"Mrs. McCleod"

by Julius
Copyright October 2008



When your kitchen faces the street, you see a lot of the passers by, who exercise their dogs, who jog, who walk and, when they all do it.

Reg had his favourites. He got to know them all by sight; all shapes and sizes and speeds, people and dogs. His favourite by far, was Mrs. McLeod. He didn’t even know her first name but he did love to watch her go by. She did out and back walks, so he got to see her twice every morning; once while he made his breakfast and once while he washed up.

His late wife had accused him many times of being a tit man. He was a tit man. He loved all the other bits but it was a woman’s boobs that always drew his first glance. That, or rather those, were what made Mrs. McLeod special. Hers were big. By most standards they were too big but when you’re a real tit man, it’s hard to ascribe the words ‘too big’ to any woman’s breasts.

Hers fascinated him. He never missed his sightings of them. She was perhaps five-eight and although wide of hip and heavy of bust she bore herself with considerable grace. Her breasts varied their position on her chest, no doubt depending on her choice of bra. Their bounce factor varied too, for the same reason of course. One glorious day he’d seen her obviously braless. Just the once. She’d no doubt realised, as did Reg, that her breasts were too heavy to be free like that. But their heavy movement and very, very obvious nipples had been a remarkable sight. The next day he’d even set his alarm clock - just in case. But there’d been no repeat of that delightful performance that morning or since.

She’d not lived next door very long, perhaps nine months. Her husband had died soon after they’d moved in. Reg’s wife had been gone almost a year. He and Mrs. McLeod lived apparently solitary existences, acknowledging each other when they passed with a smile and a nod and perhaps a ‘Good morning.’

Reg ’s fascination with her bust-line was months old. He was a shy man and somehow never managed to get beyond those occasional, on-the-street greetings.

One morning, he was getting the lawn mower out and noticed her laundry was already on the line. He’d always mowed both lawns. He’d been doing it for years. She would thank him occasionally and say that he really shouldn’t. He’d done it for her predecessors and couldn’t bring himself to stop and leave her grass tall and uncut. There was no fence between the properties, never had been as far as he knew.

He glanced at his watch and groaned; he’d missed her passing. He hardly ever missed her. The breeze swung the washing and his eye caught a bra half way along the clothesline, one of her bras. Big and white it seemed to wave at him. He wondered. He’d often wondered just how big she was, how big those lovely breasts were. There, not ten feet away, was the answer.

He was helpless to stop himself. He glanced at his watch again; she’d not be back for fifteen, sixteen minutes. That bra, damn it, he had to look.

He caught at it, his fingers inside one of the cups. Her bra, he was holding it! His cock stirred eagerly in his pants. He pulled the bra nearer, found the label and said aloud, in a quiet, awed voice, “Oh my goodness!”

There was a discrete little cough behind him. He turned slowly, mortified.




She’d caught him peeking at her as she went past his house for her daily walk. Soon she realised he watched her when she set off and would be watching again when she returned. She was a little annoyed at first but then began to feel flattered at having her neighbour as an admirer. No doubt he was watching her breasts mostly. Men had been watching her bosom since her teens. But thirty some years of having men ogle your breasts didn’t make it any better or any worse. Most of the time she cursed the damn things. She had trouble when running, she had trouble buying clothes to accommodate them and worst of all, getting bras she could afford. But her breasts were part of her and sometimes, when they drew an admirer, she forgave them a little. She liked her neighbour, his smile, his politeness. A shy good-looking man, not much older than herself, she guessed. So if he wanted to ogle her body - well, good luck to him. She loved it.

As time went by and his watching became so regular and so obvious she began to strut her stuff a little for him. She walked past more briskly, giving her breasts a more definite bounce. She squared her shoulders so her bosom thrust out the more. Her one-man audience was doing wonders for her posture.

One daring day she went braless, but she was well aware of gravity’s effect and the alarming way her breasts moved without support. Worse, she’d caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. She’d been appalled at the way the chill morning air had erected her big nipples for the whole world to see. She’d never repeated that show.

But she’d continued her walks and she knew he’d continued his watching. She wore old bras, new bras, uplifting bras and bras too small and always wondered if he appreciated the subtlety of her performances.

She wished he’d be a little daring and perhaps offer to walk with her. He mowed her lawn when he mowed his and she tried to thank him but his shyness always defeated her.

Until that particular morning, the morning when she woke feeling a little under the weather and had decided to skip the walk and to just have an idle day. She stood in the kitchen in her pink housecoat, holding a mug of coffee and staring at the washing she’d forgotten to take in the night before. Maybe the sun would come out and dry the night-dampened clothes.

Then he moved into her field of vision toward her clothesline. Puzzled she glanced at the clock and realised he must have assumed she was away on her walk. He reached for her bra and she smiled. She walked to the door and carefully opened it. She saw him peer at the label and heard him say, “Oh my goodness.”

She gave a little cough and he froze and then turned to face her. She doubted she’d ever seen a man blush so deep and so red. His mouth moved but no words came, for an awful moment she thought he’d bolt.

“Would you like a coffee?”

He nodded, his hand still holding the bra.

“Come in then.” She turned and moved back into her kitchen, hoping he’d follow her.

He sat at her kitchen table, saying not a word. ‘Poor man.’ she thought, he must wish the ground would open.

Not intending to offend, she said, “So now you know my bra size. Were you impressed?” and immediately wished she’d not said it.

But he smiled and said, “I watch you walk by every day.”

“Do you now?” she said and put his coffee down in front of him. She felt her robe gape open and saw his eyes flick towards the opening. Making no move to cover herself, she slid the sugar towards him, letting him look.

She realised that her body was responding. Seeing him touch her bra, guessing how her presence might be affecting him and now his focus on her open robe. A warm glow was building across her chest as if his eyes were radiating heat.

She heard a voice that must have been hers ask, “Would you like to see what I keep in that bra?”

He gulped, she actually heard him gulp. He nodded. “Yes I would.”

She moved round the table and stood beside him. Her hands seemed to move without her bidding and pulled open the top of the robe.”




They were big and they were beautiful. Reg couldn’t believe this was happening, not to him. He’d not seen naked breasts since long before his wife had died. Now here he was, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the most beautiful pair he’d ever seen. His cock, having shrunk with his embarrassment, now came back to life and he felt is swell and stiffen as the scent of soap and subtle woman-musk swept out of the opened robe.

“Like to touch?” she asked him.

He reached out and his fingertips moved over the soft, tight skin. She gasped as he touched her. How long had it been? How long since he’d done anything like this. Alone so long, with nothing but solo sex.

“Feel how heavy they are.”

His nervousness was slipping away and he put his hands under her breasts and lifted gently. How heavy they were, how soft and warm. But their weight! They were beautifully, wonderfully heavy. They overfilled his big hands. His cock was rigid.

Gravity and the years would not allow her nipples to point straight ahead any more. They seemed aimed at his navel. How big those nipples were, they seemed to burrow into his palms. Perhaps she was a little aroused? Or maybe the cool air of the kitchen?

“They’re lovely,” he whispered two words with a sincere intensity.

He slipped one hand across to join the other to hold just one breast. He squeezed gently and she moaned.

“Kiss the nipple,” she said and pressed closer to him.

He looked up, his eyes full of questioning wonder.

“Go on,” she urged him.

He bent his head and kissed her.




His lips touched her nipple and she all but swooned. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. When his kiss became a gentle suction she moaned in response. This was what she so badly needed. Why had they both waited so long? She knew her control was slipping and wondered where this was going. And realised she didn’t really care where it went. It was going in the right direction.

“Bite me Reg, bite me.”

He bit her, but far too gently.

“Harder, do it harder.”

She sensed his hunger and the pressure from his hands on her breast increased. His biting and sucking became harder until it began to hurt. She made no complaint - she loved it. His teeth began to pull at the nipple and his sucking was occasionally audible.

Heat blossomed in the pit of her stomach; she felt her pussy clench and she knew she was going to come.

She pulled away from him. He looked up, “Did I hurt you?“

“God no, what you’re doing is wonderful.” She shifted a little to one side and offered him her other breast, “I was close to coming then.”

He looked at her, his happy surprise plain on his face. She lifted her breast a little, bringing the nipple close to his lips. “Go on then, make me come, make me come Reg.”





Reg had never known a woman come just from his attentions to her breasts. Would it, could it happen now? He cupped both hands around the soft globe of the breast, marvelling at its size, its softness.

The nipple was big and firm in his mouth. He sucked hard, trying for a mouthful of her, then biting her as hard as he dared. She made no complaint although surely he must be hurting her. Her hands went behind his head pulling him closer, harder against her breast. She was talking in broken sentences that made sense only part of the time, “Suck Reg suck. Bite me Reg, bite hard. Harder! Pull, pull.”

He was in heaven, hands full of her, mouth full of her. She writhed and struggled against him. He thought his cock would burst, such was his arousal.

Suddenly she went still and he felt her body tense. Reg knew she was about to come and come she did. Straining and wriggling against his knees, in his hands. She began sobbing obscenities, telling how much she’d needed this, how long she’d waited, how she wanted more of him.

He had some idea of how she felt. He loved what they were doing, wanted to do more, with her, right then.

She moved away from him, breathing hard, unsteady on her feet. She held her robe open and looked down at her breasts. To him they seemed bigger than ever. Her nipples looked huge, still very prominent and red. The one he’d just released glistened with his saliva.




She’d have liked nothing more right then, than to cuddle up in bed with this man and slide into a blissful, post-coital sleep, but …

She knew he had a rigid cock and must have an aching need for release. So, while they were on the subject of her big tits …,




She took his hand, urged him to his feet and led him through into her living room. He followed willingly, wondering what was next. He knew instinctively that more was to come; she radiated a sexual heat. Reg had lost all control of things the moment he’d reached for the bra on the clothesline.

She dropped to her knees in front of him and eased his sweat pants off his hips and slid them down his legs. Still erect, his cock made getting his briefs down a little more awkward. She gazed at it for a few moments and then leaned closer and gently pressed it against her cheek with her hands. “It’s beautiful,” she said and closed her eyes. Reg thought he’d never known a sweeter moment.

She gestured at the sofa behind him and said, “Sit down Reg.” He kicked free of his pants and underwear and went and sat on the edge of the sofa.

He watched her half-hidden breasts jostle heavily as she walked towards him on her knees.

The next moments were like something from a porn movie or perhaps from a beautiful dream. She shrugged out of the robe and, cupping those lovely breasts with her hands, eased forward and enveloped his cock in their softness.

“Oh God!” the words were full of joy and wonderment. This was like no moment he could remember in forever.

“Forgive me,” she said. Reg wondered what for, until her saliva landed on his cock-head and trickled into her cleavage.

“Now, fuck my tits Reg!” She parted her breasts, spit again and pressed them together.

Fuck her tits he did, with a joy-filled urgency. She helped, by keeping the tunnel of her cleavage wonderfully tight for him and by her own movements. Rhythm established, Reg fucked with increasing urgency. His eyed closed, but in moments they were open again, he couldn’t help but watch. The appearance and disappearance of his cock-head, her glistening cleavage, her fingers digging deep into the soft swells of her lovely breasts.

He felt his climax gathering. She felt it too. “Fuck Reg, fuck. Fuck my big, beautiful tits. Come for me Reg.”

Reg strained and struggled. Her loved her dirty talk, loved her breasts, loved fucking them with his swollen cock, wanted to come, had to come and then, with gritted teeth and shouts of joy, came.

Utter bliss, his whole body seemed to come. Every bit of his being was focussed in his cock as he tried to empty himself out of it. He came under her chin, on her throat, spending himself joyfully, until the last drools of his cum welled into that lovely cleavage.

They stared into each other’s eyes, smiling, laughing silently. He was flooded with happiness, the happiness that comes with release. “I don’t even know your name,” he said, still breathing hard.

“Call me Mrs. McLeod,” she said and burst out laughing.

“You have lovely breasts Mrs. McLeod.” He looked down. His cock, dwindling, was out of sight. Her breasts, decorated with the slow-trickling, white splashes of his come, were indeed lovely.





She put on her robe again and led him outside.

Reaching up, she touched a tiny white thong on the clothesline. “Perhaps tomorrow you’d like to see what Mrs. McLeod keeps in here.”