[ENF] Booby Trapped

[Beachheadache]

Hi,
Here's a story I've had on my computer for sometime but have never found the time to post it. For those of you
you who like the idea of an ebony milf caught in a state of acute embarrassement here's one. I hope you enjoy it.

Enjoy

[Beachheadache]

Hi,

Sorry but a computer fault stopped me from uploading the story. I will try again over the next couple of days.

damn!!

[Beachheadache]

Booby Trapped

Patricia was black, thirty-eight and had a huge pair of breasts that always strained to escape her bra. She was very aware of the way men watched her. Her ex, during their messy divorce had claimed that her breasts were the only thing he would miss from their marriage and would have preferred custody of them over that of the children if he was ever forced to make the choice.
She walked and jogged the first mile around the golf course. The aching muscles of her calves was nothing compared to the ache in her shoulders as her massive mammaries
rebelled against the confines of her bra and longed to burst through her top and into the summer evening.
She had thought that exercising here would have been more private and left her less open to the voyeuristic eyes of the men and the women of the gym but she was wrong. The course seemed to be teaming with more golfers than rabbits, and each club wielding man seemed ever eager to cast a lingering look at her full and straining breasts as she jogged past them until she found herself cupping and restraining too mirth of the onlookers.
She blanked them and forced herself to run on until the trees blocked her from them.
This was the last time she would ever come this way again. Maybe she should just buy an exercise bike.
She relaxed and dropped her arms and pumped them back and forth in in synchronicity with her stride too distracted to realize that the strain on her bra had reached a critical mass.
As if sensing their freedom, both of her wonderful, full black globes, gave one desperate bound for glory and threw themselves against the best that the lingerie world could offer and won. Patricia skidded to a halt, her hands reaching for her chest a moment too late as the hooks on her bra bent and opened spilling her breasts free of their lacy Bastille and almost bursting through her white tee shirt. Desperately she tried to imprison them once more but failed, leaving her mortified and whimpering as her heavy and now fully nipple erect breast pressed brazenly through her white top.
In the distance she could hear the crack of titanium on space age plastic as the weekend sportsmen played on. Her legs almost buckled with the embarrassment of the situation, the smooth skin of her legs goose fleshing right up under the cuffs of her shorts to the parts that only her lover had ever touched.
For a moment she imagined that she could just walk past them, all she had to do was act calm and they would never notice, or so she told herself. She tried it, but with each step her breasts strained against her top until her contortions to hold them in place became a struggle that would only get worse with each step she made under the ever watchful gaze of the golfers behind the trees.
There was only one thing she could do. She glanced around nervously. Maybe she could repair her bra? But that would mean…at the thought her heart beat faster, taking it off. There were bushes all around. She tried a few for size, each had a its faults; some too sparse of foliage, some just right but with thorns that not only threatened to scratch her but seemed to enjoy the prospect of ripping what little clothes she was wearing off her. She tried to take her bra off under her tee shirt but found it virtually impossible and besides, she would have to put it back on anyway and that would mean taking off her top.
Oh God!
She left the path a little way and hunkered down behind what cover she could find. Taking a deep breath she pulled off her top giving up all pretense about preserving the modestly of her two very unruly assets.
She hung her tee shirt over a branch and removed her bra. It was ruined; the clasps were bent and beyond all hope.
The golf ball just missed her but sent her falling back onto the grass well clear the bush she was huddling behind. The scream left her lips before she could silence it. Her limbs so well coordinated now seemed heavy and moving in slow motion, but not so the golfers who alerted by her scream appeared as if from nowhere. Mobile phones appeared and they surged closer to her, eager for a better look and a more explicit photo as she struggled to get up and keep her breasts covered. She squirmed on the grass trying to rise without using her hands. Then she heard it, a soft ripping sound as her shorts, already ripped from her fall and the thorns of the bush, tore further from her contortions. Her white knickers, chaste and modest by the standards of her underwear drawer were now on show for all to see.
Their laughter and delight at seeing her so exposed sent a crimson flush to her cheeks, but not as hot as the one that followed as she watched in open mouthed disbelief as her bra and tee shirt were grabbed and thrown into the crowd.
Patricia forgot about keeping her modesty intact at this. The men cheered as her breasts swung free as she rose from the ground. Her top was waved in front of her but then sn*tched away before she could reach it. She fought her way into the center of the throng then regretted it as a number of eager hands found her shorts and began to slip them down her toned thighs. Patricia tried to crouch but the men held her up until they were gone like her top into the crowd with her car keys still in the pocket. She shrieked as someone twanged the elastic of her knickers. She stared pleadingly at them, but saw they had made their mind up; they were going to strip her.
“Off! Off! Off!”
Patricia’s panic and desperation grew. She knew she was safe, they wouldn’t harm her but they would take great pleasure in making her humiliation even greater. She swore and struggled. Her trainers were pulled off and flung out of reach. She grabbed hold of her panties, desperate to keep them about her slim waist but she realized that the old adage that: many hands make light work had never been truer or more devastating to keeping her modesty intact. The hands that held her so intimately had sent tongue of flame licking dangerously through her racing blood. Her fingers loosened and she sank defeated and breathless to the soft grass as her panties along with her other clothes were placed on a golf buggy and sped away by two delighted men to what she assumed would be the bar of the clubhouse.
They tossed her keys to her and waited for her decision. What choice did she have? What if her car broke down? It was well overdue for a service. She stood and followed them, covering herself as best as she could. Well, at least the walk would do her good, she thought. And besides, to hell with her diet, she needed a drink and she knew they would be paying. She squared her shoulders and let the hands drop from her and followed them.