“These tits?” I ask him, bringing my hands over my thighs, up my stomach, and resting them on my favorite investment I’ve ever made. My skin lights up beneath the featherlight touch of my own fingers, so used to coming alive in the pleasure I have to offer myself.
“God, fuck, yes, those,” he says through clenched teeth. His neck is strained, tendons flaring and jaw pulled tight. It allows me to picture exactly what he’ll look like if I ever let him get on top of me, forced to brace his weight to not crush me, hold himself back to not wreck me. Our foot-plus size difference could be an obstacle for someone less motivated, but I have a feeling he’ll be determined to make it work.
I slip my fingers beneath the hem of the thin bralette and pull it up, up, up, just as slowly as he teased me with his shirt the first night he saw my chest, and I focus on his breathing, how laboredit is, the curses he’s biting out as he continues fucking his fist with a kind of passion no man has treated me to before.
The full bottoms of my heavy C cups are revealed to him. The cool air hitting them is one tell, but his hot gaze is far more palpable to my sensitive skin.
I continue peeling the fabric up and over my breasts, until my nipples are free, and he curses the loudest one yet.
Looking down, I see my nipple ring winking at him in the rays of moonlight from my right breast, and I watch his gaze narrow on that spot as his hand doesn’t stop, never stops moving, while his other buries itself in his hair, needing purchase somewhere and not being able to touch me. His fingertips dig into the roots, press into his scalp, and I wish it were my own.
My top comes all the way off, and the sound he makes will live in my memory for the rest of my days. Vulnerable, needy, and so fucking earnest.
“You don’t have to imagine tonight,” I tell him, letting the bralette fly off of my fingers, giving him full viewing rights. My hands run back down my taut stomach, my thin frame not having much in the way of curves, but he seems to be enjoying it justfinebased off of the groans, the unforgettable show I’m getting.
“Best fucking tits I’ve ever seen,” he tells me again, just like the first time.
“They could be better,” I say, looking down at them and then back up.
“Bullshit,” he spits, cock starting to leak from the tip. But he bites anyway. “How?”
Voice soft, breathy, my natural rasp taking center stage, I say, “They could be painted in your cum.”
He swears, and I watch as his balls tighten, that precum getting thick and stringy as his hand continues jerking thatlength that I wish I had the honor of handling for myself right now.
“That what you want?” He’s running out of breath. Out of words. Out of sanity.
I nod at him, leaning forward to get closer to him.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, cursing over and over again as he loses control, the pleasure taking over.
I smile at him, a demure look that only hints at the rest of my plans for him, and I let that smile do my talking for me. Wordlessly, I broadcast all those daydreams of our one night together to him, my imagination running wild, and something tells me it all hits him loud and fucking clear.
“Hope those tits are ready,” he grunts out.
Holding steady, I press my chest out just enough to show him how much I want this. How I’ve come to the thought of being covered in his time and again. My stomach, my chest, my face. I want it all, and I want it everywhere.
With a final series of strong strokes, abs clenched, sweat dripping down the carved muscles from his pecs all the way down to his cock, I watch in fascination, fixation, as this man comes with his entire body, maybe even part of his soul breaks free as he releases. He holds nothing back.
A groan gives way as his cock jumps, balls jerking, and the head erupts, spewing his thick, hot, sticky release all over my chest. Like a Pollock, there’s no pattern or predictability to it. It just scatters, spraying my sternum and both breasts, dripping down in rivulets across my nipples.
I shouldn’t be so willing to admit the feelings that evokes in me. Being worthy of being covered in this part of him. This wholesome man, so much better than I deserve, who gives himself so freely, came to the thought of me. Thesightof me, on my knees for him. Not even my touch, just the concept of it was enough to make him explode.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the first time I’ve tried something like this. But the thought hasn’t left me alone for weeks and I had to know what it would be like.
This is a level of turned on I’ve never been before, and it’s all because ofhim.
His strokes slow, arm pumping less and less, and finally pauses entirely, squeezing the last drops of his release from the tip of his dick. I watch on, eager to lap up every memory tonight has to offer.
When Weston removes his hand from his cock, leaving it to its own devices, still bobbing at attention, red and exhausted, he reaches out with his thumb and forefinger and takes hold of my nipple ring, careful not to touch my skin.
“I’m not touching you,” he points out. He’s just touching the metal, and this might be the best loophole of all time. The way my core clenches you’d think he was inside me.
Weston’s fingers grip the stainless steel hoop and twist it, turning it so that the metal runs through my body. The cum all over the piercing goes into my body, and I moan at the visual.
“But at least my cum is inside you.”
If my piercing were fresh, that could present ahostof problems. But I’ve had it for years and years now, and I have absolutely no issue with that filthy little maneuver he just pulled.
