Prime Curves
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Prime Assets Ch. 03 free porn video
‘Rise and shine!’ Emma rapped loudly on Simon’s bedroom door.
A groggy grunt emerged from within.
‘May I come in?’ called Emma. ‘I’ve made you a cup of tea!’ In an effort to tone down the exciting nature of her appearance the previous evening, she had thrown on a baggy T-shirt. At least, it had been baggy before her bosom and hips had filled out, and what once had been a shapeless shroud now had the unfortunate effect of tightly accentuating her every succulent curve. And where once it had reached halfway down her thighs, now her high, thrusting breasts lifted it to just beneath her tousled, ginger quim. But she figured that her fat legs would be offputting enough to keep Simon from getting too horny too soon.
After the sound of some frantic rummaging, Simon called out for her to enter.
‘Christ,’ he said, as he laid eyes on the double-F bosom that strained the Hello Kitty T-shirt to bursting point.
Emma walked to his bedside, unconcerned that this afforded him a brief but graphic view up the T-shirt at her unclothed intimacy, and set the mug of hot tea down next to the lamp on the small table. She stretched to open the curtain, and the raising of her arms lifted her bosom so high that the T-shirt rode entirely up her buttocks and bunched around her waist, giving Simon a full view of her ample, bare bottom.
‘Christ,’ he croaked again. The flood of Sunday morning daylight into the room illuminated Emma’s curves in stark relief.
‘Oops,’ cringed Emma as she turned from the window and looked down at her nude crotch. ‘Flashing the wrong bits, aren’t I! Not a very good start. You don’t mind, do you, Simon?’
‘Not at all,’ said Simon, sitting up and rearranging the bed sheet to conceal what Emma had already identified as a stiff morning erection.
Emma tugged the T-shirt down over her hips to preserve a little modesty. ‘Now, we were both a little drunk last night,’ she began, ‘But I hope you’re still keen to brainstorm some strip routines with me?’
Simon slurped a mouthful of tea. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘In fact I stayed awake for a couple more hours last night thinking of ways to undress you.’
‘Thank-you!’ beamed Emma. ‘And by the way, I’m sorry for leaving you with that big, um, boner. I really should have done the decent thing and helped you, y’know, relieve yourself.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Simon, his voice quavering a little. ‘Like I said. Easily dealt with.’
‘Well, you’ll be seeing a lot of my boobies today,’ Emma said. ‘So if it happens again, please don’t suffer in silence. Let me know, and I’ll try my best to do something to help.’
‘Now you come to mention it,’ said Simon, ‘I’m sorry to say that you’ve already given me rather a stiff one already.’
‘Already?’ Emma said, a small, hopeful smile trembling on her pink lips.
Simon pulled back the sheet from his groin. An angry boner prodded rudely at his Calvin Kleins, stress lines radiating to his hips from its swollen summit. ‘Not only do you have truly remarkable tits which look stunning in that tight top,’ he said, ‘But you have a beautiful bottom to match. The whole combination has had this effect.’ He pointed at his tented underpants.
‘Thank-you for the compliment,’ grinned Emma. ‘I’d like to help you deal with it this time, if I may?’
‘That would be great,’ said Simon.
‘How do you, um, like it best?’ said Emma. She bit the side of her lip uncertainly. ‘Shall I use my hand?’
Simon nodded, and eased down the waistband of his boxers, letting his rigid shaft twang forth from its sticky white pool of pre-ejaculate with a shudder, tangled strands of gooey fluid stretching upwards like ribbons around a maypole.
Emma gasped at the tumescent sight. ‘Simon! You poor thing! Did I do that?’
‘I just wasn’t expecting you to come in here looking so, so…’
‘Lie down and let me finish you off,’ said Emma, and as Simon obediently lay back down on the bed, morning hard-on raging in the air, she placed a keen hand around its gloopy base.
‘Oh fuck,’ croaked Simon. ‘I’m, I’m gonna cum so hard, just so you know…’
‘Would it help if I took this T-shirt off?’
‘Yes, yes, use your tits,’ gabbled Simon. ‘Rub them over it.’
Excited at the prospect of putting her otherwise troublesome bosom to productive use, Emma let go of Simon’s erection, clambered on to the bed, straddled his knees so she was now facing him directly, and with arched back, peeled off the tight top. Now unconstrained, her pale breasts tumbled out and wobbled forward, her subtle nipples dancing on their softly quivering summits. ‘A reminder of what they look like!’ giggled Emma, then, placing her hands either side of Simon’s hips, leaned forward and lowered her opulent bosom onto the engorged tip of his penis, letting her jostling cleavage swallow it up.
‘Oh my fucking god,’ said Simon. ‘Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK.’
Emma felt his otherwise untouched erection instantly unload a copious volume of semen between her breasts as she sat there on his knees. The poor boy, she thought. What discomfort her voluptuous body had caused him, and how great the relief he must be feeling! While guilty about the distress she had unwittingly instigated, she was pleased that the cause was the cure. It seemed fitting that the large, perky domes of her chest were now giving him some respite from the horny tension that plagued him. And this time she was secretly glad that the effect of the titfuck had been so quick – any more attention bestowed upon her breasts and nipples would have made her the horny one requiring relief. She didn’t want this turning into a mutual sexual relationship: Simon was her landlord, for goodness’ sake. What she was doing now, letting her heavy breasts squirm soothingly around his tormented cock, was purely in the interest of calming him down to a point where he could collaborate with her rationally. And if he was turned on by her and enjoying it… well, that was the least she could do in return for his help and advice.
Simon’s hips bucked as the final waves of the orgasm shuddered his body, and he fucked Emma’s cleavage in desperation to prolong the experience. But his erection was wilting, and, thick and bendy, it flopped slowly back on to his stomach, dragging behind it a long curtain of thick white semen which stretched expansively up to Emma’s big bosom as the pale skinned English rose sat up again. ‘Th-thank-you,’ he stammered, body wracked with frequent post-orgasmic twitches.
‘At least I now know what to do if it happens again!’ laughed Emma. ‘Now, let’s wash all this jism off ourselves and get to work.’ She clambered off him and hopped from the bed, grabbing her T-shirt from the floor as she left giving her gibbering landlord a front seat view of her bodacious behind and pink outer labia as she stooped.
After a wash and a breakfast (muesli for Emma, a plate of badly needed restorative scrambled eggs for Simon), the two sat across from one another in the living room, notebooks and pens in hand. Emma had opted for a floral summer dress, whose detailed pattern mercifully disguised the full extent of her buxom womanliness.
‘So,’ she said, with an excited smile on her rosy, shower-fresh cheeks. ‘What did you come up with?’
Simon looked down at his pad, a mixture of busy scrawl and schoolboy doodles of Emma’s figure in numerous saucy guises. ‘You’re definitely sure you want to hear this?’
‘No bad ideas in brainstorming, Simon!’
‘I mean, these are masturbatory fantasies. About you.’
‘It’s a strip act we’re planning, silly,’ Emma said. ‘Not a sermon. Give me all you’ve got.’ She leaned forward attentively, tapping pencil on pad as she fixed Simon with her clear blue eyes.
‘Okay, first idea’ Simon took a deep breath. ‘I was picturing you trying to undress, but your hands are dirty for some reason and you can’t touch your clothes. So you have to kind of shake them all off as yo
u dance.’
‘Good, good,’ said Emma. ‘I had an idea that I could be doing a workout, to a tape, and that I perhaps misunderstand the instructions and my boobs bounce out of my leotard.’
Simon’s eyes glazed over a little. ‘Brilliant,’ he said, and looked away from Emma’s bust and back at his notebook. ‘My next fantasy… I mean idea, was that you’re shopping for underwear, and you’re in the fitting room and you’re trying out a bra to see if it will stay on in various situations…’
‘Ooh, I like that one,’ said Emma. ‘What kinds of situations?’
‘Like running to catch a bus, perhaps.’
‘Or trying to swat a fly?’
‘And at the end, your boobs bounce out.’
‘Yes! Completely naked!’
‘Apart from the nipple tassels.’
‘Details, details,’ said Emma with a dismissive wave of the hand. She stood up. ‘I’ve just the bra, wait there.’ Emma ran up the stairs and rummaged in the bottom of her underwear drawer until she found what she was looking for, then ran down to rejoin Simon in the living room. ‘Here we are. One of the first bras I ever bought! It’s only a D-cup.’ She dangled the red polka dot silk and pink lace brassiere from a teasing finger.
‘Your first bra was a D?’ gasped Simon, incredulous.
‘Late bloomer,’ shrugged Emma. ‘Flat as a board all through school, then got a pair of perky D’s for my eighteenth. More than made up for the late start though, didn’t I?’
‘You most certainly did,’ said Simon.
‘Hardly wore this one,’ Emma said, regarding the D-cup with a wistful smile. ‘Outgrew it so quickly. But the best part…’ She opened a pair of hooks between the cups. ‘Front opener!’
‘Perfect,’ blurted Simon, agog. ‘It can burst open at the end!’
‘Exactly!’ chirruped Emma. ‘It will be no match for these firm double-F’s! Now, excuse me while I put it on.’ She turned away from Simon, unzipped her summer dress down the side, and shrugges it off, wiggling her body until it fell from her various bold curves onto the floor, leaving her standing in her small black knickers and a beige utilitarian brassiere, which she snapped open and let fall to the floor to join the dress. How proudly her bare breasts jutted out before her! Emma could feel the resentment she harboured toward them diminish by the second.
‘Oh my god,’ she heard Simon groan from behind her. ‘This should be part of the act. I can see the sides of your breasts either side of your back. It’s such a fucking turn-on!’
Emma smiled to herself. ‘Good to know,’ she purred. Who was this wanton minx, she thought with a rush of excitement, and what had she done with the old Emma? She was simply going with her raunchy instincts, and after years of buttoning up it felt fabulous to be unbuttoning again, in every sense of the word!
Clasping the cups together with difficulty, she finally turned to face her lust-stricken landlord again. She could feel the red and pink bra creak and protest under the strain of her handsome bosom, which lifted the body band a good inch clear of her ribcage. The back and shoulder straps dug into her soft flesh rather painfully, but it was a level of discomfort she was willing to endure in the name of restoring some voluptuousness to the emaciated, anaemic world of burlesque. ‘Well, Simon? What do you think?’
Simon looked like he was going to explode, indeed his organ was apparently doing just that, tenting his track suit trousers, a dark patch of pre-ejaculate spreading as it twitched unpredictably. ‘It’s a terrible, terrible fit,’ he said. ‘So it couldn’t be more perfect.’
‘Look at this cleavage!’ Emma cooed, looking down at the expanse of bosom that stretched before her.
‘I am looking at it,’ confirmed Simon.
Emma bent forward to retrieve a newspaper supplement from the coffee table, tugging a slipping bra cup up over a wobbling, swaying breast as she felt a nipple about to slip free. Standing upright again, she rolled the supplement into a tube. ‘Here I am in the fitting room,’ she announced in a stage voice. ‘This bra seems like a perfect fit, but I wonder how securely it would stay in if I were trying to swat a fly?’
Simon assisted by producing a buzzing sound with tongue and teeth.
Emma leapt in the air, swishing the rolled up magazine above her head. As she landed on her feet again, her already careening bosom rebounded violently. She felt her nipples close to emerging, and noted the increasing rapidity with which Simon’s trouser-bulge throbbed and pulsated. She swished again, and again, allowing her freely cavorting breasts to have their heavy way with the gravely outmatched brassiere. The straps dug ever deeper into her back and shoulders, and the cups gripped her surging globes with increasing desperation. ‘Well, the bra seems to have stayed on, just about,’ she concluded to her horny audience of one. ‘But what if I were running to catch a bus?’
With that, she broke into a jog on the spot. Her bust wobbled this way and that, left and right, barely contained within the creaking, overtaxed bra, eventually settling into a precarious rhythm of squash then stretch, wobble then jiggle, bounce then slap. Ordinarily she hated the way this happened, not just running but even simply walking down the street. But now, bringing about these distracting boob-acrobatics intentionally, she felt fully in control. The rigid-cocked young man seated across the room from her was no voyeuristic pervert in the darkness of a provincial amateur dramatics audience, but a prototype paying customer over whom she exerted a powerful erotic influence. She was in charge now, not the masturbating man with the straggly yellow hair who had haunted her nightmares for years.
Her nipples again felt dangerously close to flicking out from the edges of the bra cup that held them so delicately in check, so she concluded her run for the bus and let her heavy chest trampoline to a gradual, quivering standstill. ‘It’s still holding my bosom in place,’ she said to her audience. ‘But what about something as simple as stretching?’
Simon’s eyes bulged as Emma spread her arms, arched her back, and let out a loud, theatrical yawn. As her protruding, bosom seemed to grow before his eyes, he yanked down his trousers and drew forth his blue-veined, glisteningly sticky erection. His hand went to touch it, then hesitated. He stared unblinkingly at Emma’s bust as it fought that old D-cup bra.
Here I am, thought Emma, on the brink of the new me. The eruption of semen that she knew she was only a matter of seconds away wasn’t one that the penis’s owner was bringing about through practised manipulation with palm, finger and thumb. She, and she alone, would dictate the timing of Simon’s climax. She could sense what final burst of pressure from her arching back would snap those hooks, and she stood there, yawning and stretching in the most feline manner she could muster, drawing this moment out, her beady eye on the streaming, swollen head of her landlord’s horny tumescence. And she saw that hand of his hover near it, a game of chicken playing out between her bra-vanquishing breasts and his lecherous impatience. And how hard he was, so soon after pumping his early morning load into her cleavage!
With a snap, the bra lost the fight against Emma’s double-F’s. The silk and lace cups, above average in size but paltry on Emma, flew to either side and disappeared into the assistant librarian’s armpits, while her luscious bare-nippled breasts leapt forward in a quivering, triumphant pout.
Cum left Simon’s grateful, freely exposed erection at an alarming rate, a long milky line of fluid stretching high in the air, followed by another, then another, as his testicles convulsed and pumped the liquid results of his breast fetish through that rigid shaft. ‘Urgh,’ he choked, powerlessly orgasming in the face of Emma’s sexual, proudly wobbling physicality. Semen spattered onto the carpet either side of him and rained onto his face and chest in sticky strands.
‘The end!’ said E
mma, and gave a low, boob-dangling curtsey before standing and coaxing the last spoonfuls of ejaculate from Simon’s helpless cock with a few brisk shoulder-shimmies.
Simon panted. The blood had drained from his face. ‘Your tits, Emma,’ he wheezed. ‘They’re too much. You’re going to have every man in the audience jizzing his pants!’
‘Nonsense,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll have my nipples covered with tassels, don’t forget.’
Simon raised a doubtful eyebrow, but let it go.
‘This is the perfect idea for a routine,’ the bare-breasted redhead clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s work on finding some balance between making it sexier, but also less pornographic. More humour, theatre, and tease, and less of Simon ejaculating six feet into the air.’
The two impresarios spent the rest of the day milking every last erotic twist they could from the underwear-shopping scenario, and, indeed, milking every last drop of cum from Simon’s ravaged testicles. By the time they were calling out for a pizza, they were confident that they had a very entertaining and sexy little number. It was cheeky and witty, and made Emma’s large breasts the undeniable focal point, and Emma was confident that it stayed the right side of seedy, although she did worry that Simon’s erection levels were a poor barometer of pornographicness, and that his failure to become hard and eventually ejaculate at the climax of the act might rather be down to the fact that he had done so four times over the course of the day’s workshop already. Indeed, lying in bed before lights out, the lack of noisy masturbatory activity through the bedroom wall was conspicuous, and she worried that she may have killed his libido for good.
However, the next morning, Emma was relieved to be woken by the familiar rhythmic thumping, and she concluded that Simon must have gone back to contemplating whoever it was he masturbated over the rest of the time. She felt a bit guilty about forcing him to masturbate over the thought of her, but at least it had only been for a day.
It was with boundless confidence that Emma strode to the library. She thought of her manager, Sue, and her petty, envious digs at her appearance. She’d show Sue. She was going to be Ginger Blush, international burlesque star! She was wearing her usual drab cardigan, but today it wasn’t stretched over a frumpy blouse, she had a low-cut vest top on, and beneath that, the D-cup bra that had become the key to her act, and which, being too small, boosted her cleavage to alarming levels. A wolf whistle from a builder on the way confirmed that the new look was having its desired effect. Emma was going to get fired, and she couldn’t wait.
‘A word, Emma,’ Sue appeared out of nowhere, as usual, and beckoned Emma with a bony finger.
‘Yes, Sue?’ beamed Emma as she stood opposite Sue’s desk a minute later.
‘Emma, we’ve talked about your appearance at work.’
‘I remember.’
‘We talked about your choice of underwear.’
‘Yes, I remember that, too.’ Emma undid the two buttons of her cardigan, letting it spring open to display the full extent of her buxomness. It hung loosely down her sides.
‘So,’ said Sue, ‘Explain yourself. Your breasts look bigger and more obscene than ever.’
‘Well, Sue,’ said Emma, putting on a stupid act. ‘I thought if I wore a D-cup bra, it would make them look smaller. I know a D-cup probably sounds big to you, but it’s three sizes too small for me.’
‘It hasn’t worked,’ said Sue coldly.
‘You’re right,’ said Emma, looking down at her vast, half-naked bosom. ‘In fact, I can feel it about to break. All I have to do is arch my back…’ Emma had now mastered this move so well that she barely seemed to move at all when the front clasp snapped open and the bra cups retreated into her armpits. Her uncontained bosom surged forward within the white vest top and she let out a small scream of feigned embarrassment.
‘Good grief!’ fumed Sue, standing. ‘Look what’s happened!’
Jayla
- 03.02.2022
- 16
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