Zara's Nipples

"Zara's Nipples for the Women" by HeyAll

If there's ever a shameful fetish, Zara is certain she has the crown jewel. That's why she's sitting in my office. It's our first meeting, and the more we talk, the more she relaxes. What a charming young woman, I think to myself.

Zara is a literature major at university, 22 years old, and for a small fee she's agreed to take part in a comprehensive study on human sexuality. Like most other participants, it's more than about money, it's about having a genuine interest in contributing.

She was born in Tehran and her family moved to America when she was young, but she's still very much an American girl. I suspect that her cultural duality plays a role in her uncertain mindset. It seems like Zara coming to my office to participate is a way of delving deeper into herself, that perhaps I have answers she's looking for.

What rouses her passions and heightens her senses are women's nipples. Nothing else seems to do the trick, which has always been the case since the dawn of her sexuality. Zara holds her chin high and looks at me.

"You seem ready now," I say.

"Do I?"

"Your body language suggests that you're ready. I'm going to record now. This is the main interview and I'll ask follow-up questions at a later date. For now, I'd like you to begin from your freshman year in college."

When the recording starts, she tenses. I've read her questionnaire thoroughly and her freshman year in college is when her sexuality blossomed.

"Right, so, I'm from a conservative household. My family is from Iran, we're Muslim, so when I was growing up, sex was the most taboo topic you could imagine. Even our cable tv and internet had filters for adult content. We're not backwards though, don't get the wrong idea. My dad is an engineer for a tech company.

She continues, "Anyway, my first year at college was a culture shock. I rented a small room in a home with other college girls. Like I said, `culture shock.' These girls were smart, outgoing, and full of energy. We bonded right away and it was the first time that I felt like an independent adult. It was my first exposure to weird conversations.

She continues, "Mostly it was them being perverts and laughing about it. I didn't have dirty jokes to contribute, but I thought it was hilarious. These academic minded girls would talk about guys on campus and try to guess their dick sizes. A few of the more perverted girls talked about other girls who could be `turned' if they had the right opportunity. So yeah, fun times."

"But neither of those things interested you," I say. "In the questionnaire, you mentioned that you thought you were a-sexual for a while. Can you elaborate on that?"

"Yeah, that's right. I went through an awkward phase where I wasn't attracted to men or women. Don't get me wrong, I could make myself cum, but I didn't have a preference. Masturbation was just something that felt good, if that makes sense."

"Makes perfect sense. What did you think about when you masturbated?"

"Random things," she replies. "I could literally play with my clit, thinking about a book I'm reading, what I need to buy for groceries, what I need to do the next day, then cum. My orgasms felt good, but I never felt the need to attach a person to my thoughts."

"Tell me about the locker room shower. As I understand it, that played a critical role in the development of your sexuality."

It makes Zara pause and she squirms in her seat -- in a good way. Just thinking about it makes her aroused, and the more she'll talk about this, the more aroused she'll become. Zara takes a breath and tucks her hair behind her ears.

Her walls are coming down and I'm glad she's comfortable doing this. I get the sense that Zara enjoys sharing this information to understand herself, but also as exhibitionism.

"This happened two years ago," she says. "Freshman year in college. Like I mentioned earlier, my cable tv and internet had safety filters when I was growing up. Even when I started living with college girls, I was still too intimidated to look at online porn. I'm still a devout Muslim, to be clear.

She continues, "To your question, a friend texted me to come to the locker room. The campus has an amazing gym and my friend had a late afternoon fitness class there. She was running late and we were supposed to meet for dinner, that's why she asked me to meet her in the locker. As fate should have it, the volleyball team had just finished practice and needed their showers. You can see where this is headed."

A blush on her cheeks brings new life to her face and her eyes sparkle.

"Let me interject for a moment," I say. "Was that the first time you saw full, female nudity with your own eyes?"

"No, let me clarify. I've seen glimpses of nudity growing up, the accidental kind around the house. Big household, stuff happens. I've also seen pictures and videos of nudity from sex education. Normal stuff."

I nod. "Got it, please continue with the locker room."

"Right, so, that was my first time in a university locker room. As it turned out, the rules were totally different than anything I'd ever seen in my life. I'd never had a gym membership before, and I'd never played on a sports team. For me, fitness is running outside for miles and occasionally using resistance bands. For these girls, fitness included walking around butt naked, sweat dripping from their bodies as they stepped into open showers.

She continues, "This was something that I simply couldn't believe. I marveled at how these American girls could be so brazen with their bodies. It was a trait I admired. The height of a woman's bravery. I stood there like a pervert for a few seconds, fawning over their nakedness as they cracked jokes and talked amongst themselves. Their bodies were divine, but it was their attitude that struck me.

She continues, "My friend walked over to me and laughed. According to her, I looked like I was watching an alien invasion. It might as well have been. I made a quick retort, trying to brush it off, but we both knew this was foreign to me, even though I was raised in this country. I'm sure my friend wanted to crack a Muslim joke, but refrained. I can handle religious and cultural jokes, by the way. I make them all the time."

"You wrote about the effect of seeing their nipples," I say, glancing down at the questionnaire. "What did you mean by that?"

"At the time, I didn't realize how much it affected me. I was too awestruck from seeing it, and too embarrassed from being caught by my friend. I tried to forget about it. But at night, when I touched myself, all I could think about was what I saw in the locker room.

She continues, "The girls on the volleyball team were beautiful, but it was the sight of their nipples that made my clitoris throb. I had never seen such variety, or thought such variety existed. Some were puffy, some were like pencil erasers. And then there were the colors. Oh god, the colors. The white girls, who were most of the team, tended to have pink nipples. The asian girls tended to have browner nipples. There were two black girls with pitch black nipples. I could imagine that place to be heaven."

"What was it about their nipples that aroused you?" I ask.

The question makes Zara pause. She knows the answer but she takes time to find the right words, wanting to articulate her thoughts correctly. It's something she's grappled with in the past, I'm sure, and the answer is on the tip of her tongue.

"Have you ever read about how some French women consider oral sex to be more intimate than intercourse? You know, there are French prostitutes that charge more for sucking than regular sex."

"Yes, I've read that before," I say. "The mouth is an extremely intimate place and it's close to the eyes and brain. It makes sense that -- to some -- oral sex is the more intimate act."

"Well, I have a similar mentality with nipples. Women's nipples, to be exact. I think they're really intimate. Obviously the most taboo areas are the vagina and the butthole. But yeah, I could see a million cocks, vaginas and rectums, but a woman's nipples will always be God's masterpiece."

"Now we're getting to the heart of the matter," I say. "Why the nipples? Why do you think that's the case for you? I get the sense that you know the answer."

Zara gestures to her own chest. "Because mine are unusual."

"Unusual breasts? Or unusual nipples?"

"The nips. I'll explain more about that later, if you don't mind."

"Sure, this is your outlet," I say.

She shrugs. "A secret outlet, thankfully."

"Of course. Now back to the topic, what happened next? What happened after you discovered your true interest?"

"What happened next was an avalanche. I masturbated a lot. That's the most blunt way of putting it, but yeah, at the time I was 19 -- almost 20, actually -- and I was touching myself more than ever. Have you ever read that story that Kylie Jenner spent most of her life eating dry cereal, then when she started adding milk, it was a revelation to her?"

"No, I hadn't heard that."

"Well it's a true story," she says. "That's basically the situation with me. Masturbation used to be something that helped me relax. Something that released tension. If I went a long time without masturbation, it would feel like an internal blockage.

She continues, "Once I was equipped with the mental image of the volleyball girls naked in the shower, I was armed with a new weapon. Masturbation went beyond a chore, beyond a pleasurable act... it became a way of life. I knew some of those girls from the team. I had class with a few of them. So yeah, I thought about them a lot. Whenever I saw them in class, I'd get wet, thinking about their holy nipples."

Now she's primed and her confidence to discuss this topic is reaching a high. I flip through the pages of the questionnaire to make sure I steer this conversation in the right direction. I need to be precise and there's a reason Zara was selected to be part of this study.

"Tell me about your summer job," I say.

The question makes Zara squirm, which at this point, is a good thing because it's able to elicit a reaction out of her.

"Right, so, I'd been a college student for a year," she says. "When summer came, I had a lot of free time and I went back and saw my family. But I also wanted a part-time job for extra cash and work experience."

She continues, "It was a simple job at a high-class gym. I worked the front desk and had some other attendant duties. Simple stuff. I'm sure you can guess why I wanted to work there."

"Nipples in the locker room shower," I answer.

She nods. "Yeah, nipples in the shower. Do you think that makes me a pervert?"

The question is playful, but it's something she's thought about before.

"Only if you were peeking," I reply in jest.

She smiles. "Guilty as charged, sadly."

"Tell me about that. When you were 19, you discovered your fetish for nipples, and you got a part-time job at a gym, so you could view women in the shower."

"Okay, now you're making me sound like a predator," she nervously laughs. "But yeah, that's basically right. That time period was a turning point in my life. I was more independent, I had a better handle on college life, my friendships were great, and my sexuality was something I finally understood.

She continues, "My job was split between working at the front desk area and performing menial tasks, like making sure towels were stacked and supplies were full. So yeah, before my first day on the job, I knew I'd have full access to the locker room shower. I thought about it a lot. It always made my clit hard."

"Did you go to the showers on your first day?" I ask.

"No, I didn't have the courage. Honestly, it was intimidating. At college, the other girls were around my age, so they were my peers. But for the job, these were mostly rich white women."

"Why was that intimidating to you?"

"I don't know," she replies. "I had this fear that I'd freeze and get caught. Then someone would report me for being inappropriate. All my family and friends knew I had that job, so getting fired would be a complete bummer. In case you didn't notice, I tend to overreact and have unfounded fears about things."

A smile shines on her face as she thinks about her overreaction. I flip through her long questionnaire to make sure this conversation is on track.

"How did things progress with your job?" I ask. "According to your written answers, that was the point in your life where things escalated."

"Yes, that's true. It took a while before I had enough confidence to actually visit the shower area during busy hours. It took three days, to be exact. It was all I thought about. I even made a plan for it, how I'd pretend to be working, holding towels in my hand, walking around the shower area, taking secret glances.

She continues, "The clientele of that gym -- in terms of the women -- were mostly 30s, 40s, and 50s, a few older and some younger. Mostly white. Sophisticated, had money, everyone beautiful in their own special way. Working at the front desk, I'd become wet at the prospect of seeing any of them naked. It gave me a rush as I'd greet them and field questions they may have. If I were lucky, someone would make small talk with me.

She continues, "I know, it sounds dorky to be enamored by such people, but like I said, I had the ability to see any of them naked. It was like having a superpower. A perverted superpower, I'll admit. I knew it was a huge breach of ethics for my job, but it was harmless. I wasn't doing anything bad to anyone. Anyway, want to know what pushed me to start?"

"Tell me," I say.

"Have you ever heard of that French actress [name redacted]. She's not that famous in America, but she was in that movie [redacted], you might have seen it... actually, can you cut that part out? I shouldn't have used her name."

"Sure, I can edit this later. No one will ever hear that part."

"Okay great, let's just call her Emmanuelle, which is a French name that's equally as pretty."

"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "Is that why you mentioned French culture and oral sex earlier? I bet it was Emmanuelle who told you that some French people consider oral sex to be more intimate than traditional sex."

She smiles. "That's right, yeah, correct. Smart catch. But I'll get to that later, if you don't mind."

"Sure, please continue."

"Anyway, I recognized Emmanuelle after gazing at her for a few seconds. Her accent seemed legit when she signed in. The name on her membership was legit. It was really her, the first bigtime celebrity I'd ever met. She's really famous in Europe, you know. This is where my story gets truly perverted, so please don't judge me.

She continues, "When Emmanuelle went to the locker room to change into her fitness clothes, I knew it would be the day. I had to see her naked. It was like an impulse I couldn't fight. I spied on her while she was using the treadmill to warm up. When she started lifting weights, I used my phone, checking the internet to see if she'd done any nude scenes. She hadn't, which only made me more excited. I'd be seeing something that the public was denied.

She continues, "Again, I know it's weird and perverted and creepy, but it was a deep compulsion. I kept working the front desk, smiling at gym patrons coming and going, but my panties were drenched. My heart rate climbed and my hands felt jittery. Emmanuelle's workout lasted for an hour, which included socializing with other women. The longer it went on, the more tension I felt.

She continues, "Finally it happened. Emmanuelle was in good spirits, after having finished a conversation with some gym acquaintances. She was still smiling from the chat and sweating as she headed back to the locker room. She was alone and my heartbeat rose. My colleague took over the front desk area and I ventured toward the locker room. Of course, I had to make it look like I was working. My plan was to carry some towels and wander the locker room area, hoping to see her naked.

"And did you?" I ask.

"Not right away. By the time I got there, she was somewhere inside the shower area and I didn't want to look further. But in the meantime, I saw other women completely naked, some getting dressed. It aroused me. A lot. These were adult, respectable women and I was seeing them at their most vulnerable. They were oblivious to nudity, it was normal to them.

She continues, "Everything was in glances. I had to pretend like I was working, walking back and forth, checking different things. It was awkward, but yeah, totally worth it. Do you think I'm a pervert?"

"I think you're a normal young woman," I say. "What you're saying is what most people do, whether they admit it or not."

"Thanks," she smiles. "Anyway, I almost saw it, Emmanuelle stepped out of the shower area, but to my disappointment, there was a towel wrapped around her body. Her hair was dripping wet and she was barefoot. It was a rush seeing this European movie star in a state of normalcy. None of the other women seemed to know that she was a celebrity. Otherwise they'd probably be gawking at her, like I was.

She continues, "To use a sports analogy, the game was still `in play,' and I still had a chance. I kept being awkward and weird, pacing back and forth in the locker room. I fluffed towels, pretended to check inventory, while at the same time, stealing glances in her direction.

She continues, "Then it happened. Emmanuelle pulled her towel and used it to finish drying her hair. While she was rubbing her head, her arms were raised and her head was down, meaning I had a side view of her tits. Her nipples were epic. Just freaking epic. A real French woman's nipples. Long and pink. I was hypnotized and was summoned towards her by unknown forces. I must have looked like a complete idiot, just gawking at her.

She continues, "Then my worst nightmare happened. Emmanuelle brought the towel down and got the sense that someone was spying. She turned her head and saw me staring. I was a few feet away, my mouth was open, my eyes were fixated at her chest, then to her face. Yeah, I was caught."

"How did she react to your behavior?"

"I think part of her was used to people gawking at her, maybe not in the locker room though. Her face was difficult to read and she had a stone expression. I thought I was in serious trouble. The irony was, she looked gorgeous with her face like that, and she held the towel to cover the front of her body, but one of her nipples was poking out. Seriously gorgeous.

She continues, "Emmanuelle, with her thick French accent, asked me, `What are you looking at?' I immediately apologized and left. My hands were shaking as I went back to the front desk area. I thought I was done. I was positive she'd speak to the manager and I'd be fired. But you know what? That didn't happen. Emmanuelle left without saying anything.

She continues, "Two days later, Emmanuelle came back to the gym. She greeted me like everything was normal, checked in, then went to the locker room to change her clothes. Meanwhile I'm still humiliated over being caught. She did her hour-long workout, and I kept working at the front desk.

She continues, "Imagine my surprise when Emmanuelle approached me, sweat dripping from her skin, breathing heavy, still dressed in her tight workout clothes. She gestured to the locker room and told me to follow her. Not even my boss talked to me like that. It was intimidating, yet I liked it."

"You liked it?" I say. "Sounds like Emmanuelle was opening herself to you, figuratively speaking."

"Basically, yes. I got that impression right away. I followed her to the locker room and she didn't even speak to me. There were about three or four women there. Emmanuelle said to me, `If you're going to spy, might as well make yourself useful.' She told me to get barefoot and follow her into the shower because she wanted help."

"Did you do it?" I ask.

"Yes, very hesitantly."

"Excellent customer service," I say.

"Ha, yeah, basically," she replies. "I took my shoes and socks off, while Emmanuelle got butt naked and put her sweaty clothes in her bag. I tried not to stare because I wasn't sure what her intent was. It was very awkward, yet incredibly intense. She walked butt naked into the shower and I followed her. Keep in mind, I was still wearing my work uniform with my bare feet on the wet tiles.

She continues, "Another woman taking a shower, who looked surprised to see me, but I ignored her. My focus was on Emmanuelle, because, you know, customer service. I gazed at her butt, which was marvelous. Then she turned around to face me. That's when I got a full view of her naked figure. My eyes went up and down her sweaty body. She invited me to look. Her nipples were erect.

She continues, "Emmanuelle told me to grab a scrub and start cleaning her. At that gym, hygiene products are free, the high-end stuff. So I grabbed a clean scrub from the wall and applied shower gel, while she stepped into the shower. She didn't even look at me, she faced the wall and let the water clean her sweat. I started with her back. It was my first time cleaning a woman, which was hard for me. But it was really intense. I scrubbed her back, arms, then her butt and thighs. She has a great ass. Fit body.

She continues, "When Emmanuelle turned around, I swear I nearly fainted. Her pink nipples were rock hard and water was flowing down her body. She remained stone faced, but I could tell she enjoyed this sort of personal service. I was dumbfounded, wondering if I should clean her tits while she stared at me."

"And did you?"

"Yeah, after she told me to."

"What did she say?" I ask.

"Emmanuelle said to me, `If you're brave enough to look, you're brave enough to touch.' Just like that, it was all she said. So I went for it. I scrubbed her breasts and my vagina was soaked from brushing those pretty pink nipples. I went soft at first, then harder. Celebrity nipples. They're the best. Older women, even better.

She continues, "We stopped short of her vagina. She took the scrub and cleaned herself down below. Then I shampooed her hair, which gave me another close-up view of her nipples. After that, she told me to leave. She didn't even thank me. She just said that I was done for the day. So I dried my feet with a towel, put my socks and shoes on, and went back to work."

"How did that affect you?" I ask. "From the sound of the situation, it was a game changing moment for your sexuality."

"Well, after the first time, I finished my work schedule, went home, went straight to the bathroom, and masturbated. Not like regular masturbation. It wasn't the tender, loving kind of touching. No. I finger fucked myself. It was basically like having sex with myself. You see these two fingers? They went deep, in and out."

Zara held up her two fingers, pressed together, to demonstrate what she did with herself. Her emotional walls have come down and she's thriving in this conversation.

"What happened next?" I ask.

"That was my life for most of the summer. Emmanuelle came to the gym four times a week. If she was in a certain mood, she'd summon me to the locker room to help her dress or undress, or to get her things. If I was lucky, she'd call me into the shower for assistance. Same thing, she'd be naked and I'd be barefoot, and I'd scrub her back, then she'd turn around and I'd scrub her breasts.

She continues, "The number of women in the locker room changed depending on the hour. Sometimes the place would be empty. Other times there'd be groups of friends or solo women. Through it all, Emmanuelle never cared, and I respected her for that. It was something I had to get used to. Some women thought it was amusing, others just ignored it. It always made me blush.

She continues, "At one point, when the shower was empty, Emmanuelle asked why I was so obsessed with her nipples. At first I denied it, but she saw through my bullshit. So I admitted it. I confessed that I was a female nipples' enthusiast and told her everything. She burst out laughing. I was humiliated. But then she said something that changed my life forever. Emmanuelle said to me, If nipples are so important, I wonder what yours look like.' She told me to open my top."

Taking a deep breath, Zara drinks from a cup of water and puts it down. I notice that her hands slightly tremble and she crosses her legs.

"Did you open your top?" I ask.

"Yeah, I did."

"How did that feel?"

"Like an out-of-body experience," she replies. "It was like I was numb. I didn't feel much while I was opening my top. Again, we were alone in the shower area, she was naked and I was barefoot. It was the first time her eyes showed any real interest in me. Sexual interest, I mean. She was looking at me with anticipation.

She continues, "When I unbuttoned my top and lifted my bra, Emmanuelle acted like she saw a real life miracle. Her eyes turned wide and she licked her lips. She said my nipples were a `Persian gift,' which made me feel proud because she actually meant it. She appreciated what I had to offer, which warmed my heart."

"Were your nipples a source of shame?" I ask.

"Growing up, yeah. It took me a long time to grow comfortable with my nipples. What took me a lifetime to overcome, Emmanuelle could resolve in seconds."

"How so?" I ask.

"Emmanuelle took my right nipple into her mouth. I'll never forget it. She bent her head down and did it without asking. My first time letting a woman suck my nipple, and it's with this respected French actress. A sophisticated, middle-aged white woman swept away all my insecurities with her mouth. I could have fainted right there, but then I would have missed the pleasure.

She continues, "Both of my nipples had the honor of being sucked. The sensation was equal to masturbation and I could have cum on the spot. But she stopped. I think she sensed that I was on the verge of an orgasm, maybe she felt I hadn't earned the right to cum. Fair enough. To get an orgasm from Emmanuelle is a privilege, in my opinion.

She continues, "The privilege came a week later. Emmanuelle told me to get naked and join her in the shower. By the way, there were four other women in the shower also. I think she waited until there were more people because she wanted to test my insecurities. I did it. I got naked and joined her, which was a turning point in my life. Standing naked in front of those women was like an act of defiance, a rebellion against all of the cultural norms and insecurities I had.

She continues, "Everyone stared at me. Before that, I was viewed as the polite, front desk girl who smiled and exchanged pleasantries and small talk. So yeah, they were surprised to see me naked. They loved looking at my nipples, as much as I loved looking at theirs. It seemed like a fair trade.

She continues, "After scrubbing Emmanuelle's back and breasts, she told me to get on my knees. Her crotch was shaved, so it was obvious what she was expecting from me. The other women heard the request and everyone went silent. Through the corners of their eyes, they were watching this happen. It felt like an obstacle that my body and mind wanted to overcome."

"Did you give her oral sex?" I ask.

"Yeah, that's what happened, right there in the open shower. My knees hurt from being pressed on the tile, but I didn't mind. That was my rebellion against the world for all the pleasures I denied myself. I'm still very religious, and I consider myself to be a wholesome person, but I felt like I deserved to enjoy that. I know it's contradictory, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She continues, "There weren't any instructions, Emmanuelle just looked down and expected me to figure it out, as if my instincts would be enough. I did what I felt were the right moves, I licked her labia and clitoris, I even put my tongue inside. I've got to give props to Emmanuelle because she stood upright while it happened and she didn't even make a face when she had an orgasm. I guess that's her training as an actress. Cumming with a straight face.

She continues, "The nectar flowed into my mouth and I swallowed what I could. The rest ran down my chin and onto my breasts, onto the tile. She didn't even thank me. She told me to stand and she rinsed my body underneath the shower. Have you ever gotten a shower from someone? It's an incredibly loving act and I felt her heart's warmth as she cleaned me. Afterwards, the other women could barely look at me. I guess they were mortified on my behalf, but the truth was, a big part of me felt liberated. I'd never felt so free in my life.

She continues, "That was the rest of my job for the summer. Emmanuelle would act cordial whenever she'd enter the gym, especially in front of my boss, but after her workout she'd summon me to the locker room. I'd get naked with her. Then I'd do whatever she requested, a back scrub, body wash, shampoo, pussy eating. Anything.

She continues, "Also, her nipples. Emmanuelle let me suck on them. Heaven is putting her pink nipples in my mouth to worship. As horrible as it sounds to admit this, sucking on a woman's nipples was like a religious experience for me. The shape, the way her nipples and breasts stiffen, what her nipples represent, it meant something special to me."

"That's an interesting statement," I say. "What do her nipples represent to you?"

"Her feminine nature. Her womanhood. I know I'm overthinking things, but that's what it means to me. Sucking on Emmanuelle's nipples meant being in full service to her. It meant giving her intense pleasure, and it satisfied my own secret cravings. Eating her pussy meant the same thing.

She continues, "The favors were returned. Yeah, she ate me out, but only if the shower was empty. She only gave me oral sex if no one was around. I think it was a pride thing. I think she didn't want to be seen on her knees. If there were other women in the shower, I'd be the one getting on my knees, pushing my tongue inside of her pussy, sometimes her asshole, making her cum to finish the gym session.

She continues, "For the first time in my life, I felt complete as a human being. A thriving sexuality was the missing component. It was a new source of happiness. I'm sure my boss knew something was going on, since I'd be freshly showered. But my boss didn't want issues with big clients. Customer service, right?"

The smile on Zara's face signals that we've reached the end. There's a look of immense personal satisfaction on her face, as if she'd completed a monumental task of expressing her inner-most thoughts.

"I think we've got enough for the day," I say. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Zara thinks for a moment. "Yes, one more thing. Do you mind?"

"Please, continue."

"When college resumed, I was a much different person. I mean, I was still the same girl, but I had a newfound confidence in myself. I registered for a gym class, and afterward I'd be sweaty from the workout, so I'd get naked in the locker room. Then I'd step into the open shower where I could admire the other girls, and where the other girls could admire me. You know, I suddenly became popular after that. Girls that used to ignore me started saying hi' to me on campus. All because of the Persian gifts,' I have, as Emmanuelle had appropriately named them.

She continues, "I doubt this was the intent of locker room culture in America, but I'm addicted to open showers. I find myself comparing sizes and colors of different nipples. Then comparing my size to theirs. So far I'm the winner. I'd finger-fuck myself in private, thinking of my time with Emmanuelle and hopefully having new experiences someday with other like-minded, big nippled women. No one knows about these thoughts, except for you."

"Thank you for sharing your story," I say in earnest. "Your contribution to this research is greatly appreciated. I'll contact you tomorrow for follow-up questions or clarification."

"Wait, would you like to see what the fuss is about?" she asks in a shy voice.

"Sure, if you'd like."

I turn off the recording device, knowing what Zara has planned. This had been teased from the start of our conversation and now she has the fortitude to explain the origin of her nipple fetish.

She unbuttons her blouse while sitting in the seat. As much as her confidence has grown, she still feels the need to look away. She avoids eye contact with me as her blouse is opened and her white bra is exposed, which I estimate are b-cups.

When she lifts her bra, generously sized black nipples are revealed, the longest and thickest I've ever seen. They protrude from arousal and the dark color of her areolas contrasts her mocha breasts. I understand the roots of her fetish, Zara's nipples were previously a lifelong source of insecurity, and she turned that insecurity into pride.

She pulls her bra down and adjusts the fitting, a blushing smile on her face, revealing the embarrassment of having shown her nipples to someone. When she buttons her blouse, she thanks me for the interview, and I thank her for sharing these intimate gifts.

The End

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