Big Boobs
The summer heat presses against Carmen's skin like a winter doona, thick and insistent.
She stands at the panoramic window of Emberwatch Tower, her olive-green uniform shirt clinging to the small of her back, damp patches spreading beneath her arms and between her shoulder blades.
The observation deck smells of sun-warmed pine.
Outside, the tinder-dry forest stretches in every direction.
She shifts her weight, and her breasts slide against each other beneath the heavy cotton of her bra, slick with sweat.
She has always been self-conscious about her chest, the way the uniform stretches across her full bust, drawing eyes she doesn't want. Now, in this suffocating heat, her body feels like unwanted weight—too much flesh, too much friction, too much awareness of every inch of skin stuck to skin.
Carmen glances at the door. Taja is downstairs, checking equipment in the bunk room, her boots thumping against the wooden floor.
They have been paired together for three weeks now, rotating shifts in this isolated tower, and Carmen still finds herself tongue-tied around the older woman's easy confidence, the way she moves through space as if she owns it.
She reaches for the top button of her shirt. Her fingers tremble slightly, the silver ring on its chain sliding against her collarbone. The button slips free. Then the next. She pulls the fabric apart, and cool air hits her sternum, not enough, never enough in this heat.
Her bra is a substantial beige thing, practical and ugly, and she can feel the underwire digging into her ribs, the cups soaked through.
Carmen looks at the door again. Listens. Taja's footsteps have stopped—maybe she's outside, maybe she's—
She unhooks the bra in the back. The relief is immediate, her breasts falling heavy and free against her chest, the weight of them pulling at her skin.
She pulls the bra out through her sleeve, wads it into a ball, and drops it onto the small table where they keep the logbooks.
Her nipples tighten in the sudden exposure, the sheer sensation of some air, of partial freedom.
She touches herself. Just her fingertips, tracing the valley between her breasts where sweat has pooled, thick and salty.
The touch sends something low in her belly coiling tight. She shouldn't. She knows she shouldn't, not here, not where Taja could—
But her hands move anyway, cupping the weight of herself, lifting, separating the slick flesh that has been pressed together for hours.
Her thumbs brush her own nipples, and she bites her lip, hard, to keep the sound inside. They are sensitive, always have been, and now they ache with heat and blood and the forbidden thrill of her own touch.
Carmen pours water from her canteen into her palm. It is lukewarm, but it feels like ice against her overheated skin.
She lets it trickle down her chest, watching it catch in the hollow of her throat, run in rivulets between her breasts, drip from the undersides where they curve heavy and pale.
She does it again. And again.
The water tracks paths through the sweat, and she follows it with her fingers, spreading, circling, pressing her palms flat against herself and dragging upward until her nipples peak against her own touch.
Her work top now outlines her fulsome jugs.
She is breathing harder now, her chest rising and falling in the open shirt, the fabric hanging loose around her ribs.
She pinches her nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them, and a small sound escapes her—cut off, choked, but audible in the silence of the tower.
"Uhh!"
"Fuck, that's a sight."
Carmen halts.
Her hands drop to her sides, fingers curling, and she whips around to find Taja leaning in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, her arms crossed over her own chest.
The smirk on her lips is not cruel. It is something else entirely—amused and appreciative.
"I—" Carmen's voice cracks.
She fumbles for the edges of her shirt, but her fingers feel numb, clumsy.
"I was just—it's so hot, I—"
"Yeah," Taja says, pushing off the doorframe.
She moves into the room with that swagger Carmen has watched for weeks, the roll of her hips in worn cargo pants.
"It is fucking hot."
She stops an arm's length away. Close enough that Carmen can smell her—smoke and sweat and something denser, like musk before an orgasm.
"Don't stop on my account."
"I wasn't—" Carmen's face burns, her freckles standing out against the flush.
She can feel her pulse everywhere—throat, wrists, between her legs where she is suddenly, achingly aware of her own arousal.
"I should—"
"You should let me help," Taja says.
She reaches out, slow, giving Carmen every chance to pull away, and hooks one finger in the open collar of Carmen's shirt.
"These look heavy, ranger. Someone should hold them for you."
Carmen's mouth opens. Nothing comes out. She is shaking; she realises a fine tremor running through her arms and her knees.
She has never been touched by a woman. She has barely been touched by anyone, her few fumbling encounters with boys from her hometown leaving her more confused than satisfied.
But Taja is looking at her like she is something worth wanting, and the heat in her eyes makes Carmen's stomach clench with need.
"Okay," she whispers.
Taja's grin is feral.
She pulls her band tee over her head in one smooth motion. She wears nothing underneath, her own breasts smaller, firmer, nipples dark and already tight.
The tattoos on her arms extend onto her ribs, geometric patterns that Carmen wants to trace with her tongue.
Taja's undercut hair is damp at the temples, the electric blue streaks vibrant against her sun-browned skin.
"Fair's fair," Taja says, and reaches for Carmen's hands.
She guides them to her own chest, pressing Carmen's palms flat against her.
She is warm, firm, her heartbeat quick under Carmen's touch.
"See? We're both fucking burning up."
Carmen makes a small noise, involuntary, and Taja uses her grip on Carmen's wrists to pull her closer.
Their breasts brush, slick skin sliding against skin, and Carmen's head falls back, her eyes fluttering shut.
Chest buddies buffet.
Big snuggle puppies and cute mounds with cherry tips slap.
A set of melons meets a pair of cushy crumpets.
Heavyweight airbags encounter lightweight cream puffs.
Taja's mouth finds her throat, teeth grazing, tongue tracing the line of her jaw.
"Look at you," Taja murmurs against her skin. "All that softness. Been wanting to get my hands on you since day one, you know that? Watching you climb up here every morning, that shirt straining, those hips—"
She squeezes Carmen's waist, thumbs digging into the flesh above her cargo pants.
"Fucking criminal, hiding all this. Beautiful bazookas."
Carmen whimpers. She has never been talked to like this, never been seen so completely.
Taja's hands slide up her ribs, cupping her breasts from below, lifting their weight, and Carmen's knees buckle. Taja catches her, laughs low and dirty in her ear.
"Sensitive chesticles?"
"Yes—" Carmen gasps as Taja's thumbs brush her nipples, back and forth, maddeningly light.
"Oh god, yes, please—"
Taja asks, but she is already squeezing, kneading, her fingers digging into the soft flesh with a jaggedness that makes Carmen cry out.
"Fugh! Ahh!"
"Tell me what you want, ranger. I'm not a fucking mind reader."
"Harder," Carmen manages, her face buried in Taja's shoulder, her own hands clutching at Taja's back, her tattooed arms.
Taja pinches her nipples, rolls them between skilled fingers, and Carmen's moan is loud, uncontrolled, echoing in the glass-walled tower.
Taja laughs again, delighted, and uses her grip to walk Carmen backward until her shoulder blades hit the warm glass of the observation window.
Hot hands, hotter glass, the sun beating down through the panes—makes Carmen's head spin.
"Gonna make you feel good," Taja promises, and drops to her knees.
Carmen watches, dazed, as Taja unbuckles her cargo pants, pulls them down along with her underwear. The air hits her wetness, and she shudders, already so aroused she can feel the seep from her own trimmed mound.
Taja doesn't hesitate. She presses her face between Carmen's legs, tongue dragging through her folds with a slippery slurp that makes Carmen's hands slap against the glass behind her, seeking purchase.
"Fuck, you taste like summer," Taja growls, and licks again, deeper, circling her clit with the flat of her tongue before sucking it between her lips.
"Moist, warm, frickin' central heating radiating from your pussy."
Taja blows warm air directly into Carmen's inner girly sanctuary.
Carmen's legs shake. She can see their reflection in the glass, distorted by the old panes—her own pale body, shirt hanging open, breasts bouncing with each jolt of pleasure, and Taja between her thighs, dark head moving, the blue streak in her hair catching the light.
It is naughty, beautiful, too much.
She threads her fingers through Taja's hair, the shaved sides prickly under her palms, and holds on.
Taja pulls back, her chin shining, and grins up at her.
"Gonna finger you now, yeah? Want to feel you come on my hand."
"Yes," Carmen breathes, "yes, Taja, yes—"
Taja pushes two fingers inside her, no warning, no hesitation, and Carmen's cry is sharp, surprised, her body clamping down around the intrusion.
"Ah! Ahh!"
Taja curves her fingers, finds the spot that makes Carmen's breath mist the window.
Taja pokes pussy.
Stretch crinkled lipettes.
Ignites the flow of Carmen's girly juices.
"That's it," Taja croons, her other hand coming up to play with Carmen's breast, pinching and rolling in time with her thrusts.
"Let go, ranger. Show me how you come. Want to feel you fucking drench my hand."
Carmen is babbling; she realises, words spilling out—yes and there and please and Taja, Taja, Taja—and then Taja's thumb presses hard against her clit and her orgasm crashes through her, violent and overwhelming, a private forest fire of bliss; her body arching off the glass, her breasts heaving as she gasps for air.
"Orrghh!"
Taja doesn't stop, works her through it, slower now, drawing it out until Carmen is whimpering, oversensitive, pushing at her shoulder.
"Uhh! Fugh! Fugh! Uhh!"
Taja rises, licking her fingers clean with delighted relish, and Carmen's knees give out entirely.
She slides down the glass, ends up on the floor, and Taja follows her, straddling her lap, her own cargo pants still on but her arousal evident in the flush on her chest, the way she rocks against Carmen's thigh.
They kiss, messy and desperate, Carmen tasting herself on Taja's tongue, and then Carmen's hands are fumbling at Taja's pants, pulling them down, and Taja is bare above her, straddling her hand, guiding her fingers where she needs them.
Carmen has never touched another woman like this, but her body knows, her instincts sharp, and Taja's groan when she pushes inside is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.
"Oohh! Yeah fuck, yes," Taja gasps, riding her hand, her own fingers back on Carmen's breasts, squeezing, pinching. "Just like that. Fuck, your tits are perfect, want to suck them, want to—"
"Do it," Carmen whispers, and Taja bends, mouth closing around her nipple, sucking hard, and they move together, fingers and tongues and sweat-slick skin, the heat of the tower forgotten in the heat of each other.
Outside, the forest is quiet. Inside, they burn.