The Worship of Breasts

Ewan was a stonemason, strong, muscular, with shaggy straw-blonde hair. He spent his days with hammer and chisel carving, when not forced by necessity to knock out yet another column of shaped gatepost blocks or ornamental water trough stands, carving representations of female breasts. Big ones, round ones, small and pointy ones, whatever he was carving, if it could be in the slightest but female, it had breasts. Whenever possible his fixation with boobs came through, physically manifested in his work. Unknown to the parishioners of his local church, the four new gargoyles which spouted water from their open, snarling mouths whenever it rained, had, if they’d bother to get binoculars and look closely at their undersides, breasts. A local garden centre had mounted atop large and impressive gate pillars, a pair of winged lions, and those massive growling beasts with long shaggy, exquisitely carved manes, had between their front legs, burgeoning from their chests, as impressive a pair of boobs as any Page Three girl could wish for, complete with beautifully executed nipples.

To say Ewan was fixated by breasts was to understate and to a degree, misunderstand him. His desire was not so much driven by lust and desire, but by appreciation of their form. No matter the shape and size, he found carving their curves always challenging and exacting. If he was carving breasts, they had to look realistic even if their siting wasn’t. When questioned as to whether his latest commission actually needed them, he normally fell back on his favourite argument of; ‘if it’s a mythical beast, how do you know it didn’t have boobs?’ And although he loved carving breasts of all shapes and sizes, he had his own particular image of the perfect boob shape, and that was something he was sought to achieve in stone, at all possible junctures.

That perfect breast shape was physically present in the world, and manifested in the form of Mia, his wife. Tall, slim and ethereal, with white-blonde hair and blue-blue eyes, she was nicknamed Glad by her friends because of her resemblance to the portrayal of Galadriel in the Lord of the Rings films. Ewan worshipped her, and especially her pert, surgically firm, rosebud-tipped breasts. These he admired above all else, in the way their smooth gentle curves rose up and out from her chest, how despite their impressive size there was no sag at all, and how her little, pink nipples, ringed by small pink areolae pointed straight forward. At home, they had the central heating set up high and Mia walked around whenever Ewan was home in one of an extensive collection of pretty but minimalist bras.

Mia didn’t mind Ewan’s fixation, in fact she loved him for it. There was no course ogling or rough grabbing of her tits, instead his veneration meant that they spend most evening curled up on the sofa together watching TV, whilst he gently stroked them or massaged them oh-so-gently with scented oils. This was sexy and really turned her on.

They’d met at a rave one dark and sultry night, when in the middle of a forest clearing, lit by torches , Ewan had walked straight up to as she danced and shorted “Show us your tits,” into her ear. Drunk and high, Mia had done, promptly starting a whirlwind romance that had them married, happily, devotedly, within a month.

But all this was going to change.

It was a yet another hot summer’s day and Ewan had stripped to the waist as he stood in his yard, bolster chisel in one hand, hammer in the other, his heavily veined biceps rippling as he trimmed a set of granite blocks into perfect cubes. The work was monotonous and yet exacting, and the sweat that coated his body caused the stone dust to stick to it. He was thinking about Mia and her breasts, causing his cock to swell and bulge in his grey tracksuit bottoms.

Hearing a sound, Ewan looked up and saw a young woman, long, curly brown hair which cascaded to her waist, coming through his collection of completed statues. She seemed to float rather than walk, a floor-length, pastel green, cheesecloth dress drifting about her. Cinched tight at the waist, it seemed to emphasise what were clearly large, pendulous breasts that swayed heavily with her every movement. She headed straight for a trio of angels that Ewan had recently carved, stood before them and reached out, her fingers trailing over the curves of the breasts, each carved as an exact facsimile of Mia’s beautiful pair.

Ewan put down his tools, hitched up his trackie-bottoms and walked towards her.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

The girl turned and looked up Ewan up and down, her face brightening from a previously solemn expression to a broad smile.

“Did you make these?”

“I did.”

“Wonderful, so beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you do commissions? I assume you do.”

“Ey, of course. What do you want?” Ewan buff Yorkshire bluntness was found off-putting by some, but made the young woman’s throat suddenly feel tight and dry. She swallowed.

“An angel, life-size, but a bit different to these. It’s for my husband’s grave.”

“These normally go in gardens. The church gets a bit iffy about the tits.”

“Oh, you leave the vicar to me. I’m sure I can bend him to my will.”

Ewan looked the girl, woman, up and down and had no doubt that she could bend any man to her will, even a vicar. He turned and spat out a mouthful of dust, cursed his erection and forced himself to look into her deep green eyes, rather than at the two dark areas low down in her dress that seem to suggest where her nipples were.

“How different, exactly?”

“Well, I want the face to be like the Weeping Angel in Doctor Who, complete with the pointy teeth, and the breasts, those I want to be like mine, exactly like mine, just how they are at the moment.”

Her hands lifted to her neck, tugged at the thin string that was knotted there. As she tugged the delicately bowed knot came undone, releasing the front of her dress, As it fell open, it revealed her surprisingly mammoth breasts.

“Wow!” breathed Ewan, astounded at the size of them and the thumb thick, dark pink nipples that hung pointing slightly downwards. All he could think of was how he was going to carve those gorgeous protuberances without the stone snapping off. Mia’s breasts were easy in that respect. She had small, pert nipples that sat high on her boobs and pointed upwards at precisely eighty degrees from the vertical. These hung at about a hundred and seventy degrees, almost straight down, and yet stood a long way out from her waist, hanging from boobs that seemed far too large for the young woman’s delicate frame.

“Miss…”

“Sia, call me Sia. My name is Sia Murphy.”

“Mrs Murphy. I’m quite busy right now.”

“What would it take to get you to take the commission? What do you need?” she asked sweetly.

Ewan shook his head, tried to think of work schedules and drag his gaze away from her tits and nipples that seem to be damp and begging to be suckled.

“I’d need a set of photographs or drawings to work from.”

“Can’t I just sit for you, like for an artist when he’s painting? You are an artist, I can see it in your work.”

“That would be nice,” muttered Ewan, trying not to think of this gorgeous woman sitting in front of him for hour after temptatious hour.

“Now? Do you want to take a good look now, then you tell me how big of a job it is going to be.” Sia advanced towards him, her breasts swaying heavily as she moved.

“Why the rush? You do know churches don’t allow heavy monumental stones to be erected for at least a year. They have to wait until the ground around the grave has settled.”

“It’s not the grave I’m thinking of, its these.” Sia looked down at her breasts. “I’m breastfeeding, they probably are only going to be this big whilst they are full.”

“You’d best come in then.”

In the studio, Sia sat upright on one chair, whilst Ewan sat on another, his legs crossed to hide his arousal, a sketch pad on his knees as he tried to record the scale and magnitude of her wonderful breasts. Sia pushed her shoulders back, trying to make her breasts jut forward, and occasionally her fingers tweaked her nipples, trying to firm them up. As Ewan watched, they became moist, until eventually beads of milk formed on then and then they both, simultaneously, dripped into her lap.

“Oh heck, now I’m leaking!”

Sia sounded surprised and annoyed, as if her constantly touching of her boobs had encouraged them to start to produce milk.

Ewan stared at her, his mouth open, completely stunned, Never before had he seen lactating breasts produce milk. He’d never even imagined it out of the context of a baby being present and fed. As he watched, Sia picked up each breast in her hands, lifted their prodigious weigh until the nipples neared her mouth, then bent forward and sucked from each in turn.

“Do you want a go?” She looked up him, smiling, milk on her lips and her deep green eyes locking onto his grey.

“What?” Ewan genuinely didn’t know what she meant.

“Do you want to suck them, drink my milk? Some men like it, I’m told.”

Ewan swallowed nervously. This wasn’t right. Having women pose naked in front of him wasn’t something new, he occasionally had models sit for him. It seemed easier to capture on paper what he needed to carve from, then a collection of dead photographs. Drawings seemed to carry life in their representations of curves, but he never touched. No matter how arousing the sitter, no matter how much they flirted, Ewan had always remained loyal to Mia. But this was something different. There seemed something almost magical and especially alluring about breasts that dripped milk.

Slowly, almost unaware of what he was doing, Ewan laid down his sketchpad, moved to knee before Sia and stared at her nipples. As thick and long as his thumbs and dark pink, they had a texture like small raspberries and as he watched beads of white milk oozed from them, forming beads which threatened to drip.

“Suck it, please.” Sia’s pleas was almost inaudible, hushed and carried on a breath of warm air.

Almost trembling with anticipation and excitement, Ewan parted his lips, leant forward until his lips pressed against her round, pink areola and the nipple was in his mouth. Very gently he sealed his lips to her breast, swallowed and then sucked. Nothing happened and he probed forward with his tongue, touching her erect nipple and tasting a hint of milk.

“Wider, suck it in,” whispered Sia, her hand lifting her other breast back to her own mouth.

Ewan lifted, opened his mouth wide, took as much nipple, areola and breast into his mouth as he could, pressed his tongue up against her boob flesh as he sucked. Suck, suck, suck. Suddenly, milk sprayed into his mouth, filling it with its thin, warm sweetness. Ewan swallowed, looked up to see Sia smiling down at him, her own mouth pressed to her uplifted tit, then sucked again. More milk flowed and as he settled himself on his knees, his big manly hands grasping her delicate knees through her thin dress, he began to suckle.

As warm milk filled his belly, Ewan began to feel and warmth and contentment flow through him that he had never felt before. There was so much milk, warm and deliciously sweet. Sia was moaning softly now and he lifted one hand from her knee and cupped the underside of the breast he was feeding from.

Suddenly her hand plunged past the elasticated waist of his trackies, her fingers finding, scrabbling and failing to encircle his shaft.

“OH! Oh my, it’s massive!”

As Ewan pulled away from her boob, releasing his hold of it, Sia let go of the one she’d been holding and stared at him, her mouth open. She looked genuinely shocked, and now she reached in with her other hand pulling the waistband down and revealing his manhood in all its erect, cut, glory.

“Ooh!” I was a sigh of worship. “Oh, quick, quick, get it in, ooh, ooh, I’ve not had anything in me since before… since before the baby was born. Oh, quick, please?”

Suddenly before him, Sia was sliding her bottom down the chair base, pushing his hand from her knee as she tugged frantically to pull her skirts up, then urgently pulled a pair of white cotton panties to one side.

“Sorry, I’ve not shaved for months,” she mumbled as her fingers parted her long brown, curly pubic hair, and then separated her long, thin very pink labia to reveal the moist secret of her dark tunnel. “Please,” she whispered, pulling Ewan’s cock towards her, fingers squeezing his shaft just below the rim, making his bell-end bulge, the skin go smooth and a tiny drop of pre-cum ooze from his Jap’s eye. “Please, take me!” She moaned.

Ewan was aghast. Moments before he had been sketching, trying to commit the curves of her voluminous breasts to memory, then he’d been feasting on her milk, and now…

“Aaaaaaaaaaaa,” Ewan sighed as his cock sank into her warm, wet pussy. She wasn’t tight, not tight and tense like Mia, but he could feel the wonderful sensations of every millimetre of his penetration, felt the pressure as he stretched her open and descended into her depths.

“Oh, that’s so big!” gasped Mia. “Oooohhhh!”

With nearly half his length inside her, Ewan felt Sia suddenly tighten on his shaft.

“Don’t cum,” she gasped desperately, “I’m not on the pill.”

Recoiling urgently, Ewan pulled out just in time and watched three great globs of spunk splatter on her panties, on her inner thigh and finally on the dusty floorboards beneath them. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped forward, resting his head on the soft pillows of her expansive breasts.

“Oh, that was so good,” breathed Sia urgently, her hands now stroking his flaxen hair. “Can I come back tomorrow. I’ll bring some condoms and we’ll do it properly.” Her fingers cupped his chin, lifting his face until their eyes locked. “I want to cum and feel you cum inside me.”

“Okay,” Ewan murmured quietly, knowing that from that moment on, he was doomed.

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Chapter 12 - Decisions