Chapter 7
After that incident things were pretty miserable around Frieda's Diner for George. She nagged him incessantly and saved all of the dirty jobs for him to the delight of the rest of the kitchen help.
Once he saw Mrs. Wainright's fantastic body coming towards him on Main St. her great bust jouncing up and down under her silk frock. But she seemed to look right through him as she passed and not a word was spoken between them. George could have kicked himself for missing the first opportunity that he had had to speak to her; but he was so shook up by the vision of his beloved former mistress that he was speechless.
It was evening and he was on his way to the diner to work the night shift. He entered the diner and relieved the day man and found himself the sole person in the greasy place. There were no customers and it was Frieda's day off, which was a relief, he wouldn't have to put up with her nagging for a change.
His chance meeting with Mrs. Wainright and her obvious snub had left George very depressed at the futility of it all. Probably the fantastic creature had a new stud by now anyway. A woman like her had to have a big prick at her disposal constantly and as he had discovered on her balcony that night, a sexy woman too.
He was musing over the idea of leaving town and trying his luck elsewhere, when the rickety door of the diner opened and a woman pranced in, her sky-high stiletto heels clicking on the dirty tiled floor. George's eyes started at her feet and wandered upwards over black nylon encased legs that were meaty, but meaty in the right places, at calf and thigh, tapering delightfully into slender ankles and knees.
Regretfully his eyes left her legs and wandered up over her short satin skirt to hips that were amazingly broad and pliable as they wiggled with her walk. The crest of her hips flared dramatically inward to what had to be a tiny corseted waist. The waist was in deep shadow and he soon discovered the reason. The shadow was cast by the most monumental bust that George had ever laid eyes on. The bra that contained it must have been specially made because no standard size could possibly envelop their great jiggling mass. Two massive nipples threatened to pierce the thin satin bodice. Her dress was quite low cut and great amounts of alabaster white flesh bulged over the top, quivering like twin vats of Jell-o with her mincing steps. She stopped in front of him as his eyes left her great jutting melons and glanced at her face.
"FRIEDA!!" George shouted in disbelief. "It CAN'T be."
"Whatsamatter limpcock?" she snapped, using the nickname she had stuck on him after that terrible night in the John. "Ain't ya ever seen a gal dressed up before?"
"Yes ... but ... but you look so different," George stammered.
"Put yer eyeballs back in their sockets sonny, ya act as though ya never seen a pair a tits before," she said, her full, lips curving into a smile, her teeth startlingly white against the deep vermilion shade of lipstick that she had liberally applied. "Well maybe ya ain't ... not like these anyways.
"No Frieda ... not like those," George replied weakly as Frieda cupped the underside of her twin monsters and hoisted them upwards for George's inspection, their bulging upper halves threatening to pop right out of her gown.
"Well eat yet heart out limpcock cause ya ain't ever gonna get yer mits on these babies, they're reserved fer a man, not a kid who ain't got the right follow through," she snarled, twisting her torso away from George so that he could see their incredible jutting profile.
George stared in disbelief at the most magnificent hunk of femininity that he had ever laid eyes on. How could her loose, sloppy uniform have concealed such an amazing assortment of curves. He was too young to know what a tight dress and a tighter corset could do for a woman of Frieda's ampleness.
"W-why don't you dress this way when you're working Frieda, it ought to be good for business?" George gasped.
"I did at first but all them crumby truck drivers sat around starin' at my tits and hardly ate a thing. Now they don't pay no attention ta me and they eat like pigs ... but enough a that I got a bridge game comin' up at my house in a couple hours. I want-cha ta drive me ta my house, then take the car over ta Mike's garage fer a tune up. We'll lock up the diner, it'll only take a few minutes ... c'mon," she snapped, turning on her stilt heels and prancing towards the door, affording George an incredible view of her great, ham-like buttocks grinding together below her wasp-like waist.
"You mean to say that you play bridge Frieda?" George asked incredulously as he trailed behind.
"Whadaya think limpcock, I ain't got no culture?" she asked as George held the car door open on the driver's side and she slid her lush rear over the leather seat.
George couldn't think of any possible answer to that remark so he sat stiffly in silence as Frieda whisked the car out of the parking lot. Gradually the car became filled with the exciting scent of an expensive French perfume that was far different from the cheap cologne she had used in the men's room that night. It fairly screamed of thrashing silken legs, yawning thighs and gaping cunts. The impressionable youth became caught up in its spell. Then it struck him like a thunderbolt ... that long pink cunt topped by its amazing clitoris, set in the great mass of pubic hair that reached to the navel ... the incredibly wide-set thighs. On the old Frieda the awesome sight had been terrifying ... but on the new, the magnificent Frieda, it would be devastating. The mere thought sent his cock into a rapid expansion as it fattened and lengthened in his tight chinos.
As they drove down the highway the only sound in the car's interior was the exciting feminine sound of nylon hissing over nylon as Frieda moved her legs to work the pedals. As she did so her tight skirt slid further and further up over her meaty thighs till a sizable expanse of creamy white flesh could be seen above the jet blackness of the tops of her stockings. The dashboard light set off the lush contours of her legs beautifully as her powerful leg muscles could be seen working under the sheer dusky nylon.
George envisioned his head clamped tight between these silken thighs as he supped ravenously on her steaming crotch and his cock increased the speed of its extension down his pants leg. The same thighs that had been so horrifying, so disgusting to him before, now seemed worth a lifetime's quest. His knob, swollen beyond belief was almost to his knee now as his shaft extended, every minute detail of its shape outlined by his drum-tight chinos.
As Frieda moved her full-fleshed legs effortlessly, shining highlights danced up and down the length of her black nylons as they reflected the dashboard light. All of this, the hissing of nylon, the exposure of her lush legs, the great bust that jutted far out over the steering wheel, the memory of her fantastic crotch; it was all too much for George. As though moved by some energy not of his own making he reached out and dropped his left hand on a soft, hot thigh.
"Don't start somethin' ya can't finish limp-cock," Frieda snarled as she slapped his hand away.
There was something else sensual other than Frieda's legs illuminated by the dashboard light and she almost lost control of the car as she saw it. His fat cock, fully a foot long now, lay throbbing on the inside of his thigh, topped by the huge gland that was threatening to burst through his thin pants.
"OH BROTHER!" Frieda shrieked as she jammed her foot down on the accelerator. "Save it fer me baby ... save it fer me or yer fired."
"Don't worry Frieda," George said confidently as he stared down proudly at the monster imprisoned in his trousers. "I won't let you down this time."
George looked on breathlessly as a hand entered the spotlight on center stage and entwined its long fingers around his thick shaft at its base. Then like a white spider crawling up a tree trunk it worked its way up the length of his cock, testing its hardness, its incredible length.
"It feels like it's made of steel," Frieda exclaimed as her fingers tested the immensity of his swollen head, "and so HUGE."
"We're both pretty well endowed Frieda," George said as he reached out with both hands and cupped the underside of her giant bust. "As they say, it's as though we were made for each other."
His frantic activities with Carol Wainright had temporarily tempered George's craving for big breasts, but now as his fingers sunk into the softness of the biggest melons he had ever seen, the fetish roared back into his psyche at double its former strength.
As Frieda jerked on his fat cock to make certain that it maintained its erection, George jammed a hand under her taut bodice and was amazed to discover the giant orbs' jutting perfection wasn't due to the uplifting qualities of a bra; she wasn't wearing one. He grasped one naked monster in both hands and yanked it out of her bodice to the accompaniment of the sound of ripping fabric.
George gasped at the sight of a huge aureole that had the shape and size of a red tea cup, giving the effect of breast mounted on breast. Centered therein, a giant nipple gleamed redly in the dim light. He twisted the great melon towards him so easily it might have been a plastic bag filled with melted butter and jammed the great appendage between his lips, his lips curling around its contours.
"Oh BABY," Frieda wailed, as she wiggled her lush buttocks excitedly on the car seat. "That feels so GOOD-D-D, I'm so sensitive there."
As George sunk his nose deep into the softness of her breast, his lips working greedily on her great nipple, he felt the car come to a halt. Looking up he was startled to discover that they had stopped in front of a house of impressive proportions, obviously in the best part of town.
"Frieda," he exclaimed, letting the swollen nipple slip from the hot confines of his mouth," I thought we were going to your place."
"This is my place limpco ... oh I forgot, I certainly can't call you that anymore," she giggled as she turned off the ignition and dimmed the lights.
Then George noticed another thing. Her voice, it wasn't the same, it had taken on a refined tone. And her diction, it was faultless. He had to look again to make certain that it was truly Frieda.
"Frieda ... your voice ... it's different."
"Oh you've noticed, I'm afraid that this is my real voice my deah," she chuckled as they left the car and walked up the walk to the house, she towering over him, leaning forwards a bit so that she could continue her tireless massaging of his great cock.
"But why Frieda?"
"Oh it's all part of my act at the diner. I found that I had to sink to the crude level of the truck drivers. I had to be ... well sort of a pal to them, someone who could speak to them in their own language so that they wouldn't feel awkward with me."
"But Frieda ... this house, surely you can't afford ... "
"Oh yes I can my deah, you have no idea what a gold mine that dreadful place is. Haven't you ever thought about how jammed it becomes at meal times. Why it has enabled me to have a place at Acapulco and a skiing lodge in Vermont, besides my home here in town."
"Frieda you're incredible," George gasped, as with his eyes glued to the great jiggling orb that was still hanging naked out of her bodice, he stumbled over the step in front of her doorway.
George knew that he had found it again, the feathered nest that he had had with Mrs. Wainright, only this time it was doubled in spades. By comparison she paled to the magnificent voluptuousness of Frieda. And this time there would not be the complications of a husband and daughter.
"Incidentally my deah; please don't refer to me as Frieda anymore, except in the diner of course. My real name is Helen ... Helen Vanarsdale."
George smiled confidently to himself. He didn't ever intend to have to work in that greasy place again; not if he played his cards right. He knew that his trump card, his unmatchable cock, would take care of that. He could tell by the way she reluctantly let go of it and fumbled nervously in her purse for the house key that she craved it in the worst way. And it wasn't as though he was merely insidiously scheming about his future in a detached way. Far from it, George wanted to fuck this incredible hunk of femininity just as desperately as she obviously wanted him to.
"DAMN-DAMN-DAMN, I can't get the key in the lock," she wailed, her hand shaking so much that the simple task became an impossible one.
"Here Helen, let me," George exclaimed, taking the key from her shaking fingers. But his fingers were shaking too and it was several frustrating moments before he was able to open the door and before he did she had unzipped his fly and hauled his fevered prong out into the cool night air.
"Oh my deah what a MAGNIFICENT cock you have," she shrieked as she sank down before him in the open doorway, her knees striking the door jam, sending a pain shooting through her that she was completely oblivious to in her delirium. Her mouth, much wider than Olga's had been, opened wide as she grasped his fat shaft and jammed the huge red gland inside. With an expertness born of long practice, she let her teeth slide along the ripe plum, peeling the foreskin back with them.
"Inside ... let's get inside," she gurgled, her mouth stuffed to the bursting point with his giant knob.
George stepped backwards onto a deep piled rug as she scrambled along on her knees, pushing him into the room. Once inside she reached blindly behind her and slammed the door shut. Helen continued to savor her delicious mouthful as she reached up and loosened his belt and as she did the chinos slid down to his feet.
Helen pulled back for a quick look, his slippery red gland leaving her ravenous mouth with a loud plopping sound. She sat back on her haunches awestruck by the immensity of his private parts, his giant cock curving like a great scimitar from its nest of curly black pubic hair, its swollen knob glistening redly in the warm light cast by a small table lamp. Hanging half way to his knees were two coconut sized balls. They were swaying in rhythm to the rapid beat of George's pulse as was his cock.
With a wild look in her eyes, Helen crawled down beneath his splayed legs, supporting herself by her hands, awkwardly tilting her head back as far as it would go. She raised and lipped a mouthful of loose, hair-flecked skin and then gulped in as much of the heavy ball-cock as she could, rolling the mouthful of flesh from cheek to cheek as she pressed it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue.
As Helen continued to lave and torture George's tenderest part, her hands were active up above, jerking mightily on his shaft, bringing it to an erection the size of which George had never seen before.
Finally she let the egg-shaped gland slip from her full lips, her pointed tongue darting out to give it one last caress as she wiggled it upwards through the dense forest of black hair at his crotch and out onto the smoothness of his fat shaft.
She traced a torturous path outwards towards his giant red gland, following a corded blue vein, thrilling at the feel of it throbbing against the tip of her tongue. She licked with maddening slowness, saturating the massive body of his shaft with her saliva. Finally her tongue burrowed into the piled up foreskin just below the crest of George's knob and she nipped it playfully with her sharp front teeth.
This was no woman anxious to please her man; willing to do anything to bring them closer together at the expense of doing something that went against her natural instincts. Helen was a wanton sexpot who had always enjoyed doing this to a man. She liked the taste of a man; she loved the taste of his orgasm. Since she had never found a man with a penis large enough to bring her to fulfillment, she had turned to this as a substitute.
Now for the first time in her life she had found a penis formidable enough to follow through with a hearty fucking after her preliminary oral stimulation. The mere thought of it caused her cunt to twitch and as though with a mind of its own, hunger for the stuffing of his fat cock.
Helen leaped to her feet and literally tore her dress off of her great mass of curves. It was brand new, purchased just the day before at the most expensive boutique in town, but she didn't care, nothing else mattered but having the soul filling action of his giant instrument.
George gasped at the vision of her giant orbs swaying pendulously on her rib-cage, overlapping a goodly portion of a corset of fine black lace embellished with numerous red satin bows. The soft flesh of her plump legs billowed over the tops of her dark-toned stockings, giving the impression that they were imprisoned by the taut nylon. Her mid-section was as he had remembered it, her long legs set incredibly wide apart to accommodate her great nest of curly black hair and the long, pink cunt.
She let him savor the sight of her for just a moment, then with a cry she threw herself onto the rug and lay on her back, splaying her silken limbs wide and waving them in wanton invitation.
"C'mon baby ... give me that fat cock of yours," she wailed as her buttocks writhed in aimless patterns on the rug, her cunt gaping wide.
George fell to his knees between her legs and gave his huge cock to her eager hands. With an incredible burst of energy Helen jammed her hips and belly to his, skewing his huge prong to the very root of her saturated vagina.
"OH-H-H ... OH-H-H," she screamed. "It's so BIG-G."
"Oh you like Georgie's cock do you ... it fills you doesn't it baby," George moaned pridefully, certain now that this was a new experience for her.
"YES-YES it fills me. Now MOVE it ... FUCK ME HARD!!" she shrieked, her gorgeous buttocks vibrating about on the rug as though they were in the grip of a reducing machine.
Somewhere in the course of his affairs with Olga and Mrs. Wainright George had learned to fuck and fuck properly and that was what he proceeded to do as he drew his cock back, the great head torturing with sweet pleasure pains the slippery walls of her vagina. To the accompaniment of violent screams of passion Helen raised her hips from the rug to receive his jarring upward thrust. Her vagina sucked hotly at his giant tool as it retraced its torturous path.
Then with his balls beating out a bongo beat as they smacked against her lush buttocks he began to fuck her fast and hard. As he did he supported himself with one hand and with the other he hoisted a monstrous melon and sucked as much of the great nipple and its surrounding aureole as he could get into his eager mouth, chewing and tongue lashing the delectable flesh.
Their actions became wilder and more frantic as they both felt the first involuntary jerk that forewarned the approaching surge of orgasm. Suddenly, their already shattered senses were shattered even more by the loud ring of the doorbell directly over their heads.
"OH NO-O-O-O," Helen screamed. "I forgot all about my bridge date."