Every Sunday, Elizabeth McCullough attended church. On this Sunday, she deliberately sat at the back, so that she could watch the congregation. Her eyes rested on all the woman, one by one, taking in their attention to the sermon and wondering what was really going on in their minds.

She wondered how many women attend church dressed to please. Her mind was on the Titwood pub and that session with Big Mac, specifically the way she got fucked. She wondered about all these other women. How many of them had fucked another man other than their husband? How many went home with their husbands and did all the dirty things with them? And how many of them just cooked the dinner, watched television and had no sex life whatsoever? She would never know the answers, but she wanted to.

Her attention soon focused on the men, wondering how many of them attended the Titwood and made it to that back room? How many of the dirty fuckers, just like herself, enjoyed the bulging flesh of others?

Elizabeth walked out of the church halfway through the sermon, sent a text to her husband saying she’d be a little late as she had bumped into an old friend. That old friend was the Titwood pub. She made her way to the rougher side of town in the hope that Big Mac would be there.

The table at the end of the bar was empty. Tossing her coat over the back of the chair, she sat at it anyway, knowing that it was the place her friends would occupy. Her breasts were on full display, her cleavage prominent and begging closer inspection by anyone who passed close by.

It was Two Soups that entered the bar first, strode up to the bar and ordered a pint, before turning to walk to the table. He stopped halfway when he saw Betty, not knowing whether he should continue or find somewhere else to sit. He smiled and continued when she waved at him.

“Are Big Mac and Dark Dickie not joining you today?” she asked.

“No, they’re busy.”

“What are they doing? Is it work-related?”

“Dunno,” he shook his head to add weight to his reply, and took a sip of his pint.

He tried to look around the room, to focus on the few people that were in on a Sunday, but his eyes flickered, now and then, onto the expanse of breast flesh that was on display.

The conversation was difficult to say the least. Two Soups hardly said a word, and it was all Betty could do to engage in a half-decent conversation. She eventually resorted to teacher mode. Encouragement mode. She spoke quietly, asked positive questions that needed a reply, and encouraged and supported Two Soups as best she could.

“Tell me. I’m curious, why are you called Two Soups?”

He looked at her in disbelief.

“Ur you fur real? It’s ma name.”

“What is your name?”

“Campbell Baxter,” he replied.

Betty nodded. “That would explain the nickname,” she giggled, quickly covering her mouth with her hand not to appear too obvious.

Two soups giggled with her.

“Aye, Two Soups since primary school.”

“I never had a proper nickname,” Betty confessed, “not until these started growing.” She pushed her tits together for effect. Two Soups sucked in some air as he watched them wobble.

“So, yer  Betty Boobs – aye?”

“Yeah – very much so. Strangely, I like it too.”

“Ah do too,” he blurted out.

“Me or my boobs?” Her reply was quick off the mark.

Two Soups looked at her and smiled.

“Baith.”

At least she had got an admission out of him; it was the most she had conversed with him since they first met. It was Betty’s turn to stare towards the window, but the smile on her face advertised the fact that she was scheming. She would have given anything to know whether that piece of meat in his trousers had grown.

“Well, you look at them as much as you like; it makes me feel special,” she said.

Her eyes darted to the red door and that room beyond.

“Do you know what goes on in that room?” she said, pointing over her left shoulder. Two Soups just nodded.

“Ever been in there, Campbell?” She used his first name because familiarity often brings out the best in people. She was hoping that he would say yes.

“Nah, naebody  wid  go in there wi’ me,” he laughed. He put on a brave face, but Betty could tell that it went a little deeper than he was letting on. His shyness was anything but simple. She had seen enough shy boys as a teacher to know that.

“I don’t think that’s true, you’re very handsome,” she smiled, letting him know that her words were genuine.

He took a large swig of his drink, downing half of it, before wiping his chin with his sleeve. Betty took a sip of her drink in sympathy, all the time, trying to look into his eyes, or under the table. He picked up the pint again and nearly finished it.

“Thirsty, eh!” she exclaimed. Or was it Dutch courage so that he could sustain this type of conversation with her?

Betty pulled out a tenner from her purse, “Want to get another, mine’s a half,” she said, handing him the money. Campbell looked around the mid-twenties; she knew that money would be tight for him, and if truth be told, she had never seen him buy a round with the other guys. Maybe he didn’t have a job. That’s what people did around here: help each other out when they could.

“Umm – thanks, but wid you go?” he retorted.

“Sure,” she said and walked to the bar. Ordering the drink made her smile. She couldn’t get the thought out of her mind that he must have had a hard-on. It was the one saving grace when she made a detour to the end of the bar before sitting back at the table, with a pint for Campbell and a half for her.

She put the bottle of baby oil down between them. They both stared at it. Campbell’s eyes slowly rose to meet hers. Betty remained silent. This would have to be his choice, and she was adamant that he would be the first to suggest it.

“Half empty,” he said, “that wiz full oan Friday night.”

“Was it?” she asked.

“I saw the barman put a new one there. Auld Maggie moaned that he was neglecting his duties.”

He laughed. Betty smiled. Auld Maggie, as he called her, was only in her forties, but that’s old to Two Soups. Betty had seen her in the bar on a few occasions. She always sat at the other end. Endowed was an understatement; her bras were probably forged in the iron works rather than purchased from Bravissimo, like Betty’s, but they did their job, and did it well. Her ample features were always set off with Nell Gwyn type tops, something the men appreciated.

“Well, that bottle looks a little underused, don’t you think?”

Campbell stared at the bottle for what seemed like ages. He either couldn’t or wouldn’t say what he was thinking. He either didn’t want to take the bait or was afraid to. Betty wondered whether he had been badly let down, like that bloke she saw on her first night with Big Mac. Maybe it was time for encouragement.

“Do you want to take that bottle for a walk?” she asked.

“You mean put it back behind the bar?”

The joke was lost on Betty, and her heart sank. She closed her eyes and sighed. Biting her lip, she tried to think of another angle that she could use. Subtlety wasn’t working, and there was only one thing left to do.

Betty picked up the bottle and stood. She looked Campbell straight in the eyes and never faltered. Her stare was fierce, relentless, determined; her pouting lips said everything she needed to say. He eventually stood up. She rewarded herself with a glance towards his groin. Yes, he was hard. She knew it and knew that it wouldn’t be like that for long. She placed her hand on the small of his back and guided him towards the door, making sure he went in first and didn’t make a run for it.

Inside, she put the bottle on the table and faced him. She let him look at her as she unbuttoned her blouse. With all eight buttons undone, she removed her top, which left the lacy black bra desperately trying to defy gravity, with the front clasp almost at breaking point.

Betty picked up the bottle.

“We won’t do this unless you want to, Campbell. Do you want to help me?”

He nodded. She felt relieved and excited.

“So –” she hesitated for a split second, “do you want to show me what’s going to go between these beauties?”

He nodded again. He unzipped and unbuckled his trousers, letting them fall to the floor; his pants followed, and at last, Betty saw the full extent of the problems he had been having in the bar. His dick practically sprang free.

“Impressive,” she said. Sitting on a chair in front of him, she unclipped the front clasp.  Her breasts spilt out of the confined space, like the way air leaked into a vacuum.

“Shall I squirt or will you?”

His hand shot forward, grabbed the bottle, flipped the top, and squirted the most generous amount of oil over her marvellous mounds before putting it back on the table.

He stared at them, watching the oil pool in her cleavage and run between them before Betty pushed her tits together to make it form a pool.

“Can I cop a feel?”

“Of course, rub it in for me,” she said, politely.

Campbell’s hands were suddenly all over her tits, dipping into her cleavage, spreading the oil all over the tops of her globes, cupping the sides and squeezing them together to make sure every inch was covered. He didn’t need to be told what to do when his hands slipped off them. His eyes followed his hands everywhere, as if these were the first pair of breasts he had seen and handled. They probably were.

At least his shyness had all but evaporated. He stepped forward, his erect cock pointed at the base of her cleavage, and he pushed it towards them. He closed his eyes when it touched them. The feeling was so wonderful, he nearly came on the spot. Betty did the rest by squashing her tits together as Campbell thrust his cock between them. He stepped closer until his balls touched her belly.

His face was a picture of pure pleasure mixed with disbelief. He stared continuously at his dick popping out of the top and disappearing back into her cleavage. He was doing it, in the room, with Betty. Fuck, he was on cloud nine. The sensation around his knob was like nothing he had ever felt before. Nothing like when he did it at home, in the confines of his grubby flat on the bed that squeaked like it hadn’t been oiled in over ten years, and wondering whether the landlady in the flat below knew what he was doing. No, this was fucking exquisite. The whole of his cock seemed to feast on her tit flesh. Engulfed by it.

Betty took a moment to look up into his eyes. They were wide open, taking it all in. She grinned and was enthralled by his masculine prowess. He started to fuck her with some urgency. And then it started. The expletives, the Oh-My-Gods, and the Jesus word.

His hands flew on top of hers, and he pushed her breasts together. Hard.

“Come over my tits, Campbell,” Betty said softly.

He was cumming for sure. It was unstoppable. His eyes closed tight. His head raised to the ceiling. An oh-fuck issued from his mouth, which was quickly followed by an oh-fuck-yeah.

“Spurt it, Campbell. All over my gorgeous tits.”

Betty was squeezing as much as he was, pushing her breasts up and down, willing his syphon to explode between them. And explode it did, on the downstroke. The first jet splashed under her chin. She gasped out loud.

“Fuck, yes, Campbell, squirt it. Give it to me. This is what tits are made for.”

With his cock trapped in the quantity of tit flesh that surrounded it, he had no choice. He spurted over her chest, between her breasts, his stickiness adding to the lubrication but slowing down the motion somewhat as the viscosity increased. He emptied his balls everywhere, and yet he wasn’t expecting the post-orgasmic tenderness to make his knob super sensitive. It was a new experience for him. One that he never felt when he masturbated at home, probably because he stopped as soon as he emptied himself over his stomach.

This was new and exciting. As it was for Betty too, rarely had her tits been so covered in spunk. Her panting subsided, her grip relaxed and slipped, allowing Campbell’s dick to slide from their velvety cage. His cock started to deflate and point to the floor. He couldn’t stop staring at Betty’s breasts covered in his white milk. She saw the intent look on his face, and in a moment of lewdness, scooped up the largest puddle that nestled in her cleavage with two fingers and sucked it into her mouth.

“I love the taste,” she loved watching the shocked look on his face.

Campbell’s mouth dropped open at the sight. She massaged the rest of it into her breasts, though the oil was having a profound effect at trying to stop that from happening, but Betty was determined, because she had every intention of going home from church smelling of spunk.

The raunchy display was not lost on Campbell, though he didn’t know how to proceed from his vulnerable position. He stood still. Watching.

Betty smiled, a vivid picture of the next fifteen minutes entered her head as she gazed at Campbell.

“Would you like to do something for me, Campbell?” she asked.

He nodded enthusiastically.

Betty stood up, “Come and sit here for me,” she said. “That’s it. Slide down the seat, and rest your head on the table behind you if you can.”

Campbell shuffled down the seat so that the very back of his head was resting on the table. Betty smiled at his prostrate position. His dick softening, but showing signs of life, his body slim and stretched out before her. His face was a spectacle of uncertainty. She seductively removed her knickers but kept her skirt on. She straddled his legs and started approaching him.  Step by step, her body walked over his.

When she stopped directly over his dick, Campbell thought his luck was in, that she was going to sit on his cock and let him fuck her, but she moved forward.

“You’re such a wonderful man,” she said as she approached him. “I think you’re going to like this. I know I am,” she smiled.

Closer and closer she got until all Campbell could see was her skirt when he looked ahead, and a huge pair of tits when he looked up into her eyes.  She was practically standing over him. She felt a strange thrill flow through her body, a kind of relief. A controlling and manipulative feeling pervaded her soul. Was this how men felt when they were about to take a woman and fuck their cock into them?

Slowly, she lifted her skirt. Her plump but smooth pussy inches from Campbell’s face. Not a black hair in sight. Betty looked down on him, and a lascivious grin covered her face. Campbell pulled his eyes from her twat and looked up into hers as best he could.

“You’re going to be so good at this, Campbell. I can tell,” her tone bordering on desperation, and yet she felt scared that he might pull away from her. She wondered whether he had ever done this before. At that moment, she didn’t care, but she hoped that he wanted to.

She lowered her pussy to his face. She rubbed her slit on his nose before pulling backwards and downwards. Campbell’s tongue was on automatic. It extended of its own accord, sending shivers through Betty’s body. She slid her moistening mound over his face, spreading her sex lips apart with his nose, before letting them rest on either side of his tongue.

It penetrated her. Campbell flicked it inside her pussy and all around her labia. He sucked hard, fast, slow and licked as he enjoyed it. His hands came upon her bottom to pull her in.

Betty found herself in bliss, a place close to heaven, allowing her body to respond to every flick of his tongue, every lick, and every squeeze of her bottom and every dig of his fingernails into her ass. His only downfall was that he didn’t find her clit, and yet, the pleasure she was feeling was wonderful. A kind of low humming sensation pervaded her sexual organs. She pinched her nipples, which made it all the more pleasurable, and yet she had trouble staying still. She couldn’t help but grind her pussy onto his face in a desperate attempt to speed things up.

A grimace crossed her face. A sudden urge flooded her. She pushed it aside at first, but it wouldn’t stay put.

“So nice, Campbell, so fucking nice,” her words spoken to the room more than to him, but it made him smile, changing the sensations she was feeling.

“Just like that, Campbell,” she urged. “Just like that!”

And just like that, Betty could take no more of the pleasure she was feeling; it was just too nice, too reserved, holding her in place but not letting her orgasm ascend to its highest point. She needed more. Much more. She needed her clit to explode on his face, and that thought, that action she pushed to one side, came flooding out.

In an instant, she reached down, grabbed his hair and fucked his face. She pulled his head upwards, enough to keep him in one place, and she fucked his face and tongue, angling her body so that her clit was the main focus of his attention. Her heightened state went from zero to one thousand in less than a few seconds. If he was complaining about the way she treated his face, she didn’t hear. Her auditory senses throbbed with future echoes of her pending orgasm. Her breathing was intense, her breasts bounced, and she really needed him to cup them and pinch her nipples. Campbell seemed to cling to her bottom for dear life. His nails, digging into her supple flesh. His tongue, extended. His body was used for one purpose only.

Betty came hard. She came to a halt when she pushed her cunt onto his face, straightened her body and shuddered. Her grip relaxed. Realising this, she pulled on his hair until his face was once more tight to her snatch.

“Lick it, lick it, don’t stop,” she ordered.

Campbell continued flexing his tongue over her sex, giving Betty a quick second orgasm that found her soaking his face. She was still riding him when she heard muffling sounds coming from her groin. Strangled sounds that people make when they need air. Slowly, her ears became more attuned to the environment around her, and she suddenly jumped off Campbell, allowing him to breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in shocked horror. She watched him gasp for air, and at the way his face was soaked and the sight of her juices discolouring and darkening his light green shirt. One that he would probably keep for the next month and never wash.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Campbell nodded. Smiled.

“Fuckin awesome,” he confessed.

Betty moved off him and noticed his cock was standing to attention, red with anger, aching and vertical. She couldn’t leave him like that. It would have been wrong to just walk away.

She knelt on the floor, took his knob in her mouth and sucked hard. One hand slipped over his balls that hung down, and the other circled his prick and started tossing him off in earnest. It didn’t take long.

Campbell was licking his lips, tasting Betty’s cum, when he shot his load into her mouth. It seemed just as much as the first time. How quickly young men refill their balls, she thought.

Betty never missed a drop. Every jet that hit the back of her throat went down it. She’d never thought of herself as a proficient cocksucker, but she was proving herself here and now. It made Campbell groan out loud. Two cums in the space of a few minutes, he couldn’t believe it.

Betty remained between his thighs, smiling up at him while Campbell was huffing and puffing and looking at her pretty face. He shook his head.

“Wow!” It was all he could think of to say.

“Yes, it’s a wow from me too,” Betty agreed, as if it were an episode of the X-factor. One that you never saw on television.

“I didn’t mean to soak you,” she said, pointing to his shirt. “It’s a first for me.”

Betty was the first to move, standing up and wondering how best to get her tits back into her bra. The dried spunk had formed crisp white stains on her flesh, and she looked at it with pride. Covering herself up with her blouse and straightening her skirt, she was ready to leave. Campbell followed suit and reluctantly pushed his dick back into his trousers.

She would have to leave as soon as they returned to the bar, but there would be time to finish their drinks. She gave Campbell a quick kiss.

“Remember me tonight,” she said, a knowing smile spreading across her lips.

“Aye, I will,” he replied.

When they entered the bar, the clientele had changed. Two new people sat at the far end, embroiled in an argument about their favourite football teams. Three women were sitting in the corner with their statutory half glasses of Tennant’s lager, and a new teenager stood at the bar.

Her jaw dropped. What-The-Fuck! She thought. She quickly turned her back on the bar and the guy standing there. She recognised him in an instant. His hair and face were unmistakable. This wasn’t happening to her. Her mind whirled with possible options: one unrealistic one was to go back into the room and stay there until he left. But she needed to get home.

“You can finish this drink off if you like, Campbell. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Have to go was an understatement. She had to get out of that bar right then. Gathering her coat, she raised it as if to put it on as she strode towards the entrance. In reality, she was covering her face as she walked. The guy clocked her movements and followed her to the door, intrigued as to how she was going to get the coat on while she walked, but turned back to his pint before finding out.

Betty exited the pub and finished putting on her coat when she was around the corner. She had got away with it, she thought, and she practically ran the length of the street to where her car was parked.

Billy O’Dowd stared at his pint, a niggling thought scraped at the inside of his skull, pushing the few brain cells that were resident at the time to breaking point. There was something about that woman; she seemed familiar. He shook his head; no doubt it would come to him eventually.

He turned his head in the other direction.

“You awright, Two Soups?” he asked.

After all, it wasn’t every day that Two Soups had a huge grin on his face. Was it?