The 4-F Club

The 4-F Club, Part I by Titslave About six months ago my bride Amy and I, in the mood for risk taking, left the large consulting firm, Andersen Consulting, and set up our own business. We agreed that a business partnership as well as a marital one was the way to go. We targeted the human resources management market and concentrated on diversity and harassment training for managers. We set up a home office in this suburban Chicago community, with a handful of clients. I first laid eyes on my lovely wife at a summer soire? in Lake Forest, Illinois, at a very fancy, lake front home owned by a high ranking Andersen partner. I had been dating actively but nothing clicked. So I was standing around at this somewhat casual event, chatting with a couple of tax consultants who had just come over from Hewitt. It was while one of them was raving about himself that I was struck - I mean by lightning. I was pulled like a magnet to this late twenty something, tall, very curvy goddess with short blonde hair, big, penetrating brown eyes, and a stunning chest. Her to-die-for large boobs - very round and full - were perky for their size, almost pointing straight out, and impossible to miss even under a loose fitting satin light gray top. She had long, shapely legs which she was showing off with a short navy skirt and lace-up high heels. She was talking to the host and his wife and stood sideways to me. Not only did her chest bowl me over; her rump was very , stuck out saucily in back, and, as I was to learn, swayed luciously when she walked. Real competition for Jennifer Lopez. I worked my way over to her, trembling. I asked for her number, wound up taking her home, and Amy was my wife within three months. I am more of a knowledge person; she has all the magic and charisma. Amy is vivacious, and a gifted presenter in front of groups. She dresses very fashionably. But in a business setting she somewhat hides the breathtaking curves of her body. Typically her professional wardrobe includes jackets because of her quite ample bust, and to play down her somewhat big, round derriere. She is all business at these presentations. Having said that, I must add that a few things have happened since we met that have made me think Amy was not always on a professional woman wavelength. I have kept most of my discomfort inside. I was crazy about her and convinced myself that these occasional moments were minor. The thing is that, despite her abhorrence of stereotypes about women, she isn't above some showing off to get what she wants. Like I say, she generally dresses- and conducts herself - to avoid calling attention to her breasts. Last November I gave her a ride to traffic court for a speeding violation. When her case was called she stood up and, after sitting there for an hour, picked this moment to take off her puffy, loose-fitting winter coat. To my surprise she was wearing a skin tight brown sweater and under it (as she explained later) a push-up brassiere. She had selected painted-on slacks for the occasion. The sound of her high heels resonated in the quieting court room. She had on dazzling ear-rings and she had just applied some glossy lipstick in the parking lot. She walked slowly up the aisle and stepped up before the graying, bespectacled male judge. Her sweater made her look twice as stacked as usual. She used this sexy voice - a voice that was new to me. The judge's handling of the previous thirty defendants we had sat through was quite rushed and bored - and unforgiving if the citation was for a third speeding ticket. But even though she already had two moving violations, he lit up like a fly when Amy stood before him - and he even said to the husky looking man posted in the courtroom to keep order: "Bailiff, can you imagine what we would get done if every defendant who appeared in this courtroom was this sexy?" The bailiff smiled and she smiled at him, arching her back. Keep in mind there was a courtroom full of people, mostly guys, and all eyes front - on Amy. The judge looked down at her, smiling, and furtively glanced, wide-eyed, at her chest. Then he said, looking again, this time for longer: "Nothing. We'd get nothing done......Pay the court costs, no fine. You're on probation." The assistant city attorney, a young woman, was puzzled. "Judge, this is her third violation in four months." "It is such a pleasure to have a glamorous young lady like yourself in my courtroom," the judge said to Amy - or rather, Amy's breasts - ignoring the attorney. "And I would love to see you again," the judge continued, "but not for another violation, OK?" Amy stood up real straight and said: "Thank you, your honor," smiling slightly. I could make out her nipples under the sweater after she said it and she had turned and come over to where I was sitting. "Well I see we're not above female charms to get the job done," I half joked. We left the court house and headed for my car. I was disturbed to see her looking and acting like this in front of another man - any man. "One should always look one's best in court," she said absently, her cheeks red. "Does that include showing off your body, not that that particular, generous part of your anatomy needs to be emphasized?" I chuckled sardonically as we drove out of the parking lot. "It worked," she said smugly, opening her coat and looking down at her chest, "it always works." Last Fall we went to an outdoor hotel pool on our first training trip together, out in LA. She wore a yellow and blue pattern bikini, quite daringly cut. Over it she was wearing a terricloth robe. As we showed our room swipe card to the hotel staff guy sitting at a table at the entrance he gestured toward wine we had brought from our room and said: "Sorry, no alcohol in the pool area until five o'clock." I protested, complaining there was no logical reason for such a restriction. "It's the house rule," the 50-ish overweight guy said firmly. "Really?" she said. "It's the rule," he said. She handed me her glass and walked closer to him, saying, "Are you sure we can't?" She kept talking and slowly undid the robe, then let it fall on the ground. "Well, they don't like people to bring...." he stammered, his eyes captivated by the sight of her bust, the bikini top's triangular fabric covering little more than her nipples. She leaned over to pick up the robe, putting a hand on hi ulder as she did so, his face so much closer to her bosom. For an instant I could have sworn she shook her tits deliberately as she did this. "Maybe an exception for me and my husband?" She sat on his table perpendicular to him, so that her tanned hips and thighs covered paperwork he was working on. Then she turned her upper body to face him and leaned toward him. I could not hear what she said, but noticed him smiling as her hand caressed his face. She got up off the table and in we went, with our wine. It was all real casual for her. I didn't like this at all. "Well, that's one way to convince someone," I said, frowning. "Worked better than yours, stud," she said immediately, as if she had seen my comment coming hours ago and had rehearsed her rebuttal. Starting to read a book she said, "if this outfit looks unacceptable to you I can change out of it." "I am uncomfortable with you using your body to get something," I said. "Would you be uncomfortable with your cock in my mouth later?" she said. This was not her usual way of speaking. "Well, of course not," I said. "Cause I know my wearing this bikini is getting you hard, tit man." Amy's talking dirty was disarming and I dropped the subject - and noticed how stiff I was in the crotch. She has done this kind of thing to get a table at a restaurant, or to get a seat at a bar, and of course to make an impression on clients or potential clients. And once we were out of cash when we came out of a restaurant and a valet gave her the car back. For a tip, apparently, she snaked her arm around the guy's neck - a very tall, athletic Black guy - and kissed him on the lips. "Will that do?" she said. I stood there perplexed. When we got in the car I complained about it. She smiled, her eyes looking through me, and said: "He grabbed one of my tits." I just stewed as we pulled out. She hit the brakes. "Want to go back and beat him up?" she said, eyebrows arched. "No," I said. "He really did," she said, eyes wider, examining me, "when I French kissed him his big strong hand grabbed my tit." Her voice was deep, almost purring, as she were sexually excited. "No I don't want to beat him up." She laughed: "What would it take, both tits? What if he fucked me in the ba at? Would you just watch and complain?" "Amy," I protested, "just drive." She chuckled and I switched the subject to my ideas for a new seminar product we could sell. Two weeks ago we were on a state highway in a backed up traffic situation caused by road work. She was driving on this trip, and it was hot. She had on a white blouse that was tied in a knot just above her navel, leaving her middle bare. The traffic impediment was right in front of us, a large bulldozer. If it were to move, we (and the nine million cars behind us) could get going. The two young, construction worker type guys who were in the dozer had gotten out and were walking around, oblivious to the traffic. She caught their attention and both walked over to her window. I got out on my side, stood and leaned on the roof of our car and said to them assertively: "What's the problem? Can someone move that equipment out of the way?" They glared at me and said: "Maybe." I noticed them bending and looking down into my wife's window and talking. I instantly felt an anxiety that would simmer every time she acted overly friendly with men. I slowly got back in the car and warily sat down, amid laughter. "So is it hot enough for you guys?" she said in that bedroom voice she had employed at traffic court, smiling and appreciating their lack of shirts and muscles glistening with sweat. All I could do was hear them and see their chests and waists a foot away from the window. "Yeah, you?" one said, both of them responding to her affectionate tone. "Oh, yeah, I'm dying here." "Well why don't you unbutton that blouse?" the one said, "that'll cool off your chest." The other jumped in: "And you've got a hell of a lot to cool off...." "But if I cool off my chest, you'll heat up," she grinned. "You got that right," the other said. "Well," Amy said slowly, "my husband is here and I don't think he would appreciate me opening my blouse." They leaned down and stuck their faces in the window and one said, apologetically: "Oh yeah. Right." I looked at them and as they got back up, out of my view. I stared at my wife, l fearing that she would continue with this flirtation. "But it is hot," she went on, doing a stretch, her arms reaching behind her and resting on the seat, "and will you guys move that thing if I unbutton myself?" I panicked. "Amy," I began. "That sounds like a plan," one of them said, "but is your husband against it?" Amy smiled: "You guys promise to move so we can get going?" "Amy, we can wait..." I said bluntly. She was looking up at them, her mouth now in a broad smile, and she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She turned to me briefly and said, "did you say something? I'm sorry..." She kept looking at me almost defiantly and pulled her blouse open, displaying a provocative, black French weave bra. She looked down at her chest and then batted her eyes up at them. "That feels so good," she smiled, her trim upper arms pushing her boobs together. The sight of her deep cleavage was arresting. "We'll move it right away," the one said, coughing and elbowing his buddy. But they didn't step back from the car for a few moments, and kept staring. Nobody said anything. I put my hand on her shoulder and convinced her to button herself up. "Show's over," the one guy said to the other as they moved the dozer, but not before they smiled long and hard at my wife. I was so disturbed by it I couldn't speak. But she reached her hand into my lap and jacked me off while we drove, saying: "You have to eat my pussy, like now. Wanna go down on me?" Her hand felt so wonderful on my dick that I would have done anything. We found a dead end country road and got in the back seat. She seemed feverish about cunnilingus and practically climaxed within a minute after I buried my face in her groin. What was she so turned on about? I felt strange about that afternoon for several days. In fact these occasions should have made me hate her, and want to leave her, but that feeling lasted a day or two. For the long term, they seemed to plunge me into an enslaved obsession with her - and a daily apprehension about when - no longer if - she would do this again. Her exhibiting that extraordinary body with other men drove me crazy. I hoped that these were bumps on the road in an otherwise fantastic relationship, and I chalked her flirtatiousness up to some personality quirk. We were focusing on our business, which we hoped would be going gangbusters before long. One of our clients had us doing occasional classes in front of mostly human resources managers. Most of the trainees were females, with a few older guys. The pay was OK but the work was not steady. Then last month a new client asked us if we wanted to handle something different. Instead of the usual crowd of HR and personnel types or middle managers, this national company was anxious to train low level supervisors. This client had had a spate of discrimination and sexual harassment complaints and hired us to do a two day session with their construction supervisors. Our first assignment was with a dozen or so construction site supervisors out in San Diego. We were enthusiastic - this was going to pay well. We would get much more of this work if the managers liked us. But there was a catch: three of the alleged perpetrators were in the group we were going to train. "These guys are total animals," the client told us. "Apparently if they see a woman they want to do, they d ." That bothered me, but Amy welcomed the challenge. With the other groups we had done diversity for a day and a half and saved the harassment for the second afternoon. For harassment Amy and I had a set outline we followed: the usual discussion about what the law said harassment was, what policies the company had in place, how to handle potential complaints about harassment, and then role plays. She and I did several role plays: I acted the male boss or co-worker part and she was the female subordinate. Then we did the "how-to" of handling harassment complaints at the supervisory level. I wrote up a standard agenda for the San Diego training. We got there the night before and, at the client's insistence, actually met the three accused perpetrators over drinks at the hotel. They didn't seem all that bad, or intimidating: Darnell was a tall, powerful looking African-American, very friendly and articulate; Bob was a blonde man in his early twenties, a frequenter of a health club, judging from his physique; and Red was a southern boy, deep voiced, and although somewhat intimidating, he seemed kind. He never smiled and stared at us with bright green eyes. They were rugged, plain talking, outdoors guys who made you gab more to fill in the space because they only said what was necessary. They seemed to be expecting two dullards and were obviously impressed with my wife - she really is a knockout - and became increasingly animated as we chatted at the hotel bar. It was clear from what they said that most of the trainees resented this program and at the same time were paranoid about getting sued personally. So these three kind of walked on egg shells with us initially, cautious about what we were going to present them for the next two days. Darnell finally said: "I know we have charges against us for harassment, but none of these girls can say they were harassed. They were horny and hot. They were enthusiastic about getting laid. Then they whined about harassment." The other two agreed. Amy had on denim shorts and a sleeveless white blouse. I noticed how frequently the three men stole looks at my wife's chest and, when she went to the restroom, her rump. She was so busty she could never hide it, but it was really something as we sat there. Her blouse always seemed to be tucked in, and her shorts were tight on her hips. The guys not only checked her out openly but gave each other knowing glances when they did so. A top-heavy woman in a tank top walked by and Darnell looked at Bob and Red and smiled. "Did you see that tank top, gentlemen?" Red smiled: "Healthy girl." Bob nodded toward my wife's chest and said, "but not as healthy as Amy." "Obviously," I laughed, wanting to develop rapport with these people, but instantly worried after I said it that I was helping something along here that I did not want. Bob laughed at me and said: "Your wife has gotta be a charter member of the F Cup Club." I was very uncomfortable with this indirect but obvious reference to my wife's breasts. There was silence for a second. I was expecting Amy to react. When I frowned and raised my eyebrows, Darnell said to me: "Bob tells it like it is. Pardon his candor." Amy laughed: "A girl always appreciates a compliment. And my husband can't act too indignant when he just told you I was obviously healthy. Anyway, just don't forget to compliment me when this seminar is over and you send in your evaluations to corporate." I said teasingly: "Compliment me too." Talking over me, Bob said: "That lady's tank top was stretched to the damn limit but it would never, ever fit on you, Amy." He rested his elbows on the table, leaned forward and stared, his chin sitting on his palms. Red emptied his Sam Adams and laughed: "Uh never. No fuckin' way." Bob said: "Amy, you should know that the three of us are in the 4-F club." I laughed nervously, trying to regain control. "I got the F Cup club, but what's 4-F? Something to do with construction?" Red looked hard into my wife's eyes and said, slowly: "Find 'em......feel 'em.......fuck 'em........ forget 'em!" The three laughed, and so did my wife. "My God!," she cried, "at least you're honest." "4-F club members go crazy over F cup clubbers," Bob said, "right Red?" I spoke up. "Maybe we should keep this on a business level." Another pause, then Red said, his eyes on my wife's top: "Well then, ask your wife why she's tucked her blouse in about ten times since we sat down with y'all." He looked over at me with a challenging, direct look in his eyes. She just smiled, so I was relieved when the drink was over and she and I retired to our room for the night. "Three complete babes. My my," she said, as we walked to the elevator. "What was that about tucking in your blouse?" I asked. "It kept coming out," she said. "it's a problem for girls in the F Cup Club." "You know," she said thoughtfully, as we began to undress for bed, "we should spend most of our time on sexual harassment for this program." "What do you mean?" I asked, "the client wanted equal emphasis on both topics." "Trust me," she said, an odd eagerness in her voice, "we should absolutely get into it tomorrow afternoon. Right after lunch" I was surprised. "You mean diversity only gets a morning? We would have to redesign the whole course." "I can take the lead on it, if you want" she said, seeming impatient with my reluctance. I asked her how we would fill the time and she said not to worry. "This is our shot with this new client, in case you forgot," she said, looking at me unsmiling, unblinking. Her eyes were powerful when she stared like that, real serious and determined. The conference room made available to us was more like a large living room, arranged so that the twelve trainees sat comfortably in four large couches arranged with two end to end and one flanking them on each side. For the fourth side of the rectangle of this lay out we had a long table running parallel with the two couches running end to end, with a flip chart and a desk and chair set up to the right of the desk for our role plays. There was a bar, a terrace in this third floor suite overlooking a golf course, and AV equipment. I had gotten there early the first morning to set up and Amy joined me later, saying she wanted to look her best. By the time she showed up the couches were filled with the supervisors, and they were engaged in buzzing, laughter, and chit-chat. She walked in wearing a long, navy dress that hugged her fanny and legs very snugly. She walked carefully and in little steps because the dress was so snug - inappropriately so, it struck me. She wore a red jacket, its lower half buttoned - up to a point directly beneath her bustline. Rather than downplay her breasts, she apparently was wearing a bra that lifted and pushed them against the jacket so that their round massiveness dominated her figure. Her boobs dramatically pushed the top of her jacket outwards. I was worried that she might relax at some point later and take her jacket off - it worried me a lot. She had on high heels that laced up above her ankles, more make-up than usual, more jewelry than usual, and a strong cologn t was unfamiliar. She was a man killer, and within two minutes of her arrival no one was talking. She walked over to Darnell and immediately gave a warm hello, and we got started late because she took her time learning the names of each of the twelve men. I was surprised at how hurriedly she wanted me to get through diversity training. My eleventh hour appeal to take it into the afternoon went nowhere. I did almost all the talking in the morning and a few of the fellows seemed to fall asleep, literally. Those that were awake kept looking at Amy. She frequently sat on the arm of one of the couches and, to my chagrin, called me on a couple of points and interrupted me, telling me to drop large sections of our outline. The tone of her voice and her grimacing were scary and knocked me off balance. After a few of these instances, that were beginning to embarrass me, she turned to the men and said: "I gotta keep him in line." They laughed; I cringed. Our mid morning break was strange. Since I had done 95% of the speaking I had expected at least one question. When none of the twelve came up to me I went to them to connect with them and chat. But almost immediately those that did not dash off for a bathroom break or cigarette break clustered around my wife, who was still sitting on the arm of one of the couches. Disappointed, I went to use a stall in the men's room down the hall and listened, unnervingly, to one of the attendees say to another as they stood at two of the four occupied urinals: "This guy is kind of a weasel, right?" The other said: "He's terrible. But his wife sure has a chest. Holy Christ!" I thought of the others at the urinals and in the stalls, and who could obviously hear this. They both started chuckling lewdly, and their voices became loud. "Wish she'd take that jacket off, that top button is carrying quite a load" one said, laughing. "Maybe she'll show those fuckin' watermelons as part of the s r," the other said. Then I heard a voice from one of the other stalls: "You guys talkin' about the girl speaker?" One of the urinal guys said: "Chester, is that you?" "Yeah, and if we stay on this topic I'll be jackin' off in here. She's got the biggest set of tits I've ever seen, and she knows it." They all laughed again, the two first guys leaving, and continuing on with comments about my wife that I could not hear clearly. During the second half of the morning Amy sat with the lap top in the corner and prepared something, then went to the business services desk of the hotel to get some handouts copied. I continued, boring them to tears apparently. After the morning session concluded Amy and I took a lunch with Darnell, Bob and Red. Red suddenly began to be talkative, so much so that I could not confront her about the way she acted toward me in the morning session. It also prevented me from hearing the quiet banter back and forth between my wife and Darnell and Bob. I did notice that she had two martinis at lunch, a first. I worried how that looked. At one o'clock sharp Amy began the harassment section. The room fell abruptly to a hush - a tense one - the instant she returned to the room from lunch. Normally she did a fifteen minute intro and I did the nuts and bolts on the law of harassment to try to scare them into complying with it. She stood in the center of the space in front of the couches and went into the seductive voice. "Gentlemen," she said, "I know how after lunch an audience tends to go into siesta-land. But this is too important a topic so I'm going to do this." She ever so slowly unbuttoned her jacket, giving them a wonderful view of the upper half of her body, and held the jacket out for me to take from her, as if I were her valet. Her sleeveless dress above the waist was in fact a skin tight tank top that had an Audrey Hepburn bateau neck, and the look was a blonde Hepburn with a pair of huge boobs. They were really out there - very, very sizable. My eyes followed the line of their jutting out, then familiar, but still amazing, continued jutting out as my eyes traveled down her chest. I was stunned to see her bare midriff. This was unprecedented. Her skin looked fantastic, her color was Bay Watch quality, and her curled bangs sat perfectly on her brow. The effect on these guys was stupendous. There were raised eyebrows. Buzzing and snickers. Fidgety legs and intense, unblinking stares. She sat up straight on the seminar table in front and put her hands behind her. With a slit giving the material badly needed slack, the dress hiked up above her knees as she crossed her legs. With a slight smile she looked around at their faces. "For the next two days we're going to be taking a hard look at sex in the workplace, and I need you to keep your eyes on me." The tension she had just created was like an E string. One of them called out: "Hey, no problem! This beats the shit out of this morning's presentation!" The group broke into dam-bursting laughter, and she smiled, the leg crossed over the other subtly, nervously rocking up and down. Next to her was a pitcher with ice water and several glasses. As it became quiet again she turned to me and said officiously, "Could I have some water?" I felt like saying, "You can't reach the pitcher a foot to your left?" but not wanting to display annoyance in front of the group I reached to another pitcher nearer me and poured her a glass. I felt the tension return as I walked over to her. She continued to look at the men and merely held out a hand to take the water. Not even a glance at me and no thank you. For the next hour and a half Amy went on about the law of sexual harassment. It was uncanny how attentive the men were. "The conduct has to be unwelcome," she said several times. Then she passed out questionnaires that were a surprise to me. "Please be as candid as possible when you answer these. You don't have to put your name down. The information you give will be helpful to tomorrow's session." She had me pass out the forms and pencils. While they filled out the questionnaire, begrudgingly, I tried to talk to her. "What is this handout?" She said nothing and gave me a two page document that asked these and related questions: "2.When you encounter an attractive woman in the workplace, do you feel like (check as applicable): __ smiling at her? __ touching her arm or shoulder? __ looking her over? __ asking her out? __ hugging her? __ kissing her? __ touching her breasts? __ touching her buttocks? __ having her give you oral sex? __ giving her oral sex? __ having intercourse with her? __ having anal intercourse? __ having a gang bang with her? __ participating in a "double penetration"? 3. When was the last time, in a work-related setting, you encountered an attractive woman that aroused you sexually? (check as applicable) __ a year ago __ a month ago __ a week ago __ yesterday __ today 4. When you felt this arousal, did you do any of the things in listed in number 2? If yes, describe what you did. 5. If the answer is no, describe what you wanted to do to this woman. 6. Check what it was about this woman that aroused you sexually: __ Blonde hair __ dark hair __ red hair __ small breasts __ average breasts __ large breasts __ very large breasts __ long legs __ small butt __ round, curvy butt __ sexy voice __ flashy dresser __ OTHER: "Amy," I protested, "I don't understand this. The only work-related contact they could have had with a woman 'today' would have been with you!" "Trust me," she said, a serious look on her face, "now would you collect the answers and do a breakdown for me?" I felt like I was her lackey as I began to do what she asked me to do. As she resumed talking about harassment in the workplace I swallowed hard as I read the responses. None were signed. As to the question of what they felt like doing to a woman they found attractive, each one checked all the entries and some wrote words to the effect: "everything". And to my dismay each guy checked "today" when answering number 3. To number 4 they each wrote something like "not yet" or "I'm hopin'!" One wrote: "Ready when you are." To number 5 I saw answers like "everything" or "as much as you can take". I was beginning to get anxious. So it was no surprise, but still unsettling, to read each response to number 6 and find them identical: "blonde hair... very large breasts.....round, curvy butt...... long legs....... flashy dresser....... sexy voice." 5411 1.36/512345