tagExhibitionist & VoyeurTaking a Chance

Taking a Chance

bywelshman©

Although this is a story, what you are about to read is based on some real events. These people exist.

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I run what you might call a newsagents/general store in a small Welsh town. I have regular customers, some occasional ones and customers that will call only once.

One of my occasional customers I see once every few weeks or so, I don't even know her name, she is a woman in her late twenties I'd guess, not a great beauty but she is most attractive and elegant. I cannot but fail to notice her figure, curvaceous without seeming at all overweight. Her large breasts are always tastefully clad but unlike some large breasted women she doesn't attempt to 'hide' them under loose, ill-fitting clothing. Indeed she is always well dressed, not in the designer sense but with a perfect sense of her body shape in mind.

It was a quiet, early winter's day and I was pleased to see her entering my shop. Dressed in a long skirt, corduroy perhaps, chocolate brown to match her long straight hair, and a slightly lighter brown unbuttoned tailored jacket which looked like suede. Around her neck was a wide and long cream woolen scarf draped inside the lapels of the jacket, unfortunately resting on the beguiling mounds I am always keen to notice. As she browsed around my shop I of course took opportunities to watch her, ogle her if you must. It's always pleasing to assess the size of such fine breasts, a bright spot in an otherwise slow, dark & cold winter's day. Oh; certainly bigger than a D-cup I'd judge. But it's the proportion too, to the woman's body, she's about 5'6".

As she moved so did her scarf to a degree. Imagination must have got the better of me because at a distance of several feet it seemed underneath the scarf was flesh. Nonsense, I thought, whatever she's wearing under her jacket just seemed flesh-coloured, or the shop's lights were playing tricks on me. I watched more intently as she browsed the women's magazines. Her scarf moved away from her chest as she took a magazine off the shelf and again I was seeing flesh, or so I thought. My heartbeat raced. Was she? Could she?

Without hesitation I moved for a better angle, taking something with me to place on a shelf. I offered her the usual greetings from shopkeeper to customer and she returned them with her usual smile full of warmth and friendliness. In the few seconds of this advantage I noticed her scarf flowed from around her neck widening as it went then to hang down loose from the generous swell which I desired a sight of. Under her jacket's lapel and the scarf's edge I could just see a sensuous seeming blouse and it wasn't flesh coloured, it was bright-white with vivid colours splashed at random. Not something to mistake for skin.

As I finished placing my excuses on the shelf. I returned to the counter, but stayed on the customer's side and basically just stood there hoping she'd actually want to buy something so to bring it to the counter.

I had decided on something audacious and risky but what the hell.

Within a minute she indeed was bringing me a magazine to be bought, but instead of moving around to the till I took it off her and looked at her. Somewhat curious of my actions she looked back at me.

I held the end of her scarf to tell her I admired it and such a nice one it was. This was the point when I fully expected her to grab it back from me. She didn't react as I feared, just her mouth opening slightly. I commented on its qualities as I held it up high and away from her body to enable my sight to learn the truth of what lay beneath.

Her blouse had no buttons, it was a wrap-around style with supposedly a belt to hold it in place. It wasn't wrapped, the belt was missing, it was agape. The blouse's edges followed those of her jacket until they joined back together loosely near her navel just above her skirt. The styling and weight of the suede jacket pushed her breasts together somewhat and the way she was standing meant her left breast was pushed furthest inward. My unfettered audacity was justly rewarded by the revelation of a truly magnificent breast. Over half its width and all its length was on view, the nipple was concealed but about a third of its dark brown areola was not.

I looked up to her face. There was no outrage, her mouth was slightly parted, her eyes intent. She said nothing. As passive as a manikin but observing my actions, neither resisting nor encouraging, I considered therefore she hoped I would be active.

I placed each side of her scarf outside her jacket's lapel. She shifted her stance. Her right breast was nuzzling into what was available, shyer than the other. I looked again at the areola. That made the whole thing much more erotic than if it were just cleavage on display. But then again there was no cleavage on display, there was nothing on display until I held her scarf, she knew what I would learn if I did what I did. Again I looked at her face, she was intrigued.

My confidence and erection grew stronger. I placed my hand flat on her upper chest and so very carefully and slowly moved it sideways and downward gradually feeling the flesh of her chest become plumper. I was looking at her face as my hand began caressing, high up to begin then lower, so very slowly lower, until my palm and a pointed nipple met.

A moan, I heard a little moan.

I squeezed the giant teardrop, its trapped nipple struggled in my palm. My hand held what I had admired from afar, it was exquisite. So very warm and pliable, her face told me she shared my pleasure. Hand and breast enjoyed each other. I watched her face, I admired her breast and back and forth I took it in. She gently swayed, her eyes closing then opening, looking at me then down to her breast. A quiet moan would sound in her throat. I cupped under it and lifted. Heavy, surprisingly so in that it was so buoyant with skin so smooth and tight. I concentrated my eyes on the nipple, ideally set amongst a roadmap of barely visible bluish veins, a nipple and areola worthy of such a breast, long and wide, dotted with pleasure points curling away to an uneven, engorged pink point. I wanted to bring it to my mouth but something held me back from this, I felt it was a line not to be crossed. Dropping it to see it jounce before reattaching my hand I heard her throat sound, then the door opened, another customer entered.

I had an erection, not a full one but enough. The woman whose breast I was enjoying seemed barely aware the door had opened, she turned her head around and saw a slightly younger woman enter.

She is a regular customer of mine, I even know her name. Here, I'll name her Sian, a fine Welsh name. Sian is rather pretty, beautiful even. Her hair a darker brown, curly and disheveled looking in a most pleasing way. She looks reminiscent of a classic renaissance beauty and seems to have an aura of innocence. She assists in another shop down the street. I know she is engaged. He hasn't brought out the woman in her it seems, nor has she herself found her yet. I hope I'll still have her as a customer when she has. Her face could be on the cover of any magazine my well endowed customer browsed.

My hand was still attached to breast, kneading gently. I assumed the protocol was for the owner to detach her breast and replace her scarf which would take mere seconds. She still looks over her shoulder at the oblivious young lady who I knew was about to buy a copy of the Radio Times as that was usual for her at this time of the week. My hand squeezed harder in warning of imminent disclosure. A moan and a slight stagger were her only response.

As Sian approached with magazine in hand she sees us at the counter. The naked breast and my hand upon it were obscured yet, tho she can see my outstretched arm going strangely to the woman's body. I'm wondering what she'll make of it and why my hand is still attached to a breast while I'm at the counter of my shop with a customer to serve.

Sian looks, Sian sees.

My other customer groans gently and briefly closes her eyes. I cup her breast and held all its weight. Sian stared at it eyes wide like her mouth. She looked at me, perhaps for some explanation, then quickly back to my hand. I lower the weight and squeeze the teardrop out of shape as Sian watches motionless, speechless. No scream then, no foul tirade, no fleeing either? I thought this Sian would be running now.

I felt a soft swish on the back of my hand full of flesh and realized a scarf again covers what I'm holding so I detach myself from her person. Further adjustments were made for her exit to reality and with a meaningful look for Sian and me she headed towards the exit.

Sian kept watching her until she was outside then turned to me. She handed me her magazine, blushed and shaking a little. She noticed the erection in my trousers. I think I blush. She smiled, she actually smiles. I wasn't expecting that. Because I know Sian I became a little flustered, and I had to think back about what she said next. A little moist herself? Fabulous body she had? I focus. Don't usually get to see something exciting when you pop in to buy a magazine, she said. She said that?! As I gave her 5p change I managed to say 'no, but don't expect it every week' She laughed.

Just as she was leaving her smile reassured me she had no interest in embarrassing me with her knowledge. The next week she bought the same mag and cheekily looked around grinning as if searching for someone.

Days later my lady with her proud breasts returned, sooner than her usual interval, dressed similarly but with a woollen jumper under a coat. At first I was somewhat anxious. She said nothing as she waited until we were alone in the shop when she simply lifted her jumper to show me that she was braless. Their symmetry was as seductive as the perfection of the one. I made to move toward her but she backed off allowing me the pleasure of their jiggle. She then proceeded to play with them while occasionally glancing at the door in case someone was about to enter. I came to her side of the counter and she kept a distance of about five feet from me as she showed me her repertoire of breast juggling, hugging, squeezing etc. In turn I produced an appreciative bulge which she noted with her stare. This went on for a few minutes until someone intruded and she hid her breasts in wool. As this customer wanted something annoyingly involved my erotic enchantress smiled and waved at me as she left me to hide my problem behind the counter.

She has been a few times since. Usually she has a performance planned tho once she did nothing, another tease. She has shown me bras that seemed impossible to fit her breasts into. A sheer top under a coat she only unbuttoned while in my shop. A deeply plunging top when she insisted on stooping in front of me while fidgeting, and more. She usually says nothing or little. Once she kept asking me long irrelevant questions as she pressed her body close to me and intermittently took my hand with hers under her top. But never under her skirt.

I once asked her 'why' she said only: 'don't spoil it'. I anticipate seeing her again soon but it's getting busier in the shop, I hope she will improvise. I look forward to seeing and, perhaps, if she allows, feeling those glorious breasts again. As much as she likes me to, I'm sure.

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Any large-breasted women who liked this story might like to show their appreciation by sending me a picture of themselves dressed as the character depicted. :-)

Thank you.

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