Waiting for the Bus Ch. 03

I arrived at the bus stop very early the next morning wearing my basketball ball shorts, no briefs, and a simple t-shirt. I left my gym bag and uniform in my car at the office. Slumped in my usual position with my legs spread, my penis was getting stiffer by the minute with anticipation.

On schedule, my bouncing granny came briskly over the rise. Her arms were swinging and her humongous breasts were swaying madly. She was wearing what she always wore: baggy sweatpants, matching sweat shirt and a baseball cap.

I spread my legs further apart, giving her a better view of my erection. She stared openly at my manhood as she motored past me.

"Nice tits," I said with a grin.

"Comin'?" she replied.

I jumped to my feet and sprinted to catch her. Her power walking was at an intermediate speed. I found it too quick for me to simply walk fast and too slow to trot or jog along with. Constantly adjusting my pace with short sprints, I looked like a hound dog following along dutifully.

"How far is it from here?" I asked, jogging along. "Your place?"

"Can't talk," she said between paced breaths. "Walking."

It became apparent the bus stop was near the beginning of her route and we had a long way to go. I took the time and opportunity to look her over more fully -- something I hadn't bothered to do when I was just ogling her tits.

She had short cropped, beady white hair on top of her round head. Her smooth skin was a nice dark brown and her face was very pleasant -- not beautiful, but not unattractive, either. Her arms swung from wide shoulders and she was carrying more weight than she should have been -- especially in the stomach. Some would consider her fat, but it worked for her. Her chest, as I've pointed out, was gigantic and in constant motion, but oddly, she had no butt to speak of. It was wide enough, but there was nothing there; her ass was as flat as a board.

We were both sweating pretty heavily when we finally turned into a nicely appointed apartment complex. She strolled directly to her apartment, pulled a key (on a string) from her pocket and opened the door. A heavy potpourri smell spilled out as she quickly stepped into the dim room. I followed and looked around.

My granny was standing at her refrigerator chugging water from a Tupperware container. The room was large and divided into three parts -- each with different flooring. The kitchen area was tiled; the dining portion had hardwood, and the living room was carpeted with a very plush shag. There were photographs everywhere - pictures of weddings; of babies; of girls with soccer balls and boys with basketballs; of family events and teenagers in caps and gowns; in all different sizes and frame styles. Every surface, the tables and shelves, were littered with them.

"Close the door," she told me, shutting the refrigerator, and I did.

When I turned back she was closer to me. We stood facing each other for an awkward moment. Without a word she took hold of her shirt with both hands and lifted it up. With elbows in the air and her face covered, her magnificent tits were on full display.

I stared at them in open-mouthed awe.

Her breasts were breathtaking. Larger than any I had ever seen, they were shiny with sweat and resting more under her arms than on her chest. They hung low, heavier at their ends than where they met her chest. Each tit was lined with furrowed stretch marks. Her nipples were tremendous; dark stiff knobs jutting crookedly from broad areolas. The left breast was noticeably larger than the right and its areola was marred by a tiny scar -- a bright pink island of skin surrounded by a pitch black sea. Her protruding belly was slick from where those bags had bounced and slid across it.

"Nice tits," I told her again with a gasp.

"Uh huh," she said from behind her upheld shirt.

"May I?" I asked still staring.

"Uh huh," came the muffled reply.

Slowly, nervously, I reached for those tits. Starting behind and under her arms, I scooped as much tit-flesh into my eager hands as I could. I cupped and lifted them, both heavier than I would have imagined, before pressing them together on her chest. They were slippery with sweat, especially the undersides, and I kneaded them gently.

I marveled at the way they rolled and spilled in and out of my hands.

Sliding my hands to the front of each tit, I hooked her nipples with my thumbs and pinched softly. They were stiff and had little give. She moaned behind her shirt as I pinched them again.

I squeezed and I pinched them. I rubbed and I mashed them. We soon found ourselves back in the kitchen; she was leaning on the counter with the shirt still covering her face.

Leaning down, I took a hard nipple into my mouth. She moaned again as I pulled it in deeply. They were salty with sweat, but tasted clean and wonderful. Still squeezing them, I fed myself -- first one, then the other. I sucked and lapped at them hungrily. I pulled at her nipples, sometimes both at once, with my teeth.

"Bups, huh?" I asked between slurps.

"Uh huh," she said again, a little huskier this time.

My tongue flicked her bups crazily and she leaned more heavily onto the counter. I took her left breast in both hands and gazed at it. I licked the edges of its tiny pink scar.

"Burned it with a curling iron," she said.

"Ouch," I kept licking it.

Suddenly and without warning I began to work her breasts passionately. I was squeezing and sucking and rubbing with such vigor she had to let go of her shirt and cling to the countertop for support.

I was mashing my face between her twin pillows when I felt her first shudder.

"Oh, my," she whispered as the shiver intensified.

I increased my ravagings and felt her knees wobble.

"Oh, my," she said again.

With both nipples in my mouth I tugged at her chest and she exploded with a violent series of spasms. She shook and she moaned and she slapped at my back, pushing me off her heaving chest. I had never given a woman an orgasm with just her breasts before and I felt fantastic.

Her shirt fell, covering her tits and her legs looked shaky. She held onto the counter for a minute then looked at me from beneath her ballcap.

"You got no idea," she told me. "You got no idea how long it has been."

"How long?" I asked as she dropped into a chair at the dining table.

"Longer," she said, "than that thing sticking outta your pants."

My cock was tenting my shorts impressively, a dark, wet stain spreading across the material.

"And how long has it been since ..." I queried, looking down at my prick knowingly.

"Come to momma," she said with arms outstretched. "Come to momma."