Over-qualified: Gemma's First Job


Gemma entered the bar a few minutes early for her interview and found another hopeful candidate waiting outside the manager’s office on one of the seats which lined the wall.

On noticing her approach, the young man stood up hurriedly; his eyes hopelessly drawn to the animated struggle going on beneath Gemma’s ill-fitting shirt as her weighty melons bounced and jostled in a concerted effort to burst every last button and spill out to freedom.

‘Hi,’ she said, brightly.

Tenting quite impolitely at the crotch, the young man, Stuart, was so struck dumb by the sight of her pornographically swaying rack that an incoherent mumble was all he could manage in reply. Mercifully, his stupefied gaze was broken when the door to the office was ripped open unexpectedly.

A skinny girl of a similar age to Gemma stormed out and came to a halt in front of them. Her lips were pursed, her fists clenched, but it was the way that the nipples of her petite breasts were jutting furiously through the material of her shirt as she sucked in deep breaths that caught Stuart’s eye.

While he stood before her ogling, Gemma thought it wise to stepped out of her path so not to incur the wrath of such an obviously scorned young woman.

Still oblivious to all but her erect teats, Stuart ventured, quite innocuously, ‘How’d it go?’

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the girl, gripping tightly at the balled up CV in her fist, turned to face him.

‘I’ll tell you how it went,’ she growled, and then thrust her bony kneecap so powerfully into the soft bits between the young man’s legs that he was lifted off his feet.

‘That’s how it went!’ she roared.

Having seen similar assaults in films, the eye-watering significance of a knee to the testicles was not lost on Gemma, and it was with both distress and mild satisfaction that she watched Stuart conform to every preconception: the shocked squeal as he lurched forward, the inwardly turning feet shifting onto tiptoes, and the final, aggrieved groan before sinking down slowly to his knees.

Throwing her crumpled resume down at the cross-eyed young man, the furious girl stormed away, pausing only to narrow her tearful eyes at Gemma resentfully.

Only when Gemma was sure she wasn’t coming back did she dare check on Stuart’s condition. She knelt over him with a concerned frown creasing her delicate brow and a burdensome rack straining her flimsy blouse.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, naively.

‘Fine,’ Stuart rasped; his male pride preventing him from grabbing at his crushed balls in front of a girl.

‘Next,’ called a voice from inside the office.

Gemma half turned, but looked back at the poor, injured young man guiltily. With tears welling he nodded at the open door.

‘You go,’ he said, so as to appear chivalrous, when all he really wanted was to be rid of the busty blonde so that he could check his nuts without the humiliation of her seeing.

‘But you were here first,’ said Gemma, frustrating Stuart, luckily beyond words. He sunk away, muttering incomprehensible expletives and unable restrain himself further, clutched openly at his throbbing baby-makers.

Gemma blushed with embarrassment and forced herself to look anywhere other than his tenderly cupping hands.

‘Well, I guess I’ll go in first,’ she said awkwardly.

But before she worked up the courage to march into the office, she first peered nervously inside to find, despite the dramatic exit of the previous candidate, the two interviewers quite relaxed.

The manager, an athletic thirty-something in an expensive shirt and jeans, had his head down and was casually surfing the net on his laptop. His assistant manager, a pale young woman, occupied herself by covertly staring at him whilst twisting a ringlet of her curly, crimson hair.

Clutching her CV tightly to her brimming breasts, Gemma stepped into the room and announced her presence with a bright: ‘Hi.’

The redhead greeted her with a sharp glance which turned to a vexed glower as she scrutinised her closely. Unsettled, Gemma looked to the manager for hospitality, but was met with an impassive stare which only warmed once she held out her CV and unsuspectingly presented him with the two qualifications he was looking for.

He jumped from his seat with a suddenly beaming grin and walked around the front of the desk to perch himself on its corner.

‘Just what we’ve been looking for,’ he said, without raising his gaze above chest height.

‘Oh?’ said Gemma, accustomed to have men talk directly to her breasts, but unnerved by the unashamed intensity of his stare. Feeling instantly self-conscious, she brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and added with uncertainty, ‘Thank you?’

‘She’s perfect,’ he announced, jumping up from the desk to turn to his assistant.

‘Make sure you get her measurements,’ he said, using two chest high cupping hands to spell out exactly which measurements he had in mind; a gesture missed by Gemma as she was standing directly behind him.

When he turned back around, he maintained eye contact with Gemma for long enough to wink as he said, ‘You start Friday.’ And with that he strolled out the room pausing only to check out her rear.

CV still held outstretched, Gemma blinked several times before finding the voice to ask, ‘Doesn’t he want to see my CV? I got straight ‘A’s in maths, English and science.’

‘It’s not your ‘A’s he wants to see,’ said the curly redhead; a bitterness in her tone as she acknowledged her own flat chest and added quietly, ‘It’s your double ‘D’s.’

Gemma looked down at her CV. ‘But I didn’t get any D’s,’ she said, bewildered.

Scoffing at the blonde’s naivety, Lisa picked up a pencil and circled it blatantly toward her chest. ‘What size are you?’ she asked.

‘Excuse me?’ Gemma gushed, pulling the CV back to her chest protectively.

‘Your size,’ repeated Lisa, her pencil pressed expectantly on a sheet of paper. ‘For the uniform.’

‘Oh,’ said Gemma, believing she had misunderstood the situation, ‘I thought you meant…’ She shook her head, beaming with relief. ‘Never mind. I’m a size eight.’

Lisa looked up from the paper and took one look over Gemma’s womanly curves. Shooting the blonde a disingenuous smile, she said dryly, ‘Of course you are,’ whilst scribbling “size ten” on her paper. ‘But you assumed right the first time – I want your…’ she circled her pencil again, this time much more obviously, ‘…cup-size.’

Gemma gave a silent gasp and pressed her CV even tighter against her bosom. The question struck her as highly inappropriate and she held back from answering until Lisa teased, ‘What’s the matter – don’t know how big your own boobs are?’

Gemma opened her mouth to respond, but Lisa continued to goad her regardless. With eyes twinkling, she lean forward and said, ‘I can guess if you’d like? Let’s see.’ She put the pencil to her lips and eyed Gemma’s rack, calculating the smallest cup-size she could guess with straight face.

‘Thirty-two… D?’ she speculated, but her poker face failed her when Gemma began to bristle with outrage at the hurtful underestimate.

D?’ spat the busty blonde and, though against her better judgement, she couldn’t help but drop the H-bomb and wipe the smile of the smug redhead’s face.

Gripping her tits underneath so that they bulged even more graphically against the straining cotton of her shirt, Gemma declared brashly, ‘This bra’s a H-cup... and it’s still a bit snug.’

There was a snap as the tip of Lisa’s pencil broke against the paper.

Though Gemma had responded just as she had hoped, Lisa was left far from happy; her eyes bulged at the blonde’s staggering confession, leading Gemma to mistake this for disbelief.

Suddenly worried she’d blown the interview with her impulsive boast, Gemma dropped her hands and added hurriedly, ‘I’m not lying – I’ll show you the tag.’

Dispensing with her CV, she had unbuttoned her shirt and pulled open one side before she noticed Lisa approaching at a rapid pace.

‘No need,’ said the redhead, coolly, coming to a halt right in front of her. ‘I can see you’re more than qualified.’ She held out a contract and pen. ‘Sign this.’

With a meek nod, Gemma took up the pen and signed across the dotted line.

No sooner had the pen left the paper than Lisa whipped it away and marched straight past her.

‘Friday. Eight PM,’ she said without turning.

She was only a single step outside the office when she came across Stuart probing distractedly at his smashed ball-bag.

His trousers were pulled down to his thighs and he had hooked his underpants underneath his scrotum to prevent the elastic from springing back up painfully. To keep his cock from hampering this most private of examinations he had flipped it backward to deposit it upturned against his belly where it lay like a thick, juicy sausage.

Curiosity piqued, Lisa remained silent; staring in amused disbelief as one after the other, the young man rolled his swollen nuts gingerly about his angry-looking scrotum.

It was only when Gemma stumbled out of the office and gasped that he looked up with surprise and found he had an audience. Quickly, he covered himself.

‘Very impressive,’ said Lisa, nodding approvingly. She turned to Gemma whose shirt was still wide open and showcasing her brimming cups.

‘I didn’t think we’d find a pair to fill out the uniforms, but what do you know – we found two.’ She threw up her arms and announced, ‘You both have the job!’

Chuckling to herself, she walked away and left the two humiliated recruits to cover up and absorb the good news.


Gemma returned to the bar as she had been told.

Despite the unsettling interview process, Gemma was feeling upbeat about her first night. This was thanks in no small part to the new push-up bra she had purchased to give her confidence a much needed boost. Though the necessity of the boost it gave her burdensome rack was questionable.

The bra may have pushed her jugs up into jaw-dropping globes which pressed against her collar bone, but the uplifting was not without its downsides; the most notable being the impact that raising such weight had on the balance of a girl already perilously top-heavy as she tottered down the street in high heels desperately fighting to stay vertical.

But possibly the most inconvenient downside had been the fact that the bra’s impossible powers of elevation rendered all her provocatively low-cut clubwear redundant by lifting the entirety of her melons above the plummeting necklines.

This meant that, having exhausted her wardrobe, the only thing she was left with even remotely capable of holding back the relentless tide of heavy, sloshing tit-meat was leather bondage corset which she had bought to wear to a fancy dress party, but not had the nerve to put on.

The corset didn’t come down below her ribcage, and when she tightened the strings at the back her tits had risen like baking bread rolls to overflow out the top.

So, barely able to breathe or stay upright, she smiled cheerfully and approached the club where a hulking doorman stood at the entrance staring with open-mouthed astonishment. Brimming with self-confidence, Gemma affected a sexy pout and stared right back as she marched toward him, bouncing exaggeratedly on her feet for maximum effect.

When it became obvious she was about to enter, the bouncer fumbled with the clip on the rope across the doorway as if about to allow her access, but instead he just kept his hand there until she was forced to stop in front of him.

This was surprising to Gemma, whose minimal attire and maximum cleavage meant she usually breezed into clubs without question.

She was about to introduce herself when, as way of greeting, the doorman said, ‘You must be here for “Fake Tits Friday”.’

Gemma, unaware that the push-up bra gave her melons the perfectly spherical appearance of falsies, was understandably shocked. Covering them protectively, she gushed, ‘No, I work here now!’

‘Oh, so you’ve the new girl,’ he said, nodding approvingly. ‘Lisa said you had big ones, but what would she know, right? Right?’ He looked to her for agreement, but the uneasy giggle she gave instead seemed to satisfy him just as well, and he lifted the rope.

Sidestepping cautiously past him, Gemma kept her hands over her tits, and only when she was out of reach did she dare turn her back to him. Nevertheless, his determined hand still met her ass with a fleshy slap to send her leaping into the air with a startled yelp.

Clutching her smarting cheeks, she tiptoed hurriedly into the club, her protruding tits pushed out further and bobbling side to side in a desperate attempt to work themselves free.

When she came to a stop, she could see she had attracted an audience: Lisa and two girls she didn’t recognise watched with unsympathetic sneers from behind the bar. Quickly, Gemma let go of her bum and, grabbing her bra, shook her nipples back inside the inadequate cups.

Fighting the urge to blush, she composed herself, and by the time she reached the bar she had managed to force a bright smile. The greeting she received in return was less than welcoming.

Lisa’s arms were folded tightly across the negligible bumps of her tits. The two girls beside her were stood similarly, except their arms displaced enough tit-flesh to create passable cleavages.

‘I see you made friends with the bouncer,’ said Lisa, smiling darkly. Gemma rushed to correct her, but Lisa talked right over her. ‘I don’t care for him myself, but I can see how his banter would appeal to a certain sort of girl.’

Before Gemma could enquire exactly which “sort” of girl that would be, one of the barmaids, Stacey, quipped, ‘Speaking of sluts,’ and set down a box onto the countertop. ‘Your uniform.’

Overwhelmed by the thinly-veiled venom being sprayed at her from every angle, Gemma struggled to know how to react. Absently, she reached inside the box and was surprised to find it contained only scraps of clothing.

Lifting out the handful of material, she identified a pair of tiny red hot pants and an infinitesimally narrow strip of white cotton she assumed passed for a tube top.

What she couldn’t figure out though were the two circular stickers, about the size of coasters, upon which were advertisements for cocktail pitchers. Her eyes darted back and forth between the stickers with incomprehension and growing trepidation.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Lisa, noticing her concern, ‘they’re your size.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Gemma. ‘My size?’

Lisa snatched the promotional tit stickers from her hands and, without warning, pressed them firmly into the yielding centre of Gemma’s jugs.

‘See?’ asked Lisa, her eyes twinkling. ‘Perfect fit.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Gemma; shocked and flustered by the disrespectful manner in which her breasts were being handled.

Up to now silent, the second barmaid, Chelsea, snatched the tube top from Gemma and draped it gleefully over the bulging mounds of her tits.

The boob-tube was a strip of stretchy cotton so insubstantial that only a woman with the smallest, firmest, most unfluctuating breasts could hope to wear it without constant fear of nipple-slip. It didn’t stand a chance of containing a rack of the magnitude and exuberance of Gemma’s. In fact, its only apparent purpose was to sport the crude and suggestive phrase “ASK TO SEE MY JUGS”.

Gemma read the words numbly.

‘Get it?’ asked Chelsea, wickedly.

Feigning concern, Lisa tilted her head and said, ‘You do realise that’s why we hired you.’

‘’Cause you’re a slut,’ clarified Stacey, helpfully.

‘I’m not a slut!’ yelled Gemma, knocking the pair’s hands from her chest.

‘You’re not?’ asked Lisa, her surprise quite obviously faked.


‘But look at what you’re wearing.’

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’ Gemma gushed; genuinely unaware of the sheer immodesty of her attire.

Lisa laughed incredulously. ‘The unashamedly gratuitous cleavage? The way your arse hangs out of your microskirt… I mean, are you even wearing any knickers?’

Gemma opened her mouth to refute the hurtful insinuation, but froze suddenly when she became acutely aware of the breeze from the air conditioning on her pussy lips.

Oh, god, she thought, as her thighs squeezed shut protectively, not again.

Lisa couldn’t help but grin as she watched the teenager squirm.

‘And then there’s your bleached blonde hair, your sprayed on tan, your plastered on make-up and not to mention your so obviously fake—’

Gemma knew what she was about to say; she’d heard it a hundred times before.

‘My boobs are not fake!’ she roared; stamping her foot and causing her entire rack to shudder violently.

Lisa’s jaw dropped. ‘Well,’ she said taken aback. ‘I think you should have a chat with the manager.’

Gemma’s rage dissipated instantly as the threat of a tongue-lashing from the boss left her unnerved.

‘Stuart has no problem with the uniform,’ said Stacey, causing the pair to turn in time to see him strut out of the staff room wearing a shockingly thin cotton posing pouch upon which was printed an advertisement for a cocktail shooter called Strange Fruit.

Stood before the bar with hands on hips, he eyed the girls lasciviously.

‘Can I interest you ladies in a stiff one?’ he said, thrusting his bulging pouch before appending the lewd disclaimer, ‘Warning does contain nuts.’

Both Stacey and Chelsea giggled with girlish infatuation.

Though the pair were not related, their black hair, thick eye make-up and generically pretty faces meant they were all but indistinguishable from one another; so much so that they were nicknamed “the twins”. And their appearances weren't the only similarities, as it became quite clear that they shared the same lack of self-respect.

‘Sure,’ said Stacey, propping herself on the bar so that her tits were squashed together enticingly. ‘I’ll take a stiff one – nuts and all.’

‘Me too,’ said Chelsea, desperate not to be outdone. ‘I’ll swallow it all down.’

‘Hey, Gemma,’ asked Stuart, raising an eyebrow at Gemma whose mouth had fallen wide open. ‘How about you?’

Beholding Stuart’s impressive package had caused Gemma to consider whether her still being a virgin was down to choice or simply the fact that she had never been presented with such a tempting proposition. This left her feeling even more uncomfortable.

‘I want to see the manager,’ she said, feebly.


‘Hi, Gareth,’ Lisa said brightly as she stepped into the office with Gemma in tow. ‘Quick question – why did we hire Gemma?’

‘Who?’ he asked, looking up from his laptop.

‘Her,’ Lisa said, thumbing at Gemma. The manager’s eyes went straight to her tits.

‘Advertising space,’ he said with shocking candour. Then, with a frown, he asked, ‘Why isn’t she in her uniform?’

‘She seems to think she’s not slut enough to wear it,’ said Lisa, folding her arms.

‘Really?’ asked Gareth with genuine surprise. He caught the blonde’s gasp of offence.

‘Well,’ he faltered, ‘slut is a bit harsh.’

‘Tart?’ suggested Stacey, peering in through the open door.

‘Bimbo?’ offered Chelsea, her face appearing above her friend’s.

Lisa pushed the door with an irritable grunt and shut the pair out.

‘I admit,’ started Gareth, standing and walking around his desk toward Gemma, ‘an outfit that revealing calls for a person with supreme body confidence... I just assumed you were that person, Gemma.’

‘And she did have her tit out in the interview,’ stated Lisa.

‘She did?’ asked Gareth, after a heavy gulp.

‘Oh, yeah. She was desperate for me to take a look – shoving it in my face almost.’

Gareth got a distant look and was silent for an inappropriate length of time, during which Gemma was also deep in thought: sincerely wondering whether she might be a slut and just not realised it. She quickly shook off the ludicrous notion.

‘Do you seriously expect me to put those stickers on my boobs and just flash them at whoever asks to see them?’

‘What better way to promote new cocktails?’ asked Gareth with a shrug. ‘It’s a bit of fun!’

Lisa nodded along, adding, ‘A harmless gimmick.’

Gemma was not persuaded.

‘I have to remind you that you did sign a legally binding contract,’ said Gareth, his mood darkening, ‘which stipulates in no uncertain terms that you are to wear the uniform provided and carry out your job to the best of your... considerable abilities.’


‘We’re going to leave you in here to think it over. I expect to see you out there in your uniform in a few minutes.’

Lisa stepped forward with a satisfied grin and shoved the box into Gemma’s chest.


Once the office door was shut, Gareth rushed into the security room and quickly switched to the feed from the camera in his office. Lisa called the twins after her and all three joined him excitedly.

When Chelsea saw the feed she gasped. ‘Gareth,’ she hissed, trying to hide her blushes from Lisa who was eyeing her suspiciously, ‘I didn’t know you had a camera in there.’

Gareth ignored her; his attention on the black and white image of Gemma as she paced the office, her head a jumble of conflicting principles.

Walking back over to the box she had flung angrily onto the desk, the blonde reached inside and picked up the stickers she was expected to fix to her breasts.

Miserably she positioned them over her corset where her nipples caused subtle protrusions.

‘That’s it,’ said Gareth, staring into the young blonde’s eyes. ‘You know you want to.’

Suddenly Gemma whirled around in fright; stickers still fixed firmly to her nubs.

‘What’s going on in there?’ asked Lisa, with urgency. ‘Does this thing have sound?’

Without waiting for an answer, the redhead sprinted back down the corridor and pressed her ear to the office door.

‘Stuart?’ demanded Gemma in a gasp. She caught herself still holding the stickers to her tits and quickly hid them behind her back before asking, red with embarrassment, ‘What do you want?’

‘I just wanted to say...’ he rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. ‘I know you’re uncomfortable with your uniform, but I think you’ll look amazing in it.’

Gemma was overwhelmed by his flattery. Blushing even deeper, she asked, ‘You do?’

‘Hell, yeah. And the only reason Lisa is being a bitch to you is because she’s jealous of your big melons.’ He saw Gemma blanch at his crudeness and regretted his choice of words instantly.

‘Big breasts, I mean,’ he said, trying to sound respectful despite the fact that the mere mention of her big jugs had caused his pouch to come under sudden strain.

Dropping his hands down in front of his groin he reiterated, bashfully, ‘She’s jealous of your big breasts.’

‘I am not!’ hissed Lisa, gripping the door frame for support as the rage bubbled up inside her.

Gemma smiled bashfully, and after a time replied impishly, ‘She does have small ones doesn’t she?’

‘Bee-stings,’ said Stuart, causing Gemma to let out a loud chuckle before covering her mouth guiltily.

‘Thanks, Stuart,’ she said.

‘No problem.’

Lisa recoiled as the door was suddenly flung open. Composing herself with staggering speed she put on a smile and waited for Stuart who jumped slightly on seeing her.

Unnerved, he returned the smile best he could and said, ‘Oh, hi, Lisa.’

‘Hi, Stuart,’ she said sweetly. She quickly took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly; wishing it was a different one of his extremities.

Still smiling, she led him into the security room where the others were huddled around the flickering monitor.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Stuart; testing that his fingers still worked after Lisa let go of his hand.

‘Whatever you said to her worked a treat,’ said Gareth, without taking his eyes off the screen.

‘Come see,’ said Stacey with a chuckle. She put her arm around him and let her hand slide casually lower until it came to rest upon his bare buttock.

‘What are we watching?’ he asked, only slightly perturbed.

‘Something I’m sure you’ll find... uplifting,’ said Stacey, her eyes fixed watchfully on his pouch.


Gemma’s corset came off with a simply tug on the straining strings.

Her bra however was a much more of a challenge. Bending her arms awkwardly behind her back, her delicate fingers fumbled with the clasps which were under such stress as to be locked in an almost unbreakable clinch.

As she struggled with the garment, Gareth leaned in to the monitor; his eyes transfixed on the enormous protuberances of tit-flesh, which Gemma’s awkward pose left outthrust and wobbling delectably.

Lisa noticed his blissfully stupefied stare, a stare the like of which she had never been the object of, and feeling suddenly inadequate, snorted, ‘How plastic are those things?’

The other girls tittered distractedly, but Gareth was oblivious as Gemma finally freed herself of the troublesome brassière with only the shoulder straps preventing it from springing across the room explosively. As it was, it merely shuddered, and slumped down; its stretched cups withering to leave the top halves of her light pink areoles exposed.

On the black and white security feed these were indistinguishable against her skin, and Gareth was left desperately willing the cups to slip the few inches in which it was an anatomically certainty that her nipples would be found.

Even Stuart, who at first averted his gaze chivalrously, had succumbed to her charms and was now longing after her teats just as lustfully.

But despite the men’s wishes, the bra stayed put; see-sawing left and right as she began wriggling out of her skin-tight microskirt and then suddenly, the allure of her nipples was forgotten as the prospect of something even more mouth-watering came into sight: her sweet, young pussy.

Gareth’s length swelled down his trouser leg, rearing up at the denim urgently. Lisa eyed it with anger and lust, whilst, beside her, Stacey’s eyes were filled with nothing but carnal hunger for Stuart’s rising snake.

The decline of Gemma’s microskirt stopped unexpectedly as it caught on the widest extent of her hips; having only so far revealed a wisp of light pubic hair.

The delay was almost too much for Gareth to bear, as for a second time Gemma’s clothing denied him the instant gratification he desired. He beat the monitors with his fists and cried, to everyone’s astonishment, ‘Take it off, you slutting prick-tease!’

And, unwittingly, Gemma complied.

Forcing her thumbs inside the waistband of the skirt she leant forward and gave one final push to send the skirt, and the bra which had clung on so stubbornly, falling to the floor.

Having been crushed high and wide across her chest, it came as a shock to all watching when her tits flopped out to slap like foot-long, meaty pendulums against one another.

There may have been no sound on the video feed, but the clap echoed down the corridor and filled the room.

With jugs still rippling, Gemma leaned back against the desk and let them spread out over her chest; presenting herself, full-glorious-frontal, to the unnoticed camera.

The sight of such a perfect female form overloaded Gareth’s cunt-struck brain. With eyelids flickering, he let out an orgasmic wheeze and let loose. The hot fluid soaked the denim an impressive distance down his left thigh.

Stuart, who though leaking pre-cum profusely, somehow managed to contain himself. Unfortunately, with his massive erection straining, his stretched posing pouch was unable to contain him and, one after the other, his low-hanging plums rolled out of one gaping leg hole to swing freely.

Feeling the warm, sticky sensation of shame, Gareth quickly excused himself, leaving Lisa next to tears.

Looking around for something to take her mind off her inadequacies, her eyes fell on Stuart’s vulnerable, dangling nuts.

‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed, ‘you’ve fallen out of your pouch.’ She grabbed his marbles roughly and growled, ‘Let me help you squeeze them back in.’

Stuart’s eyes quickly began to cross, and Stacey winced with dismay when she looked down to see it was his shiny nut-meat bulging out from between Lisa’s tightening fingers.

Lisa leaned in close so that only Stuart would hear and growled, ‘How’d you like my bee-stings now?’

Through welling tears and twitching eyelids, Stuart looked down slowly until he saw the mocking, jutting teats which, at half an inch long, had almost pierced the flimsy cotton of her white vest.

Grinning with relish, Lisa pulled out the pouch and shoved the bursting contents of her fist inside whilst, at the same time, forcing his thick sausage out of the other leg hole; much to Stacey and Chelsea’s delight.

‘There,’ she said, retracting her hand and allowing him finally to sink to his knees with a pitiful sob of relief. Then, suddenly addressing the gobsmacked twins, the curly redhead jabbed a finger at the monitor on which Gemma was beginning to put on her uniform.

‘You see that?’ she growled. ‘If we don’t get rid of her it’ll be implants or out of a job for the rest of us.’ With that she stormed out of the security room.

The twins looked at one another with astonishment.

‘Her tits aren’t that much bigger than mine,’ said Chelsea, lifting her breasts for Stacey’s inspection.

Stacey simply snorted and rolled her eyes and then a pitiable groan reminded the pair of Stuart’s presence.

‘Oh, are you okay?’ asked Stacey, lowering herself to his level, whilst beside her, Chelsea simply laughed out loud.

‘Chelsea!’ cried Stacey, aghast.

‘What?’ asked her friend through a fit of cute chuckles. ‘It’s funny. You’d think so too if you didn’t want his cock so bad.’

Stacey feigned outrage and gripped his swinging penis as if to cover it’s ears. ‘Don’t listen to her, Stuart,’ she said.

Stilling giggling, her friend left the room.

No sooner than she was gone than Stacey tossed aside Stuart’s flaccid prick and forced its way inside his pouch to subject his aching package to an unsolicited, and not to mention indelicate, massage.

With a smile she said to Stuart, ‘It’s not your cock I want,’ and tightened her kneading fist, prompting Stuart’s moans to became abruptly more urgent.

Purring contentedly, Stacey slipped her free hand surreptitiously down the front of her hot pants.


With her tube top hitched up under her chin, Gemma lined up the final sticker over the nipple of her left tit, and, once she judged it centred, pressed it down firmly, causing creases as the doughy flesh yielded beneath.

Smoothing out the wrinkles, she groaned with frustration as her sensitive teat began to respond to her rubbing and poke through the paper. Vexed, she pulled down the top and checked the office for a mirror. Finding none, she spied the tiny lens of a webcam in the lid of Gareth’s laptop.

Gemma skipped quickly around the desk and, after angling the camera at her chest, turned on the camera; revelling in her ingenuity, but failing to notice the record icon which began to blink in the bottom corner of the screen.

Placing her hands on her hips and leaning in toward the camera, the coy young blonde said, with feigned surprise, ‘Oh, you’d like to see my jugs?’

She gripped the bottom of the tube top and, staring directly into the tiny lens, summoned the courage to lift it up high. It was with disappointment that she watched her melons splay out sideways to rest rather unattractively either side her ribcage. She frowned with dissatisfaction.

Tugging her top back down, she tried another tack.

‘Wanna see my jugs?’ she asked, brashly. ‘Thought so.’ She swiftly whipped up the top whilst compressing her tits together between her forearms to make a sight which was much more to her liking.

Pressing as hard as she could without hurting herself, Gemma watched the computer screen with pride as it relayed the image of her soft baps spreading out flat until both her wrists and elbows were engulfed by the warm, supple flesh.

‘Much better,’ she said, brimming with confidence.

She pulled her top back down and turned away before a third, wild card, option popped into her pretty head.

Spinning quickly back around, she caught the top of her boob-tube and yanked it all the way down to her waist, watching with a huge grin as her briefly flattened jugs sprung buoyantly back into fullness and remained aquiver for several seconds thereafter.

Ever since she put on her first E-cup bra at fifteen years of age, Gemma felt she had been forced to hide her breasts away because of their sinfully excessive size. It seemed to her that breaking the double-D barrier meant a girl was suddenly fair game for perverts to ogle and bitches to snipe at.

But now it seemed, for a few hours every night at least, she could resist the shamed sensation and put her back-breaking pair of pervert-magnets to work. It gave Gemma an indecent tingle to think that for once in her life rather than shying away from the lustful stares she could actually revel in them!

Giggling gleefully, she thought to herself, Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.


Gemma stepped out of the office and was immediately shocked to hear the exhilarated moans of an orgasmic young female. Unable to resist, the curious teenager crept quietly toward the room from which it came.

She was within peeking distance of the open doorway when the moans ended abruptly and out stepped Stacey, beaming a grin so blissful and glowing with such rosy radiance that it seemed nothing on earth could bring her down.

Seeing Gemma, Stacey’s face dropped.

‘Move it, slut,’ she growled, pushing Gemma with both hands, and leaving behind the pungent aroma of salty ball sweat and sweet lady juices on the shocked blonde’s chest.

Gemma stumbled aside; speechless until Stacey had left the corridor when at once she gathered the sense to gasp in exasperation, ‘Bitch.’

To her surprise there came a long, pained wheeze from inside the security room. Poking her head inside, she found Stuart curled, once again, checking the consistency of his poor testicles.

Gemma couldn’t be sure quite how his big gonads had come to be such a bright shade of red, but she knew it would be rude to enquire. And yet good manners didn’t stop her from lingering at the doorway while the young man methodically manipulated each angry orb, groaning and wincing with every tentative touch.

It was with a perverse thrill that she realised she was witnessing a ritual which no girl ever should, and it wasn’t long before a warm, tingling sensation had swollen her cunt and spread up through her tummy to take hold of her highly-responsive nipples.

The sound of the tit sticker adhesive peeling from her skin caused the blonde to catch herself suddenly and, letting out a guiltily gasp, she quickly and quietly slinked away, leaving Stuart to continue his intensely personal examinations in private.


Striding into the bar, hands on hips, tits pushed out, bristling with confidence, Gemma narrowed her eyes determinedly and scanned the crowd for unsuspecting targets: the cocktail-sipping young playboys whose fat wallets would fall open the instant they were treated to her jaw-dropping sales pitch.

Unfortunately, the bar’s clientèle was not as upmarket as she had hoped, and consisted mainly of raucous, beer-swigging louts; the likes of which would sooner wave around their cocks than their cash.

Gemma’s newfound confidence evaporated, and without it she was left feeling suddenly, shockingly, naked.

Though the real distress came when she looked down at herself to find that her sensation of nudity was not completely mistaken: not only was a three-inch-wide band of white cotton attempting to cover a forty-odd inch bust, but a skin-tight pair of red cotton hot pants were attempting to conceal her pantiless and pouting camel-toe. Needless to say, both garments’ attempts were failing exceptionally.

Letting out a frightened yelp, Gemma crossed an arm over her chest and covered her crotch before turning to retreat back into the corridor.

A pair of cold hands caught her shoulders and brought her to a halt before she made it through the doorway.

‘Where’d you think you’re going?’ snarled Lisa, pulling her back before deftly pointing her toward the bar’s open hatch. ‘Those jugs won’t sell themselves.’

With an almighty shove, the blonde was sent flailing into the crowd, and, unable to stop herself, she slammed tit-first into the wide back of an unsuspecting customer.

Despite her airbags, the impact caused the man’s pint glass to slip out of his hand.

‘Aw, fuck!’ he cried, when the glass hit the floor and splashed beer up the impossibly thick legs of him and his rugby mates.

Terrified, Gemma looked back to see Lisa gleefully folding down the hinged top of the bar to block her one and only escape. With a sob, she turned back, ready to apologise, only to find the man and his beer-sodden buddies towering over her; each one bristling with irritation.

‘You made me drop my pint, sugar-tits.’

‘Here we go,’ said Lisa, waving the twins over to where she was perched on her elbows watching, vulture-like, as the scene unfolded.

‘Well,’ said Gemma, brightly; hoping he wouldn’t notice the fear in her big blue eyes, ‘could I interest you in a cocktail jug instead? I have, um...’

She suddenly realised she had no clue of the names of either of the pitchers plastered to her rack so, as surreptitiously as she was able, she hooked her finger over the top of her boob-tube and drew it out until she could read the sticker over her left nipple.

‘...massive melons,’ she read, before realising what she had just let herself in for. She braced herself for the inevitable.

‘I can see that, but what cocktails do you do?’ quipped the bruiser, prompting an involuntary, nervous giggle from Gemma, and riotous guffaw from his muscle-bound chums.

‘So come on, love, are you going to show us your tits or what?’

‘My jugs,’ corrected Gemma, desperate to maintain the flimsy pretence that they were both talking about something other than her breasts.

‘Call ‘em what you like, love,’ said the man, reaching out to grab her roughly by the left tit. ‘This is what I mean!’

Gemma shrieked and leapt backward, her juicy tit slipping free from the man’s grip a moment before her ass bumped against the bar and halted her retreat. Trapped, with the men closing in, she glanced behind and saw her boss grinning back at her.

‘What do I do?’ she asked.

‘What you’re paid for,’ the redhead answered.

‘I’m scared!’ she cried. ‘Help me!’

‘My pleasure,’ said the redhead, before reaching around the young girl’s sides to deftly whip up her boob-tube.

Gemma gasped at the indignity, but it was nothing compared to what was about to come as the sight of her suddenly bared breasts sent the crowding brutes wild for a handful of the tantalising tit-meat, and before Gemma knew it, several painfully strong hands had latched onto her huge melons and begun to tug the tender flesh in every direction.

With her tits being pawed at by a group of lustful strangers, pulled this way and that like pieces of meat, it would be fair to assume that Gemma had little modesty left worth protecting.

Folding her arms victoriously, Lisa stood back and watched and waited for Gemma to resign herself to her mistreatment.

But as it turned out, Gemma had a much more simplistic measure of modesty than most women. As far as she was concerned, manhandled or not, her dignity remained intact so long as her big pink nipples remained covered, and the stickers she wore would see to that. Or so she thought until one of her tits received a particularly forceful tug which stretched the malleable melon further than the paper sticker was prepared to go. It tore down the middle and out popped one of Gemma’s forbidden nubs, appearing through the tear like a big, juicy jelly-tot.

Gemma saw the exposed teat and snapped.

With adrenalin surging through the big blue veins of her stretching tits, Gemma instinctively threw a knee at the filthy brute directly in front.

The attack was wild, but luckily for Gemma, at such close range accuracy was irrelevant, as the man’s solid thighs channelled her rocketing knee into the one vulnerable spot on his otherwise impervious body.

Gemma felt the denim of his jeans brush her skin a fraction of a second before her bony cap struck two rubbery lumps and came to an abrupt, crushing halt.

With great satisfaction, Gemma felt the lumps vanish in an infinitesimal explosion which sent a pair of hands retracting from her chest at speed to clutch, futilely, at the truly mashed meat against her knee.

When she withdrew her leg, the man, all eighteen stone of solid, rippling muscle, fell away sobbing like a baby.

But there were many men still standing, and even as they watched in silent horror the busted brute topple, they neglected to remove their groping hands from Gemma’s doughy baps.

Up went her knee, and once more it was guided into a rubbery bulge, and once more the rubberiness gave way with a subtle percussion.

Soon hands were withdrawing from her tits of their own accord, but Gemma was determined not to let them get away without paying the price.

Lisa watched with horror as, with her legs pumping piston-like, the furious blonde brought down every customer who had copped a feel.

It seemed that no matter whether they pushed their thighs together or covered themselves with their hands, her righteous knee sought out their tender nuts and smashed them in to pieces.

And suddenly, it was the women in the crowd who were cheering and closing in around her; forming a tight circle to trap the men pursued by an unstoppable ball-busting blonde intent on cracking their eggs.

It took Gemma mere seconds to reduce those who had molested her to a weeping pile, now consumed with the urge to grope only at their own privates, but Gemma wasn’t finished yet: she was searching out the filthy brute who had started the whole assault on her breasts with the complete demise of his testicles in mind.

It was as Gemma was scanning the writhing pile of men at her feet that Stuart entered the bar, hunched and self-pitying from his own scrotal suffering. Spotting him, Lisa yelled, ‘Stuart, get out there and stop that slut before she causes a lawsuit!’

Stuart nodded obediently and, oblivious to the peril he was putting his nuts in, hobbled after Gemma.

His catching her shoulder came as an unexpected surprise to Gemma, and her response was to turn and unleash an immediately, ball-ending blow.

Stuart didn’t even get the chance to say her name before her knee buried itself in his tight pouch with such surging force that his entire package was jettisoned from the garment in spectacular shower of pink, swinging meat.

‘Gemma,’ he squeaked, causing the rampaging blonde to halt abruptly.

On hearing the pitiful squeal, Gemma’s bust-lust faded for long enough for her to recognise her colleague’s, by now familiar, grimace.

‘Stuart?’ she gushed guiltily, before quickly dropping her gaze southward to assess what damage she had inflicted. ‘I don’t know what came over me... Did I...? Are they...?’

His smashed cock and balls hung long and limp over her thigh. They throbbed perceptibly against her skin, but were thankfully intact.

Relieved, she withdrew her knee and started to apologise, but, with crossing eyes, Stuart toppled suddenly backward, landing atop of the pile of similarly injured men.

Though guilt-ridden, Gemma simply couldn’t avert her gaze as the meat, which she had so thoroughly tenderised, flopped and flailed irresistibly from the leg hole of his pouch.

It was whilst she ogled that the filthy brute who had started the whole assault on her breasts saw his chance to make a break for it.

Having miraculously survived a retaliatory knee to the spuds with only slightly crushed testes, the muscle-bound moron summoned all his remaining strength and managed to drag himself free of the pile, only to find his path to the exit blocked by a pair of tapping stilettos.

Fearfully, he followed the legs up to find they were attached to an angrily pouting vagina, which in turn was attached to a hot-tempered young blonde.

‘Where do you think you are going?’ she asked, in a cool eastern-European accent.

The pervert opened his mouth to plead, but before he could speak, she stepped over him and slipped her hands underneath to deftly seize the buckle of his belt. Before he knew it, his trousers were around his ankles, the belt was tight around his wrists and he was pulled up by the hair onto his knees.

Overwhelmed and exposed by a single slender female, he stood no chance against the girl-power-crazed mob which set upon him: intent on inflicting a little poetic justice.

The girls snatched up his ball-bag, grappling for a hold on the slippery orbs which squirmed within, and, while the girls lacked the strength with which he and his pals had so cruelly tugged and pinched at Gemma’s breasts, they made up for it with enthusiasm and press-on nails.

‘Please!’ he shrieked, as his burning sac was stretched taut before him and his nut-cords strained at his guts. ‘Let go!’

‘Aw, what is the matter, big boy?’ asked the pantiless blonde who had secured herself a share of his generously-proportioned left bollock. ‘Not like having your tender bits woman-handled?

‘Please,’ he sobbed again, as the hopelessness of his situation sank in. ‘Let me keep one.’

‘What do you say, girls?’

The women looked at one another as if to gauge the general feeling, but it was solely for theatrically effect as not one of them had any intention of leaving him able to procreate.

‘Nah!’ came their laconic reply, and with that, those with a hold of his plump, pink orbs bore down until his love life was brought to a dramatic, and shockingly literal, climax, which showered the girls liberally and caused them to recoil, screaming with equal measures of joy and revulsion.


The sudden girlish shrieks caused Gemma to regain her senses, and, realising that she had been staring at Stuart’s flopping parts for an impolite length of time, she rushed to assist him.

‘Here, let me help,’ she said, snatching up her stricken colleague’s nuts. But it quickly dawned on the inexperience teenager that she hadn't a clue how to sooth a pair of badly busted bollocks.

Staring down at the red, vieny, throbbing orbs, she ventured, ‘Should I... rub them?’

Stuart was too overcome to answer. Instead, he just held out his shaking hands: pitifully imploring her to hand them over, so, reluctantly, Gemma let the swollen plums roll gently into his open palms.

Unfortunately for Stuart, another hand intercepted the rolling nuts before he could catch them.

‘I’ll take care of these,’ declared Stacey; greedily wrapping her fingers around the large eggs. She bumped Gemma aside roughly and leaned in close to whisper to Stuart, ‘Ready for another go, big boy?’

She tightened her fist around the neck of his scrotum and once his nuts were bunched into taut, shiny package, she proceeded to haul him to his feet.

Gemma could only observe with dismay as Stuart’s sac stretched paper-thin whilst he desperately wrestled his legs back in to life and raced to stand.

Only once it looked certain his ball-bag would come off in Stacey’s hand did he manage to launch himself upright, but even then there was no respite for him, as Stacey decided to take him on a parade lap around the circle of cheering young women which surrounded them.

As Stuart was dragged, hunched and hobbling, by the parts he held so dear, Gemma eyes were helplessly drawn to his cock: an appendage which had seemed so vital on first sight, but which now appeared surplus to requirement as it dangled from his pouch, limp and pathetic.

She was watching him being led behind the bar when she suddenly came face to face with Lisa.


In forcibly exposing Gemma’s jugs, Lisa had expected to reclaim the upper hand, but seeing how the massive pair caused the men to react had left her feeling even more inferior and even more resentful of Gemma’s gifts.

‘Lisa,’ gushed Gemma, guiltily, ‘I’m sorry—’

‘I don’t want to hear it!’ yelled the redhead. She gestured at the piles of stricken customers all about them. ‘These men were our best customers – out here every night trying to stick their dicks into something. Look at them now. Do you think they’ll have the same appetite for pussy after some slut popped their nuts?’

‘I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, I swear. When they grabbed my boobs I just—’

These,’ growled Lisa, clamping her hands around Gemma’s still tender tits, ‘are not your boobs. These are nothing more than fleshy billboards.’ She shook the big melons vigorously and snorted adding, derisively, ‘Our wobbling great advertisements.’

The mistreatment caused Gemma’s knee to twitch involuntarily and only narrowly did she manage to fight the urge to bury her knee in the redhead’s folds.

Oblivious to how close she had come to a painful cunt-busting, Lisa continued to assert her point.

Letting go of the blonde’s breasts, she growled, ‘Whilst you’re working here these,’ Gemma’s heavy tits had no sooner landed back down on her chest before Lisa batted them from beneath and set them bouncing back up, ‘are property of the club. Do I make myself clear?’

Gemma nodded, almost in tears.

‘Good,’ snarled Lisa, before noticing that one of Gemma’s nipples was poking out from a tear in the covering sticker.

‘Tisk, tisk,’ she tutted, reproachfully. ‘This isn’t a titty bar.’ With an extended finger she pushed the teat back into the soft centres of the blonde’s tits until she let out a pained yelp and pulled away.

‘There,’ said Lisa, smugly, when the nipple refused to reappear. ‘Much more respectable.’

Her head snapped around abruptly to regard Chelsea who was stepping through the carnage, giddily unzipping flies and tugging free the genitals of the men too enfeebled to stop her.

‘How bad is it?’ enquired Lisa.

Chelsea looked up from tugging out the last remaining unexposed junk and screwed up her face disparagingly. ‘Pretty bad,’ she reported. ‘I haven’t seen one over seven inches.’

‘I mean their balls,’ snapped Lisa, irritably.

‘Oh,’ said Chelsea, sheepishly. ‘By my count she pulped seven balls not including the one, no, wait...’ A final tug freed the deflated-looking sac with a slosh. She manipulated it thoughtfully for a time, whilst beneath her the owner wailed piteously. Finding nothing solid, she finished, ‘...make that two men she completely castrated.’

‘Just what I need,’ grumbled Lisa. ‘Call taxis for the ones who actually lost something and ply the rest with enough free alcohol to numb the ball-pain.’

Chelsea nodded and skipped back behind the bar.

Turning back to Gemma, Lisa was calm, but still furious.

‘Those freebies are coming out of your—’ she jabbed her fingers into Gemma’s tits for emphasis, ‘—wages. And seeing as how you only get paid for what you sell you better get to work flashing those flesh-balloons... or you’ll—’ again she jabbed, ‘—owe us money.’

Lisa gave the undersides of the blonde’s jugs a gratuitous parting spank and walked away triumphant.

Gemma was left silently opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to form a protest which adequately summed up her rapidly expanding list of grievances. It was only when the unrestrained jiggling of her tits subsided that she realised once more her near-nakedness.

She tugged down her skimpy boob-tube and wrestled it with embarrassment over her mountainous rack, noticing that its only real contribution was to squash her aching tits even wider across her chest.

Stupid tits! she thought bitterly resenting the pain and humiliation they had brought her. Stupid, fat, stupid tits!

Feeling utterly powerless to do anything but, she scanned the club for remaining clientèle who might be tempted into parting cash by a flash her loathsome jugs.

Unfortunately, while her scrote-squishing spree had attracted much female custom, it had, however, caused those men who still possessed the use of their legs to flee the club in terror.

Only a small, petrified group remained, huddling for safety in an out-of-the-way corner where they prayed they wouldn’t be spotted. But in a club full of hysterically giggling women, their harrowed, ashen faces were highly conspicuous.

Stepping apologetically over several of her sobbing victims, Gemma made her way towards them.

‘Want to see my jugs?’ she asked hopefully on approach; her hands already peeling up her tube-top the few millimetres it took to expose the bottom of the stickers over her areolae.

‘Please, no,’ begged one man, suddenly pushed forward by the other two. ‘Don’t hurt me.’ He was clutching his nuts protectively.

‘Go on!’ urged a mischievous voice.

Gemma turned to see that two young girls had followed her across the club and were stood behind her, visibly aching with anticipation. Neither girl was of drinking age, but had been allowed into the club due to their attire, or lack thereof.

With girlish glee and graphically poking nipples the blonde, a busty girl in a black-and-white-striped dress so skin-tight that it pushed the boundaries of public decency to their limits, enthused, ‘Make their spuds go splat!

This caused her relatively flat-chested friend to chuckle which in turn caused what little bumps she did have to shake vigorously beneath the tiny bikini top she evidently had to wear to get noticed beside the buxom blonde.

‘No, not that,’ sobbed the man, adding pathetically, ‘We’ll do anyhting.’

This caught Gemma’s attention. She turned back to the man and asked with eyes twinkling hopefully, ‘Will you... buy a few cocktail pitchers?’

‘Sure,’ he gushed, seeing a chance to make it out with nuts intact. ‘We’ll buy lots of pitchers.’

‘We’ll buy more,’ said the young blonde, looking to her friend for cooperation.

They each retrieved a minuscule purse from their tiny backpacks and counted out the few small notes inside. Embarrassingly, their combined funds amounted to little over thirty pounds.

Observing the young girls’ lack of cash, the men saw an escape. Brimming wallets were produced and, out of each, several twenty pound notes were collected into a single thick wad which the man in front took great pride in waving at the out-bid young females.

‘Two-hundred and forty pounds,’ gloated the man whilst giving an extremely rude gesture to the confounded girls with his free hand.

Something about their lack of respect for the girls caused Gemma’s blood to boil, and no sooner than the cash was laid in her palm than she demanded more.

The men’s boastful grins vanished and their faces fell pale once more.

‘But... we don’t have any more.’

‘In that case I’ll take your trousers. Underwear too,’ she added, her cheeks and nipples flushing with blood as for the first time in her life she felt the exhilaration of power. And eager not to have it end she continued, ‘It’s that or I pop your nuts, stick a straw down your pee-hole and sell it as grape juice.’

The girls gasped with wonderment; the men with abject horror and, needless to say, they dropped their trousers.

Though shocked, her brain could contrive such an indecent outburst, Gemma was nevertheless impressed at the threat’s power to convince.

‘Let’s see those lengths!’ cried the blonde in the stripy shrink-wrap dress. But as it turned out “lengths” was one thing the men’s fear-shrivelled pricks were not. After the build up, the sight of such pathetically withered meat caused uproar amongst the gathering crowd.

‘Look at their shrunken heads!’ cried the blonde suddenly spotting the hairy, wrinkled orbs nestled either side of their shrivelled shafts.

‘Shrunken heads?’ repeated Gemma, uncertainly, before suddenly appreciating the likeness.

It was while she giggled uncontrollably that the girls launched their unexpected attack.

The blonde was the first to strike, catching the chief prick right in the shrunken heads with the toe of her leather “fuck me” boots. While mostly through luck than judgement, the strike was pinpoint in precision and ball-ending in ferocity as the pointed toe knocked his right nut up inside him before following it in to finish the job.

Gemma was shocked to see such a shrivelled wiener ejaculate so powerfully, and couldn’t help but feel responsible as she watched him fall to the ground a testicle the lighter, but she was suddenly reminded of the huge wad of cash in her hand and with a huge grin on her face she raced back to the bar, leaving the other two men to share a similar fate at the hands and feet of the overexcited crowd.


‘There,’ said Gemma, placing the thick wad on the bar in front of Lisa who stared down at it with dismay.

‘How did you...?’

Gemma gave an aloof shrug and cupped her breasts.

‘I just flashed them my flesh-balloons.’

Lisa narrowed her eyes at the blonde and gave her a hateful smile before snatching up the money and storming over to the cash register. She punched the machine and threw the wad down into the drawer which sprung out before releasing the curse which had built up inside her.

Big-titted bitch!

Chelsea, glistening from the effort of loading several emasculated men into a cab, drew up beside her breathlessly, pulled out the neck of her T-shirt and emptied a glass of ice cubes inside. The cubes slid over her hot breasts, leaving as they went an expanding patch of transparent fabric which grew in time to reveal the edges of her dark, cold-tightened areolae. Only the material stretched from her skin by her poking nipples remained opaque as she said, with an almost orgasmic groan, ‘That’s better!’

Turning to Lisa, she said, ‘You would not believe what big babies men are when they’ve lost of testicle or two – they couldn’t even walk for themselves. And when there’s a little heavy lifting to do, what do you know, Stuart’s nowhere to be found...’

Her rant trailed off when she recognised someone across the other side of the club: a man who had cornered two terrified-looking young girls and was relentlessly, shamelessly propositioning them.

‘Ugh,’ she groaned, only this time with distaste. ‘I see Todd’s harassing the jail-bait as usual. Fucking pervert.’

She thought for a moment, her gaze floating skyward as a mischievous smile spread across her lips.

‘Maybe I should get Gemma to pop one of his cherries,’ she said, whimsically.

Lisa gave a sudden gasp. ‘That’s it!’ she said.

‘It would make him think twice about being such a prick,’ said Chelsea with a shrug.

‘No, it’s not his cherry that needs popping,’ hissed Lisa, narrowing her eyes across the bar at Gemma. ‘It’s hers.’

Chelsea didn’t follow, but before she could enquire she was caught in a tit-crushing hug from her suddenly buoyant boss.

‘Play along,’ said Lisa. ‘I’m gonna have that slut crying into her cleavage!’

Releasing Chelsea, she skipped over to the unsuspecting blonde and called, pleasantly, ‘Hey, Gemma. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be lugging those enormous breasts around with you—’

‘Yeah,’ scoffed Chelsea, assuming Lisa had lined her up for a withering put down, ‘that much silicone must weigh a ton.’

Whilst Gemma gasped with indignation, Lisa turned to deliver a stinging backhand which sent the clueless girl’s wet left breast flopping back around her armpit.

‘Hey!’ she objected, gripping her melon protectively once it bounced back.

‘Show her some respect,’ the redhead chided. ‘She just made a two-hundred pound sale.’


Leaving Chelsea hurt and bewildered, Lisa turned back to Gemma with an unnervingly warm smile.

‘Why don’t you serve a few people here at the bar and then take a break?’

‘Okay,’ said Gemma, overjoyed by her boss’ sudden warmth. ‘Thanks.’

Gemma rounded the bar and gave the gobsmacked Chelsea a smug grin as she passed by.

‘Hey!’ hissed Chelsea, racing after her boss as she went through the bar’s hatch into the club. ‘What was that about? You hit my tit.’

Lisa rolled her eyes: weary of the girl’s dumbness.

‘Just make sure Todd is at the bar before you let that slut go on her break,’ she said.


Lisa worked her way through the crowd and stopped just short of Todd; busying herself with glass-collecting.

‘What’s the biggest you’ve ever had?’ he asked the girls, shamelessly.

‘I’m a virgin,’ declared one of the scared girls.

‘We both are,’ said the other, panicked. ‘In fact, we’re not even old enough to be in here – we should go.’

The girls made a move to leave, but their path was blocked when Todd thrust his raging hard-on closer; their confessions having only excited it further.

The girls pressed themselves back into the corner to avoid it.

‘I told you we shouldn’t have stuffed our bras,’ sobbed one of the girls.

Lisa was tempted to let the girls suffer Todd’s advances a little longer, but a pair of under-age drinkers were much less of a threat to her job than Gemma’s pair.

‘Those are the biggest tits I have ever seen,’ she announced at volume.

Todd stopped taunting the girls and turned, his curiosity piqued. Lisa watched him from the corner of her eye.

‘Thirty-two H she says, but I think they’re bigger.’

With the two young virgins immediately forgotten about, Todd went after bigger prey, but before the girls could escape, their path was blocked once more.

‘If I see you in here again,’ growled Lisa, prodding them each in the enhanced cleavage, ‘his prick will be the least of your worries – our bouncer just loves introducing girls like you to the thick end of his baseball bat. Got it?’

Teary-eyed, the girls nodded earnestly until Lisa stepped aside and let the them flee the club, watching with amusement as they clutched their pussies with terror on passing the doorman.


‘Time for your break,’ said Chelsea, seeing Todd’s approach.

‘Okay,’ chirped Gemma, closing the cash register. She brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face and then exited the bar.

Strolling into corridor, she was surprised to see Stacey creeping out of a storage closet.

When Stacey caught sight of the near-naked blonde she slammed the door shut behind her and snapped, ‘What are you looking at?’

Gemma bowed her head meekly and rushed past her to reach the door to the staff toilet.

‘That’s it, slut,’ Stacey called after her, ‘keep walking.’

Gemma pushed open the door and scurried inside; close to tears.


Back in the bar, Todd had seen Gemma’s departure and was loitering impatiently by the open hatch for his chance to slip after her unnoticed. When Stacey entered the bar and wailed theatrically, he knew he’d found his chance.

‘What’s up?’ asked Chelsea, eyeing her friend’s look of poorly-acted anguish with suspicion.

‘It’s Stuart,’ cried Stacey, her bottom lip quivering insincerely. ‘Gemma popped one of his nuts.’

‘That’s funny,’ said Chelsea, sceptically.

Funny?’ sobbed Stacey, getting carried away with her performance. ‘She stole a precious jewel.’

Chelsea rolled her eyes.

‘“Funny”,’ she said, ‘because his balls looked pretty solid while you were dragging him around by them, Stace, and that was after Gemma had racked them.’

Realising she’d been caught out, Stacey’s expression turned from inconsolable to indignant. ‘Okay, fine,’ she huffed. ‘So I popped one of his nuts.’

‘Oo!’ groaned Chelsea, wincing. Then, with sparkling eyes she asked, ‘How exactly?’

‘It was an accident... I got carried away. They really shouldn’t be so fragile,’ she concluded with a shrug.

‘You know Lisa’s gonna kill you when she finds out.’

‘No!’ gasped Stacey, grabbing her friend’s hands. ‘You have to back up my story – convince her Gemma did it.’

Chelsea narrowed her eyes at her friend. ‘On one condition...’ she said.

‘Anything,’ enthused Stacey. Chelsea smiled darkly.

‘I get to pop his other one.’


Standing before the bathroom mirror, Gemma examined her reflection miserably whilst fishing her hot pants from the damp depths of her cunt cleft.

Why did I tell Lisa I was a size eight? she asked herself despondently. Maybe I am a slut.

She couldn’t deny that the scantly-clad girl that stared back at her appeared the very definition of the hateful word.

With an ill-tempered huff, she dropped heavily onto the cold plastic toilet seat, and, once the sloshing of her tits had settled down to a manageable jiggle, she slipped her fingers inside her hot pants and began to peel the skin-tight shorts over her ass. This quickly proved to be more of an undertaking than she had expected as the shorts appeared to have been vacuum-packed around her hips.

Leaning back against the tank, she hitched her ass up off the seat and, with much tugging and wriggling, she managed to wrestle the hot pants over the widest extent of her hips.

Falling back into the seat, she pushed the shorts over her knees and, rather than let them fall around her ankles of their own accord, she guided them there, enjoying the comforting warmth and softness as her ribcage squashed her abundant breasts flat across her bare thighs.

There she remained for quite some time, savouring the enveloping softness as only women of her astronomical cup-size could, until, with a sudden crack! the toilet door was unexpectedly flung open.

Bolting upright in her seat as fast as her heavy melons would allow, Gemma was startled to find stood in the doorway a man wielding an erection so large that she refused to believe it was real. But what were undeniably genuine were the squirming bollocks in his low-hanging nut-sack.

Letting out a terrified shriek, she unleashed an instinctive kick toward the offending organs.

With her left foot planted and her right arcing upward at speed, the hot pants still wrapped around both ankles could do nothing but stretch between until, as the tip of her toe made contact with the sticky skin of his scrotum, the elastic could give no more and brought her leg to an abrupt halt.

Todd braced himself for the worst as he felt the terrifying sensation of wrathful female’s toe-tip against his sac. It was only after a second or so, with no excruciating pain forthcoming, that he dared to open one eye and glance gingerly downward.

His heavy, spunk-laden left orb was perched atop the tip of his would-be-victim’s shoe, rolling with notable unease, but miraculously unharmed. He let out an uplifted sigh.

It was at that moment that the straining elastic of Gemma’s hot pants snapped and with a whip-crack struck his sperm-swollen nugget with enough force to turn it inside out.

As he lurched forward with a devastated groan, Gemma found herself staring straight down the barrel of the intruder’s primed weapon, and the unsuspecting blonde could do nothing but gasp when the contents of his obliterated left nut were discharged powerfully into her gaping mouth.

With his hot load splashed over her tonsils, Gemma found herself having to fight the involuntary urge to swallow.

I’m not a slut! screamed her brain, but the instinct was too strong...


Fortunately Gemma was saved the degradation of gulping down a stranger’s jizz when the said stranger dropped to his knees and collapsed headfirst into her naked lap.

The sudden violation of an uninvited face buried in her pussy caused her to pitch forward and expel the repulsive mouthful right out of the room.

‘I didn’t swallow,’ she exclaimed with breathless surprise, and, grabbing Todd by the hair, she lifted his head out of her intimate area to beam at him, giddily.

‘I’m not a slut!’ she enthused.

But her elation turned slowly to dismay as she found herself questioning her intruder’s motive for bursting in on her with his cock out, and it was with a dreadful, sinking sensation in her stomach that she realised there was only one possible explanation.

‘Oh, my god,’ she gasped aloud. ‘He needed to pee.’

It was the obvious leap for her astoundingly naïve mind.

She covered her mouth with her hands and inadvertently let Todd’s grey, grimacing face drop back into her bush, causing her to gasp once more and hurriedly fish him back out. Then, staring into his unfocused, rolling eyes she asked, gingerly, ‘Are you okay?’

‘My balls,’ he squeaked, confirming her worst fears: she had just assaulted the testicles of another of the club’s valued customers. Gemma bit her bottom lip.

‘Lisa is going to kill me!’

Depositing the man’s twitching body gently to one side, she stood from the toilet and stared down at him guiltily as he immediately curled into the foetal position.

‘I’ll go get some help,’ she whispered, meekly, before tip-toeing out of the bathroom.

Though anxious about the well-being of the man’s dangly bits, Gemma couldn’t fight the urge to skip jubilantly down the corridor, her barely-fettered tits sloshing like two over-filled water-balloons: she had proved to herself once and for all that she wasn’t a—

‘Slut!’ gasped Lisa, when Gemma rounded the corner and entered the bar.

A glass slipped from Chelsea’s hand and hit the floor, smashing.

Gemma scanned the bar slowly, noting with mounting trepidation the shocked stares of her colleagues and customers which, unusually, fell someway south of her jiggling breasts.

It was with a mortified yelp that she suddenly recalled how she had left her hot pants a shredded heap on the bathroom floor, and grabbing the only thing at hand: her tube top, she yanked the three-inch wide strip of fabric down around her hips.

‘Oh, my god,’ she squeaked, still bending at the middle and gripping the makeshift, but wholly ineffective skirt with white knuckles. ‘Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god!

She had just exposed her naughtiest of naughty bits! She had never been so embarrassed, but, seeing gloating grins begin to spread across Stacey and Chelsea’s faces, and emboldened by the encouraging cheers and wolf whistles of the explosively raucous crowd, Gemma decided she wouldn’t give the girls the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Straightening, she let go of her boob-tube and, praying it at least covered her cunt crease, she forced a smile and turned to exit through the open hatch.

Lisa and the twins watched, open mouthed, as, with bare-cheeked defiance, she stepped out into the club.

‘I don’t get it,’ said Lisa, finally, her voice aquiver. ‘He was supposed to... And she – she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it!’ She slumped against the bar despondent.


‘Are you a doctor?’ asked Gemma of the nearest respectable-looking gentleman.

‘Why, yes,’ he said, politely, his eye’s lighting up at the sight of her, and, leaning in close, he whispered, ‘I’m a gynaecologist.’

It was a dubious claim, but Gemma couldn’t deny that it was with the dexterity of a professional that his finger found her hole and plunged deep inside.

But the true show of expertise came when a stunningly attractive blonde girl, having apparently taken umbrage at his unwelcomed advance on Gemma, came up beside the pervert and deftly slipped her hand down the front of his trousers.

Though stunned by the unexpected introduction of a digit to her pussy, Gemma was nevertheless moved to wince when, with an almost imperceptible flex of her forearm, the gorgeous blonde sunk her thumb devastatingly deep into the pervert’s left nut.

What followed was a sort of crunch-pop-squelch that sounded to Gemma like the squishing of a particularly thick-skinned grape, and despite her repulsion, she was relieved to find it prompted the immediate withdrawal the perv’s twitching finger.

Moaning involuntarily at the sensation, Gemma turned bright red and sheepishly thanked her scrote-squishing saviour.

‘My pleasure,’ purred the girl, in a smouldering eastern-European accent, and Gemma could tell she meant it.

Raising a dark eyebrow the girl told her, ‘I saved you one. You want?’

Grimacing, Gemma politely declined: eager to not add another popped nut to her already impressive tally for the night.

The blonde beauty gave an indifferent shrug, and finished off the amateur gynaecologist’s remaining testicle with another subtle flick of her wrist.

The wet popping was no less repulsive the second time around, and, whilst Gemma shuddered, the girl withdrew her hand from his pants and wiped it in his hair as he sank to the floor.

‘I’m Judie,’ she said, holding out the same hand for Gemma to shake.

‘Oh, um, I’m Gemma,’ she said, keeping her hands down by her sides. ‘Nice to meet you.’ Then, smiling apologetically she scurried away, pausing only to call back, ‘Oh, and thanks again!’

‘Like I say,’ said Judie, glancing down at her twitching victim with a satisfied smirk, ‘it is my pleasure.’


Realising there would be little chance of finding a doctor, and not wanting to risk another clever prick subjecting her to an unwelcomed “examination”, Gemma decided to see what she could do for Todd herself.

On her way out into the club, Gemma’s freely bouncing tits had gotten all the attention, but as she made her way through the crowd back toward the bar it was her pale white, bobbling bum cheeks which caught the eye of all those queuing, and by the time she made it back to safety her ass was glowing red with hand prints.

As she slipped through the open hatch, she found Lisa waiting with the by now customary look of disdain.

‘Flashing them pussy now are you?’ she asked, bitterly. ‘I wondered how you really earned all that money.’

Gemma rearranged the tube top now acting as a woefully inadequate skirt and said, proudly, ‘I earned that money fair and square.’ She crossed her arms under her melons to hoist them for emphasis.

‘Jealous?’ she teased, cocking an eyebrow.

At that moment, a customer with an impeccable gist for timing gave Gemma’s fleshy ass a particularly powerful slap to pitch her headlong into her unprepared boss.

With her hands clutching her stinging rear, Gemma opened her eyes to find herself pressed right up against Lisa; her huge breasts squashed wide across the livid redhead’s flat chest.

‘Get your fat fucking tits off me,’ growled Lisa, seething; her bullet-hard nipples raking Gemma’s soft breast-meat with every furious breath.

Gemma stepped back, her massive melons flopping back down nosily.

‘Sorry,’ she said, sheepishly.

That’s it!’ roared Lisa, pushing Gemma aside before storming out of the bar into the back corridor. ‘I quit!’

Gemma chased her only to have the door to Gareth’s office slammed in her face; painfully flattening her tits and causing her to be ricocheted backwards, cursing furiously while she wrestling her wobbling puppies back under control.


Having burst into Gareth’s office unannounced, Lisa found him hunched over his laptop perspiring with the effort of working his thick shaft.

The doting redhead would have been shocked had she not been so suddenly and overwhelmingly aroused.

It was only after several long seconds of voyeuristic ogling that she realised her entrance had gone unnoticed, and her yearning pussy urged her to take full advantage of the situation.

Standing up on her tiptoes, she peered over the lid of the laptop and was thrilled to catch the briefest glimpse of her boss’s shiny, purple cock head. It was a tantalisingly fleeting sight, but it sent her pussy into overdrive.

‘I need it in me,’ she whimpered, lustfully.

And suddenly the only resignation on her mind was that of her virginity.

Pushing her thumbs under her waistband, she slipped her tiny, red hot pants down her supple thighs and stepped out of them. Next, she hitched her vest up over her head, and, as her scarlet curls fell about her lightly-freckled chest, she stood there naked, tingling from head to toe; ready to introduce Gareth’s eyes to her prominent pink buds. The combination of apprehension and untold sexual excitement was too much to bear for the young virgin.

Planting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow she prepared to call his name and make her presence know. It was then that Lisa heard the muffled, but unmistakable voice of a certain buxom blonde.

‘Wanna see my jugs?’ she asked, from the speakers of the laptop; causing Lisa to freeze in horror.

Is he wanking over... She could barely bring herself to contemplate it. ...Gemma?

‘Oh, yes!’ groaned Gareth, as if in response, but his lustful grunt was aimed squarely at the young blonde on the glowing screen.

‘Thought so,’ said Gemma, and then, after a swift rustle of fabric, came the distinct slap of two large, liberated, melons meeting.

Lisa’s jaw dropped, and, with the fleshy clattering of Gareth’s own liberated globes ringing in her ears, she realised she had only seconds to prevent the big-titted bitch from fuelling another of her man’s orgasms.

With Gareth’s eyes rolling into the back of his head as he reached the point of no return, she found herself tossing her shorts and vest aside and racing toward him with her thimble-fulls of tit-flesh rippling imperceptibly.

Unfortunately, it was with the image of Gemma’s big, bouncing milk-makers on his mind that Gareth, for the second time that night, let out a deep groan of ecstasy and shot his load with reckless abandon.

Also unfortunate was Lisa’s timing, as she reached the desk only to be sprayed across the cheek and chest by the mighty squirt of spunk which erupted from her boss’ fat cock-head.

The loyal bar manager’s skin, previously unspoiled by such filthy man-muck, turned a bright shade of red, and tears of equal parts sadness and rage welled up in her eyes as she watched him, spent, euphoric and still oblivious to her presence, slump back into his chair, and sigh, ‘That was amazing. You dirty, dirty little slut.’

After several blissful breaths, and with his head lolling about the back of his chair, he reached for the tissues, only his searching hand instead found Lisa’s uniform which had landed over the box.

Lisa’s jaw dropped as, without pausing to examine the handful of material, he wrapped it around his deflating rod and mopped the sticky mess from his shaft before tossing the soiled garments into the bin.

Having just performed a strip-tease for a man who didn’t even realise she was in the room, and feeling suddenly, acutely aware of her nudity, it was with intense humiliation that Lisa sunk out of sight behind her boss’ desk.

Pushing her knees into her chest, she hugged her shins and waited for Gareth to, inevitably, fall fast asleep, but until that time, she would be subjected a cruel sort of torture: her nostrils filled with the pungent stench of spunk and ball-sweat, and her ears with the tormenting sound of her nemesis’ debauched flaunting stuck on infinite repeat.


Stacey was out collecting glasses when there entered the club the most convincing case for lesbianism she had ever laid eyes on: a breathtaking beautiful brunette who smouldered with shameless self-confidence despite, or perhaps because of, her body being clad in nothing but an impossibly thin layer of rubber: a cat-suit so skin-tight that it appeared to have been sprayed on.

The gobsmacked bar girl, as with the majority of the club, stopped what she was doing immediately and stared, open-mouthed, at the smoking-hot babe; taking in every obscene detail with building hunger until, having absorbed every last inch, she returned to linger on the tasty nubs which strained at the rubber so clingy that even the minute bumps which ringed the girl’s areolae were apparent.

The only evidence that the girl’s costume was more than just body paint was the zipper which ran from her collar bone, between her bulging breasts and down to the pouting crease of her cunt.

Through her cat-burglar-style eye mask she surveyed the club, eyeing up the competition, and then smiled: she was by far the most attractive girl in there. Only then did she signal, with a crack of her whip, for her friends to follow her in and the reason for her outlandish costume was made clear: all were dressed as super heroines.

The brunette was, of course, Catwoman; in her hair was a band with ears stuck on it and taped to the spot just above the crack of her perfect ass was a tail.

Her friends, a blonde dressed in grey tights, black thong, cape and cut-off T-shirt with the bat symbol was Batgirl, and the other, a girl with dyed crimson hair and naked but for a handful of strategically positioned leaves, was Poison Ivy.

Stacey was only distracted from the spectacular sight when a girl stood beside her spotted Catwoman and dropped her glass.

‘Lil!’ she cried, shaking her friend, the blonde girl in the stripy dress, who was busy recounting to several giggling girls how she’d popped a guy’s ball with a single kick earlier that night.

‘Lilly!’ said her friend, shaking her even more insistently.

‘What?’ snapped Lilly; frustrated as she was in the middle of describing the best bit: the look on his face when it ruptured.

‘Isn’t that Jamie over there – the one dressed as Catwoman?’

The blonde spun around with a start and, despite the eye mask, recognised instantly the girl as her big sister. She let out a terrified gasp.

‘Shit! We have to get out of here right now, Hannah!’

‘Aw, why?’ asked one of the girls still eager to hear the end of Lilly’s story.

‘’Cause she gets insane jealous if she thinks she’s not the girl with the biggest boobs in the room and trust me – you don’t want to mess with her!’

Stacey let out an excited gasp. Just wait until she meets Gemma... she thought with a devious grin spreading across her face.

‘How are we going to sneak past her?’ asked Hannah. ‘She’s right in the entrance.’

‘I’m sure there’s a way out the back,’ hissed Lilly.

The two girls ducked behind the bar and disappear into the back, leaving behind them a disappointed group of girls with a sudden craving for ball-busting.

Full of excitement, Stacey rushed back to the bar where Chelsea was stood, arms folded under her ample chest.

‘Where’s Gemma?’ Stacey asked her friend.

Chelsea remained silent.

‘Chels... what’s the matter?’

‘I went looking for Stuart – in the store cupboard like you told me.’

‘Was he still crying?’ Stacey asked, sniggering.

‘He’s not there!’ snapped Chelsea, furious. ‘He’s not anywhere.’

‘What?’ gushed Stacey, suddenly panicked. ‘But that’s where I left him.’

‘Oh, cut the bullshit, Stace. I should have known that a selfish bitch like you, wouldn’t be able to resist popping both his balls.’

‘I didn’t, Chels – I swear! He must have crawled away.’

‘With a mushy bollock?’ scoffed Chelsea. ‘Well, you better find him and he better still have a ball when you do cause if he doesn’t I’m going to tell Lisa that you did it, not Gemma.’

Stacey recoiled with a gasp. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Either I get to finish off Stuart’s baby-makers,’ warned Chelsea; prodding her friend in the chest, ‘or it’ll be your tits advertising cocktails.’

‘I’ll find him!’ cried Stacey, before rushing out of the bar.


Gemma opened the door to the toilet, and silently poked her head around to see Todd still curled up where she had left him, gently writhing.

Slipping inside, she shut the door behind her and tiptoed over to where he lay.

‘Hi,’ she said, guiltily. ‘Feeling any better?’ She waited, hopeful of a response, but his only reply was a nauseous groan.

‘Balls,’ she cursed. Then, sighing, she said, ‘Fine – I’ll take a look.’

Having been so preoccupied with Todd’s balls, it came as quite a shock to Gemma when, on prising his legs apart, she was confronted once more by the snaking length and pulsing girth of his huge, flaccid cock.

A flashback to when the towering meat monolith had so powerfully ejaculated into her mouth caused her to gag involuntarily, but, though repulsed, the young virgin whose pussy had just been awakened by a fleeting, if unwelcomed, finger-fuck couldn’t seem to take her eyes off it as it lay there; its bulbous, purple head oozing into an expanding puddle of goo.

‘Okay,’ she said, unenthusiastically. She lowered herself onto her knees and gently folded back Todd’s veiny serpent; enjoying its weight and thickness in her hand, and watching it lustfully as it toppled heavily on his belly and splashed spunk all up his shirt.

It took her a long moment to wrestle her attention away from the monster cock, but, when she eventually did, she forced herself to look down at his ball-bag. It worried her the way his hands were clutching it so desperately.

‘Do I really have to look?’ she moaned to herself, unhappily, before lifting away his hands and, with one eye closed, examining his battered scrotum.

‘Oo,’ she said, cringing at the unappealing sight; not that she knew what a healthy scrotum looked like beyond the basics: it should be a light shade of pink and contain two discernable occupants, and Todd’s scrotum failed on both counts being bright red and only half filled.

She sobbed again when she realised a visual examination was not going to turn up the missing plum and that she was going to have to explore the wrinkly sac by touch.

Reluctantly slipping her fingers under and behind his loose satchel, Gemma then used her thumb to probe its contents. She located a single solid gonad immediately, counting aloud, ‘One,’ but after thoroughly checking either side of the bollock for its partner, Gemma was forced to search higher up his sac.

‘One...’ she repeated, with growing concern.

Growing desperate when she again found no second testicle, Gemma gripped the sac at the top and ran her hand the length of it until she reached the bottom, trapping its contents in a tight package which she could scrutinize closely.

A sorry, solitary orb bulged out at her.

‘Please...’ whimpered Todd, having come to to find his victim-turned-attacker gripping him by the balls.

His unexpected stirring took Gemma so by surprise that she toppled back onto her arse without letting go of his nut-sack.

Todd let out shrill yelp of distress as his scrotum stretched taut and tugged him by the guts until he was sitting upright.

‘I wasn’t going to try anything!’ he gushed with fear-filled eyes.

‘Try anything?’ repeated Gemma, perplexed; too preoccupied to appreciate what her ungainly sitting position was leaving exposed.

‘I just couldn’t resist,’ said Todd, earnestly. And, as his eyes wandered south to her unwittingly bared slit, he added, lustfully, ‘You’re so sexy!’

‘Sexy?’ asked Gemma, before letting out gasp. ‘Oh my god! I’m such an idiot! You walked in on me on purpose!

She gasped again, this time in horror when she spotted his stiffening prick.

You were going to try and have sex with me!

‘Oh, god!’ shrieked Todd, as Gemma’s fist subconsciously tightened around his only remaining baby-maker.

‘You pervert,’ she cried, her eyes tearing up as her grip tightened further. ‘I should... You don’t deserve—’

There came a sudden pounding on the door which caused Gemma to spin around with a gasp.

‘Oh, fuck,’ she gushed. Looking quickly back at Todd, she saw him take in a deep breath as he prepared to scream at the top of his lungs.

‘No!’ Gemma hissed; hastily wrapping her hands around the back of his head before forcing it into the abundant tit-flesh pressed together between her arms.

So deep was the cleavage that Todd’s face was completely engulfed meaning there was little chance of his cries escaping the doughy chasm.

Trying her best to sound unflustered, Gemma turned and called, ‘Someone’s in here.’

‘Gemma?’ shouted Stacey. ‘Have you seen Stuart?’


Todd began to shake his head in a furiously attempt to part her suffocating rack enough to get out a scream.

‘Stop it!’ she hissed.

‘Who are you talking to?’ demanded Stacey. ‘Is he in there with you?’

‘No!’ cried Gemma; struggling to contain her infuriation at Todd’s continued defiance.

‘Let me in!’

‘That’s it you pervert?’ hissed Gemma into her cleavage. ‘I know how to shut you up.’

Sliding one hand down between his legs, Gemma’s fingers located his last remaining ball and began to sink her thumb into it. Todd’s head-shaking became more panicked, creating a fleshy slapping sound as well as significant discomfort for Gemma.

‘Hold still,’ she growled; as much to Todd’s testicle as to Todd as the slippery orb escaped her crushing grasp and shot to the opposite side of his scrotum.

Retrieving it, she tried again, but again the rubbery organ slipped away.

‘Fuck!’ she cursed with frustration. ‘How are you supposed to pop these things?’

Gemma!’ roared Stacey, hammering her fist against the door. ‘Let me in there!’

‘In a minute!’ Gemma yelled back.

Locating his bollock a third time, she made sure to captured it securely between index and middle finger before starting to squeeze her fist shut around it.

Sharp, powerful spasms began rock Todd’s body, and even Gemma’s oversized melons couldn’t smoother his high-pitched squeaks as her clenching fist left the squirming orb with nowhere to go.

At the moment that his last remaining testicle reached breaking point, Todd fell silent and motionless; giving Gemma the option to relent. But Gemma wasn’t in the mood for leniency and, with a pop of splitting gristle, she cracked Todd’s nut-shell open and took great pleasure in the sensation of its lumpy contents spilling through her fingers.

After a few more involuntary jerks, Todd fell completely limp.

Still holding his head to her sweat-soaked, heaving bosom and his pulpy, obliterated gonad in her clenched fist, Gemma took a second to catch her breath before letting him go.

He slumped backwards; his deflating cock lazily ejaculating its last.

Gemma stood slowly and drew back her fringe. She walked over to the toilet, flushed it so not to rouse suspicions, and then began to wash her hands with an unnerving calmness.

He didn’t deserve them, she assured herself.

Stacey was still hammering away on the door as Gemma gave herself a once over in the mirror; pressing down one of her tit stickers where it had begun to peel, and tugging her tube top down until it once more covered the rudest parts of her pussy.

Once her appearance was as acceptable as she could make it, she opened the door and poked her head outside to enquire, ‘Can I help you?’

As Stacey stepped back, the blonde slipped quickly out, making sure pull the door closed behind her.

‘Who were you talking to in there?’ the raven-haired girl demanded with a scowl.

‘My boobs,’ said Gemma, matter-of-factly.

‘Your...’ Stacey’s eyes flickered down and left and right, then back up. She frowned with incomprehension. ‘Why were you talking to your boobs?’

‘It makes me feel better,’ explained Gemma, shrugging. ‘And in answer to your original question – I haven’t seen Stuart since I... Well, you know. I assume he’s somewhere recovering.’

This seemed to irritate Stacey. ‘Fine,’ she growled, but couldn’t walk away without adding one last jibe. ‘Now get back to work – there are plenty of people out there who’ll happily talk to your boobs all night long.’ She grinned smugly, adding, ‘Won’t that make you feel better.’

Through narrowed eyes, Gemma watched her make her way down the corridor, checking in rooms as she went, until she spotted the fire door at the very end of the corridor was slightly ajar.

‘Got you,’ she said, and hurriedly exited through it.

Gemma strolled after her to casually push the door shut behind her. The feeling of mischief gave the straight-laced teenager a tingle of satisfaction. It might not be too much of an inconvenience to Stacey, but it certainly cheered Gemma up.


No sooner had Gemma entered the bar than she was quickly set upon by a livid Chelsea.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. She jabbed her finger into the blonde’s yielding tit-meat continuing, ‘These overpriced cocktails don’t sell themselves you know? That’s why we hired your over-inflated tits. Now put them to work!’

Despite having weathered prods and similar insults all night, Gemma refused to ignore this one; snatching hold of the shoulders of Chelsea’s vest, she swiftly tugged them down over her arms to bare her breasts and trap her hands by her sides at the same time.

‘What the fuck?’ shrieked Chelsea, as Gemma gripped her jugs at the base and squeezed them until her nipples looked fit to burst.

‘I’ve been humiliated, degraded and molested since the moment I started,’ growled Gemma. ‘So you can your take your job and you can stick it up your fanny.’

Gemma pushed the speechless bar girl back and left her to clutch at her aching tits.

Storming across the dance floor toward the exit, she hadn’t made it halfway before her path was blocked suddenly by a girl in an obscene cat-suit and her group of friends.

‘Hi,’ said Jamie, brightly.

Thought smiling, there was nothing but malice in the beautiful brown eyes bordered by the cat-burglar mask.

‘Could take a look at those?’ She circled a lethally-pointed fingernail at Gemma’s gigantic, jiggling jugs.

Gemma looked down at the cocktail advertisements affixed to her areolae and said, ‘Sorry, they’re off the menu.’

‘But I want one,’ whined Jamie, and without further discussion, she reached out to seize Gemma’s tits by their bulging undersides before inconsiderately hoisting her up by them.

Gemma was left gasping as the stranger’s tugging forced her up onto tiptoes.

‘Let me see...’ said Jamie, yanking the left boob closer as she pretended to peruse the sticker over the shocked blonde’s nipple.

‘Massive Melons,’ she read, aloud whilst her fingers squashed and probed for the implants she was certain she would find. ‘No doubt filled with artificial crap.’

When, a few seconds later, she had found nothing but copious handfuls of natural, squishy tit-fat, Jamie began to bristle with intense resentment.

Hoisting the other jug just as high, she looked into Gemma’s sparkling blue eyes and sank her long black fingernails into the panicked blonde’s tender tit-flesh, causing her to let out a delicious whimper.

‘You know,’ said Jamie, through gritted teeth, ‘I just can’t decide.’ She let her tits go, watching as they slapped back down onto her chest. ‘So I think I’ll take both.’

With that, she tore the stickers off Gemma’s sensitive areolae and held them up triumphantly as the teenager shrieked in pain and horror, and looked about the cheering crowd which had gathered to revel in her humiliation.

Hunched and clutching at an amount of tit-flesh she couldn’t hope to contain in her tiny hands, Gemma felt her blood begin to boil and, noticing the zip which ran from the collar of the cat-suit right down to where it creased into an obscenely pouting camel-toe, let out a growl and lunged for the unsuspecting brunette.

Jamie let out a shocked gasped as the blonde took hold of her zipper and yanked it powerfully down to the very end of the runner.

When the zipper came to an abrupt stop, Gemma found her fingers nestled in a slender strip of bush and bathed in the moist heat of Jamie’s excited slit.

Jamie shrieked and, in doing so, caused her big tits to pop the cat-suit right open and expose her full-frontal to the crowd.

Shrieking louder, she batted away Gemma’s hand and pulled up frantically on the zipper only to have it catch in the mahogany curls of her pubes.

Her thick, dark eyebrows arched and through gritted teeth she drew in a long, deep breath before letting out a bloodcurdling scream.

Gemma watched, as with both hands, the brunette gripped immediately at her ensnared pussy and in doing so unintentionally forced together her juicy tits with a meaty slap which amused the blonde greatly. She was about to let out a mocking cackle when a huge figure to loomed over her and caused her instead yelp.

The club’s gigantic bouncer wrapped his thick arms around her chest and lifted her off her feet in a crushing bear hug which trapped her arms down by her sides while at the same time forced her massive melons up under her chin.

‘Uh-oh,’ she murmured.


Chelsea rushed into the back corridor screaming, ‘Lisa! Lisa!’ and was taken aback to find the redhead slipping quietly out of Gareth’s office buck-naked.

Lisa gasped and covered herself. ‘What is it?’ she snapped.

‘It’s Gemma,’ gushed Chelsea, fighting for breath. ‘She attacked me and now she’s out there assaulting more customers.’

What?’ came an enraged cry from inside their boss’ office.

‘Fuck!’ cried Lisa, knowing she only had a few seconds while he tucked in his cock and zipped up his flies. With desperation, she pulled Chelsea’s vest off over her head.

‘Lisa!’ gasped Chelsea, covering her tits.

‘Give me your hot pants, Chelsea!’ ordered her superior, while she put on the vest.

‘Are you serious?’

Lisa grabbed the waistband of the girl’s shorts and said, ‘Deadly,’ before yanking them down.

Stunned, Chelsea obediently slipped her feet out of her hot pants and stood there naked watching Lisa dress.

The door to the office was suddenly wrenched open and Gareth burst out.

‘Where is she?’ he bellowed, before catching sight of Chelsea, naked but for her shoes, clinging self-consciously to her pussy.

With her palms pressed flat against the wiry hair of her mound, she curled her fingers to shelter the shame-shrivelled lips underneath and smiled uncomfortably back at him. But, while her coy stance was intended to shield her from ogling eyes, in pushing her hands down in front she inadvertently created an equally eye-catching sight as her arms squashed the doughy double-Ds caught between into a mesmerizing cleavage.

Seeing her man’s eyes lost in another girl’s rack, Lisa let out a frustrated growl and snatched his hand, grumbling, ‘Well, she’s not in there.’


The crowd was going wild in the middle of the dance floor. At this late stage in the night all were completely wasted and even the most fervently feminist amongst them were demanding all manner of indecent acts be performed by the two buxom, frightened young girls they had hemmed in.

Lisa shoved her way through, dragging Gareth after her, whilst Chelsea hid behind the bar; eager to stay out of sight.

‘There she is,’ announced Lisa, once they reached the centre where the bouncer was restraining the furiously wriggling blonde. ‘Fire her, Gareth – she’s gone too far!’

Gareth opened his mouth, but all that came out was a lustful groan as he ogled her tits and those of the young brunette distraughtly tugging on the zipper of her cat-suit.

‘Stop thinking with your dick for once and fire her!’ cried Lisa.

Gareth turned to protest, but noticed the obvious tenting of his jeans and thought better of it.

‘But she’s so well qualified,’ he said, lamely.

‘Either she goes or I do,’ growled Lisa.

‘Fine!’ he cried with exasperation. Gesturing for Lisa to stay put, he walked carefully around Gemma to avoid her frantic kicking.

‘Hi,’ he whispered to her.

‘Tell this wanker to put me down!’ cried Gemma. ‘Everyone can see my boobs!’

In fact, her flailing was unwittingly putting much more important things on display, but Gareth didn’t want to be the one to break it to her.

‘Sure, sure,’ he said, still whispering. ‘Listen, Lisa says I have to fire you or she’ll quit, so I was thinking... maybe if I don’t fire you you could, I don’t know, give me a blowjob?’

Gemma fell suddenly still and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. ‘A blowjob?’ she repeated quietly.

He nodded hopefully.

Gemma blinked. ‘Okay,’ she said, causing Gareth to bristle with excitement. ‘Just get this pig to put me down.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Gareth, eagerly gesturing that the bouncer release her.

‘Er, you sure, boss?’ asked the bouncer, hesitant.

‘Do it,’ said Gareth, firmly.

Slowly the bouncer placed Gemma back on the ground, but the moment he loosened his grip on her, Gemma spun around to Gareth and kicked him square in the nuts, screaming, ‘Suck on this, pervert!’

She was quickly recaptured by the bouncer, but to see the look of shock and betrayal on Gareth’s face as he stumbled, about to drop to his knees, was worth it as far as Gemma was concerned.

He was caught at the last moment by Lisa who managed to minimise his humiliation by propping him up whilst his stomach churned and his legs went wobbly.

‘Get her out of here!’ roared Lisa.

‘Right, you little bitch,’ said the bouncer, hauling her toward the exit.

‘Wait,’ called Gareth, sounding intensely nauseous.

Lisa let out a sob when the bouncer turned back around.

‘No!’ she cried, shaking him. ‘She has to go!’

‘Our uniform,’ he squeaked, holding out an outstretched finger pointing to the boob-tube around Gemma’s hips.

Gemma gasped and, seeing her horrified expression, Lisa grinned wickedly.

‘That’s right!’ cried the jealous redhead. ‘She can’t leave with our uniform.’

‘Please,’ gushed Gemma, realising she would be left naked. ‘You can’t!’

I can,’ snarled the brunette almost wearing the cat-suit. She grabbed the tube top and ripped it down Gemma’s legs and off over her ankles to wave it mockingly back at her.

No!’ shrieked Gemma, desperately squeezing her legs together to hide her flaps from sight.

Seeing the young blonde suffer such a comprehensive humiliation, the crowd decided on mass that it must be open season on the poor girl’s dignity and hands latched onto her body as she was paraded through the club toward the exit.

And it wasn’t just her tits which were targets this time, as hands prised apart her thighs and clawed desperately at moist, pink treasure in-between.

Thankfully, she was ejected from the club before any digits had managed to violate her too seriously.

Her bare ass met the cold ground with a smack and, quickly, she drew up her knees into her bared tits; covering them the best she could from the shocked stares of the people queuing to get into the club.

‘You know it’s a real shame you won’t be coming back,’ said the bouncer, shaking his head sadly. ‘’Cause you’ve got a fucking cracking set on you.’

He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her pussy in-between her shins causing Gemma to shriek and jump to her feet clutching it protectively.

‘You... You...!’ With an indignant huff she turned and ran away, quickly freeing up one hand to suppress her dangerously bouncing melons.

‘Hey,’ called the bouncer after her. ‘If you want to put those big funbags to good use, babe, you know where to find my cock.’

Seeing a naked, vulnerable young woman fleeing from sight into a back alley, presented two of the men stood in the queue for the club with an opportunity they couldn’t resist. So, walking slow enough not to draw attention, they went after her; unaware that someone was also stalking them.


Stacey scanned the alley behind the club, but found no trace of Stuart. She was checking behind the bins when she suddenly became aware of giggling coming from around the corner.

She crept closer and peered around to find Stuart on his back pleading with two young girls, one of which had her foot on the testicle Stacey know to be his only remaining.

‘I like his bow tie,’ said Hannah with a chuckle, whilst Lilly rocked her weight gently back and forth on his scrotum.

‘Please. Don’t!’ begged Stuart. ‘I haven’t done anything to you.’

Lilly took exception to this.

‘So I can’t crush your only nut because I’m not a victim?’ she spat. ‘And what exactly would entitle me to pop your ball? What do you think you should have gotten to do to me?’

‘That’s not what I meant!’

‘Pinch my bum? Squeeze my big tits, maybe?’ She leaned over him sinking her fingers into her doughy rack, whilst also doubling the pressure on his remaining bollock. She narrowed her eyes and asked coolly, ‘Or maybe you think you should have been able to rape me?’

‘What? No! I would never—’

‘Hey!’ shouted Stacey. ‘Hands off – he’s mine.’

‘Finders keepers,’ said Hannah.

‘Losers weepers,’ added Lilly with a chuckle; leaning forward the extra inch it took to flatten Stuart’s nut to the edge of breaking point and send his legs into a frenzied jig.

‘Besides,’ she continued, abruptly serious. She eased up to roll his nut around his roomy sac, ‘it looks like you’ve had your fun already.’

‘Oh, I have, but I promised that bollock to a friend of mine.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep,’ said Hannah; putting her hands on her hips and flicking her mahogany hair back.

‘Walk away,’ said Stacey; fancying her chances against the two youngsters. She stepped up to the blonde.

‘Or what?’ growled Lilly, squaring up so that the pair’s breasts were touching.

‘Or this!’ yelled Stacey. She grabbed the top of Lilly’s dress and tore it clean in half, leaving her wearing nothing but shoes and a tiny backpack.

‘You bitch!’ she shrieked, covering her tits.

Stacey was about to cackle when her hair was grabbed unexpectedly by Hannah and as she flailed wildly at the young brunette, Lilly took her revenge.

In seconds Stacey was stripped of her vest and shorts and they fell to the alley floor as shredded scraps.

While the next-to-naked girls tussled, Stuart rolled onto his stomach and silently dragged his only testicle to safety.

The rest of this story is available to buy here for just £3.50/$5.70(ish).

What you’re missing out on:

Having fled the club, Gemma finds herself in an even stickier situation, but luckily she has a guardian angel in the form of Judie who convinces the ill-treated teen to seek revenge. Judie deals with the doorman, much the delight of a queuing hen party, but in doing so risks exposing a secret she’d rather no one knew.
Once inside, Gemma takes on Lisa who ends up with something very big lodged somewhere very painful. Finally, the blondes disrupt Chelsea giving Gareth a blowjob and you can imagine what happens next... or can you?