BREAST-TO-BREAST
by Mesmerized – Part 1
Last night my lifelong fantasy came true. For years my wife
has indulged my passion for naturally well-endowed women.
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 life’s little 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 me 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 passionate 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 Lil' Abner.
Her tight, tight, tattered jean 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 spiraling 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 be 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 of 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 our 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 yippeekayyaying 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 that had been brought about by 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
fury of a maniac to hold my footing, eyes riveted to the
bulging breasts above me, now within a foot of a front to
front duel. But I was losing 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 onto 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.
To Be Continued