Chapter 1

Sam White is your better than average guy – short clipped grey hair washed every third day, clean fingernails, polite to woman, kind to children and is morally sound. Well, almost.

At 63, Sam would still be actively engaged in sex but his wife ran off with her fitness trainer, so he's not bothered to find a replacement and that means going without. When you're going without it rather occupies your mind a lot so Sam spent a few days hunched over his laptop writing a sizzler for Harlequin American Romance – the brief requirements being 'upbeat and lively, fast-paced and well plotted that celebrates the pursuit of love in the backyards, big cities and wide-open spaces of America'.

Sam hadn't been to America but that didn't stop him. He created a curvaceous red-head with big breasts who wears short dresses and very high heels and stuck her on a ranch surrounded by lusty cowboys. Sam hadn't been on a ranch but that didn't stop him churning out 3000 words of rubbish a day. What stopped him was his elder sister Mavis, who read a few pages and tossed the printout back at him.

"This is rubbish, Sam. Women living in high heels don't live on ranches and what are all these references to tunefully moving boobs? You dirty old man – you have a breast fetish," she accused, crossing her arms of her modest hangers.

Mavis got drunk on his whisky and went home, leaving Sam psychologically wounded and his creative literary juices replaced with writer's block.

Sam had a vague idea there are thousands of identified fetishes ranging from sweet to disgusting – indeed, anything from rather normal to utterly depraved. For example he knew there were people with a fetish for being tightly strung up in a corset or had a fascination for blood, panty hose, sucking toes or sticking rings into eyebrows, labia or through their penis. He also knew that the annual excitement of running outside the homestead when the first drought-breaking rains arrive is a fetish as is wearing punk apparel. But breasts – him?

Okay, he'd admit his 'favourites' of sites on his web browser consisted mostly of breast sites and he did have an old bra somewhere that he used to wear and he'd once walked into a street pole – well, on several occasions actually - while looking at some woman's really delightful pair bouncing along attempting to escape from captivity.

Sam though he must be sick, so went to seek a 'healing health consultant' whose fees would only a hundredth of the fees charged by consultants with doctorates qualifying them to counsel him.

Madam Sabrina operated a discreet booth at the flea market and clutched Sam to her tiny bosom and cried, "Oh, my poor boy" when Sam confessed his fetish.

She undid the front of her dress (she had no need of a bra) and asked: "What do you think of these?"

Sam looked at them, looked at the ceiling of her booth and yawned.

"You twerp; you impostor!" she shouted.

Indignantly denying the charge, Sam informed her: "It's those breasts in all their glory where my addiction is centred."

Madam Sabrina asked Sam to stay seated while she went out for a minute. She returned with a sullen-faced woman and told her to strip to the waist. An enormous amount of flesh hung off this woman's breast bone, two very brown nipples reaching just past her navel.

"Any reaction?"

"Sorry."

"Thank you Maria, please send in Anna."

Anna was a self-created blonde with reddish eyes though the centres were brown. Perhaps a little plump for Sam's taste she had a smile that said 'Hello' with warmth; she looked about fifty.

"Top off please, Anna."

Madam Sabrina noticed the change in Sam. It was instantaneous – his back straightened, his stomach pulled in and his nostrils flared. His eyes fixed on Anna's beautifully shaped mounds as if he were a rabbit transfixed in the beam of a vehicle's headlights.

The self-taught consulted nodded approvingly as he licked his lips.

"I can confirm your fetish," Madam Sabrina advised. "There is no cure but you would feel less embarrassed if you had a good pair of breasts at your disposal to lessen your load."

"Lessen my load; you mean to ejaculate?"

"Yes, that too if you wish, but I really mean to train yourself to focus on one pair."

"But no-one is interest in me like that at my age?"

"Anna is. Here husband had abandoned her and she's missing him dreadfully. Why don't you go back to her stall and talk to her about possibilities?"

"That's five dollars please, Sam. Anna, put your top back on and take him out of here. That floral bra is very pretty and very well filled, I must say."

"If you must," smiled Anna. "Come along Sam." Anna confided she'd just emerged from her long period of grieving.

"When did he leave you?"

"A week ago."

"Oh."

"A week is a long time for someone used to having sex night and morning."

Sam licked his lips, "Night and morning, huh?"

"Yes, and immediately after lunch was usually on offer, very much so if it were raining."

Sam liked the sound of Anna very much. She looked okay as well.

"Anna, please have dinner with me this evening at my home. I'm an excellent cook."

Clearing up after dinner they went into the TV room. Sam switched the set off and they began undressing each other. He purred with pleasure as he stroked the bra-encased orbs.

"Take off my bra and then lick and suck my breasts – but don't bite too hard until I get used to you."

Meanwhile Anna reached down inside the front of his trousers and a huge smile lit her face. Sam had his little play with his treasure chest while Anna unbuckled him and pushed his trousers and briefs down with her foot. She had a few practise strokes while contemplating.

Straightening to more involve his new friend in the action, Sam asked as he clasped her hand over his dick: "What is your fetish?"

"Having my breasts sprayed."

At that confession and without warning, Sam blew a load over her tits, face and into her hair.

"Oh my goodness, aren't I a lucky girl. I'll clean up here and then see what else we can do."

"Don't ever leave me, Anna."

"I won't Sam, as long as you retain your fire-power. Hey, why don't you wash this bra and keep it under your pillow as I might not be with you EVERY night."

"May I help you chose new bras?"

"Oh Sam! I'm cumming again and you're not even touching me!"

THE END