A Tale of Two Paramours Ch. 03

The image on my phone screen was a 'selfie' of the petite blonde, on her knees, obviously naked. Intense blue eyes stared up off the screen and a pink tongue protruded through wide open lips. As with Jessi's prior pictures, my body responded immediately.

I was trying to force my breathing back to normal when another message from Jessi popped up on the screen: "Wanna fuck my face, teach?"

My breathing quickened even more, and I felt my erection growing.

"What is wrong with me?" I moaned even as focused on the image of the twenty-year-old on her knees. I stared at her tongue and lips, and I wanted nothing more than to shove my hard penis between those lips and feel that tongue on my shaft as I forced more and more of it down her throat. I began rubbing my erection through my pants as I visualized her eyes staring up at me, filled with a mix of lust and pain as I grabbed her hair tight and rammed her face up and down...

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, forcing myself to pull my hand away from pants. I did not know what was wrong with me. I was not just thinking about continuing a sexual relationship with the young blonde. I was fantasizing about taking advantage of issues I knew she struggled with regarding sex and emotional intimacy.

Looking at the clock and seeing it was almost 6:30, I groaned. Not only did I have a rather obvious erection, I had not started the fish, and Jessika was going to be there at any moment. I drove thoughts of the alluring but troubled blonde out of my head as I rushed to start dinner.

I had just started searing the salmon fillets when another text arrived. This one was from Jessika telling me she was running about 10 minutes late.

"No problem," I replied. "I am working on dinner."

Nine minutes later, Jessika had just given me her coat and a bottle of wine, and I was trying not to blatantly stare directly at her incredible display of cleavage. The voluptuous brunette wore a form fitting burgundy dress with a neckline that exposed as much cleavage as possible. But it was not just the cleavage that had caught my eye - the thin, tight material of the dress clung to her nipples, making it obvious they were erect. It was almost as if she was braless under her dress, even thought I knew that was impossible since something was pushing her large breasts together into cleavage that seemed to pop up out of the dress.

"Ummm," I gulped, as I made myself look up at her smiling face. At least I had a reason for my erection, which had had not gone completely away while I was cooking.

"So you like the dress, huh?" she asked, grinning, her head cocked a little to the side as she studied me.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Do you notice anything different?" she asked, shaking her head so that her straight chocolate brown hair, streaked with blonde highlights, shimmied across her shoulders.

I blinked several times, and it took me a few heartbeats to realize what was different. However, I still could not articulate what I had noticed.

"Y - y - your hair," I stammered.

"Yes, Mark?" she teased. "What about my hair?"

At that moment I noticed something else - the acrid smell of burning salmon - and blurted out, "Shit!"

Hurrying to the kitchen, I put Jessika's coat on a chair and the wine on the table as I passed them. Once I was close enough to the range, I snatched the pan off the lit burner and moved it to unlit one. I quickly turned the fillets, assessing how badly they were charred. I was relieved to see that I had caught them before too much damage had been done.

As I finished making dinner, Jessika sat at my dining room table, which I had already set, and watched me. Whenever I glanced over at her, I saw a look of amusement on her lovely features, but I never looked for long. I was afraid I would again be drawn in by the nearly impossible amount of cleavage revealed by her red dress.

After I had served dinner and we had both eaten a bit, Jessika again brought up her hair: "So Mark, you never answered what was different about my hair."

After I took a drink of wine, I replied, "You have straightened it and added blonde highlights."

"And do you like it?"

"It looks fantastic, Jessika," I told her.

"Thank you, Mark," she responded, with just a hint of laughter in her voice; then she caught me unawares by asking, "And do you like my tits in this dress?"

However, unlike in the hall earlier when all I was able to do was drool over her in that dress, I managed to keep my cool this time.

"Your breasts always look fantastic, Jessica," I informed her while looking deep into her gray eyes and not glancing down once at to look at the slightly tanned expanse of cleavage displayed before me.

"Why thank you, Mark," she cooed while blinking her eyes rapidly. "But, I do wonder one thing - why you haven't asked me about my boob job?"

And with that question, I was again rendered as speechless as I had been earlier when I had been unable to look away from her chest.

"Ummm," I started, but I did not follow it with anything.

For her part, Jessika just sat and looked at me. She did not do it unkindly, or accusingly, or confrontationally. She merely looked curious, and I could tell she really wanted to hear my answer.

"I guess it is because I figured it was private," I said, before adding, "and because it does not really matter to me."

Jessika frowned at me and crossed her arms over her chest, quite a feat given how far up her bosom was pushed.

"What I mean," I quickly explained, "Is that I find your breasts to be fantastic, and it just is not important to my appreciation of them that you have implants."

Jessika shook her head, but her arms relaxed and fell to her sides and we both returned to eating or dinner, albeit in silence.

When we were finished eating, I cleared the plates and poured Jessika another glass of wine. My lovely former student sighed.

"Thank you," she smiled.

I then grabbed myself a bottled water, my half-consumed first glass of wine still on the table.

Jessika smiled again and said, "I'm sorry I asked you in that way. I was just surprised you had not asked me about my boob job. I have never had a guy not ask me once he found out, or even just suspected, that I had one."

"It really is not anything that is important to me to know," I tried explaining again. "It is not because I do not care, though. It just does not impact how I think about you or your breasts."

"I get that - now," she assured me.

"Ok then," I sighed. "Now that that is over..."

"Would it change how you thought about it," Jessika interrupted me, "if you knew I first had a boob job when I was twenty-one and working as a topless dancer?"

For the third time that night, "Ummm," was my only answer.

"I'll take that to mean you want to hear the whole story," Jessika chuckled before continuing, "Okay - here is the story. When I was twenty-one, a woman I knew convinced me to work as a topless dancer. At that time, my boobs were a 34D, which I thought were big enough even though they would not really have been classified as 'big' boobs."

"Wait," I interrupted her, confused. 'I thought D cups were large."

"A 36+ D cup is what most people would consider large," she told me, "but a 34D is a smaller boob than a 36D. Medium to large, I guess we could say"

"So all D's are not the same size?" I asked, confused. This ran counter to what little I thought I knew about bra sizes.

"They are not - the size of the actual cup is proportionate to the size of the band."

"So what you are saying is that the volume of the cup itself is not the same for different band sizes even if the letter is the same, correct?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued by this revelation of secret knowledge.

"Yes," she agreed. "Not all D cups have the same volume. The letter refers to the difference between the under-bust measurement and the bust measurement."

"Okay," I replied, pretty sure I understood.

"So," she said, picking up her story again, "I was a 34D when I started stripping. In high school, I had been a 32DD, which works out to the same breast size, by volume, but on a smaller frame. I added some muscle and grew a little after high school, but my boobs themselves stayed the same size, so I went up a band size and down a cup size."

"I never knew bra sizing was so complicated," I admitted.

"Neither do a lot of women," Jessika informed me. "From the time I was nineteen until a little while after I started dancing, I worked in the lingerie department of a department store, and then at a lingerie store, and part of what I did was fit bras. There are a lot of women who wear the wrong size bra because they do not know how the cup size relates to the band size."

"So they get the wrong size?" I asked. I was truly fascinated by the actual complexity of what I, as a man, had always figured was a pretty straight-forward process.

"Especially smaller framed women," Jessika said. "Take the other Jessica form our class for an example - you know, the little blonde one. She has a small frame but also has boobs."

"Uh huh," and a nod were all I could manage as I felt my heart rate and breathing increase along with heat spreading in my cheeks. I could only hope my face did not redden enough for Jessika to notice.

"A girl like her might go in to get a bra knowing her under-bust measurement, which is likely a 30 or so, and try on a bra with a B cup or even an A cup because she thinks of herself as having smaller breasts, and A cups and B cup are what most people think of as smaller," Jessika continued, seemingly unaware of my reaction to her chosen example. "But when she tries a 30B, let's say, she finds it to be quite a bit too small. But because she thinks cup size is what is important, she tries on a 32B or a 34B. Let's say the 34 B cups fit her breasts, so she thinks she has found the right size even if the band is too loose."

"Uh-huh," I muttered again, trying not to think about Jessi's breasts.

"But in reality, she is probably really a 30D, which has the same cup volume as a 34B," Jessika further explained. "Or, maybe she is even a 28DD. But because many people think of breast size as equaling a certain cup size, smaller women do not always think of trying on a D or a DD in a smaller band size because they know they do not have large breasts and the culture at large wrongly associates those cup sizes with large breasts."

"So, you were a 34D, which would be medium?" I asked, intending to steer Jessika back to talking about her breast implants so I could focus on that topic rather than my thoughts of Jessi's modest, shapely breasts and what her bra size might be

"Well, medium to large, given my frame then," she clarified, "but not 'big' as in, 'look at the tits on that one' big."

"I see," I was all I could think of to say.

"Well, I saw the girls with the 'big' boobs getting better tips, and I decided I could go up one size and have 'big' boobs and make better tips," she continued. "So I go to a plastic surgeon several of the other dances recommended and told him I wanted to be a 34DD. Well, I came to find out later that he has a thing for huge breasts, and without telling me, he puts in implants that took me up two sizes to a 34 F, which can also be called a triple D"

"How did you... when did you... what..." I stammered, unable to finish the question because I was not quite sure what I wanted to ask.

"I found out what he had done for sure only later, when I had different implants put in," Jessika went on, aptly figuring out at least part of the question I had been unable to formulate. "All I knew right after was that they were bigger than I had expected, even after the swelling went down. Well, I also knew my bra size had increased two cup sizes, not one, but at that point I did not know what he had done - I just suspected it."

I nodded and Jessika continued her story.

"I hated my breasts after the surgery," she said with a sigh. "They were too big. It was uncomfortable to do almost anything. But worst of all, they looked horribly fake and my nipples were not very sensitive anymore. I was unhappy, to say the least."

"Did you file a complaint with the medical board or sue him for malpractice?" I asked.

"No," Jessika admitted. "There were two issues. First, he was friends with a lot of people I knew, and I did not want to get involved in anything messy. And second, I did make a lot more in tips."

"Ah, but still..."

"I know,' she interrupted. "I should have. But I tried to live with them instead. However, after a few months, I knew I had to have them changed. I was miserable, even making more money. So, I saved up, went to a new doctor, and had him put in a size smaller, which is what I still have now."

"Well," I said with a wink, "your nipples seem to have gained some sensitivity back."

"You have no idea," she laughed. "For several weeks after the second surgery, my nipples were far more sensitive than they had ever been before. Just wearing anything more than a very thin cotton t-shirt got me worked up. I was wet most of the time during those weeks. Luckily, that went back to about where it had been before I had the first boob job, which I was happy about. I was also pleased that my boobs did not look really fake anymore. One of the benefits of having a size smaller implant put in after having a larger implant is that the skin has stretched around the larger one enough that it looks more natural when the smaller is put in."

Again, I was back to just saying, "Uh huh," and nodding.

"But I wouldn't want to go back to my natural size - I have seen women that do that, and their skin is stretched too much if they originally went two or more sizes above their..." Jessika trailed off, her eyes on mine.

"I think I have stumbled into one of the only types of boob talk that a guy would find boring, haven't I?" she asked.

"No," I told her, shaking my head. "I'm listening. I never knew about..."

"You were listening," she agreed, interrupting me, "but you had zoned out a bit, hadn't you?"

I did not say anything for several seconds, and then I decided moving the conversation along was a better idea than answering Jessika's question.

"So, you are a 34DD now?" I asked, making a point of letting her see me look at her cleavage.

Jessika shook her head and suggested that what I had just done was give her a sympathy leer.

"It was not," I retorted. "It was a genuine leer."

It was Jessika's turn to say, "Uh huh," albeit not in the same tone I had been using.

When it was clear to the lovely brunette that I was not going to admit to anything, she sighed and said, "The funny part of it all - and I mean funny-ironical not funny "ha ha" - is that because I am a bit bigger overall these days, both my band size and my cup size have gone up. I am actually now a 36DD."

"Ah, I see," I replied. "The irony being that, by volume, your breasts are as big now at 36DD as they were at 34DDD."

"Yep," she affirmed with a smile. "The rest of it being that I like them this size now, but before I thought they were too large"

"Well, I like them quite a bit too," I assured her.

"Speaking of that, I have something special planned for you," she informed me with a wicked smile. "Do you have a place I could plug in an MP3 player so I can play some music?"

"Uh, sure," I answered, unsure where she was going, although I wondered if this had something to do whit telling me the story of her plastic surgery.

After I showed her where she could hook her MP3 player to my surround sound system, Jessika hooked it up and tested it briefly. When she was satisfied, she came up to me and kissed me softly. Then, she led me to my couch and gently pushed me down until I was sitting on it. She next went back to her MP3 player, putting an extra sway or two into her stride as she did so. When the music started, the curvaceous brunette turned to face me from across the room and began to dance. By the time she worked her way across the room to where I sat, my breathing had grown heavy and my erection was straining against my pants.

Jessika was an amazing dancer. I did not frequent strip clubs - I had been only twice in my life, both time for bachelor parties, and both trips had left feeling out of place - but I could tell that my former student was better than most of the small sample size of dancers with which I had experience. I was enthralled by the overtly sexual movements of her body, and by the way she closed her eyes while dancing, mouth open, lust written all over her face, only to open them suddenly and fix me with her wanton gaze.

When Jessika gently pushed my legs apart and began rubbing herself on my torso and groin, I reached my hands up toward her breasts, only to have her push them back down.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Warner. You cannot touch the dancer. Please keep your hands at your side," she breathed, her lips close to my ear.

I nodded and put my hands down.

With a smile, Jessika stood up and backed a couple of steps away from me. Slowly, sensuously, she pulled the shoulder straps of her dress down until it was only staying up because it was clinging to her ample bosom. Making sure our eyes met, my sexy dancer blew me a kiss and pulled her dress down off her chest before wiggling out of it, which caused her now bare breasts to shimmy and shake.

I was captivated by the sight in front of me. The voluptuous brunette wore a black demi-bra that pushed her large breasts up and together but covered nothing. Black garters served a dual function of holding up her stockings and drawing my eyes to the delicious curves of her hips. I surprised myself by moaning aloud when I saw that she wore no panties to cover her neatly trimmed pussy.

Jessika again moved between my open knees and began rubbing her breasts all over me, including against my face. At one point I flicked out my tongue to lick a nipple, and Jessika drew back and shook her head.

"I told you, sir - you cannot touch the dancers," she mock-scolded me.

"I thought that only pertained to my hands," I replied.

"No sir," she chided. "It includes hands, feet, tongues and this!"

With the words "and this," Jessika grabbed my rigid penis through my pants and rubbed up and down, eliciting a deep moan from me. She then dropped to her knees, unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, freed my erection from my underwear, put it between her breasts, and began moving up and down, her gray eyes on mine.

"I thought you said I could not touch you with that?" I managed to groan.

"I think we already know I break rules where you are concerned, Mark," she told me, her eyes blazing.

"What do you mean...," I started to ask, but I knew the answer. Our first encounter had been while she was still my student, which was certainly not allowed by the college. Our second encounter, the happy ending of my massage the night before, violated her employer's rules, and perhaps even the law. Now she was violating the rules of her own game.

"Never mind," I said before she could answer. "I see what you mean."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, sexy," she teased, settling down on her knees, letting her breasts slide off my penis before taking the head of it into her eager mouth.

I decided that if she was going to violate her rules, so was I. So, I reached down with both hands, grabbed her breasts, and began playing with her hard nipples. My lovely dancer moaned around my erection and sucked on it harder.

As Jessika began to bob her head up and down more energetically, I debated whether I wanted to enjoy what she was doing or go forward with the more mutually beneficial activity that we had discussed on the phone two nights before.

Making my decision, I gently took hold of Jessika's straight, blonde-streaked chocolate hair and used it to lightly pull her up. Jessika looked at me quizzically as her lips left my erection.