Rival’s Note:
I am told there are 6 parts to this story, but in the copy of it I have, there are only a couple of breaks. So, I just added separators in those visible splits and didn’t mark parts (since I’m not sure where they would be).
Directly after reading this story, hop on over to JB57’s ending to the tale! You won’t regret it.
Last night my lifelong fantasy came true. For years my wife has indulged my passion for naturally well-endowed w omen. The idea of two bosomy women in a breast-to-breast confrontation simply thrills me. Whose breasts are the biggest, firmest, whose nipples are the best, whose breasts would be flattened or enveloped in a breast fight – this is the stuff of which my fantasies are made.
Angie, my bride of nearly 10 years, is really stacked, to employ a vintage description for a full 36D. Although she has just turned 35, my busty redhead looks grand: 5 foot 5 inches of feminine voluptuousness. She has always been proud of her rack, particularly her breasts, and finds my passion for them highly erotic. Over the years she has catered to my fantasy by verbalizing herself in breast fights with full-breasted women that come into our little life’s circle. In her stories, Angie is the winner and understands that her fantasized victories really turn me on. I love having a wife with the best breasts in the room.
In our friendship clique, there are a number of busty babes. Each of them has been sized up (scrupulously observed in varying degrees of revealing outfits) by Angie and myself and my bride comes out on top.
About six months ago a new couple worked their way into our group. Kate and Buddy are an attractive couple, recent transplants from the east coast. There is nothing particularly remarkable about the two of them except – you know already – Kate is very well-endowed. For the first time, there is a woman in our midst who rivals my lovely Angie. Almost immediately, Kate became part of our breast fight storytelling ritual, and our sexual sessions soon reached new heights of passioned frenzy.
On the real life scene, Angie began emphasizing her assets whenever we knew that Kate and Buddy would be on-hand at any social event. For example, Angie bought the most auspiciously provocative evening gown for the annual Easter Charity Ball. However, Angie’s dramatically plunging neckline created no greater scandal than did Kate’s see-through taffeta dress. Despite a myriad of sequins, I (all of us) could see the fullness, the roundness, the grandness of Kate’s lushness. And despite strategically placed fabric, large areolas provided a glimpse and a rush if one paid close enough attention (and most us boys certainly did).
At the May Day Picnic, Angie selected a braless, sheer, scarlet halter-top that showed everyone about not only breast size and shape, but the state of her nearly constantly (on this given day) erect nipples. She really has a pair of magnificent stiffies. But Kate showed up in a Daisy Mae outfit that would have shocked even Li’l Abner. Her tight, tight, tattered jeans shorts revealed a breathtakingly sexy ass atop those perfectly sculptured legs. However, it was the polka dot blouse, shirttails cinched tight at mid drift, buttons unbuttoned, that kept all eyes at attention. Several times throughout the afternoon, Kate would (accidentally?) bend over and reveal the full wonder of her beauties in all their naked glory. The men were thrilled, the ladies were indignant, and Angie was livid. For the first time my wife had a real contender for her uncrowned, unstated, but heretofore unquestioned title of Best Breasts in the Clan. Our sexual foreplay soon became storytelling of a more violent nature, with Angie practically beating Kate senseless in the fantasized breasts duels.
At the Fourth of July Beach Party the fantasy nearly became fact. Angie pulled out all the stops and bought a sheer bikini with a thong bottom and little patches that barely covered her areolas. The burgundy color was divine with her red hair, violet eyes, and creamy, white skin. We have no children (unlike the other couples in our group), and to be so physically perfect at 35 is simply (in the minds of most women) unfair. Of course, the bikini put absolutely everything on display. There would be no question left unanswered. Exactly what Angie had would forever more be common knowledge to anyone at the beach that day. Even I was a little shocked at the utterly revealing nature of this blatant attempt to put any doubts to rest: Angie wanted to leave no doubt that she was still the Queen.
When we arrived at the beach, most of our friends had already arrived. Angie timed it all in order to make the grand entrance. At the car she slipped off her muumuu and stuffed it in the beach bag. I gazed with wonder for the millionth time at her beautiful body. She may as well have been nude for all the coverage she got from the mini-bikini. I smiled and Angie threw back her shoulders, thrusting her magnificent breasts up and out for all the world to see. Never before had Angie worn anything half so daring in front of friends – in front of anybody for that matter (present company excepted). I found the exhibitionism sexually thrilling, yet slightly unsettling. I was as giddy as a teenager about to cop his first feel. All of our friends were going to be gazing at my wife who was, for all intents and purposes, nude.
Off we trucked to the shoreline, Angie jiggling wonderfully with her confident, bouncy stride. As we approached our group at the far end of the beach, all eyes were not focusing on our well-planned late entrance. They were intently watching a Frisbee being tossed between two players. When we were within 50 yards of the gang, we could see that the Frisbee players were none other than Kate and Buddy. And while the two were not extraordinary at the game by any stretch of the imagination, Kate’s physicality held everyone’s rapt attention. Her long, black hair was being flung every which way as she ran, turned, leapt, dove and screamed delightfully in her efforts to catch the plastic saucer. Although she could not throw very well, the grace and beauty of her catches was a thing of awe. Well, she didn’t catch all that many either, but the very act of trying to catch the damn thing was mesmerizing. Her body was spellbinding.
Kate wore an itty, bitty, teeny, weeny, yellow polka dot bikini (yes, just like in the song) that was astounding. The top of this wild bikini was more like a yellow, polka dot belt, about 3 inches wide and tied in a bow at the back. The 3 inches were apparently enough to cover her nipples, but not much else. As I continued walking toward her, mouth agape and eyes transfixed, I could just make out her chocolate brown areolas, above and below the yellow polka dot belt – top – whatever it was, it was fine. No less fantastic was the tightness of the belt around her breasts. It was cinched to the point where her mammary flesh bulged out the bottom of the belt and practically exploded out the top – compressed breast flesh everywhere – and gobs of it! With her raven hair, naturally dark and deeply tanned skin, the contrast with the ultra bright white and yellow bikini (or whatever you’d call it) was indeed remarkable. I just kept plodding along in the sand, marching to get closer to Kate, not really thinking, just staring and appreciating – being stupid, really.
Suddenly Angie ran straight past me at a full gallop, streaking directly for Kate. It occurred to me that Angie was angry, jealous, or just damned pissed off about having her thunder stolen by this bold and buxom interloper. But that didn’t make any sense. Angie was reasonably level-headed – besides, she wouldn’t make an ass of herself in front of the whole gang by attacking Kate. What was she up to?
Just as Angie reached Kate from a side angle, she put on a short burst of speed and snatched the Frisbee in midair. After a few athletic strides, she stopped and hooted to me, “Keep away, darling. Don’t let Buddy get it.” And with a wicked whip, Angie sent the disc spiralling my way.
Delighted at her antics, I whooped and hollered and made a bee-line for the flying Frisbee. I leapt and snared it behind my back, touched earth, spun and heaved it out to sea, but in an arc that it would bring it back within close proximity to my rambunctious wife (we are very good Frisbee players).
Angie yelped with glee and sprinted toward the ocean, pulling up just short of the encroaching water slithering up the sand, the last remains of spent waves. She let the Frisbee drift back into her waiting hands, then turned toward me. Kate had taken off after her, but still had a good 20 yards to close the gap. Angie smiled her big ear-to-ear dazzler, then heaved the Frisbee from a low center of gravity. The plastic sphere shot directly toward Kate at a frightful speed. Alarmed, Kate screamed and stopped in her tracks, crouching with her hands and arms over her head. But the Frisbee, sent low and hard, was still well under Angie’s control. The updraft hit about 10 yards in front of Kate, sending the disc rocketing skyward until it reached its zenith, then began the downward, backward journey to Angie, who caught what she had thrown, then relaunched it with a perfect strike to me, some 30 yards away.
Buddy had figured out the ploy as well as the abilities of his competition. Rather than chasing the elusive disc, he knew the disc would come to me – and that is where he should be to make the intercept. But I was quick and sent the saucer back to Angie fast and spot on. Strike two. She took off down the wet strip on the shoreline waving the Frisbee up in the air with Kate in hot pursuit.
Buddy and I were laughing and exhorting our wives to carry on the game. We watched with the eyes and loins of men in lust and love with their women. It crossed my mind that every man on the beach would surely by at full mast by now, but nothing to be done about that. There was a real female confrontation at hand: Two beautiful, buxom women in a contest of physical attributes and ability. May the Goddess be blessed.
Angie, out in front, sprinting with her long red hair flowing behind her, was a picture of feminine power and beauty. She was about 50 yards away from me now, seemingly nude at this distance, her big, full breasts undulating up and down, out and in, side to side with the graceful rhythm of her quick, gorgeous strides. Her alabaster skin (each square inch carefully covered with power 30 sun block by yours truly early that morning), shown bright and beautiful against the sparkling sand and shimmering sea.
Fifty feet back, pursuing Angie like a black jungle cat, raced the fabulous Kate, matching her prey stride for stride, silky, long, jet-black hair streaming behind, olive skin bronzed by the sun in stark contrast to the pale sand, the white foam of the breaking waves, and my porcelain-skinned Angie . From where Buddy and I stood, Kate’s little bikini panties were also invisible, but the three inch bright polka dot band strapped around her bosom and back were still apparent to the eye. From our side angle, Kate’s breast flesh seemed to be gushing everywhere at once. Her momentous cleavage was surging up to her chin, a strangely sensuous thing to observe, but I longed to free her from that constraining material and let her breasts roam free. I found myself trying to imagine how big her breasts really were and to compare the size and shape with my wife’s unrestrained beauties.
The remarkable Kate seemed to be closing the distance to Angie (surprising, since my bride is quite the athletic type). I sprinted toward the girls in an attempt to get close enough for a throw from Angie to reach me, Buddy in hot pursuit. Over her shoulder, Angie could see me closing in. She slowed enough to turn and throw, but before she could release the Frisbee, Kate dove the remaining yards, and tackled Angie at mid body. The half thrown Frisbee fluttered and arched toward the open sea. The women struggled together in the sand for a moment, disentangled, jump to their feet, and dashed in hot pursuit of the object of the game, now floating just beyond the breakers. I too changed course, with Buddy not more than 5 yards behind me. We all hit the water at about the same time and distance from the Frisbee. I am a very good swimmer, very comfortable in the sea, having spent my first 10 years after puberty in profound search of the perfect wave. I dove under the first breaker, then hit the surface churning. With a dozen powerful strokes, I reached the Frisbee ahead of the rest and crowing, stood and waved it above my head. The water was only waist deep. Buddy was swimming frantically and would be on me in a moment. I glanced at the women and saw that Angie was a couple body lengths in front of Kate. I whistled my shrillest whistle and threw the Frisbee so that it landed within a stroke of my bride. Buddy saw, stopped swimming and found the bottom with his feet, standing within 2 yards of me.
Angie grabbed the Frisbee and stood holding the disc above her head. However, at her full height, the water was still neck deep. Kate never missed a stroke and just plowed right into Angie, knocking her off balance and simultaneously dragging her down into the water. Angie did not let go of the Frisbee, and resurfaced fighting for her footing, disc still thrust skyward. Kate surfaced and stood face to face with Angie. They were inches apart, really chest to chest, but the damn seawater was covering the important bits. Kate leapt up and tried to snatch the Frisbee from Angie’s upstretched grasp. I gasped from the sheer majesty of what my eyes beheld. During the all out freestyle race to the Frisbee, Kate’s bikini top had given up the cause. When Kate broke the surface her breasts were free as the day she was born. They were beautiful.
My eyes took as much in as possible, before Angie jumped in an effort to increase the height of the Frisbee and keep it above Kate’s grasping reach. For just a moment, both of these unbelievably gorgeous women were chest to chest, breasts to breasts, straining for the Frisbee, oblivious of their staggeringly breathtaking breast confrontation. The sea sirens came together, big breasts smashing straight-on into big breasts, and suddenly the bevy of breasts before my eyes once again submerged, as our bountiful wives crashed back into the water.
Try as I might to freeze-frame the breast duel in my mind, a winner could not be determined. It all happened too fast, and I longed for a replay with stop action control. Kate’s breasts were sumptuous, big and full and round. But so were Angie’s. When they smashed together at the height of their jump, breasts disappeared into breasts – but whose were bigger, firmer, whose had given way? I could not be sure! This much was certain. It was very close and I simply had to know.
While Angie had managed to keep hold of the Frisbee, the battle had become a splashing frenzy of arms and legs. The women were struggling for the Frisbee, but could not regain their footing in order to leap and give us another heart-stopping show. In a flash I formed a plan to right this terrible wrong. I dove the four feet to the seabed and swam as a madman underwater towards the women. I recognized my wife’s buns (those thongs are delicious) and without hesitation stuck my head between her thrashing legs. I came up between her thighs and pulled them tight to my shoulders. Then with a heave, I stood up, Angie using her leg and stomach muscles to stay onboard. Suddenly we were out of the water, I from my stomach up, and Angie completely exposed. I sputtered, glanced up and saw my beautiful bride’s breasts above my head. She was still waving the never submitted Frisbee above newly constructed husband and wife tower, and her breasts were jutting out, voluptuous, firm, and NUDE. The little patch top had gone the way of Kate’s breast belt. I roared my approval at the magic of everything that was happening.
Angie noticed her complete toplessness but showed only pure delight. She was laughing and yippeeayyaying with glee.
Kate was on me in a flash, leaping out of the water, trying to scale our human tower head-on. In a moment her breasts were in my face, and I succumbed to debauchery. I gazed with all my might at the fullness of her magnificent mammaries and tried to imagine, to comprehend whose breasts were bigger, my Angie’s or Kate’s. I couldn’t tell without seeing them breast-to-breast. I narrowed my focus to Kate’s nipples. I had already ascertained that Kate had the bragging rights when it came to areola size. Kate’s big dark ones were much bigger than Angie’s pink ones. But nipples held considerably more significance for me. I scrutinized Kate’s lovelies, now only inches from my eyes. Kate’s nipples were full and erect. They were as big as they were sexy. But were they bigger or firmer than Angie’s stiffened nipples? It was close. I had to know and conspired to do so at once. I opened my mouth and took Kate’s left breast in. I took a big mouthful, areola and all. My tongue sought the answer. Kate’s nipples were incredible, but I knew at once, it was too close to call. I needed a nipple to nipple duel.
I extracted my mouth from its glory and glanced up at Kate who was quickly scrambling to the top of the pile, apparently unaware or unoffended at my liberties. I so wanted her to go breast to breast with Angie. I quickly realized that if Kate could scale Angie’s body without me capsizing, I would be able to see their breasts come together and compare from my very advantageous bottom view. But the whole scenario had been brought about my new best friend (the Frisbee), and the women’s struggle to maintain/gain possession of this little circular piece of plastic was about to cause me to topple. I fought with the furry of a maniac to hold my footing, eye riveted to the bulging breasts above me, now within a foot of a front to front duel. But I was loosing it and realized with despair that in a moment we would all be back thrashing in the water.
Suddenly, Buddy emerged from below, rising face on to me until we were eye to eye. He’d grasped Kate’s thighs and pinned them around his shoulders. Kate immediately understood what had happened and grapevined her shins under Buddy’s arms and clamped them to his back. Her throne was secure. Angie had already locked herself on to my shoulders, her throne also secure. Buddy and I were face to face. That meant Angie and Kate were face to face – and that equated to breast to breast – and all breasts in this contest were big and nude. I smiled and saw Buddy smile back. We both understood what was about to transpire.
Buddy and I gazed in wonder at the breast battle occurring just above us. The women were struggling with the Frisbee held above their heads. Kate had managed to get a hand on it and was trying to wrench it away from Angie’s grasp. As the battle raged above both women’s heads, the breast battle was reaching full pitch above their husband’s heads. Their breasts were ramming and butting and rubbing together with surprising ferocity. The site was a veritable miracle to behold. Stupefyingly beautiful breast flesh (and lots of it) meeting and competing for position and space, banging and bumping for pride and glory (mine anyway). The women were grunting and groaning, screaming and yelling for possession of the Frisbee. Buddy and I were literally cheering for our wives, caring nothing about that silly plastic disc. We were all making quite a ruckus.
At one point, Angie arched her back as she pulled the Frisbee up and behind her. The girls were breast-to-breast, point-to-point at this moment, and I watched spellbound as Kate’s breasts flattened and engulfed my poor Angie’s breasts. I had never imagined how it would look or feel if Angie lost the breast fight, but the truth is I was crestfallen that she was beaten. I felt my eyes actually well with tears as Angie’s breasts disappeared into Kate’s victorious beauties. At that moment, Kate screamed, “Give it to me, you bitch!” and heaved a mighty heave, pulling the Frisbee and my Angie back in the opposite direction. To my utter amazement and joy, Kate’s burst of strength also changed the situation in the breast fight. With profound pride, I stared in ecstasy as the women’s breasts matched up at midway, then screamed my approval as Angie’s big beauties compressed and flattened Kate’s big breasts. Now with Kate stretched back and Angie leaning forward, Angie’s breasts had completely enveloped Kate’s breasts.
Such a rush I have never felt. I began to wallow in Angie’s victory, screaming, “Beat her, sweetie, beat her!”
Buddy suddenly bellowed, “Beat her breasts, baby. Don’t let her flatten you out like that.” His shocking words could have been mine, but they were his. The words struck like lightening and all was suddenly quiet. The women ceased to struggle. Hands still fighting for possession of the Frisbee ceased to fight. Kate and Angie both looked down for the first time and saw that their breasts were (from our point of view) locked in a struggle for supremacy. Simultaneously, both women dropped the Frisbee and violently shoved at each other’s breasts. Buddy and I fell back a step or two, our wives still securely mounted on our shoulders.
“I hear you, darling. Let’s get her!” Kate was screeching at Buddy. She quickly placed her hands behind her back and thrust out her breasts for all they were worth. And, dear reader, they were absolutely amazing – perfect in every detail – and big and firm, very big and firm. Her nipples protruded at least ¾” out and looked as brown and hard as a piece of a giant Tootsieroll. “Ram her, Buddy! Ram her hard – NOW!” screamed Kate with a wicked sneer on her face.
Angie responded in kind. She thrust out her big, beautiful breasts and shook them at Kate. Angie locked her hands behind her back and said loudly and confidently, “Let’s do it baby! Ram her for all your worth and my breasts will do the rest!” Somewhere beyond I could hear the sound of the sea pounding on the shore. There were yells coming from the beach. Somebody was calling my name, Angie’s name. I heard someone scream, “Look out!” but my mind was intensely riveted on the contest about to take place. Angie was going to go breast to breast with the incredible Kate. I wanted my wife to win, and I willed myself to charge forward with all the strength and power within my body and soul.
I took a deep breath, bent slightly forward, and charged for all my worth. Buddy launched his effort and precisely the same moment. So intent was I on assisting in Angie’s victory, I found myself dumb struck when the force hit me. There was a thundering roar and Angie and I careened ass over teakettle, so powerful was the contact with our foes. We were underwater, being tossed about like Raggedy Ann dolls, when Angie was literally ripped from my shoulders. I grabbed for her, but clinched only water. I could not fight my way to the surface because I had not idea which was up. My surfing background taught me to relax and go with the flow when in trouble at sea.
After a few seconds, I popped to the surface like a cork. Suddenly the bottom was under me again, and I stood, shaking my head to clear my senses. A quick perusal of my situation told the story. We had been hit by a rogue shore break – not unusual at this beach, but very unusual for this time of year. It must have been a 10 footer breaking with 20 yards of the shore, in shallow water, creating an explosion of noise and power that overwhelmed the four of us. On the shore, I saw Angie, Kate, and Buddy struggling to crawl away from the next breaker, big by most standards, but small compared to the thunder buster that had wiped us out. The rest of our friends were wading into the surf, attempting to help the stricken swimmers.
I felt the next swell approaching. A quick glance told me that this one would peel from left to right. If I hurried I could catch the peak. Hard kicking and stroking took me to the position I wanted, and the breaking peak picked me up and threw me down the face of the wave. I arched my back, held my head up, pulled by arms behind me, and dipped my right shoulder. My body was projected 3 feet out of the face of the wave and my shoulder tuck created a dramatic right hand turn. I body surfed this perfect wave making two cutbacks and a great bottom turn to line me up for the perfect shore deposit. At the last possible second, I tucked and rolled, flipping to a standing shore landing, directly at the spot where Angie, Kate, and Buddy were struggling to get in, away from the magnetic pull of the undertow.
I scooped Angie up in my arms and sprinted to dry sand. I set her down and ran back for Kate. Up into my arms she went, clinging to me, arms wrapped around my neck. I hotfooted up to Angie and set Kate next to her. I turned to go after Buddy, but our friends were pulling him out and I was not needed. I coughed a time or two, straightened up and pulled my hair flat and tight against the top of my head. I couldn’t wait to see Angie and Kate sitting topless together on the beach. I could really give them the old eyeball measurement now. But more friends had already given these awesome women – Buddy and I called wives – towels in which to wrap their lovely bodies. There were no breasts to see; only smiling faces thanking me for the aid. I felt strangely euphoric and completely drained at the same time. What a day!
I ran off to retrieve our beach bag, which had been unceremoniously dumped when the Frisbee shenanigans began. When I returned with the bag, I found Buddy on his hands and knees, gagging and belching up seawater. He had apparently swallowed several gallons of the Pacific Ocean, and Kate was teasing him about being too soft to play with the big kids. Buddy was not amused.
I reached into the beach bag and handed Angie her muumuu. Still sitting, she slipped it over her head, stood up and pulled the towel that had been wrapped around her out from bottom. I dug back into the beach bag and came out with my XXL San Francisco 49ers t-shirt. I stepped over to where Kate was still sitting and handed my shirt to her. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman, you sweet thing,” Kate purred. She flashed me a luminous smile (white teeth and dark skin create a real sparkle in a grin) and bounded to her feet. She was staring a hole through me with gleaming eyes, and caught me off-guard when she dropped her towel and reached out for the shirt. I understood at once that I had been low-balled. Resist as I might, the temptation to drop my eyes for another good look at her amazing breasts was too powerful. I blushed and looked. Kate took the shirt from me, then said, “My, my, you are a real breast man, aren’t you? Like what you see, darling?”
I had been coyly snookered. What could I say? I was practically drooling. “They’re beautiful – you’re beautiful – hell, life’s beautiful,” I was practically giddy. Kate chuckled seductively (such a thing is possible – think Tallulah Bankhead).
“Well, I certainly like what I see,” Kate said matter-of-factly. She eyed me up and down as though she were ravenous and stopped to ponder my crotch. The swelling (which had begun with dropping of the towel) accelerated. Kate licked her lips.
“You are quite the hunkola, aren’t you?” Kate said, casually slipping my 49er t-shirt on. It never looked better. “I mean the way you body surfed to shore, landing like some superhero, dashing to the damsels in distress, sweeping us up in your powerful arms to whisk us to safety. I practically swooned.”
“I beg your pardon, Kate. Are you flirting with my husband?” Angie had had enough of this very public display of lust for her husband. She now stood next to Kate, hands on hips, a bit of a sneer on her face.
“Absolutely, sweet cheeks,” was Kate’s casual reply. She never took her eyes of my trunks which were now full of a lot more than good will.
In a flash, Angie grabbed Kate’s arm and spun her till both women stood face to face. Kate shook her arm free of Angie’s grasp, and said in a measured tone, “Keep your hands of me. When a great looking guy has the balls to tongue my nipple, a little flirting seems a mild response.” The rage in my hard-on diminished significantly on the spot.
“What the fuck are you talking about, bitch!” Angie was spitting mad.
“During our little game of chicken, Pedro (my name is Peter, but Kate had chosen to call me the Spanish version from the first time we met) felt compelled to take a taste…a good, proper taste. It was as if he were measuring me, so focused was his tongue work. I was surprised, but stimulated nonetheless. Breast men. You know the problem. These breasts are like magnets.” Kate moved her hands over the t-shirt and lifted her breasts, pointing them directly at Angie.
Angie was now fuming. She grabbed her own breasts from the outside of her muumuu, lifted them up and pointed them directly at Kate. “Well, my man already has his own set of magnets to keep him thoroughly content. So back off, Kate, before you embarrass yourself.”
“Nothing you’ve got is going to embarrass me, babe. You back off before you get humiliated.” Kate punctuated her statement by breast butting Angie, who was knocked back a couple of steps. Both women were still holding on to their breasts. Angie caught her balance and launched herself forward. Kate did the same. They came together in mid air with shocking force, but neither woman gained an appreciable advantage. Both set to relaunch, weapons held high, when suddenly Buddy stepped up aggressively and manhandled Kate away from the building turmoil.
“What the hell are you doing, Kate?” Buddy said through gritted teeth. Kate was struggling to free herself from her husband’s grasp.
“Let go of me, fucker, and I’ll show you,” Kate yelled and made a lunge for Angie, not the thing to do when your arms are pinned to the side of your body. Unimpeded, Angie lashed out and struck a loud, open hand slap on Kate’s cheek.
“Grab your wife, goddamnit, Peter. Help me get this under control,” Buddy shouted, his voice full of exasperation. Angie was perfectly willing to inflict another face cracker on her nemesis, not bothered in the least that Kate was virtually defenceless. Why oh why would I want to bring this conflict under control.
Nevertheless, I rose to the occasion, throwing my arm around Angie, and half walking, half carrying, moved her away from Kate and Buddy. “Come on, my darling,” I said attempting a calming presentation. “Let’s walk away from this together. This is supposed to be a beach party, a celebration of Independence Day. All our friends are here, their children, the festivities are barely underway, and we don’t want to go and spoil it for everyone else, do we?” I tried hard to sound convincing, but Angie knows me too well.
“Right, stud. You don’t want me to fight this woman here and now, in front of all our friends. You don’t want me to strip her, pin her to the ground, my breasts smashing her breasts flat; you don’t want me to make her beg to be forgiven for such impertinence; to make her shout that I am the better woman; to make her cry out loud for all to hear that my breasts and bigger and better than hers. You want me to walk away and be a nice, civilized yuppie, a delicate female flower, non-aggressive, non-confrontational. And right after that, you want me to have a major breast reduction. Right! To whom do you speak, oh, ‘real breast man’ ‘I almost swooned.’” Angie was mimicking Kate’s words with a real flare for show-womanship. She continued her diatribe: “And what the hell is that flabby titted bitch talking about – you measuring her nipple with your tongue. What the fuck is that?” As I said, I was half carrying Angie – she was not at all happy about being dragged away from my dream breast fight. Nor was I. Not in the least.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Kate was still struggling to pull away from Buddy and their heated argument had not cooled one iota. But I had my own problems. Tonguing another man’s wife’s nipple in public is difficult to explain let alone defend.
“Come on, darling,” I soothed. “We were all caught up in the heat of the action. Suddenly one of her breasts was in my face, then the next thing I knew it was in my mouth.” Jesus, what an idiot I am. Nobody would buy that story, least of all my bride. Nipple tonguing is about my favorite thing on earth. “And yes I used my tongue. I wanted to measure her with the most exacting instrument available to me. And that is the truth.” And it was.
Angie ceased the struggle to escape from my clutches. “Well, how big and stiff is she? Do I beat her?” Angie was now whispering, but with a real sense of urgency. “How big are her tits, Pete? Don’t you think I am bigger and firmer?”
“Well, I couldn’t tell. It is very close, sweetheart. Obviously, Kate has a beautiful body and her breasts are the second best I have ever seen. But, your breasts, Angie, are more beautiful than Kate’s.” I knew this answer would not satisfy my wife. No chance.
“That’s bullshit!” Angie was very agitated. “Men love that olive skin look and her fucking areolas are twice the diameter of mine. If we took a vote right now of those at this beach party, I bet my tits would lose.”
I smile and responded. “Not so, my dear. You were magnificent. That was the most exciting rush of my life. It was absolutely thrilling to see you going toe to toe, tit to tit, body to body with the only woman in the history of our friendship circle that holds even a candle to you. It would not have been half so thrilling if you were going up against Bobbie Joe or Jane. They are real C cup foxes, but in a different league all together than your babies. No, honey, it was a real gas of an experience – breathtaking to behold. And, believe me, I was rooting with all my heart for you. I want my gal to be number one in any room (as you so well know) or any beach for that matter. At one point yours had actually flattened hers and engulfed them. That was when Buddy screamed at Kate, ‘Don’t let her flatten your tits like that.’ You really were beating her.” Not exactly true, but not a lie either.
Angie beamed her brightest. “I really was, wasn’t I. My breasts are fuller and firmer; my nipples longer and stiffer. That is why she was coming on to you. It was a female way of masking her loss. I am going over there and challenge her to a tit fight right here and now – in front of everyone. I want to beat her in front of our friends – in front of her husband – in front of you, my darling. I’ll teach her to show her tits to my man with me standing right there. I’ll rip the fuckers off her right here and now.”
I had relaxed my grip after Angie had calmed down. Now she broke away from me and turned to head off and confront Kate.
To Be Continued
Practically crippled with anticipation and anxiety, emotionally torn between preventing or encouraging a titfight on a very public beach on a very family day, I staggered after my fearless bride. But Kate and Buddy had vanished..
Angie and I arrived at the scene of where the confrontation took place to find all our friends talking at once. “Where are Kate and Buddy,” I yelled above the din.
“Where is that bitch?” hollered Angie to no one and everyone.
For the next several hours, our entire clan spoke of nothing but the amazing and fascinating events that transpired before Kate and Buddy made their flaming exit. The consensus was that the argument between Kate and Buddy had escalated to the shouting, pushing stage. Kate had been relentlessly determined to confront Angie and “kick her ass” here and now. Buddy strongly objected to such a “primitive and uncivilized display in front of everybody” to the point where he finally physically carried her off to their car parked several hundred yards away. Everyone could not get over how “wild” Kate was behaving. The conversations about it all were fast and furious and went on ad infinitum.
Our women friends promptly gathered around Angie for all the gossipy details. Had Angie seen that Katie bitch flaunt her nudeness in front of Peter (me)? What had given Katie the idea that she could get away with such brazen behavior? What had happened between Kate and Angie to start the chicken fight in the ocean? Wasn’t Katie actually rubbing her tits in Peter’s face at one point? Had Katie breast-butted Angie first or had Angie been the aggressor? Generally the women seemed to rally around Angie – most of them had been friends since college – a couple since high school. We were a pretty tight-knit group and Katie was the newcomer, a.k.a., outsider.
Several of the women took the high road, sniping about Katie’s “slutty antics,” tsk-tsking Katie’s “streetwalker persona,” casting down negative comments about Katie’s general appearance and behavior (cheap, shameless, classless) and pretty much verbally tore Katie apart. It was clear that these B and C cup girls were jealous. The gals were split as to Angie’s next move: “Kick her ass,” or “Ignore her.”
The men had a very different take on the subject. My best friend, Danny, summed it up. “Jesus, Pete, those are the two best sets of tits I have every seen. You are a lucky dog, bro!” Until the Fourth of July 2002, none of us had seen the breasts of each others’ wives. In one brief encounter, the boys had seen the best breasts in the clan, nude – up close and personal. It was, as they say, a red letter, fucking day.
Danny (and perhaps a couple of the other guys) know about my obsession with bountiful breasts. “Whose breasts were bigger and better, Pete: Angie’s or Katie’s? You were close enough to suck them. Who won?”
“No comment, mate,” I whispered. “They are both beautiful, buxom women. Katie seemed to be coming on to me, but I think it was just to make Angie jealous. It was getting pretty competitive out there during the Frisbee game. I think Kate was tweaking Angie.”
The men wanted a blow by blow from me. They (we) were all obviously stimulated by the exposed breasts and physical confrontation. I resisted blabbing on and on about Katie’s great rack, well aware that my words would be taken straight back to the girls and, eventually, Angie.
Everyone present, women and men, thought Angie slapping Katie was courageous (ballsy) and appropriate. And while all the men were practically drooling over both women’s big, naked breasts, most found themselves highly intrigued with the size of Katie’s areolas. While breast size, shape and firmness, as well as nipple size, shape, and stiffness are my big turn-ons, the male side of our group had been transfixed by Katie’s areolas. Different strokes for different folks, as they say.
Of course, everyone wanted to know if Angie intended to confront Kate again. “She came on to your man and wagged her tits in his face. You cannot let that bitch think she can get away with it,” this being Barbara’s (full C cups set high on her chest) slant on things.
“Don’t you bend to her level, deary. You already called her on the slutty behavior and you slapped her face for it. You won. Leave it alone, now. None of us will welcome that husband chaser into our homes again,” this from Bobby-Jo (full C cups not as high as Barbara’s, but rounder). Listening to there contrary opinions, I began fantasizing about a titfight between Barbara and Bobby-Jo. My money would be on Bobby-Jo. My fetish is rampant – everywhere – ubiquitous. Carumba, I love the female bosom.
The beach party lasted later than usual, but the day had been far more extraordinary than usual. In the end, we all went home a little too drunk with hours of sexual innuendos on our minds. I’ll bet there wasn’t a quiet bed in the clan that night. Angie and I made love non-stop until dawn. We weren’t quiet for a moment. We were either groaning or talking – recapitulating the events of the day and storytelling about the events to come. I had one of those nights when no matter how many times I came, my Standing Hampton continued to stand. And Angie had screaming orgasms again and again, the threshold usually coming as I pronounced my bosomy Angie the winner over her breast-beaten foe, Katie. If nothing in the way of a breast-to- breast confrontation ever came my way again, I felt this one beach experience had provided me with enough to refill the fantasy pool for a lifetime. But something grander, beyond my wildest fantasies was bearing down upon us even as we fucked about breasts beating breasts.
At work the next day, I couldn’t keep my mind off Angie titfighting Katie. I couldn’t keep my eyes off women’s bustlines nor my mind from Angie and Katie squaring off for the ultimate duel. After an entire night of passionate intercourse, I kept finding myself in the men’s room, reliving the beach confrontation or taking it to the next level. By lunchtime, I had accomplished nothing but another three ejaculations.
I had decided to rush home to Angie for “a quickie” and was just leaving the office building, when I walked right into Katie. She looked up into my eyes and smiled. I looked down onto her four inch cleavage and smiled. “Katie, my darling, you look ravishing.” I was flirting with the first words out of my mouth. I lusted for her. I loved her. I was mad for her.
“You are a sexual god, Pedro.” Katie reached up and grabbed behind my neck, pulling me down to her mango-flavoured lips, and I melted into her face, behind her eyes, melding with her feminine sexuality. It was if we were alone in the universe, nude, ready to couple for the first occasion in cosmic history. I felt the fullness of her glorious breasts, the heat of her expanding nipples, the moisture of her throbbing vulva, yet nothing had touched but our lips. A feeling of vertigo nearly overwhelmed me, then I found my balance and stopped devouring her mouth.
“I can resist anything but temptation,” was the best I could muster. “You are irresistibly tempting, Katie.”
“Same back at you, big guy. How long is your penis?” Katie purred with nary a moment of discomfort.
“Eight and a half inches. What size is your bra?” It just came out, no muss, no fuss.
“34DD, bulging. When you’re inside me, you will be with a virgin for the last 2 ½ inches“. Katie’s directness was as intoxicating as was her heavily heaving bosom. “I want you like I have never wanted anyone or anything in my life. Let’s go fuck till we die.”
“My wife.”
“And my husband? I have never wanted him like I want you, but we fucked all night because I couldn’t have you. And you fucked your wife all night because you couldn’t have me. Admit it so we can get down to pleasure.” Katie was pleading, just slightly. I understood her desperation.
“We talked about you, Katie, all night long. It was the best sex we ever had.” I was spilling the proverbial beans.
“Now that is fascinating. She wants me, too? I would have thought she wanted to rip me to pieces. I certainly was ready to tear your bride a new asshole and hand it to you as part of our prenuptial agreement.” Katie was smiling a most lascivious smile.
“We were fantasizing about the two of you, my wife and you, in a breast fight. Angie was verbalizing a scenario where she was practically beating you to death with her breasts. I found it thrilling. I believe breasts are the most sexual and profound organ of female sexuality. More than anything else physical, breasts separate women from women – distinguish the physical, sexual presentation of a woman from other women. Nothing sexual is on constant display like women’s breasts – clearly exhibited in every outfit at every moment. Women build entire wardrobes around enhancing their breasts. They pad them, they stuff them with plastic, they expose décolletage, they buy exotic paraphernalia to lift them, plump them, firm them, and create the illusion of large, stiff nipples. I have been thinking about, lusting after, making passionate love to women’s breasts, real and imagined, since puberty. I am, beyond anyone you have ever known, a breast man to the core. At the beach party, your breasts were the first breasts that had ever rivalled my wife’s breasts. I was swept away by the confrontation – the comparison of these most feminine of female physical assets. It was the most exciting event of my life.”
Katie never missed a beat. “I want you to worship my breasts, Pedro. I want you to devour them with that amazing tongue of yours. I want you to fuck them. I want your shaft sliding between them, back and forth until ecstasy. I want you to feel my nipples grow against the tip of your penis – feel and watch my blood engorge them while your blood engorges your throbbing cock. I want you to smother my breast flesh, my swelling areolas, my throbbing nipples with your kisses while you are deep inside me – deeper than anyone has or will ever be. I want you to see my breasts beside other busty women – to measure me against them – to know your woman has the best breasts – the biggest, the fullest, the shapeliest, the largest areolas, the longest, stiffest, thickest nipples – all of me, all of my breasts will be for your pleasure – for pleasing your lust, your passion for bountiful bosoms. My breasts alone can and will completely fulfil your sexual needs for the rest of your life. So let it be written, my darling, so let it be done. I have never been sure of love before. The moment I saw you, I knew. You are for me, forever. I love you.”
I was swept away.
Katie’s eyes were a shimmering hazelnut brown. She was using them to peer into my lustful soul, gazing intently into my baby blues, searching for truth. Holding her intense gaze, I felt her hands lifting mine until they cupped her breasts from the sides. She pressed her hands on top of mine and lifted up until we were holding the weight of her magnificent double handfuls.
“These are yours, my darling. They are my gift of love to you. I know you want them. Engulf yourself in my breasts, Pedro.” Katie’s voice was silky with meaning, seductive beyond pure sound.
We were standing on the sidewalk at Polk and Broadway in downtown San Francisco. The area is known as “The Border” – the demarcation between “Straightsville and Wantonville.” Pedestrians and car drivers and passengers are accustomed to watching wild people cavort in wild ways along these fascinating byways– but a businessman in a three-piece Pierre Cardin and a stylishly if seductively dressed bountiful beauty standing on the sidewalk locked in enraptured eye contact with their interlocking hands holding these amazing breasts was unusual even for the City by the Bay. I was vaguely aware of people stopping to stare – cars stopped in the middle of the street, not driving on. A few gawkers began to whistle and applaud. Still our very full hands held fast – our eyes strayed for nary a moment. We did not speak.
After a time, Katie’s eyes softened and her face relaxed into a smile. She gently took my hands from her breasts and moved them to her lips. She kissed both my palms gently, slowly, confidently and held my hands in front of her.
“The only way I am going to have you on my own terms is to turn your fantasy into a reality. I will challenge your wife to a breast fight and take you as the spoils of my victory. I will beat Angie in front of you and make her admit I am the better woman. Wouldn’t you love to see us in an all out woman to woman battle of the bosoms, best woman keeps the object of our mutual affection.” Katie was very serious, and I, needless to say, was seriously excited.
I felt flushed and befuddled. “And what about your husband? How does Buddy fit into all of this, Katie?. I understood that he was furious at you for wanting to fight Angie at the beach. ”
“Buddy would love to see me fight Angie. My husband, like yourself, Pedro, loves bountiful bosoms and derives enormous sexual satisfaction knowing I am the Breast Queen in our group of friends – whichever group that may be. Here in San Francisco, I am still his Breast Queen. He is passionate about the idea of me physically conquering any would-be challenger to my throne. Buddy calls me his ‘Royal Breastress.’
“Of course, he loves a good challenge, and Angie comes as close as anyone during our marriage to measure up to my voluptuousness. What Buddy does not like is my attraction to you, dear Pedro. During the course of our lovemaking bouts since we moved to the Bay Area, our fantasy-playing has taken on new dynamics. Not surprisingly, Angie has become the focus of our sexual story playing. As always, my breasts profoundly defeat her breasts in each imagined scenario. However, you, my sweet Pedro, have begun to play a larger role.” Listening to Katie talk was like listening to my sexual soul fantasize. This woman was to die for.
Katie continued, “Buddy knows my passions very well. He recognized immediately my lust for you. By the time I stood up on the beach, dropped the towel, and let your eyes feast on my breasts, old Buddy had seen enough. He has always wanted me to dominate another woman with my breasts in a public situation, but not enough to risk losing me. Buddy wasn’t afraid of me fighting Angie. Quite the contrary. But he understood that I would be fighting for you, not for him.
“Your plump breasted wife had the audacity to slap me in public. I wanted to thrash her in front of the clan – humiliate her with my superior breasts, body, courage, determination – womanliness. But most of all I wanted to show you, my sexy Pedro, that I am more woman than your wife. That would lead to you and I together since you are obviously the type of man who will settle for only the best. Buddy was crystal clear on that point. Ergo, he manhandled me off the beach – a big mistake on his part. As you see today, I have decided to take things into my own hands – or our hands, I should say.” Katie lifted my hands to her very full, firm breasts once again. “Need I say more. My breasts are burning with desire for you, Pedro.” She left my hands on her breasts and pulled my head toward hers. Suddenly our mouth were devouring each other again and my thumbs and forefingers were kneading her nipples – nipples that thickened and lengthened at my touch.
“Are your breasts real, Katie,” I gushed in mid kiss?
“Yes, my darling. 100% genuine – no enhancement beyond the natural gifts of the goddess.” Katie was talking in the midst of our passionate lip and tongue and teeth exchange. Our breathing became heavy, Katie’s nipples seem to continue to grow, her breasts felt on fire and huge. “Are Angie’s breasts real,” Katie almost moaned during a hot little lip bite?
“Yes, Angie’s are the real thing,” I managed just before Katie began sucking my tongue in a beautifully suggestive way.
“Would you like me to fight her for you, Pedro – to prove to her and you that I am the better woman – to be your Breast Queen. Would you like that, baby? Feel my nipples swelling, Pedro. Imagine my nipples matched up to Angie’s nipples – our breasts lined up for the ultimate comparison. Can you see it? Am I beating her, Pedro?”
A horn blare brought me out of my reverie. I glanced up to find a motocop straddling his bike, staring at our display with a shit-eating grin. “Take it to the bedroom, cowboy,” he snickered. I dropped my hands from Katie’s breasts and pulled gently back from her inspired kissing.
“Sorry, Officer. We’re on our way,” I stammered.
“Oh, I can see that, Studley. Just get on your way to somewhere private – NOW!”
I quickly glanced around and realized that dozens of people were gaping in awe at our display. One guy gave me the thumbs up and another began clapping – then another, and another. Soon it seemed that everyone on Polk and Broadway was clapping, whistling, or honking – as in, “Honk if you love hot sex at lunchtime in public.”
Chuckling despite myself, I was delighted to see that Katie found humor in our passion, as well. “Okay, Studley – let’s get out of here and find out if your Angie is willing to fight for her man. I am going to give you the hottest, most glorious day of your life. I am going to fulfil your wildest fantasy and then take you deep inside of me while you suck my victorious nipples. Just take me to your house, baby. I’ll do the rest.”
JB57 continued this story, and his take on what happens after the above ending can be found here!