder how much she spent on silicone?"
With that, Amanda's index finger engineered an abrupt segue to ER. But it was too late. Even this momentary re-exposure to Heather had caused Peter's tit-mania to spike. Seeing Heather's jiggling, quivering DD bust dancing across his TV screen served to underscore in Peter's mind the fact that his need for huge breasts was far from under control. Simply knowing that Heather's massive bosom was going to be on display every Thursday evening from 10 to 11— even if he did not actually sneak a look at the show — was going to fuel his fire all the more. This look at Heather confirmed for Peter what his subconscious already knew. Things were bad and getting worse. He just had to find some local big-titted talent who could take the edge off for him. Either that or he would explode with unconsummated desire!
Upon reflection, Peter concluded that resort to an escort was clearly the most sensible answer. But since Lakisha was still among the missing, if indeed she was a whore at all ... then who? Peter began surfing the Internet; he soon found that cyberspace was loaded with information on escorts, some of whom were advertised as being extremely buxom. His eye was particularly caught by the website of one Deena Duos, a 35 year-old model and porn star who claimed a 46HHH-24-36 figure, was 5' 3", and weighed 128 pounds. Jesus! Deena offered $500 private "1 on 1" sessions. Peter was not sure what went on in those sessions — the information Deena offered on the subject was on the vague side — but it sounded worth a try. After all, the pictures of Deena on her site revealed an astonishingly huge set of tits. The thrilling prospect of handling and then fucking those humongous mothers — if that was indeed what went on in those mysterious "1 on 1" sessions — was enough to cause Peter's sap to rise — all the way to the top.
The problem was that Deena worked in Las Vegas. At the moment, Peter had no good excuse for getting to Las Vegas to sign up for one of these sessions. He therefore bookmarked her website for future reference and searched on.
More detailed searching on local bulletin boards and other media revealed possible answers right at home. The City Paper, a local throwaway, contained dozens and dozens of ads for escorts. Among them was a classified ad for an escort named Faith. She was said to have "the biggest tits in Philly". The promised cup size was 38DDD, which in light of conclusive physical evidence to the contrary in the chests of Lakisha and Toni meant that Faith clearly did not have "the biggest tits in Philly". She was not even close! Still, a 38DDD bust was awfully big; perhaps, Peter thought, he should give it a whirl.
Peter suddenly had a cautionary thought. The escorts of whom he had read surely all required condoms for full service sex. Indeed, Peter himself would not have had it any other way. Yet Peter had never worn a condom. The truth was that his cock was much too big for any condom he had ever heard of. They simply didn't make them in his size. Any visit to an escort, therefore, would necessarily involve something short of intercourse.
Peter's main sexual need was manual and oral access to massively huge tits; fucking their owner might not be an absolute requirement. Yet when he thought about the thrill of pounding his stiff shaft in and out of a girl's soaked pussy while sucking on and fondling her giant tits ... well ... it looked as if full service, as the Internet ads put it, was really what he was after.
But how on earth was he going to come up with a rubber to fit his sixteen-inch hard-on. Checking in with his neighborhood Rite Aid pharmacist for advice hardly seemed the way to go.
It was therefore back to the Internet. With the help of the "Google" search engine, Peter actually found a German site from which one could custom-order specially sized condoms. It was apparently the analogue to those custom brassiere shops he had already run across on the 'Net which offered foundation garments to women who were too buxom to wear off-the-shelf, retail store offerings. Just the kind of women Peter was looking for, in other words!
Peter dutifully measured himself at a moment when Heather, Lakisha, Toni ... and, yes, Amanda, too ... were flitting across his sex-crazed mind. He purchased (God! Those custom-made raincoats were expensive!) a money order (nothing on the credit card bill ... that was a necessity!), put down as the point of delivery the address of a post office box he had rented for the purpose (he couldn't possibly let Amanda see a box of condoms arriving in the mail at home ... nor his secretary at the office; that would be nearly as bad), and prepared to wait out the ninety-day delivery time (Jesus! I know those things have to be specially made but ninety days? What if a guy was really horny?). When he was finished with the ordering process, Peter reflected on the fact that this obsession had turned him into an absolute, if accomplished, sneak. Oh, well!
During the wait for his rubbers to arrive, Peter scanned the 'Net for likely possibilities as to their use. The randy fellow soon discovered that various sites on the Web actually offered escort reviews! What a handy idea!
He had been particularly attracted by comments carried on a Website called Bigdoggie.net that offered escort reviews on a national basis. The Philadelphia Board contained rave reviews of a buxom beauty named Gina. Gina was a local girl. She was said to be vaguely Italian looking, 125 pounds, and absolutely gorgeous with a drop-dead smile, long black hair, and — most important of all — a really massive set of 36FF-cup tits. She worked out of an in-call apartment near the Art Museum. She was said to be notably affectionate — it was like being with your girl friend, one correspondent enthused — in addition to being very beautiful and extremely buxom. Peter was sure that both Lakisha and Toni were a lot more busty than Gina (after all, Gina's FF- and Faith's DDD-cup sizes were not all that different in size) but from the sensational tenor of her reviews, it appeared that Gina would nicely fill the bill. If only she were still around when his condoms arrived! Peter couldn't wait!
In the meantime, both sex and everyday life was much better with Amanda. Peter's libido was back at full strength. Because he had taken steps to deal with his big bust obsession, the impulses that had led him to decrease sex a bit with his gorgeous wife meant that her anemic bosom was no longer an issue that impinged on his sex drive. Peter was therefore able to give his wife the hot, steamy loving she deserved — not to mention getting satisfying pleasure out the relationship himself. Meanwhile, he waited expectantly for the arrival of his super-size condoms. Gina, here we come ... er ... cum!