Phone Sex Series #5: The Breast Fetishist

Every fantasy in The Phone Sex Series is inspired by actual clients. This one is inspired by one client whom I call My Gold Star Fetishist. He loves boobies more than anyone I’ve ever met.

He loved breasts. The way that some boys peek up dresses, he peeked down blouses at school, at the grocery store. Even as a little boy, he asked to go the ice cream shop no fewer than four times a week because he could sit down at the small children’s table and look up at the women as they came in and got their ice cream. There was a little machine above the door that created a little gust of wind every time someone would come into the shop. The wind would blow against their shirts, and make them stick to their breasts. The icy cold temperature made their nipples stick up. Some of the nipples looked like the tip of a pinky and other ones looked like an M&M. As he looked up, he often saw the underside of their breasts as they reached over the counter to pay. They were often covered by their bra, but sometimes the women didn’t wear a bra or as they reached, the underwire would pull away from their body. He marveled at the perfect curvature of the underside, the flesh on flesh, the breast sitting atop their big or small bellies.

As he aged, his wonder didn’t abate. In fact, it turned into an intense, all-consuming desire. He spent all week in anticipation of the weekend, when he would print out about a dozen letter-sized, full color pictures of big breasted women. On Friday night, after printing out the images, he would go grocery shopping for the following day so that he wouldn’t have to leave the apartment on his day of worship. When he woke up on Saturday morning, he would make his bed, and then lay the pictures out in rows. The smallest breasts were at the lower right foot of the bed and the breasts got bigger and bigger until the rows ended at the upper left side of the bed, near the headboard, with monstrous breasts that sagged deliciously to the models’ belly buttons. He lovingly came on each and every pair. By seven o’clock or so he was often too exhausted to even brush his teeth. Then he would throw the pictures “ saturated with semen “ away and slip into sleep.

Though women flirted with him often, he found it frustrating that it was only very thin women with small breasts who expressed interest. He had no idea how to grab the attention of women with big breasts. He found that the after-five crowd was largely made up of the physically fit who perceived their bodies as superior to the softer bodies he preferred.

He had hired two prostitutes in the past. He found it so odd that one of them had very small, but very sensitive breasts and one had very large, but very insensitive breasts. Though he had preferred the look and feel of the one with big breasts, he found that he couldn’t enjoy himself. Her virulent apathy was frustrating and isolating. He had, however, maintained a fairly regular relationship with the first because he loved the way that she would moan intensely every time he sucked on her nipples. He would imagine “ as he was sucking “ that with each moan her breasts would grow and grow and grow until they had completely encased his entire body and he suffocated. While the prostitute stroked his head he would orgasm.

He was a member of nearly every breast devotee website and had even splurged on a pair of realistic, synthetic breasts made by a Japanese company. He read books about lactation and the biology and evolution of the breast. He hired a phone sex operator with whom he spoke only about breasts. He even attended a yoga class that was directly after a post-partum yoga class for new mommies just so he could see the engorged breasts of the lactating women. Though he never could bring himself to stare as rudely and pointedly as he wished to, he could become thoroughly aroused from just hearing the inevitable breast talk that new mothers often seemed to engage in about inverted nipples, pumping, let downs. He loved the way that the women seemed to be so engaged in this breast discussion ritual. He dreamt of being able to freeze time and suck each and every one of their breasts until he was full of milk.

Because he made a point of keeping abreast of all the newest in boob innovations, he was one of the first people to come across a new website that offered a rather unusual service to people just like him. When he found the site, he presumed that the description of the service was somehow advertising porn or maybe erotica. He bookmarked the site and looked at it every evening for a week, waiting for some disclaimer that this was “for entertainment purposes only. The disclaimer never came. The site stayed the same.

It only had two pages, one where you could click that you were 18 or over and one page with the following description:

“Distinguished Gentlemen,

Do you find yourself utterly consumed by the thought of breasts? Do you find yourself tortured, at times, by the mere sight of the bouncing breast as you sip your latte in the morning? Have you tried to cure yourself of this insatiable need, but found that you couldn’t and that at the end of the day you really didn’t want to? Do you ever dream of having several buxom women at your service each eagerly awaiting your attention? Do you have a thirst for nature’s greatest gift?

We have created a secluded world where your every whim and hunger is catered to. We call it “The Farm. It is in a secluded location. Only one man has access to it at a time. Special arrangements must be made in advance. Expect a six to nine month waiting period from first expression of interest. The experience must be pre-paid. There is only one key. It is specially mailed to you, our exclusive client, within 48 hours of payment.

This is truly for the fetishist and connoisseur. You will not be disappointed.

There was an email address after that. It teased him. He would run his cursor over it, watching it highlight and then un-highlight. It must be a scam.

His prick would tingle with each new reading of the words “hunger, “buxom, “service, “thirst, “The Farm. He had jacked off a dozen times already just reading the description. During the fourth week of his daily checking routine, something was added to the site. It was a low-res testimonial from some guy named “Jeffrey. Jeffrey’s face was fuzzy and his voice was digitized. But not even that could hide his obvious, frenetic, and authentic enthusiasm. Though the testimonial was highly cryptic, it was clear that Jeffrey had been to The Farm and sucked and fucked every pair of tits in the place to his heart’s content.

At that moment, it seemed that the decision had been made. This was indisputable proof that The Farm existed. He had to get to this place. He decided to let his excitement subside so that he wouldn’t make a rash decision. He would sleep on it, and have a clearer mind in the morning. But he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about “Jeffrey and hating “Jeffrey for his adventurousness, his initiative. Why hadn’t he taken advantage, been the first to delight in these big-titted, eager women? He managed to convince himself that the original farmer, whoever he was, probably often partook of the services he offered. He got out of bed finally just before dawn, and he clicked on the e-mail address. He wrote a hurried “I am very interested in The Farm. Please tell me more about how I might get access to the key. Fifteen minutes later there was a response. He skimmed it. The price was variable: $4000 for two girls, $5000 for three, and $9000 for five. The price included two days at The Farm with the guarantee of (1) a minimum size of E cups and (2) absolutely no disturbance. The earliest available date was sooner than he’d expected: two months. The Farm was in a rural part of Washington. Accommodation, meals, and unlimited fresh milk were included. The final note frankly stated that the next correspondence should be in the form of payment to the owner’s account.

There was no explicit mention of sex. Just fresh milk. He wanted to ask a million questions, but he knew that the owner knew that he had a niche product and a captive market. He had just over $11,000 in his bank account. He’d been thinking of taking a couple months off work and going on vacation to somewhere warm, where women wore very skimpy tops. He tried desperately to talk himself out of spending so much money on something that seemed so suspiciously wonderful, but he simply couldn’t. He wished he could talk to his accountant or something, but what was he going to tell his accountant? It was a lot of money, but he would hate himself forever if he missed this opportunity. So, he did it. He wired $9000 to a stranger who ran The Farm.

For two days he waited. He was positive that the whole thing was just a great way to exploit breast fetishists like him. He cursed his bad judgment, and decided that he deserved whatever he got for being such a silly dreamer. On the third day the key came. He had to sign for it. It was in an inconspicuous little brown envelope. The weathered little key looked like the sort of thing that would be in a fairy tale book or something. Folded over the key was a note with The Farm’s location and the date and time of his expected arrival. That was all.

That the biggest accomplishment of his life was something he couldn’t share with anyone made it odd but thrilling. He walked around with a gait in his step for the days and weeks leading up to his expected date of arrival. He was cheerier at work and more generous in nearly all things than he had been ever before. He wished he could know the women he would meet, but he didn’t care much for anything besides their breasts and they had been guaranteed to be huge. He decided that for three weeks leading up to his expected arrival that he would not ejaculate. He knew that this would be challenging, but he knew he could do it and he wanted to have an enormously satisfying release when he got there.

The day finally came. He had booked the flight and rented a car. The directions seemed to indicate that The Farm was at least an hour’s drive from the airport. It took all of his strength not to stroke off on the drive up. The place was so secluded that the radio wasn’t working very well. The drive seemed like it had lasted hours, but finally he saw it. It actually looked like a big farmhouse. He laughed at the literal naming of the place. He had expected a basic home, but this was truly The Farm.

He stopped the car nearly at the doorstep of the place. He got out. He didn’t bother to lock the door. He was shaky and nervous and elated. He had no idea what to do. He was terrified about meeting the women who would make his fantasies come true, but he was on the clock. His day had already started. He only 46 more hours with these women. He pulled the key out. It was a standard lock. The lock and key weren’t compatible. They key was just a part of the ritual. He was too happy to go into his usual inner rant over this sort of inconvenience. He knocked on the door. Laughter. Foot steps. Door knob turning.

The woman who opened the door was wearing a pair of tight baby blue lycra pants and a black turtle neck. Three holes had been cut for her crotch and each of her tits. Her pussy was completely exposed and the holes for her tits were small enough that they grabbed tightly to the base of them, making them and her nipples jut out for what seemed to be at least 10 inches in front of her. He noticed a big wet spot on the lap of her pants. He wondered momentarily what this was, and then he quickly ascertained its cause. He heard a sound on his shoe. She was dripping milk from her nipples. The tips of them were soaked, and the milk was dripping in fairly rapid succession onto his shoes.

She grabbed him by the hand without an introduction, led him to the sofa, where she sat down and brought his head to her lap. He was not too flabbergasted to latch on hungrily. As he began to suck with intense concentration, she sighed in relief. Her breasts had been full to the point of bursting until right before he got there. The milk was gushing into his mouth more rapidly than he could drink it. He tried not to spill a drop but after only about a minute, he began to let most of it dribble out of his mouth and focus on the sensation of having a hard nipple between his teeth and a big tit filling up both of his hands. His dick was throbbing painfully. His eyes were closed and he was concentrating fully. So, he didn’t notice that another woman and another had come into the room until he felt the hot, wet pussy slide onto his dick. The third woman grabbed one of his hands and began to massage her impossible huge breasts and her hairy pussy with it alternately. He could see her glimpses of her glorious tits out of the corner of his eyes, but the one nursing him was quite adamant about his attention on her.

He heard a conversation happening in the what must have been the kitchen. The women were talking about how much milk they had in the refrigerator, how it was filling up so quickly and they simply didn’t know what to do about it. It was taking every last ounce of his highly honed self-discipline to stop from cumming, but he knew that he couldn’t hold out for much longer. The final bursting point came when the woman who as fucking him stuck her finger into his asshole. He squirt a long, heavy wad right into her cunt and she screamed loudly as his dick shook inside of her as it emptied itself.

She took his cock out, slathered something on it, and quickly went into another room. She brought back another girl. This time he was able to see two women besides the one whose tit was in his mouth. The other two had breasts like the girls in the pictures he came all over on Saturdays. They covered most of their chest from clavicle to sternum. Their breasts all had the engorged look of tits that had not been drained since “Jeffrey two months prior, presumably. Their nipples seemed to poke out in drool-inspiring ways, almost as if there were no room in their breasts to contain even a nipple. The woman with the biggest tits spoke: “Charise, don’t be so greedy. All of us are bursting.

His dick had begun to become numb. Charise could read the look of anxiety that crossed his face. “We put some lotion on your dick that will make it numb so that we can fuck you as much as we need to, as often as we need to and you won’t mind. This didn’t really register to him. Before he really even had a chance to think about any of it, the one with the biggest tits was pushing Charise aside and taking her place. Her name was Amanda. Amanda instructed him to maneuver onto his side because he would definitely suffocate if he stayed on his back. She fed him her left tit the way that a mother feeds an infant. Her milk was creamy and warm. He pulled her nipple all the way to back of his throat, taking her entire areola into his mouth. He looked up and saw Charise stroking an enormous strap-on. Her tits were jiggling back and forth and she forcefully cocked it up and down while staring down at him. She was using the milk that was dripping out of her nipples to lubricate this thing. She started by shoving her nipple in his ass while she stroked his dick. She bit his side and her tits were lubricating his asshole. He could feel the milk slipping inside, getting him ready for what her bigger plans were. Her nipple was hard and long. He could pull it all the way in with his sphincter muscles and then push it out. Each time he sucked her nipple into his asshole, he’d bite down really hard on the other one’s nipple. They both seemed to like this because they made low groaning noises and he could feel Charise finger banging her own cunt. She was finally ready to fuck his ass. It slid in with ease, and she began to fuck his ass mercilessly. He had a hard time keeping Amanda’s huge tit and puffy nipple in his mouth as she pounded him. Charise slowed down as another girl managed to do some kind of yoga pose to get his hard dick in her mouth. Charise pushed his dick into this girl’s mouth with each pump. He came in her mouth after about 20 minutes of the ass-pumping, tit-biting, and cock-sucking combination. This was all within the first hour at The Farm.

TO BE CONTINUED¦

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Virgie Tovar

Virgie Tovar is the author/editor of the upcoming fat positive anthology Hot &Heavy: Fierce Fat Girls on Life, Love and Fashion (Seal Press, November 2012). She holds an MA in Human Sexuality, is certified as a sex educator, and was voted Best Sex Writer by the Bay Area Guardian in 2008 for her first book, Destination DD: Adventures of a Brest Fetishist with 40DDs. After teaching Female Sexuality at UC Berkeley she went onto host The Virgie Show (CBS Radio) from 2007-2008. When she’s not teaching sexuality seminars or shimmying as her burlesque alter ego, Dulce de Lecherous, she is creating content for her video blog: Virgie Tovar’s Guide to Fat Girl Living. Virgie has been featured on Playboy Radio and Women’s Entertainment Television. She lives in San Francisco.

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