Claire's New Curves

She would touch her body to first one startled man and then another, blessing each, in turn, with the sensuous miracle of her divine presence. In this manner, she won the aroused discomfort of everyone on the elevator.

Once, amidst the confusion, she felt a hand slide up the back of her bare thigh and under her skirt where it lingered. The encounter sent shivers through her frame along a path that terminated somewhere deep inside her.

Then she learned about the new bus line, a recently added arm of the public transit system established to serve the local university and the growing number of students who chose to live off campus in the surrounding neighborhoods.

One morning, Claire observed with some delight that, close as she lived to campus, the new bus route ran right past her house. She was struck by a wicked idea.

The next day, after showering, she dug her digital camera from the back of a closet and set it atop its tripod in the corner of her bedroom.

She squeezed herself into a thin cashmere dress that just barely covered her backside, strapped on a pair of vertiginously high heeled stilettos, and walked several blocks east through the spring sunshine to meet the bus as it ran away from the university in the direction of Claire's home, returning its cargo of young students to the streets around campus.

The bus was filled near to capacity with boisterously animated college kids. But as Claire climbed aboard, the ambient volume dropped several decibels, an awed hush falling over its passengers. Her sudden, glamorous arrival was made all the more conspicuous by the fact that she was the only mature adult on the bus, a towering monument to sensuality erected amidst a confederation of narrow-hipped teens.

There were no available seats, and though an eager boy scrambled to make room for her, Claire gently waved him off. She preferred to stand. The better to display her provocative charms.

She scanned the crowd and thought she caught a young man gawking at her. But when her eyes met his, he shrank and made a poor effort to appear engrossed in the screen of his phone. The embarrassed intensity with which he was focused reassured Claire that he had indeed seen her.

As some students left the bus and others boarded, Claire was swept closer to the boy by the encroaching crowd. He couldn't have been much older than 18. She moved behind him and reached over his shoulder to grasp the support rail that ran the length of the carriage.

He was shorter than she, and she found herself gazing down at the crown of his head as the bus continued to describe its path through the neighborhood.

As they rounded a turn, she allowed her body to press into the boy. She felt him stiffen, aware of her yielding form against him. But as the bus resumed its shuddering progress, Claire felt him gradually relax into her soft, enlivened flesh, the unspoken acknowledgement of the other's presence crackling like electricity between them.

He made a show of glancing back over his shoulder to examine the route map, and Claire watched with gratitude as his eyes ran quickly across her tremoring breasts and a surprised burst of air escaped his lips.

She took advantage of the bus's halting advance to bounce herself against the boy as he was twisted about, and the maneuver served to knock him off balance. He staggered and spun, and Claire squeezed closer so that when he righted himself he was forced to confront her.

Their proximity was such that he could not raise his arm without squeezing it between their sandwiched bodies and so could no longer distract himself with his phone. He glanced about wildly in an attempt to find somewhere to put his eyes.

She shifted her feet then, as though adjusting her footing, pressed the smooth cushion of her left thigh between his legs, and there discovered a gratifying erection.

He sputtered in surprise and looked her in the face for the first time. She smiled coyly and bit her lip. He bravely met her eyes as her thigh quivered against his crotch then lost his resolve, and his eyes dropped to her breasts, which danced mere inches from his face.

So arranged, the couple continued to writhe almost imperceptibly against one another, aided by the bus's unpredictable lurching, and Claire experienced a spasm of almost maternal affection for the boy nuzzled against her breast.

When he had again regained the courage to meet her eye, she finally spoke. "What's your name, dear?"

"William," he whispered.

"Follow me, William," she said.

***

"We're going to play a bit of a game," she told him.

"Here are the rules, William. Listen very carefully. I'm not going to touch you, and you absolutely must not touch me, but you may look at me for as long as you like. And--this is the really fun part--I will do whatever you say. I'll take all of my clothes off, dance for you, masturbate, anything you want.

"But here's the catch. This is a bit of a science experiment. I wish to monitor your arousal so I can determine how best to please you. But, in order to do so, I need you naked. And--" She gestured at the camera. "You will allow me to record everything. For the sake of science."

He looked again at the blinking red light and Claire savored the tortured ambivalence that seemed to paralyze the boy.

"Um, am I going to be in it? I mean you can see me?"

The camera, its sinister intrusion, was an essential ingredient in Claire's satisfaction. She couldn't make it too easy. There had to be some element of risk, of exposure. It was a means by which to measure the strength of his desire for her, to test the sway of her power over the boy.

"Yes, William. We'll both be on video. But I won't show anyone, dear. It's just for me. I promise."

He languished in uncertainty.

"Don't you want to see what I've got under these clothes?" She pulled her dress up, over her panties, and raised it to reveal her smooth, toned stomach and just a peek at the roundest part of her mammoth breasts, below the nipple where they lay heavily against her ribs. "What do you say?"

He exhaled loudly and finally acquiesced. "Okay."

"Oh, how wonderful, William! You're such a brave boy. You've made me very happy. This is going to be a lot of fun. You're going to be so excited when you see my body.

"Why don't you strip and show me your penis?"

He took one last peek at the camera. It was an instant she would later revisit on her laptop. The forlorn look that signaled the dissolution of his resolve, the desertion of what he knew to be his better judgement.

He began to tremble as he slowly undressed under Claire's admiring gaze, dropping his clothes, an item at a time, into a puddle on the floor. His young body was smooth and slender but was pleasingly well-defined, hairless, save for a sparse patch of fine curls around his genitals.

Claire was seized by a nearly irrepressible desire to embrace the boy, to smother him against her body.

His nipples hardened in the cool air as he searched self-consciously for some place to put his hands.

"Just put your hands on your bottom, dear. Let me see your erection." She chose words intended to infantilize him, to exaggerate the imbalance of power between them.

His penis was narrow but well-formed. A beautiful little cock, really, Claire thought. He was deliciously erect, and Claire could see a bead of glistening precum already embellishing the tip of his swollen glans as his cock bobbed, almost imperceptibly, in-time with his heart rate.

"You really are a beautiful boy, William. Would you like to see my breasts now?"

William nodded. "Yes, please, Mrs. Thomas."

"Tell me, William. Tell me what you want to see."

"I want to see your breasts."

At that, Claire pulled her dress over her head and tossed it aside, leaving herself in nothing but the black lace panties that were nearly swallowed by her prodigious curves. She held her arm across her chest in an attempt to cover her loose breasts, but her plentiful flesh swelled enticingly as she held them. "Ready?...Ta-da!"

She dropped her arm and her breasts sprang free, bouncing resiliently, and the boy gave an amusing little gasp.

"They're so big, William. Have you ever seen such a busty woman?"

He shook his head, transfixed.

She raised her arms, laced her fingers behind her head, and began to rotate her torso. Her breasts rocked gently on her chest. "Oh, my god. Look at my giant titties jiggle. That's so sexy, isn't it?"

Claire observed the spume of precum at the tip of the boy's cock grow heavier and drip from the end of his rigid prick, which continued to pulsate before her.

His eyes charted a darting course about Claire's body.

"You can touch yourself if you like, William. Why don't you masturbate while you look at me?"

He hesitated, glancing again at the camera, the presence of which continued to disquiet him from the corner of the room.

"Are you nervous, dear? It's okay. Don't be shy. You can make yourself cum while you look at me. I won't tell anyone."

Claire pushed her hands into her yielding flesh, rocking her breasts, causing them to perform a slow, gentle clap for the boy.

He reached tentatively for his protruding cock and began to stroke himself as he looked at her.

"That's it. Play with your beautiful cock for me."

Claire enjoyed the sullen slackening that subdued his mouth as he forgot himself, so engrossed he had become in her lewd performance, the entrancing agitation of her enormous breasts.

"You're being such a good boy, William. Stroke your prick for me. Isn't that nice? Doesn't that feel good?"

He mewled in agreement.

"Would you like to see my ass now?"

She rolled over onto the bed and sprung up on all fours. She thrust her chest out, tilted her pelvis back, and began to lightly gyrate her hips. The small movement was enough to rouse the pliable globes of her buttocks into mesmerizing animation.

She allowed her knees to slip apart and her chest to touch the mattress, further emphasizing the extravagant lines of her silhouette and causing her breasts to balloon visibly from beneath her torso as she continued to wag her tail at the boy.

"I bet you do this all the time, hunh? When you're alone? You touch yourself and think about beautiful women like me. Don't you?

"It's okay, dear. I don't mind. You can tell me. I was built to be admired. You think about women like me when you masturbate. Right, Willam?"

"Yes, Mrs. Thomas."

"I thought so. Can I tell you a secret, too? I think about boys like you when I masturbate. I lie here, in this bed, and fuck myself. I think about making boys like you ejaculate. Are you going to cum for me, dear?"

At that, he began to tug more insistently at himself.

She reached across the bed to her nightstand and withdrew the dildo that had become a necessary supplement to her fruition.

"Do you mind if I masturbate, too? Would you like to see that?"

She sat back on the bed, propped up against the pillows, spread her generous thighs, and slipped the broad instrument into the welcoming folds of her pussy.

"Mmm. Look at us, masturbating together. How sexy. Have you ever been with a woman like me?"

"No, M'am."

"Mrs. Thomas."

"No, Mrs. Thomas."

"Oh, you would love it, William. Mature women like me are so soft and inviting. Just look at how easily this huge cock disappears inside me."

She spread her legs further and used both hands to probe herself with the dildo.

"Imagine how warmly my pussy would receive you."

She watched as William's eyes bulged, a contraction of need pinching his face, and she knew he was ready for the final act of her performance.

She slid down the bed, her long hair fanning out into a dark pool behind her. With her knees up and thighs spread wide, she drove her pelvis into the mattress and thrust her breasts skyward like a pinup model, making an elegant arch of her body.

"Come closer, dear. Come around the side of the bed here for a closer look."

He stepped around the end of the bed, his erection bobbing, to stand next to Claire. She shivered at the enticing proximity of his waving penis and the added intimacy his approach lent their interaction.

She fixed the dildo between her thighs and began to rock herself along its length, her extraordinary body beginning an obedient dance. Her thighs oscillated dramatically, and her colossal breasts rolled in hypnotic waves across her chest. The maneuver sent her entire body into a bewitching state of perpetual undulation.

The boy gasped as though he'd been touched by some cold, invisible hand.

"Oh my god. Look at my body move. Isn't that sexy, William?"

She lowered her voice and adopted a confidential tone, her body continuing it's ceaseless motion. "Are you going to spurt, honey. Are you going to make a mess for Mrs. Thomas?"

He gave a frantic nod of his head.

"Here." She brought her arms together, forcing her enormous breasts to sit up on her chest, creating a lurid receptacle of her waving flesh. "You can spurt here, honey. Between my giant tits."

The boy moaned extravagantly, the loudest sound she'd coaxed from him, his eyes rolling dramatically.

"It's okay, dear. Let it go. Be a good boy. Make big spurts for Mrs. Thomas."

He groaned and his shoulders drooped as he melted into a wanton posture of lust, his orgasm overtaking him. With a shudder, he began to cum, his spasms squeezing brief little whimpers from him as he emptied himself in voluminous spurts across Claire's quaking body.

The first shot streamed across her clavicle.

"Oh, my! Good boy! That's it. Give me all your sticky boy juice."

The subsequent droplets cast from his fervid hand decorated her teetering breasts and began to melt into a pool in the valley she had created between them.

She writhed under the shower of the boy's gushing erection, the warmth of his fluids causing her nipples to harden and her skin to excite into gooseflesh. Here was the indelible mark of his desire for her.

As Claire ran her fingers through the thick puddles on her body and began to massage the glistening semen into her excited skin, William's contractions slowed and stopped.

"Wow," Claire said, simply, examining her glazed breasts. "That was so hot. Look at all this cum. You came big for me, hunh?"

The boy leaned over her, dazed, breathing, his young cock beginning to wilt. He turned from her then and sat heavily on the corner of the bed.

She crawled to him, so grateful that she encircled the boy in her arms, flattening her slick bosom against his back, and finally succumbed to the desire to hold him. She rocked him gently and brushed his cheek with her soft lips.

Though she did not see it, the camera captured his final glance, his flushed face darkened once more by revenant anxiety.

"Good boy," she whispered.

***

And so Claire's needs grew more complex, her simple desire to be coveted exacerbated by an attendant desire to be observed.

She returned to the bus, again and again, to peruse the fresh, 18-year-old faces she found there and rehearse what had become her private ritual. She took an horologist's destructive pleasure in the deliberate disassembly of each boy's scruples.

There were so many--a solemn young black man with a cock carved from ebony; another who, upon sight of Claire's breasts and without so much as a single touch of his hand, immediately began to cum, his erection waving wildly, dressing Claire's crossed thighs in slick ribbons of ejaculate.

One afternoon, when Claire was feeling especially devious, she even lured two young men into her bedroom, positioned the pair together next to her bed, and demanded, as part of their negotiations, that the boys masturbate one another in turn.

With her teasing performance, she managed to dissolve their initial discomfort and provoke two effluent orgasms from each boy, one writhing wantonly in the other's hands, while the first regained his excitement.

She recorded it all, each confrontation, and only at the end of the day--her visitors gone, the bedsheets stripped and replaced--would she plug the camera's memory card into her laptop, review the day's conquest, and massage herself to a series of rolling orgams.

She most enjoyed the moments just before each boy would undress, the anguished indecision in their faces, the alluring insistence of her own voice.

She was equally inspired by their climaxes, amused by the base, rigid pose each boy struck as he finished. She imagined herself a kind of medusa, those having gazed upon her frozen in terrible ecstasy.

She edited the videos together, excising and inserting, compiling her favorite moments into an anthology of her encounters. In this way, she was able to exalt in the immediate juxtaposition of each boy's initial reluctance and subsequent abandon. The images formed a gratifying medley of seduction and submission.

Their reluctance was everything. Without it, the later obedience was meaningless. But as Claire continued her bus routine, she found that no single rendezvous satisfied her as fully as the first.

She arrived at an awareness that, by means of some clandestine teenage network of rumor and scandal, word had travelled amongst the regular passengers of the afternoon bus, that a story had emerged between them about the mysterious, beguiling woman who would appear each afternoon and select one fortunate subject upon whom to indulge her strange proclivities.

And when Claire boarded the bus outside her home each day and slid her way through the growing congregation of young men, time would seem to stop, a fog of collective anticipation would envelop the crowd, each boy longing to receive her blessing, a consecration signaled by the soft touch of her encroaching body.

And when, at last, she would make her choice, locating the slightest, most obedient looking boy she could find, a subsequent atmosphere of disappointment would fill the bus, and the others would watch--some baleful, others amused--as she set to work mesmerizing the embarrassed boy.

The effect was such that Claire began to feel as though she were browsing the produce aisle of a supermarket, each boy ripe for the taking. The initial reluctance that had so thrilled her vanished, replaced by their anticipation. She became certain she could have any of the boys she wanted, and the game eventually lost its appeal.

Claire sought other, more formidable challenges.

She booked an appointment with a new doctor for the ostensible purpose of a breast exam, and as he stood close to palpitate her rotund breasts, an erection tenting his trousers, she suggested he masturbate.

He climaxed in series of ecstatic convulsions across her breasts, his emissions darkening her paper gown, his eyes flitting anxiously all the while to the closed office door.

Another time, she watched a young couple from her seat at a restaurant, the man's interest shifting from his companion to where Claire sat, squeezed into a cocktail dress that was a size too small, and when the woman left for the bathroom, Claire quickly took her place.

"Is that your girlfriend?" she asked.

The man sat up in surprise at her sudden intrusion, and his eyes dropped to the audacious bust of her dress, her breasts threatening to spill from the low cut silk that endeavored to contain them.

"Uh. My wife."

Even better. "Would you like to see me naked? Why don't you leave with me right now?"

The man opened his mouth as if to say something but froze, blinking.

"Come on. Right now. I'll make you cum on my breasts."

He shook his head in disbelief and glanced at the bathroom, a delicious moment of indecision. "Your place?"

"Yes. Just tell your wife there was some emergency," Claire suggested, though she knew and cared not what distress could possibly justify so sudden a departure.