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Girl from RIO - Part 1 |
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By Nigel McParr
Depending on one’s view, Charlize Lima at 21 years of age was either naturally blessed or naturally cursed with an overly large bustline. She’d always been the girl in her class with the biggest breasts. When her grade school classmates were wearing training bras, which they didn’t need, Charlize was in a B cup. Given her Brazilian mother’s and grandmother’s genes and their generous bustlines, no one in her family was surprised at the size of Charlize’s bosom. She looked like her mother had when she was 21. She had the same thick mass of ebony curls, dark limpid eyes, long sweeping lashes, and a ripe sweet mouth. She had her mother’s coffee-colored skin, a tiny waist, plump hips and a bottom that looked smashing in jeans. Her breasts were already as large as her mother’s, though firmer and with the same ruddy areoles and thick stand-up nipples. Gravity had already taken its toll. Unsupported, her breasts hung within an inch or two of her waist. It was enough to cause her to speak to her doctor. The woman assured her she was healthy and need not worry. Her breast growth was a non-threatening genetic condition that might be curbed with better fitting bras. The doctor suggested she see Mrs. Goldman, the bra fitter at Goldman’s’ department store. Mrs. Goldman measured her in and out of her bra. Charlize watched the woman’s eye brows raise as she taped her measurements. Mrs. Goldman smiled understandingly at Charlize. “I’ll be honest. You have an divine shape and a spectacular bustline. In the bra business, we’d call you a perfect ten. Ion the past year, your bra size has increased from 32J to 34KK. I don’t want to talk you out of buying a new bra, but woman to woman, have you ever considered going braless? It’s one way to reduce the impact of your breast size.” Charlize frowned. “Mrs. Goldman, you sound just like my mother. She and my grandmother both have huge bustlines. I’m already as big as my mom. My doctor says it won’t be long before I catch up with my Nana.” “Does either of them wear a bra now?” Charlize shook her head. The battle was lost. “I can’t remember either one of them wearing a bra.” “Well, sweetie, given your genes, I’m sure you will catch up with your Nana. So, do you want me to fit you for a new bra?” Charlize thought for a moment. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Goldman, I’d like to think about that.”
* * * On the following snowy Monday morning, Charlize drove to her secretarial job at Wilson Plumbing. She had on her usual work attire: faded jeans, sneakers, and a baggy sweatshirt to hide her outsized breasts. When she arrived at the office, the trucks were already out on jobs. Bridie, Mr. Wilson’s wife, was not in the office. That made Charlize nervous, but she headed for her desk determined to act as if it were nothing. She could feel Mr. Wilson watching her, his glittering eyes drinking in the rhythmic bounce of her breasts. Even though she wore a sturdy cotton bra that was now too small for her, her bosom still jiggled. She could have killed him. As she sat down with her back to him and turned on her computer, she heard him get up and approach her. He stopped directly behind her. “Charlize, I mean no harm. Can’t you just humor an old man. How much to get a couple of photographs of your titties? That’s all I want.” Charlize stared straight ahead, her heart racing. “We’ve been through this before, Mr. Wilson.” “I know. I’ll give you cash. My wife won’t know.” Terrified and angry at the audacity of her employer, she forced herself to stand up and face him. She could feel the sea change rising from deep within her. This time was going to be different. He was forever undressing her with his rheumy eyes. If she stayed here, it was never going to be anything but that. Her parents would go ballistic, but she stuffed the consequence. She would have her pound of flesh. She looked him straight in the eye. “A hundred dollars for each photograph! And I want it up front - before you take any pictures.” Surprised at her own assertiveness, she began to feel a little braver. After all, she had what he wanted and that gave her the advantage. “Chrissakes, that’s a lot of money for some tittie photos.” “Take it or leave it, Mr. Wilson.” “All right. I’ll use petty cash. Hopefully, I can cover it before Bridie finds out.” “You’d better. She’ll have your head in a basket and your balls on a platter.” He looked at her quizzically. She’d never talked liked that. “That’s my problem,” he muttered defensively as he unlocked the metal cash box. He counted out several hundred dollars and handed her the bills.”There’s three hundred there. I’ll just lock the door get my camera, and then we’ll go to the store room.” Charlize stuffed the wad of bills into her jeans. Emboldened by the money, she shut out her shame and followed Mr. Wilson into the dusty storeroom. She lifted her sweatshirt and peeled it over her head. His breath sucked in at the sight of her white cotton bra, the mass of breast flesh overflowing the bra cups, and her spectacular cleavage. He moved toward her with his hand extended. “Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Wilson. You paid to look - not touch. Take your three pictures.” “W-Will you remove the bra?” “It’s freezing in here.” “Will you…please take off your bra?” Charlize shrugged and reached behind her. As the cotton bra cups fell away from her breasts, her elongated nipples brushed the belt of her jeans. The cold air was making her shiver and her nipples even longer, which excited him and annoyed her. The growing bulge in his overalls frightened her and made her shiver, setting her breasts in motion. They swayed and slapped heavily into each other. “Hurry up. I’m freezing.” “Omigod,” he blubbered. “Omigod! I had no idea. I knew you were big, but had no idea...” When he lifted his camera with shaking hands, she held up her hand. “No pictures until I cover my face.” She pulled a handkerchief from her jeans and held it over the upper half of her face. Mr. Wilson began to snap pictures, one after another. She didn’t care how many he took. His hearing loss prevented him from hearing the muted slam of Bridie’s car door. “Harry, where are you? Where’s Charlize? What-” Bridie Wilson stopped in mid-sentence when she opened the storeroom door. Charlize felt sorry for her. She looked expressionlessly at Bridie, silently asking, well, what did you expect? Mr. Wilson dropped the camera and looked sheepishly out the window. Snow was falling heavily. “You bastard! I could have bet on it. I’m going to see a divorce lawyer. Charlize was the best girl we’ve ever had. How many others have you lost due to your unbridled lechery? She glanced at Charlize. “Did he give you money?” “Yes, Ma’am.” “Well, I don’t want to know the amount. Keep it. You’ve earned it. I’ll support your unemployment claim in exchange for your court testimony about this tawdry business.” “Agreed,” Charlize said, picking up her bra and sweatshirt. While she headed for the bathroom, Mrs. Wilson took a sledgehammer from the workbench and smashed her husband’s camera. Mr. Wilson barely noticed. He was still in a trance, wringing his hands, watching his wife with an agonizing stare. All Charlize wanted was to get as far away from this man as she possibly could. On her way home, she deposited the cash into her checking account.
Charlize parked her old car in the driveway, leaving room for Daddy to get his car past hers and into the garage. As she plodded through the powdery snow, she realized it was only 9:45 in the morning. Mama would have a hissy fit and of course would want to know everything. The big old house where she still lived with her parents was more of a mansion than a home. Clad in tawny brick and trimmed in pale sandstone accents, the Lima house still wore its 19th century shutters and a ribbed copper roof long since oxidized into streaks of rain-washed blues and greens. Mondays were washdays. The air inside the home was warm and damp, heavy with the scents of Mrs. Stuart’s Bluing, wet laundry, and Tide laundry soap. Charlize’s mother Maria was in the basement. When Charlize tiptoed down the basement stairs, her mother was standing between the clotheslines. Her mouth stuffed with clothespins while she hummed along to an old Brazilian folk tune on the radio. Her hips swayed to the beat while she pinned wash to the lines strung beneath the basement ceiling. Charlize and Maria were peas in a pod. Maria was 40 now with plumper hips but there was no mistaking Charlize’s lineage. She was clad in warm stockings and a faded heavy denim jumper. She had caught up her raven hair in a bright red bandanna. She was Brazilian through and through and could have passed for Charlize’s older sister. The only notable difference was Maria never wore a bra. The only sounds in the basement were the radio and the slosh of the Maytag wringer washer. Charlize hated washing clothes in that machine. The wringer scared the bejesus out of her, but her mother never seemed to mind. Sensing Charlize’s presence, Maria looked up. She removed the clothespins from her mouth. “Charlize, what are you doing home? Are you sick? Is it your time of the month?” Charlize’s eyes brimmed wetly as she threaded her way between the damp sheets. “M-Mama, I made a big mistake today. I-I didn’t…well, I shouldn’t have…Now what do I do? O-o-g-h, Mama, I-I lost my job.” She began to cry. “Charlize, come here. Let me hold you.” Her mother took Charlize into her arms and rocked her until she stopped sobbing. “There, there, Charlize. You’re a good girl. It can’t be that bad. You go on up to the kitchen. Make us a nice pot of tea. I’ll be right up after I finish hanging this load.” When her mother came into the kitchen, Charlize poured her a cup of tea. Staring out into the falling snow, she fought off her guilt and shame and straight away told her mother what had happened. “… Mr. Wilson is a confused old man. He just wanted to…well, you know…He wanted to photograph my breasts. I treated him badly, Mama. I feel so guilty. And now his wife is divorcing him and I have three hundred dollars of their money-” “Charlize! Mr. Wilson gave you that money?” She looked sternly into Charlize’s eyes. “Don’t even think of lying to me. I should take down those jeans and blister your backside! Are you still a virgin?” she asked softly, biting her lip. “Mama! How could you even think such a thing? Of course, I’m still a virgin.” Her mother crossed herself. “Thank God. So, you just posed for photos?” “Y-Yes…He asked me to take off my bra, which…I did.” “Did he touch your private parts or your breasts?” “N-N-o-o! I wouldn’t allow that.” “What about the camera?” “His wife smashed it to bits.” “Smart woman. What did you do with the money?” Charlize choked back her fright. “Mr. Wilson’s wife…told me to keep it. I-I put it in my account.” Not happy, but relieved, Mrs. Lima nodded silently and calmly sipped her tea. She studied the falling snow with a thoughtful expression. It was clear Charlize was telling the truth. She hadn’t lied to her in years. Her daughter was a woman now and she was feeling the powerful edges of her emerging sexuality. When she’d been eighteen and was still living in Brazil, something similar had happened to her. She understood the process and she would tell her husband to go easy on her. They had to get this girl married and soon. “It’s an awful thing to go through, Charlize, but it’s not the Apocalypse. You did what you did. Daddy and I will help you get past it. However, you must go to confession Saturday. Of course, we will not allow you to keep that money. You must return it to Mrs. Wilson.” “Wh-What about Daddy?” “Your father is the head of this household. I won’t keep this from him. You’ll have to tell him everything. You know what that means.” Charlize nodded. “I’ll be with you the whole time. A good spanking will wash away your shame.” “Oh, I know I deserve it. I feel so stupid…How will I ever face Daddy? He’ll be so disappointed.” “Daddy’s not an ogre, Charlize. He’s your father and he loves you. He only wants the best for you.” Charlize dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you. You and Daddy have always been there for me.” “We try. By the way, we haven’t had such a good mother-daughter talk for some time. Before I get back to my wash, is there anything else I need to know?” “Well, yes, there is. I’ve outgrown my bras.” “I’ve noticed. Your sides are bulging - like pigs in a sack. I’ve been meaning to mention it.” “I went to Goldmans. Mrs. Goldman told me I’ve gone from a 32J to a 34KK. And she thinks I’m going to get even bigger.” “Charlize, of course you’ll get bigger. You’re going to be as big as Nana - may she rest in peace. There are women who’d kill for your bustline. Look, you’re as big in the bust as I am and you know how pleased that makes Daddy. We are truly blessed. Even with me in this old jumper in the basement washing clothes, if Daddy came home early he’d drag me upstairs before I could finish the wash. He adores my big bosom.” She laughed. “And, young lady, it’s why Daddy won’t allow me wear a bra. He and I pray your future husband will have the good sense to do the same.” “Does Daddy want me braless?” “He won’t go there. That decision rests with me alone.” “So, what are you saying? Are you going to make me take off my bra? I’d be so self-conscious. Mr. Wilson-” “I’m saying, daughter, the sooner we get you out of those horrible bras, the easier it will be for your father and I to find you a husband - someone who will look after you and care for you like your father does for me.” “I don’t even have a boyfriend. I don’t trust men - Brazilian or American. All the men I know just want to get into my bra and my jeans. I feel like a brood cow.” “I understand, sweetie. Remember I was your age once myself. We’ll work through it together. Now, let’s finish the laundry. Don’t worry about another job. Your father has connections. ” A few days later, Charlize was hired as a secretary at LME, a local manufacturing firm. Her father knew the President.
Carter Mansfield was 25 years old, a member of Mensa, and a college graduate at 18. He was tall and slender, a brunette with a wild scatter of unruly hair. His bright blue eyes analyzed the world through glasses that were all wrong for him. His co-workers thought him geeky and awkward and a loser when it came to women. Carter had been in Market Research at LME since graduation. He rarely dated and didn’t have a girl friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t like girls. It had to do with his inordinate shyness and fear of girls rejecting him. It had happened to him so often he’d finally given up. He wasn’t aware his firm had hired Charlize to work in his department. The first time Charlize came into his windowless office, he heard someone in the doorway but he didn’t look up. Preoccupied with crunching critical month end stats, his fingers were flying over his calculator while he read from a ledger. “Wow!” Charlize said softly. “I thought I was pretty good on a keyboard. You are really fast.” At the sound of her voice, Carter made himself look up. “Please, Miss, I’m very busy right now. I need to get-” By the time he glanced up, she’d moved from the doorway to the opposite side of his desk. Wearing a pale blue cotton dress that contrasted wonderfully with her coffee-colored complexion, she stood smiling down at him. The dress fit snugly through her waist and hips and the bodice was pulled taut by the expanse of her bustline. Even though the V of her neckline was modest and partially hidden behind white ruffling, he caught glimpses of her dusky cleavage. He’d never seen anything like her. His annoyed expression slowly morphed into an awkward half-smile. She stuck out her hand. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Mansfield. My name is Charlize Lima. I’m the new department admin. assistant. Mr. B. asked me to deliver these reports.” Still mesmerized by this luscious coffee-skinned vision, Carter gulped hard, stood up, and took her hand. It was warm and soft and she held his hand firmly in hers. There was no trace of the usual disinterested limp grip of feminine rejection. To his dismay, his cock quickened and began to grow. He took the reports and sat down to hide the stiffening bulge in his neatly creased suit pants. There was something different about this one. One, she was gorgeous and she had the biggest most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. Two, there was no trace of the oh-you-are-such-a-geek look in her eyes. When she smiled and left his office, he watched her undulating hips and thought if only miracles happened. He had to force himself to return to his statistics. Back at her own desk outside Mr. B.’s office, Charlize sat down to her work. All morning there had been a steady parade of curious men and women flowing past her desk. Her first trip to the department copier had set the office abuzz. Everyone was talking about the new girl with the accent and huge jiggly tits. Everyone she suspected except Carter Mansfield. The guys’ come-ons and clichés bored her and put her off. What did they think she was; a sex toy, an object they could fondle, a whore? They were just like Mr. Wilson. Then, there were the looks from the women. Some clearly envied her. Others resented her as if she were deliberately showing off her breasts. Well, she couldn’t help her bust size and she certainly wasn’t provocatively dressed. As she laid her fingers on her keyboard, she thought of Carter. He wasn’t bad looking, actually, just different and kind of cute. She liked his nervous self-assuredness, his tentative smile, and the rise in his pants. He’d tried desperately not to look at her breasts. All to the good, she thought and began to type. At lunchtime, Charlize spotted Carter sitting by himself in the cafeteria in an out of the way corner, eating and reading a book. He looked so forlorn. Charlize wished her mother hadn’t made her wear heels. She ignored the stares as she heel-clicked her way across the tiled cafeteria floor, her hips swaying and her breasts bouncing in synchrony with each step she took. Were Mama, Nana, and Mrs. Goldman right? Maybe I should go braless. The jiggling and bouncing couldn’t be much worse and I wouldn’t have these damn bra straps cutting into my shoulders. “Mind if I join you, Mr. Mansfield?” Carter had been so engrossed in his book; he didn’t hear her coming. He looked up puzzled. “Why, no. Please…sit down, Miss Lima.” He glanced around to see who was watching this miracle unfold. It pleased Charlize he’d remembered her name. She made sure she gave him a good look at her cleavage as she bent to sit. When she sat, her breasts ballooned above her neckline, exposing more breast and bottomless cleavage. Poor Carter’s eyes popped. Other than her mother, Charlize could not remember the last time she’d had such a warm reaction to her bosom and at the same time felt completely safe. It was a dramatic moment. One she’d never forget “Let’s stop being so formal. I’m Charlize. May I call you Carter?” He nodded and they began to talk. They both liked music. She still lives with her parents and dabbles in quilts and needlework. He has an apartment, lives alone, and is an avid reader of fantasy and medieval history. Not once during that first lunch did Carter take his eyes off her face. He never flicked his gaze to her cleavage, which without even looking down she knew was fully on stage. She was putting him at ease and she was growing comfortable with this shaggy bespectacled bright twenty-something After that first lunch together, they seldom spoke to each other during work hours. They continued to meet for lunch in the cafeteria - always in the same quiet corner. Charlize told her mother about Carter and was being encouraged by her (pressured might be a better word choice) to burrow beneath the surface of her interesting young man. “Get to know him better,” she said. At five PM on a freezing cold day in mid-December, Carter was still in his office. Charlize was at her desk. She kicked off her stiletto heels – the ones that her mother insisted she wear to work - and put them in a tote bag. She put on her boots, coat, and cap, and wrapped a long red scarf around her neck. It was a windless evening under a deep reddening sky heavy with falling snow. As she walked out into the snow, it came to her that this lovely calm and quiet evening was a metaphor for Carter. The snowflakes were huge and beautiful. Feeling silly and exuberant, she extended her arms, flung back her head, and spun herself through the falling snow. She caught the falling flakes on her tongue and laughed at their chill. Even when she discovered her car wouldn’t start - wouldn’t even turn over - it didn’t dampen her ebullience. “So what,” she said to herself as she went back into the building. “I know who can help me.” She stuck her head in Carter’s office. When he glanced up at her, she shrugged and smiled. “Carter, I’m terribly sorry, but my car won’t start. My daddy was going to fix it, but…” Deep in his research, Carter struggled to shift gears from cold abstract numbers to the vision of warmth standing in his doorway. She stood motionless in her long black coat with the swell of her breasts plainly visible. Her long coat, boots, brightly knit cap and red scarf flung so precariously around her neck made him think of the women he’d seen in Prague and Budapest. His cock hardened into an ache as she studied him with those dark liquid eyes that always set him on edge. Her cheeks were aflame from the cold and she was half-smiling. Unmelted snow flakes in her cap and hair glinted in the bright light. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful. He slammed down his laptop and pulled on a topcoat. “You probably just need a jump,” was all he said. Carter parked his car next to Charlize’s and attached the jumper cables. Her car started immediately. “Your battery died. You’ll have to buy another.” She nodded, impressed with his knowledge of things she didn’t understand. “Leave the car run for a half hour. That’ll warm it up and charge the battery enough to get you home. Or you can just leave it here and I’ll drive you home.” She walked up to him and whispered, “Oh, Carter…” She looked into his eyes and then kissed him softly on his cheek. He looked so awkward at the soft brush of her lips, she felt sorry for him. Carter looked away at the diner across the street. Its windows were frosted over. A warm amber glow spilled onto the fresh-fallen snow. “I’ve a better idea. The company lot is guarded. Your car’s safe. Let’s cross the street. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.” “Carter, you think of everything.” He smiled at her. “I try. Now, take my arm, Charlize. The parking lot is icy and slippery.” She obediently slipped her arm into his and let Carter guide her across the street to the diner. As they walked, she made sure his arm was firmly pressed into the side of her bulging bra. In spite of the cold, she felt warm and protected - like when her father offered her his arm. When they reached the diner, she kissed him again. “Carter Mansfield, you’re a real gentleman.” For the first time, Carter grinned broadly at her, flashing strong white teeth. My mom taught me that. If I wasn’t the perfect gentleman she’d spank me.” “I’d love to meet your mother,” Charlize murmured as he opened the diner door for her. His old-fashioned attention and that smile were melting away her cynicism. She’d known Carter for a few weeks and it felt like forever. After they’d slid into a booth, Charlize could feel her inner furnace ignite. In spite of the proximity of the icy window glass, her thighs were growing hot and tingly and her panties were damp. Snug in her bed tonight, she’d let her fingers do the walking. They’d be busy little girls while visions of Carter danced in her head. After the waitress took their hot chocolate order, Carter began to talk about the firm and her future. He assured her it was a good company and she could develop a great career track. His eyes glowed and he became animated as he talked about his job and the opportunities for her. It was clear to Charlize he didn’t want her to leave the firm. “What sort of books do you read?” she asked. He thought for a second before he answered. “I read science fiction and I’m a fantasy junky. I also enjoy Arthurian legend and British history.” She looked puzzled. “Being from Brazil, I don’t know of this Arthurian legend.” While they sipped their hot chocolate, Carter explained the legend of King Arthur and Camelot. He spoke of King Arthur’s closest friend and Knight Sir Lancelot and Lancelot’s affair with Arthur’s wife Guinevere. She listened intently to Carter as he gave her an intimate glimpse into his psyche. She asked Carter what sort of music he liked. He told her of his passion for medieval and renaissance choral works. As he talked, she caught him glancing down at her abundant cleavage. When she caught him the second time, she lifted her eyebrows and gave him a teasing smile. Carter blushed like a schoolboy and was suddenly at a loss for words. Charlize jumped into the void. “I myself love Brazilian music and the Beach Boys.” “Cool,” he laughed. “I don’t know anything about Brazilian music except ‘The Girl From Ipanema’.” “That’s a good start. “Well, I’m willing to learn. Hey, it’s time to head back.” Outside the diner, he extended his arm again. This time she didn’t have to hold his arm into her breast as he walked her back to her car. He did it himself. “Your battery’s up enough to get you home. But I don’t want you to drive it again until that battery is replaced.” As she got into her car he said, “I’ll follow you home.” “Carter, no. It’s a short drive, a few miles.” He leaned into her car window and looked down at her. ”You don’t understand, Charlize. I am following you home. By the way, I’d like to see you again.” She smiled up at him. “I’d like that. When I get home, you can come in for dinner.” “Mmm. I-I appreciate that. I really do. But I’d rather not - just yet.” Charlize nodded and slipped her car into gear. She didn’t push it. Mama had reminded her she must give him time. When it came to men, her mother was rarely wrong.
- Continued in Part Two -
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