Message-ID: <36292asstr$1019970604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <vickietern@aol.com> From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020427203720.06686.00005508@mb-dh.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 28 Apr 2002 00:37:20 GMT Subject: {ASSM} New TG Breasts by Vickie Tern 1/10 femdom F/m etc Date: Sun, 28 Apr 2002 01:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/36292> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw Synopsis: A wife urges her husband to get breast implants just like hers. The following story is a bit more fantastic than my usual, if only because the breast procedure it describes isn't yet generally performed, because it isn't yet anywhere known (at least not to me), and may not even be feasible. I aim for plausible truths readers might wish to believe at least while reading. We all have plenty of actual truths, but if this story helps us uncover a few more about what we like, that's good too. The are scenes here depicting plausible if not also actual sex between consenting adults. If not inclined or entitled to read them, don't. (c) 2002 by Vickie Tern. May be freely copies to free archives, but I'd appreciate knowing (VickieTern@aol.com). I also appreciate comment of all sorts, even the (shudder) obscene kind. Other Vickie Tern stories are archived on www.fictionmania.com Breasts by Vickie Tern i. "Of course you want your own pair, Barry! Who wouldn't?" She smiled her sweetest, most confidential smile at me, the one that could always persuade me to confess anything to her, because she already knew anyhow. "You're repressing it, that's all! That's why you're so attracted to mine! Well, you should have a pair just like mine for your very own! I won't have you feeling deprived! Believe me, sweetheart, you'll love them!" "Hayley, no!" I had to insist. "You're right, I love your breasts, of course I do! They're gorgeous! On women, breasts are beautiful, yours especially, especially now that they're ... enhanced! But on a man, well, breasts are ... different. Something else. Inappropriate!" That was the argument. On and on, day after day! It had begun innocently enough. One morning I gave Hayley's bared breast a tender kiss, waking her up, and she'd returned the favor by kissing my chest. Then she'd complained that I'd gotten the better of the deal, and I'd smugly agreed. She argued petulantly that it wasn't fair, we were each deprived of pleasures we could each enjoy if we both had breasts. I thought she was joking. But the next morning she deliberately raised the subject again, and I ignored her. A mistake, because then it got serious. When she re-raised it the day after that, she meant it. And each morning afterward, each time more insistent and tense, increasingly resentful, while I dug my heels in deeper. At first I thought it was just one more of her whimsical obsessions -- she threw herself into all sorts of things impulsively and then couldn't understand why the world didn't follow her with equal zeal. She'd been a darling daddy's girl while growing up -- impatient, passionate, willful, a little manipulative. She expected to get her way, and given her cleverness and persistence, her persuasive charm and ruthless determination, she usually did get her way. And I absolutely adored her! She knew it, and she loved taking advantage of it! Even on our first date. We went to a gay bar to see the sights, and on impulse she urged me to pick up a big bruiser of a guy we saw leaning on the bar. Just for fun -- she promised she'd rescue me in the parking lot before we got to his car. I did it, fearfully, my heart in my mouth. Then very nearly his penis too -- she was enjoying the game so much she decided to wait until we were already in the car before she played her appointed role, that of an outraged wife who has suspected that her husband is gay and has followed him. "You did it!" she told me afterward, utterly thrilled, stars gleaming in her eyes! "I knew that moment that I'd love you forever! You looked so absolutely darling, holding that man's prick with both hands, staring at it, afraid to go down on it but more afraid not to! And all for me!" Then another time we went to a sedate lawn party, all proper people, but she told me as we arrived that they were all wild swingers and that this was their monthly orgy, and that she expected me to fit in. We'd just been married, and I knew she loved to flirt, and I knew that her flirting was all very innocent. But now I didn't know what to think as she made the rounds, pursing her lips and weaving her hips and tossing come hither looks at everyone. I was determined to remain true to her no matter what and sort things out with her afterward. So when she hid herself to watch me, she was delighted to see me trying to maintain civil conversations with people while backing away from them into trees and bushes, all the while rolling my eyes in desperation to see where she'd gone. Each time I survived one of her challenges her love for me deepened, so I did everything she asked. Her least whim became my command. But not this one. This one was way off the charts. I didn't know what to think! The idea must have come to her soon after she got herself a boob job. She'd never been satisfied with her figure. Though I always found it marvelous, she didn't. She was thin, not much over 110 lbs even after eating a full meal. I thought she was beautifully proportioned, but she thought she was scrawny and I was undiscriminating. She was always experimenting with nutritional fads, flinging herself into them and trying to haul everyone else with her. For weeks we'd dine on grapefruits, then bananas, then only vegetables, once only on red meat, and she had absolute faith in each diet in turn. Or rather, she had absolute faith in her expectations for each diet. In advance she was never wrong. But not in retrospect either. When an experiment failed, she could always explain why with various bizarre rationalizations. I knew she was always disappointed, and I knew she was too shrewd to believe her own arguments, but I could never be sure. I didn't care, I loved her, and I could always sneak a hamburger with onions or a slice of pizza while at work. She was equally fanatical about various athletic club regimens too, so she kept me in pretty good shape overall anyhow. I thought she was in great shape! Then she got into breast enhancement. She found this marvelous Doctor Portland, a skilled surgeon and endocrinologist who'd invented a new procedure called "natural" breast augmentation. Dr. Portland inserted implants filled with a whole cocktail of breast growth and lactation hormones and medications in addition to the usual saline, the whole thing designed to be absorbed into the enlarged mammary it was itself creating, eventually to become what the woman was. Hayley talked her two closest girlfriends Meg and Patti into joining her, also getting their breasts done over by this new method. A week or two was all it required, start to finish, Dr. Portland assured them, from the first consultation on desired size to the sufficiently healed, beautifully shaped new breasts they'd end up with. The process was irreversible, she did warn them, because the implants altered surrounding tissue and glands while being incorporated into them, made part of the host body. But there would be two marvelous side effects. "Enormously increased sensitivity," Dr. Portland promised. And also as a special incentive for lovers to stimulate that sensitivity, when stroked or sucked the breasts would produce a sweet, milky fluid. "Any man you nurse will feel he's in a second infancy," she observed. "He'll smile and do whatever you want." Two weeks later Hayley's breasts did indeed fall heavily and deliciously out of her spaghetti-strap dresses and nightgowns. The bruising and discoloration were gone, and all swelling was down except around her nipples. These jutted out temptingly as promised, powerfully erogenous, a source of exquisite sensations whenever touched. They begged to be sucked. "That's what's most attractive about this procedure, women tell me," Dr. Portland had told the three women. "the unspeakably intense pleasure!" The three friends had all looked at each other, grinned, and signed up on the spot. Meg came out way ahead. Before the procedure her figure had been very nearly a boy's, her chest almost flat. After her bandages came off, I thought she looked quite womanly, and told her so. She was pleased, and commented that her husband Mark certainly agreed with me. "You men!" she said. "You make such a big deal of them! Show you a boob and you drool, then show you a second boob and your brains turn into silly putty! Maybe that's why God gave us two, so we could keep you guys manageable!" "But aren't there those other advantages besides size?" I asked her. I was wondering whether her nipples had gotten as sensitive and juicy as Hayley's. That is, incredibly! "Oh, yes," she said. "Oh, yes, Barry! You can't imagine! Yes. It drives me crazy, and then I drive Mark crazy!" And then she said no more. Hayley's friend Patti was already heavily endowed when she went in, so when she came out she was huge. But that was how her girlfriend Dora wanted it. Patti lived with Dora in what Hayley explained was "a loving partnership just like ours." Dora was so entranced by Patti's new look and Patti's rapturous responses when she touched them that she had her own breasts enhanced too. "Now whenever they visit anywhere they lie around on each other like overstuffed pillows" Hayley told me. "It's so very sweet, really! And they're always touching each other, you know where!" Hayley's own breasts had been modest though I thought quite adequate before her operation. But now? Plump, generous, voluptuous! Soft, yet heavy! Ripe for lifting, fondling, kissing, or sucking. I loved them! And now especially! Her nipples were swollen like the tips of ice cream cones! The implant was shaped to bulge just under the nipple, and charged with hormones to stimulate nerve growth just there. When the healing ended and Hayley's prosthetic brassiere came off, I was amazed by those new voluptuous globes, but especially by their pink-tipped protrusions, the cone-shaped nipples with thick nubbins projected way forward! I simply couldn't keep my mouth off them! The moment I saw them, I pressed Hayley gently back onto the bed and licked first one, then the other. Then I took one into my mouth and began to suck. It was almost as blissful for me as for Hayley! She folded her arms lovingly over my head as I nursed delicately, then vigorously, first on one ripe berry, then on the other. We seemed to melt into each other. In a week or so her nerve sensitivity increased as her body absorbed more of the implants, and she grew even more responsive. I could drive her into a frenzy just by cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples gently between my thumb and forefinger. She'd rise slowly into the concentrated intensity of an orgasm and her body would spasm, and then she'd begin again, rise even higher, and orgasm yet again! And when I nursed on her? "It's like having three clits," she told me breathlessly while my lips grazed from one breast to the other. "Oh, darling, do it more! Caress me down below too! Oh, more, it's just marvelous, God, more! MORE!" When I finally reached for her slit to prepare to enter her, I found that her crotch and thighs and even the sheets underneath her were already soaked! But even better, the first time I began nursing on her there was the taste of something rich and sweet in my mouth. I looked and saw a pearly drop oozing from her nipple tip. "That's right, baby," she told me. "Just like after childbirth! When you make me feel really good my glands exude this special sweet milk, like a syrup, delicious and good for both of us. A natural food produced in the most natural way imaginable!" "God, this doctor of yours is a miracle worker!" I said passionately! First I licked off those milky drops and then I lunged at her sweet pink cones with their distended nipples. I filled my mouth. I grunted and moaned in pleasure, and swallowed, and filled my mouth again. She was just so delicious! And meanwhile, her hips writhed from the pleasure those breasts transmitted! She never stopped climaxing! A few minutes later Hayley asked me in a small voice what it tasted like. I wordlessly lifted my head and with a deep French kiss I fed her a mouthful from her own breast, from my mouth into hers. "Oh!" she said, entranced. "Oh! Like melted vanilla ice cream! Only ...." "Only better!" I said, licking and sipping from her nipple tips. "Yes!" she said. "More!" I brought her more. She licked my lips and sucked on my tongue to savor the last of it. And shuddered into yet another orgasm. So she fed me, and so I fed her. And that became a whole new way we made love. A few swallows for me, then one for her, and delicious licking for the last hint of her flavor. It was so good! And with all that breast stimulus Hayley was enjoying orgasm after orgasm long before I'd gotten around to the main event even once, finally entered her, and finally cum. Some nights, between her delectable taste and the sensations suffused through her body by my nursing, she got so erotically intense, so passionate, so questing of her next orgasm and then the next, that breast feeding was all we did, and I never climaxed at all! Those times, though, I found more than enough pleasure in her repeated ecstasy, and in the comforting intimacy of her warm, soft flesh pulled deep in my mouth as I drew each breast in turn toward the back of my throat, past my lips and tongue, licking and sucking the sweet, rich nectar she suffused. I was satisfied. Hayley too, up to a point. Certainly by her delight in her new shape as she dressed to go out and turned herself this way and that in the mirror to see herself from all angles, appreciating the way her clothes now draped and flowed from her full figure. Certainly by the intense sensations she enjoyed in bed. But Hayley was an enthusiast. She threw herself into everything, and had to share everything! So it seemed innocent enough when she first started arguing that I should know what it was like. One night when we got into bed and I turned toward her she asked in that small voice she uses when she wants something huge if I'd mind visiting her doctor. I thought I hadn't heard her, but followed through anyhow. "Why?" I asked in return. "What for?" "For breasts!" she replied. "For me!" "You already have yours," I replied. And that doctor is marvelous, I was thinking, but there's no way to improve them. "No," she said. "I don't have them. You have them! I get from them only what you choose to give me from them." This was baffling. "You mean your milk?" I asked? "Or whatever that delicious stuff is?" "It's a kind of colostrum," she replied vaguely. "The implants stimulate particular glands -- and then when I'm rubbed or caressed or nursed I feel the pleasure and it makes me all juicy, so I overflow. The same way my vagina lubricates, and your penis after a while, when it can't hold its semen any more! And that's my point! You get most of it. I want my turn!" "Your turn at what?" "My turn at nursing! What we have now is lovely! It's sublime really! I love it! I've never been happier! The way you make me feel now, oh, baby, I just can't tell you!" This was satisfying! I leaned over to kiss her. But she shook me off. "No, Barry, I want all of it, the whole pleasure! I have the same deep nursing instincts you do, you know! I was once a baby too, you know, same as you! I want to taste that delicious stuff for myself, to swallow down as much of it as I want the way you do! Not just get it from you now and then as a gift, sort of second hand!" This seemed to me unfair. "Honey, you get the orgasms! I don't! You keep cumming and cumming while I'm serving both of us that delicious juice you make in there." And with that thought I reached out for her breasts -- I felt an urge to touch a fat nipple again, just once! She pulled away. "No!" she said. "Barry, you can keep your orgasms!" Then she seemed to think better of what she'd just said. "No, you know I don't mean that, not that way, sweetie. It's wonderful, what you do to me! But you should be having orgasms like those too! Of your very own! I don't want to hog them all for myself! I want to see you get all tense and deliciously screamy too, feeling what I feel!" This was admirable, typical of Hayley's generosity, I was thinking, but essentially whacko! Men and women are different! Built different to feel different! Everyone knows that! Yet Hayley was really serious! I tried to lay out the absurdity in simple words. "Are you saying I should go to this Doctor of yours and get breast implants of my own, like yours, along with whatever else she does to make those nipples of yours so .... " I couldn't find an adequate word "...so great?" She beamed. "Yes! Yes, sweetie! That's what! That's exactly what I want!" And she lay back satisfied, looking at me as if marveling at how dense I could be, but also finally how understanding! Her new bosom rose enticingly. She saw me looking at them. "It does take you a while to hear me, doesn't it, honey!" I reached for her, and she put up her hand. "No, answer me first! Say that you'll do it!" "Honey, I'm a man! Men don't have breasts." It was like talking to a small child. And she answered the way a small child would answer. "Who says?" "They just don't!" "No? You could have them! You have nipples, don't you. And when you get a little overweight it isn't just chest muscle I see hanging over me when we make love, it's fatty tissue like mine! Inside, you've got all the glands I hear, only undeveloped because they've never been urged to grow properly, the poor things. The same as mine, essentially, but right now they're like a child's, and there's nothing for me to taste when I suck them -- nothing comes out! And there's nothing special you feel there either, nothing like the kind of thing I feel. "I sometimes do feel a little ... erotic there," I said. "But not with the intensity you have now, no." "Some men are very sensitive there, I hear. Mark is, Meg says. She tells me it's very handy! She tells me that whenever she wants something and he doesn't, all she has to do is touch him there and he ...." Hayley suddenly closed her mouth, as if she'd said something she shouldn't. Then she concluded, "But even so, most women don't feel anything comparable to this! And you could feel it too!" "Well," I said. "It still isn't the same thing." "No, it isn't. But it could be! I want you to feel everything I feel, baby!" We went round and round a few more times that night, until frustrated and annoyed, Hayley suddenly turned her back to me and shut me out with a pillow over her ears. There was no lovemaking at all that night. Nor the following night when the conversation resumed. Nor any night for the next week. Nor the week after that! Time passed. We'd get into bed, and instead of turning toward me she'd turn away and say "No! Not until there's complete reciprocity! Not until you're willing to give me everything I'm willing to give you! Not until you're willing to take from me everything I get from you! Not until you learn to be less selfish!" No sex. Not even breast play. Hayley's manner with me became cool, often sardonic. I had failed her, somehow. She took to going to her office earlier and coming home later. At dinner together, when I'd say something to her, she'd just look at me as if I were the cruelest, most hurtful man alive, and say nothing in return. I began to fear for our marriage. She wouldn't yield and I couldn't! Then after a month or so there came a crisis. A new and startling element entered into this deadlock. Hayley was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I got in beside her and readied myself for one more nightly, pointless bed-time argument, or one more frigid silence. "Patti's delicious!" she said suddenly. "Patti?" was all I could reply "And her flow is so abundant!" Hayley said. "She wanted to bottle it for me to bring back here, but that may not be necessary now that we've figured out what to do. It's different though, more buttery on the tongue. She thinks it's maybe because she's a vegetarian. And you know something else?" I wasn't sure I did, but I realized that if the something else was as astonishing as what she'd just said, I had to hear it. "No, what?" I asked. "Meg says that our new breasts transmit the flavor of whatever we've just eaten. Different flavors, and different medications too. She sucked Mark's cock, and she says that Mark tasted his own slick saltiness in her breast fluid soon afterward. And a while ago she noticed that her birth control pills were beginning to affect him too, in certain odd ways. She decided not to say anything about it to him, she says, because it was getting interesting, but eventually she realized she'd have to deny him her tits or else deny herself his cock. So he doesn't get them any more, and she seeks relief for them elsewhere. His skin is now softer, she says. And it takes him much longer to cum -- he needs a lot more coaxing. But it isn't true that what goes up must come down. She says that Mark can now hold his erection and hold off cumming almost indefinitely. He's still as horny than ever, the same way she is, so she still needs to blow him every morning before work, or else he'd carry a big pole in his pants all day long, and that might give other women ideas. But now she can fuck him whenever she wants for as long as she wants. If he'd do all the other things she wants him to do, she says, he'd be perfect. She's checking into different ways to make him perfect. "Oh?" I said. Why was she telling me this? "Patti's also found that her medications work their way into her partner. She takes Prozac regularly, always has, she's always been tense. She says that now Dora's on cloud nine most days! And I've got to admit it, I get a little woozy too each time I visit her. More happy-go-lucky than woozy, maybe. I just don't care about lots of things, so we both feel free to do other things with each other too, sometimes. Licking and giggling, you know how I can get. I've never been able to go down on you for some reason, Barry, but on Patti? Well, it's very nice! That's why I'm thinking of moving in with the two of them. They've invited me." "You've been....?" I just couldn't say it! "You've ....?" Hayley just looked steadily at me, her cool eyes level, her voice even in tone. "Yes, honey, I have. What do you expect? You won't cooperate. We don't make love any more! Patti's more than happy to oblige. We're friends!" She watched me. I knew that look. Innocent little girl, but shrewd, calculating. "It's very nice, what we do together, me and Patti, sometimes Dora too!" she added. "Meg too now and then. Maybe Mark too, soon. Patti and Dora aren't interested, but I am!" Then she looked away and closed her eyes. "You've been unfaithful to me?" I asked. My ire was rising. But even stronger than anger or rage or jealousy or whatever it was, was a deep dark dread growing in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to lose her! Hayley! She opened her eyes and looked at me steadily again. "Of course not, Barry! I've been intimate with another woman, yes, more than one, but only in ways you refuse to be intimate. That's not infidelity. It's just tender friendship. Any time you want me not to be intimate that way with Patti, I won't be! But don't ask me until you're prepared to take her place and do those things too, oh loving husband of mine!" And tears came into her eyes! "Hayley!" I said. But I didn't know what else to say. My sense of dread grew larger! And of desolation! The grounds of our marriage were shifting, and I was powerless to do anything about it. "Tender friendship" looked a lot like a lesbian orgy to me! A different kind of loving altogether! An end to our own marriage. I'd seen it happen! Wives run off with other women all the time these days! "Does Patti taste you too?" I asked morosely, remembering how I'd always thought of Hayley's breasts and pussy as my own personal grazing ground. It was a pointless, obvious question, and I didn't really want to know the answer anyhow. Hayley smiled secretly to herself, the way she did whenever I asked her something she considered too intimate, too private even for her spouse to hear. "You mean both above and below?" She hesitated. Then "We're both quite satisfied, honey" was all she said. A shot in the dark. "And with Meg? Meg too?" I didn't know how to feel! Exasperated? Discouraged? Mainly I felt deeply depressed. "I don't kiss and tell," Hayley replied. She turned and stared directly into my eyes yet again, and spoke with slow, measured words. "But I will say this. Her husband is a lot more considerate than mine! He's already wants to please her in every way possible, and he's willing to learn new ways!" My God! I was thinking. These women are all in this together? And what does Meg ask Mark to do to please her? Are Meg's requests as off-the-wall as Hayley's? I wondered for a crazed moment whether Meg would ever want Mark to get himself a pair of breasts. In his case who'd notice? Mark's frame is large, heavy-set, with broad, square shoulders -- he's built like a defensive lineman. Knockers on Mark would only look like folds of flab, or pecs gone slack. What would be the point? But on me? I have a much slimmer build, narrow shoulders and very little excess fat. Boobs on me would poke out of my chest like small watermelons. They'd be what everyone noticed about me first of all, the same way I always notice large jugs on small-waisted women, especially when they wear those knit blouses that hug their shape. Sometimes they look to me like large breasts with small women attached to carry them around. Hayley dressed like that too sometimes, nowadays -- she knew it made me jealous whenever she put her jugs on display like that. And these days she was doing it a lot, I realized. Probably for spite. Still, was I making too big a deal of this? What was it costing me? What was it risking! "Hayley!" I said, rising on one elbow in a kind of take charge posture, my voice firm, precisely because I was unsure what to say next and I was really scared! This was no longer an absurd whim of hers, it was serious! Our whole lives together were at stake! It was time to have it out once and for all! "Look here, Hayley!" But as I gazed down I saw that her eyes were now shut and that she was breathing evenly. She was asleep. end 1/10 VickieTern@AOL.COM -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+