Sometimes the sights aren't made of stone...
A month before they left for another of their European trips, she asked if her friend could join them. "She and her husband are fighting again and she needs to get away for a while. Plus, she's my friend. Would you mind?"
He thought about it for a few moments. Her friend was smart but liked to act as dumb as a box of rocks, and was obsessed with holding on to her fast fading youth through plastic surgery. But she had two major positive aspects, one on the left and one on the right: She had the biggest tits he had ever seen live. Her husband, a physician, wanted to be married to someone who resembled a porn star, so he had paid for not one, but two boob jobs. Even when she was fully dressed you could tell they were each the size of a large cantaloupe and had to weigh at least five pounds apiece. She also wasn't too hard to look at, as her plastic surgeon was quite good at his job. He gave his assent.
"Of course she can come," he answered. "Let me see about bringing an extra guest and how much it will cost." He figured the worst case scenario would be that he would have two beautiful ladies to escort to dinner nightly.
A day later he had his answers. "Our hotels in London and Paris have rooms available that can accommodate three people, but no single rooms left. Shall we go with the triple rooms?"
"Does that mean she'll be staying in the room with us?"
"Yep, it does. I do sit around in my boxers when we're relaxing, and I sleep in them. You OK with that?"
"Of course," she said. "We're all adults, and it's nothing she hasn't seen before."
"I'll make the arrangements."
That was how they found themselves in close quarters for their three-week trip. From the beginning it was evident that there could be no serious accommodations for modesty; the beds were close together, the bathrooms were small, and it was hard enough to share the space without adding the need to keep every inch covered all the time.
He didn't make it a point to stare at her body, especially with his wife present all the time, but her tits really were gigantic. She didn't display them openly, but between her loose pajama tops and flimsy robes, there was little left to the imagination. His wife pretty much followed that pattern too since C was her good friend and they knew each other so well. For his part, he spent their down time in his boxers and slept in them as was his habit. He didn't have any problem with that -- he wasn't ashamed of his body, and couldn't stand wearing more than that for naps and overnight sleeping. At least he closed the bathroom door when showering.
They had been walking the streets of Paris for hours and the unseasonably warm weather had fatigued them and left them rather uncomfortable, so they had returned to the room to recover and freshen up. He had passed out on his bed, lying on his back on top of the covers, and his wife was curled up facing away from him, snoring lightly. Her friend wanted to shower the sweat and city grime off, and seeing them both sound asleep caused her to let down her guard a bit. Instead of slipping a robe over her bra and panties, she stripped completely down first in the main room, then grabbed her robe and fresh undies and carried them all to the bathroom.
One thing she hadn't learned about him was that he was very light sleeper. The slightest noise woke him, and just the sound of her getting off her bed had caused him to open his eyes, but close them immediately when he saw what she was doing. He cracked his lids slightly and kept his breathing slow and deep, a sure sign of sleep to anyone watching.
Holy shit,
he thought.
Is she going to do what I think she's going to do?
Sure enough, through the haze of his eyelashes he saw her drop her clothes on the bed, then unhook her bra and shrug it off. As if that wasn't exciting enough, he watched her hook her thumbs into her panties -- she wore pretty standard black bikini ones -- and yank them down, stepping out of them when they reached her ankles.
He thought his chest would explode and struggled to maintain the appearance of sleep.
Alltheholysaints, they're huge!
Indeed, when she bent over to drop her panties her melons hung straight down, seemingly to her knees. They were so distracting that he hadn't even noticed how her bending over had presented her pussy straight at him, right below the cheeks of her surprisingly fit and shapely ass.
She's got enough for three women. No, four,
he thought to himself. He watched her pad into the bathroom, and mused.
That was sight to behold
.
I guess bringing her along wasn't such a bad idea.
The vision of her monstrous tits stuck with him as they continued their vacation. He couldn't help but smile as they walked the city streets, her globes half exposed in the low-cut tops she favored to display her assets. His wife had long ago accepted that her friend had her own view of what constituted proper clothing, so she had become inured to the constant presence of cleavage that seemed to be visible from outer space. As the day ended, they stopped at a small market for several bottles of wine, a couple of baguettes, and some fresh fruit and good cheese to take back to the hotel room.
Two hours later they were all feeling pretty good. The view from their room was fantastic, and they were arrayed in chairs facing them as the sun set. They had already polished off almost three bottles of wine, and their remaining inhibitions were quickly fading. There was much laughter, and the humor had taken on a decidedly sexual tone. The girls had shed their bras and were wearing thin robes over their underwear, and as usual he was lounging in boxers and a tee shirt.
His wife's tongue had been loosened by the wine, and she asked a question that had nagged at her for years. Nodding toward her friend's chest, she said, "How can you stand hauling around those things all the time? Your back must hurt something awful." She had a nice rack herself, but one of more normal proportions.
