Prime Curves
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Prime Assets Ch. 07 free porn video
Howard sat with Emma in the kitchen back at home while she calmed down. He had been called out to the research clinic when Emma’s sexual hysteria had refused to die down, and had driven her home.
Simon had arrived in from work around the same time, and sat in the living room, peering in confusion at the tall, handsome stranger in the sharp suit and raincoat, giving his bosomy tenant quiet words of reassurance.
‘I’m going to have to leave now, Emma,’ Howard said, patting his client’s hand. ‘You’ll be okay here with Simon, won’t you?’
Emma nodded, her large, shapely chest heaving beneath her clumsily-buttoned gingham shirt. A lab assistant at Harding Sciences had dressed her, and not done a particularly good job of it. ‘Thanks, Howard,’ she said with a weary, sheepish smile. ‘I, I don’t know what got into me. I needed to cum. So badly!’
‘I know,’ said Howard, ‘You explained what happened, and I understand. Perhaps the assignment was too much too soon.’
What Emma wasn’t telling Howard was that the interrupted orgasm still lurked within her. She was still harbouring a ferocious hunger for, well, anything that would finish her off, to give her closure on the hours spent working up her sexual appetite. But she had, at least, managed to regain her outward composure convincingly enough to put Howard’s mind at ease, and the dashing agent stood and made his way to the door, having a word with Simon on his way out.
Simon. Emma contemplated his cock, that cock which responded so readily to the sight and sensation of her proud breasts. It would be easy, so easy to make him hers the minute Howard shut the front door behind him, to begin stripping, order him to get it out, and to have her horny way with it, making sure not to set him off too quickly with an accidental nipple-slip. But, as she watched him walk back through the hall toward her, she dispelled the sex-crazed notion from her mind. She couldn’t keep taking advantage of poor Simon this way. He had masturbatory fantasies of his own, probably concerning much slimmer supermodel women, and preying on his baser animal urges (which were, she was still convinced, the only reason that he and these other men were responding so viscerally to her womanly attributes) was a lurid, selfish act of exploitation. So she hurried past Simon, doing her best to resist the temptation to ‘accidentally’ graze the tender tips of her frustrated bosom against him in doing so, hurried up the stairs, slammed shut the door and locked it, stripped down to her socks and writhed around on the bed, groping her every erogenous zone in a frenzy until, sobbing, she came, the orgasm nearly knocking her unconscious. She lay, dozing, until she heard Simon go to bed, then crept downstairs to make herself a late supper.
Howard hadn’t given any indication that the following day’s meeting with the movie star Jessica Maitland was not to go ahead as planned, and so the following morning Emma got the train to Pinewood Studios. Any lingering feelings of guilt and embarrassment over her complete loss of self control were temporarily swept away by the starstruck prospect of meeting one of her busty redhead heroes, the woman who had made it fashionable once again to be pale and curvaceous. Maitland was mainly known for her romantic comedies, so her shooting a thriller was a novel and exciting departure, especially if it was to be so sexy as to require a body double.
Emma’s assumption that she was a shoo-in for the job had been a slight misunderstanding, and in fact she was still going to have to formally audition and screentest, as the letter she’d been sent to confirm the time and place of this first meeting was at pains to clarify. But she wasn’t going to let that caveat spoil her excitement, nor was she going to acknowledge the spectre of her ignominious performance past. The notion of appearing as an uncredited, anonymous nude body double of a major film star seemed like the perfect way for her to have her cake and eat it. She could live out those teenage showbiz dreams without the constant risk of her boobs bouncing out unexpectedly and causing a spunky public disturbance. Her boobs would be bare to begin with, their cum-on-the-spot powers diminished through the medium of photographic reproduction, and in any case their characteristics would be attributed to the big star. And, all being well, she’d be paid a juicy fee.
She had opted to wear a form-hugging green dress of soft, stretchy cotton. Given that the audition was to concern itself to a major extent with her breasts, she wanted to make sure that they looked their best, and there was no denying that their shape was far superior without a bra than with one. Until she could find a bra that matched the elegant, swooping form of each breast without squashing them, tilting them downwards, or separating her neat, natural cleavage, she was going braless when her bosom was going to be the centre of attention. Modelling the knee-length, number with its daringly low-cut strapless neckline for Simon that morning, his hapless erection upon seeing it had been proof enough that it did her breasts justice. He was on his way out to catch his train, and she felt terrible for leaving his penis so hard without contributing to its alleviation. A quick flash and jiggle would have sorted him out, but then he’d have had to spend time cleaning himself up, and he was in a hurry. She didn’t know how long the day would be, but she decided that if she got home before he retired for his nightly wank that she would treat him to a nice bouncy titfuck and let him spend his horny load all over her creamy, freckled bosom in those long, thick ropes of cum it always seemed to coax from him and other straight men.
She snapped herself out of her daydream as a rush of excitement sent goosebumps up her spine with a quiver that sent her unconstrained bust into an unsteady sway within the green dress.
The train had stopped briefly at Southall station, most of the passengers alighting. A skinny, spotty boy of eighteen sat down in the seat opposite her that had been vacated by a myopic old lady, and he was about to start his book when he did a double-take at the sight of Emma’s gently bobbing chest. He continued to stare over the top of his book as the train pulled away with a bump that sent Emma’s ample, shapely bosom into more energetic reverberations.
Emma felt the boy’s X-ray eyes on her attention-starved nipples which throbbed pre-boobgasmically a fraction of an inch below the tube-top neckline of the strapless dress. But where once upon a time she would instinctively have drawn her white cardigan shut over her cleavage with a reprimanding glare, she decided instead to encourage the horny teenager’s gaze by removing the knitwear top altogether. She leaned forward, freckled cleavage wobbling as she wriggled her arms out of the sleeves, noting the twitch in the boy’s groin as the tips of her breasts squashed against her knees. Sitting up straight again, Emma arched her slender back to emphasise the jutting cantilevered effect of her high bosom, then raised her arms to adjust her ponytail, lifting those upswept, precariously-clothed jugs to even perkier heights, wilfully overdoing the activity to propel them into a gentle, unfettered wobble that seemed like it could continue for hours under its own momentum. The green fabric grazed back and forth over her small, swelling areolae, which felt so good and so naughty. In fact, it felt like her nipples were the only thing holding the neckline of the dress in place.
‘What’s your name,’ smiled Emma as she dropped her arms either side of her swaying chest. They were alone at their end of the carriage now.
‘T-Tom,’ stammered the boy.
‘And how old are you?’
‘Eighteen,’ Tom said, warily.
Good, thought Emma with relief. She shouldn’t really be teasing a minor like this.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to an audition for a film, and it’s going to have an over-eighteens certificate. So I’m we
aring an over-eighteens dress.’ She giggled, to put the startled boy at his ease.
Tom just gaped at her jostling, half-naked breasts. What a cutie, thought Emma. She’d always had a thing for nerds.
‘And of course, underneath the dress I’m most definitely rated eighteen. You never see bosoms like mine in PG films, do you?’
Tom’s breathing sped up as he took in the sight of the bosom in question. ‘Um, I suppose not.’
‘You know why that is?’
Tom shook his head.
Emma leaned in closer, cleavage swelling enormously, and lowered her voice. ‘Because they give men big, thick erections. And that’s kind of inappropriate for a family film, don’t you think? You don’t see perky breasts the size of these in Disney movies. Especially not braless in low-cut dresses. Do you?’
‘You’re b-b-braless?’ Tom covered his tented lap with his book.
‘Oh come come, isn’t it obvious?’ Emma sat up straight again and thrust her absurdly proud breasts out, their rounded summits aiming up over Tom’s shoulders despite complete lack of support. ‘Surely the bouncy jiggles must have given the game away?’ Hands on rounded hips, she gave a practised burlesque shoulder-shimmy that sent her boobs into violent, careening trajectories that very nearly caused the neckline of the dress to snap clear of her budding nipples and disappear down around her stomach below.
‘But they’re so, they’re so…’ Tom became the latest in a growing series of men not to believe his eyes.
‘Firm?’ said Emma. ‘Pert?’
‘So beautiful!’ whispered the instantly smitten lad.
‘Feel them if you don’t believe me.’ Emma was, yet again, crossing the boundary of what was socially responsible. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but it was giving her such a taboo thrill, this long-suppressed novelty of visceral sexual attraction. It was too much fun not to test its limits. ‘Here, give me your hand.’
A trembling, sweaty teenage hand found its way into the vast surface of her right breast, two fingers and a thumb on the green fabric, two fingers on the smooth, naked flesh exposed above it. She studied his eyes intently as they darted nervously up and down, side to side, confronted with this vision of extreme, potent femininity.
‘You may slip your hand under the dress, if you like,’ Emma whispered. ‘Just don’t pull it down. I can’t let you see the girls naked.’
Undeterred by this stated condition, Tom allowed his fingers, then his hand, then his wrist, to disappear beneath the cotton and caress the flawless sensual globe of Emma’s right boob. Ever so gently he squeezed and prodded, and Emma’s throbbing areola got the hands-on attention it needed.
‘No.’ The word came out of Emma’s mouth, uttered by some vestige of her conscience.
‘Wh-what? But you said…?’ Tom’s hand froze rigid against her tit.
Emma lifted the limb out from under the dress, letting it snap back onto her braless bosom, which wobbled briskly. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. It was wrong.’
‘But I was…’ Tom lowered his voice. ‘I was so close. I was about to… you know.’
The conductor’s voice rang out over the public address, announcing the train’s imminent arrival at Slough, where Emma was due to catch the number 58 bus to Pinewood. She grabbed her cardigan and handbag and stood, her bosom hovering imperiously and erotically over Tom’s baffled, scarlet face. Should she leave him like this? What was the right thing to do? Leave him or relieve him? He looked so helpless.
She decided to put him out of his misery. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Cum.’ She looked around quickly to double-check that no-one else was watching, then yanked down the neckline of her dress, causing her breasts to extend outward by the extra inch that the dress was still flattening. Her bare nipples stared outward, pale, swollen to their full size (which still wasn’t very big), and every bit as sexually frustrated as the cock in Tom’s trousers.
But while she was going to have to continue to suffer in unresolved boob-ache, Tom was the lucky one. His eyes bulged as his groin throbbed, the bleachy scent wafting upwards informing Emma’s nose that teenage cum was pumping in endless torrents out of those young balls into his trousers and pants and probably all the way down his trouserleg.
‘Are you done?’ the bare-breasted redhead asked in a hurry, noting the train’s bumpy deceleration into Slough.
Tom shook his beetroot-coloured head, his hips still jerking and twitching involuntarily as the sight of Emma’s breasts continued to milk him.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Emma, ‘I should never have done this.’ By way of apology she treated Tom to a sensual shimmy of her huge, perfectly-formed, pale-nippled breasts. With a croaking gasp, the boy lurched forward as his genitals writhed in the final, painful throes of dry-heaving orgasm. The train stopped and, without looking back, Emma lifted her dress back up over her chest and scampered, bouncing heavily, through the carriage doors and onto the platform, where she made a jiggly beeline for the exit.
You’re a bad, bad girl, she told herself, donning her plastic sunglasses.
At the studio gate, the security guard’s gaze didn’t make it higher than Emma’s pale, wobbling cleavage. ‘Morning, Miss Maitland,’ he mumbled, distracted. Emma breezed past with a quiet confident chuckle. Actually being mistaken for the bosomy film star must surely qualify her for the body double job above any other candidate, she reasoned.
The small map drawn on the letter directed her to a unit within a prefab office building on the lot. A scruffy middle-aged man with a clipboard and a baseball cap crossed the tarmac to speak to her.
‘Here for the audition?’ he said.
‘Yes!’ beamed Emma, thrusting forth her barely-clothed bosom.
‘I’m the casting director,’ he said to her breasts. ‘Come with me.’
Excited, Emma followed the man through a door and along a corridor into a windowless room that was empty apart from a desk and chair. The casting director was a rather dishevelled character, but she reminded herself that the film industry was not all glamour. It was a business much like any other, and the people behind the camera did not have to adhere to the same standards of physical attractiveness as those in front of it.
‘Stand there.’ The man (Emma hadn’t caught his name, if indeed he had introduced himself at all, which she was fairly certain he hadn’t) pointed to the corner of the room. ‘I’ll just take some photos and videos of you.’ He took a smartphone from his pocket and held it up. Again, Emma found this prosaic lack of sophistication rather disappointing, but she stood patiently in her green dress while the man documented her physique.
‘Excellent breasts,’ he remarked.
‘Thank-you!’ said Emma as enthusiastically as she could. This was not at all what she had expected. But she figured she may as well enjoy the attention her needy body was getting. ‘They’re a size thirty-four double-F!’
‘Very nice,’ said the man. ‘All natural?’
‘All natural,’ Emma nodded. Her breasts quivered involuntarily, as though they had overheard and were trying to prove the point themselves.
‘Strip to your underwear, please,’ said the man. ‘I’ll do it, too, if it makes you feel more comfortable.’
Emma watched, befuddled, as he pulled down his tracksuit bottoms. A semi-erection prodded at grey boxer shorts. He took off his baseball cap to reveal a lank, thinning combover, and began to unbutton his shirt.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Emma said. ‘But I’m not wearing any. Any underwear, I mean.’
The man stopped and stared. Emma was becoming very used to that expression on a male face. ‘You don’t say.’
‘My bosoms look so much nicer without a bra,’ Emma explained. ‘They’re so firm and perky, so round and smooth. It seems a shame to ruin that with all the lace and elastic and wire. And it’s the same with knickers. They dig into me, and it spoils the line of the
dress.’
‘I guess I’m taking these boxer shorts off, too!’ laughed the man.
‘I guess so!’ Emma laughed, too, though she wasn’t sure why. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up past her wide hips to bare her ginger bush to this strange casting director.
In turn, the man pulled his boxers down past his by now increasingly stiff cock. It was about the same size as Simon’s, Emma couldn’t help but note, although the testicles, older, swung low and heavy. ‘Excuse the erection,’ he said casually.
You ain’t seen nothing yet, thought Emma as she peeled the green dress up over her cute, pale belly until the garment was nothing more than a boob-tube. ‘That’s fine,’ she smiled. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘I bet you are,’ leered the naked, priapic man standing before her.
She yanked the dress up and let her bare breasts bounce free, bracing herself for the inevitable. Indeed, she was still wrestling it through her red hair when she felt the hot seed pelt her still-throbbing nipples, then her stomach, then her bare quim.
‘Unh!’ grunted the man in shock. ‘Fuck! Oh holy fuck!’
Emma cast the rolled-up dress aside and simply stood there while the man came, his knees trembling and eyes bulging. Her nude breasts swayed gentle from the upheaval. To her surprise, the man, light-headedly losing his balance, keeled forwards, catching himself by planting his outstretched hands onto Emma’s large, firm boobs. He moaned again as the sensation causes yet further arousal to surge into his groin, and Emma felt the swollen head of his cock press into her stomach as it resumed its energetic purging of jism.
Inappropriate though this seemed, and despite a growing suspicion that this man might not, in fact, be a casting director at all, let alone the one for the Jessica Maitland thriller, Emma nonetheless felt compelled to exploit the situation. She felt the man’s cock with her right hand, ignoring his consequent wail of ecstatic agony. It was still hard, still ejaculating. She manoeuvred it down to the ridge between her labia, and rubbed it against the hungry entrance to her vagina, relishing the rough, desperate grope her sensitive double-F’s were continuing to experience.
The door burst open. ‘Gotcha!’ It was the short fat security guard from earlier.
Emma yelped, let go of the spunking cock, and pushed the proclaimed casting director roughly away, instantly crossing her bust with one hand to protect the security guard from her cum-on-the-spot powers, and placing the dainty fingers of the other over her jizz-sticky quim. She was about to apologise profusely when the guard grabbed the ejaculating man’s arm, twisted it, and wrestled him to the floor. Within seconds, the stalker had passed out from sexual over-exertion.
‘Finally got you, you creepy bastard,’ said the guard. He looked up at Emma. ‘You should cover yourself up, love. Thought you were Miss Maitland. This pervert’s been stalking her for a month.’
‘Oh my,’ gasped Emma, secretly relieved that it wasn’t she that was in trouble. The stalker writhed and gibbered on the floor while she turned her plump bottom and stretched the green dress back over her underwear-free body after hastily wiping all the cum from tits, belly, and vagina with a paper tissue she took from her handbag.
‘The police are on their way,’ said the guard, handcuffing the naked pervert.
‘I can’t wait,’ pleaded Emma. ‘I’m late for a casting. I thought this was it, but obviously it wasn’t.’
‘No, he’s been doing it to all the girls that have come in to audition as Miss Maitland’s double, but we’ve not been able to catch him until now. Well done for incapacitating him!’
‘He did cum incredibly hard,’ said Emma.
‘Well,’ the security guard cleared his throat in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry that he managed to have his way with you, but at least some good has come of it.’
Emma, decent again, grabbed cardigan, handbag, plastic sunglasses, and the letter with the map on it. ‘I really must be going,’ she said, hastening to the door. ‘If the police need to speak to me, the production company will have my details, or you can reach me through Prime Assets management.’
Tamera
- 17.12.2020
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