Chapter 2
After Char had left, Roz went a bit wearily in to take a shower, so she wouldn't have to in the morning. Darn she thought, scrubbing her pussy's strident bulge with care, I wish I hadn't poked my finger in her ass that way, even if it was just the very tip-end! I don't think I'd mind.
Sure, brat, she told herself, but you weren't raped when you were a little girl, like Char was! Poor thing-and all I want to do is make it up to her, make her happy the way she does me. It's so nice to be loved, to be wanted and needed and to do for somebody, to make somebody else feel happy and wanted and needed.
Once she'd showered and dried and dusted powder over herself, she went again to check the door and its locks. Then, naked, she padded into her bedroom. The bed was a wreck. With a sigh, she set it to rights, noting a couple of moist spots. She touched her tongue to each of them.
She didn't say anything about my titties tonight. She always does-I wonder what might be wrong? Maybe I should have asked. But that would seem like I was fishing for a compliment, or bragging or something. She knows I know she likes my jiggly titties. Grow up, Roz! She doesn't have to tell you every time what a great setta jugs ya got!
Life was so uncertain, though, she thought rather sadly, straightening and setting her teeth in the fullness of her lower lip. She'd gone a whole seventeen months without sex before she met Char, a little over six months ago. And now-she'd happily move in with her, or let Char move in here, or better still go, get a new apartment with her. But she didn't mention it. That was Char's place to mention, surely. Char was the decisive one. She wasn't just bigger, she was older... despite the fact that she was actually younger.
She's had a harder life, Rosalind thought. Whatever happened to me? Everything's been easy. I make a good salary, I don't have to watch my diet too much, my boss is nice-poor man!-and this apartment is... well, OK.
"You are a bitch," she told herself aloud. Charlotte came all the way over here tonight and she's still on her way home and she used that vibrator to really give you a good one-and what are you doing, Rosalind the bitch, Rosalind the undeserving? Mooning around because she didn't compliment you on your silly floppy damned tits!
She gave herself a vicious slap across the breast, which made it sting and jump wildly.
And, frowning, she turned to have a look at herself in the mirror that made up the outside of the closet door. Roz wasn't interested in her face and hair just now; she was used to the sight of them and knew she was all right, in those departments. She had not been able to bring herself to examine her unclothed body for years and years. It was still a new act. And right now it was her breasts she was interested in.
So was Terence Herlihy, who lived across the way and one floor up, in another building. He stood at the window of his apartment, which was dark. In the other room, his wife was already in bed, waiting hopefully for him. She didn't know that her meatiness no longer turned him on, that he stood at the window with a pair of binoculars-bought for bird-watching, of course-in his left hand and his cock in his right. For once, that absolute doll across the way had failed to pull her drapes. And damned if she wasn't stark naked, checking herself out in the mirror, or admiring herself, Herlihy thought. She should be!
He watched her watch herself and his right hand began to jiggle his cock.
The smooth-skinned, pink-white projections of her boobs were set widely apart, slung from high on her chest so that they ran down and down like long smooth ski-slopes to the tips, which stood straight out and then rounded sharply, fully back and up a little to reconnect to her chest.
Bullshit on the pencil test, Roz thought, turning side wise and giving herself an appraising look from slitted eyes. and inadvertently, giving Terry Herlihy a good eye-shot of her front. His eyes dropped from her tits.
He admired her belly. Unlike his damned gone-to-hell wife's, it was a tiny roundness, very very narrow, two clearly defined lines that ran up from the hollows of Roz's thighs-hips junction to frame a tiny navel that had been tied so that the knot still extruded, just a little, from its center.
Terry thought that was very sexy. Besides, there was absolutely no bulge to her little gut- but there sure was a swelling below! Though she'd never clipped her pubes, Rosalind could wear the briefest of panties or bikini bottoms without showing a single strand of hair.
Her pubic pelt, Herlihy saw as he stroked his hardening penis, was only a short, sparse patch that ran up the center of her bulging cunt mound. It ended but the tiniest fraction above the upper seam of her pushy pussy's thirsty, spongy, pulpy lips. They were very visible. Terry Herlihy adjusted his binoculars a bit, then resumed fondling his dick as he examined the girl's cunt.
She was almost hairless all over except, fortunately, for her head. Even that full-looking mane was so fine it could have been contained in a single, cupping hand. I'd a damned sight rather cup 'er knockers, Herlihy thought, but let his gaze linger on her lower body awhile longer. She, he saw, was examining her large knockers.
The hollows of the young woman's thighs showed, even when she wasn't tensed but was standing normally. Nice.
Then, from long distance and through his binoculars, he joined Roz in checking out her breasts. About that pencil test men used to talk about...
A pencil could be tucked up under Rosalind's breasts, all right. It could be pushed up between her chest and the undercurve of her loosely hung titties and she could hold it there for hours... her breasts were not the kind that stuck straight out. So long as she was still, a pencil would stay in place. Otherwise, what Char called Roz's jugs were so bumptiously jumpy and jiggly and inclined to bounce and swing that she'd lose the pencil in seconds.
And so what?
Herlihy watched the chick move in to her mirror, to peer more closely. A hot flash hit him when she lifted a hand to cup and raise one of those jiggly breasts. He eased back on his cock-stroking. The thing was high and hard and aching for pussy, already.
The really old aspect or attribute of Roz's jiggly titties was the nipples. They were big. A pencil eraser comparison wouldn't make it. These spongy excrescences were larger and thicker. and when they erected from small pink aureoles, they were even longer than pencil erasers.
God sure did make us all different, Herlihy thought, licking his lips.
Roz sighed. Her breasts were the same as always. Not stiff and large for her chest and fat-nippled. Charlotte just hadn't remembered or bothered to say anything about them tonight, that's all. Maybe she's starting to agree with me, Roz thought. She'd never felt that her titties were much-Rosalind didn't give herself A's on any part of herself.
She sighed piteously, examining her legs. They were too thin, she felt. Not calfy enough. She had ankles like a racehorse, tiny, with their bones clearly delineated. They rose from feet that were size five, highly arched. Again, not wearing a happy expression at all, she sighed.
Had she known that Terence Herlihy thought hers was just about the best-looking female bod he'd ever laid eyes on, Roz would not have been mollified. Secure in her insecurity, she was too accustomed to putting herself down to accept others' efforts to the contrary, without constant reinforcement. Long ago she had somehow got the idea that her face and figure, which surely deserved a B+ if not an A, were in the C- category. She needed the constant reinforcement of Char's commenting on her swell jugs-and tonight she hadn't gotten it.
Unhappily, she turned from the mirror, switched off the light and got into bed. Across the way, Terence Herlihy sighed. He put away his binoculars and with his mind still on the nameless chick he'd been watching, went into the bedroom to shock his overweight wife and give her one hell of a thrill.
Roz, meanwhile, lay thinking about herself and Charlotte and men and that time she'd seen Mom and Dad. She had been eleven and she'd overheard them. She had been frightened by the violent sounds of the bedsprings, his pounding and grunting and her mother's pains and whimpers-which sounded like pain. True, since then she'd heard other women make similar sounds-including herself. She knew now that her mother hadn't been in pain. But that early auditory experience had set her mind and it remained with her still.
She thought about it, without knowing that she herself had been the catalyst to the same scene, which was being played out in an apartment one floor up in the next building over.
The grunting man rammed up that strainingly enlarged cunt tunnel in insensate rut. The tensing of his asscheeks propelled him forward to slap against those of the kneeling woman. She moaned and groaned. Her cunt felt well filled. His entire body felt swollen, filled with lust. He transferred it to her, tamping it in with his hardened penis.
Completely lust-captivated, he fairly threw himself into her and slammed his body against her large upturned ass. The punching jarring fuck he threw between the backs of her shuddering thighs made her want to scream. She did. Fortunately the Herlihy's had no impressionable eleven-year-old to hear and misread those cries, as Rosalind's parents had.
He brought his hands around to manipulate his woman's luscious, sweat-bedewed breasts, lifting the dangling pendants, squeezing them without crushing them. Madly wishing he could fuck hard enough to make her ass swell, to make her hurt and even bleed to prove his city-sagging manhood, the squirming man listened happily to the slap of his charging crotch against her soft ass flesh.
With a generously rounded breast in each hand, he tugged her body back to his and listened appreciatively to her soft sighs of ecstatic delight.
The warm swells of her broad creamy posterior were too firm to crush and flatten, but that didn't stop him from trying. His body swung like a metronome.
Again and again his crotch smacked the jutting ovals of her ass and sent hot cock up her like a length of hot gristle, an unyielding prodding unbending poker that stretched her pussy's wet elastic walls to its whim and made her feel nothing but great and womanly while she knelt to receive it.
"Uh... ummm... oh, oh baby-you do it to me so good!"
He surged in hard. "I'm the fuckinnest fucker that ever fucked! Take that-an' that, an' that!"
Long searing strokes cocked her deeply, deep drives and partial withdrawals creating loud wet squishy sounds.
Salaciously she thrust her tremor-filled rump back against the darling man, her darling man, who was driving her raw-fleshed furrow vigorously along the thick mighty shaft of his rooting organ. Beneath her, her firm-tipped tits were in exciting, almost painfully, tugging motion, feeling far huger than they were.
Her shuddering body jerked strongly backward to impale herself on the firm, fat cockhead tipping that filling, fulfilling stalk of maleness. He stroked her with a cock that was voracious. He knew it would not be long before he filled her with a river of hot masculine liquid. She felt his balls rapping her, his rounded nuts that were wet with her own flowing juices, which drenched his pubic fur as well as her own.
Then, pressing in hard with a shivering grunt, he began jerking, shuddering as he went nigh rigid and began blowing his balls into her torrid tunnel.
Soon they were both drifting away into sleep. She was satisfied with that. Unlike Roz, a "dirty little Lez," she'd have spat on, she had never known an orgasm.