GITJ Post 322: A Date with her Chest, p2

“Thank youuuu..!!” she called after the delivery guy, waving as he turned once more to catch one last glimpse of the holy shit galactic-level babe that had answered the door and taken the food from his awestruck hands. She watched him stumble over the stone steps that led out to the circular drive, and found herself giggling. Men were funny. But: she needed to get back to Jay! So, in a twirl, she was back inside the house, kicking the heavy front door closed and sealing the two of them back off again from the rest of the world.

“Be there in a sec!” she called out to where he waited on the couch in the great room. She’d come in to set the bag on the counter, right aside the haha miserable failure of lasagna that still sat, now growing cold in all its charred glory on the countertop. Boy had she burnt that thing to a crisp! She’d started it late and learned that doubling the temperature doesn’t necessarily just halve the cooking time.  But, she knew enough to order take-out so she could get him fed.

Opening the delivery bag, she pulled out the contents: a tin tray with a dozen dumplings and three lidded, plastic containers full of what she hoped he’d find delicious. She pulled a fancy bamboo tray from below the counter, set everything up along with the now-chilled bottle of wine, two goblets and - after a moment of thought - a single spoon alongside the chopsticks. She tossed a pile of napkins from the delivery bag onto the tray, too, in case things got messy.

“Here we are..!” she sang, coming back in to the great room from the kitchen, “I hope you’re hungry!” Though she put a nice swing in her hips, carrying the tray towards him, she felt like he’d been a little too focused on her butt this evening. She’d felt his eyes on her anytime she’d turned away, like watching her as she’d left the room to answer the doorbell, just as she’d gotten him settled on the couch a couple minutes ago. What could she expect, wearing these little booty-shorts. Not that she minded the attention! But, the evening was supposed to be about her boobs; she’d talked about this with Abby. Yes, she’d spent countless hours at the gym making her legs and butt look bigger, stronger, shapelier, more powerful. She wanted him to notice and to think she had the best legs in the world.  But, her breasts were the more purely natural demonstration of her womanliness, were an organic symbol of how good a source of comfort and pleasure she could be for him, and were supposed to be the focus for tonight. So when she finally came to stand in front of him at the couch, across the low coffee table, she made sure to lean over slow enough, just right to give him a nice view of her cleavage.

“Nice and warm still, I’m so happy,” she clucked, as she popped the tops off the three quart-sized containers and the tray of dumplings. She fought back a smile as she felt him alternately watching her set up their dinner and occasionally lose his fight with the urge to just gape at her chest. She opened up a single set up chopsticks and scooted around the table to sit aside him on the white leather couch.

Melissa sank to the couch slowly but making certain her weight hit with enough force to be heard and felt while curling her legs underneath herself so that her thigh muscles were on clear display. Pivoting at waist, she posed her enormous chest and trim shoulders. Watching the movement of his gaze was a true delight as the man aside her struggled to find somewhere to let it land. Her smile had shifted so that her face didn’t seem entirely appropriate to focus on, and his eyes dropped to her legs. Despite the fact that it was her legs again, she soaked in the attention he was lauding onto her body; forget the Chinese take-out, this was nourishment enough for her. Feed me, she thought.

But enough was enough, as much as she loved it. She briskly slapped her thighs <slap slap> to grab his attention, break his engrossed leg-trance. “Ugh, my thighs feel so thhhick,” she said with a faux lisp, “might have to call in thick tomorrow.”

That shook him from his oblivious dwam. “t-tomorrow’s Saturday…” he responded. Was that his lame attempt at a joke haha?

“Oh yeah!” she laughed blithely, eyes sparkling in mischief, ”Now, let’s get you fed.” Pivoting again, she reached back to the table with her chopsticks and picked up her first morsel from the tin tray. “How about a dumpling…Dumpling?” she giggled, bringing the warm little steamed pocket of pork, ginger and shredded cabbage towards his mouth. She knew he’d balk, at first, but all it took was a couple clucks and a reminder of just how much he liked it when she fed him and he was taking his first bite. “Yummy?” she asked, watching him chew. It warmed her heart.

He nodded, swallowing, and she watched him. She knew how little he’d been eating these days, how skinny he’d been getting. He opened for another bite, taking the rest of the dumpling, and finally asked about the other three containers when he’d swallowed again. Egg-drop, Tom-Yum, and something with some noodles.

“That’s…a lot of soup,” he commented, noticing that the dumplings were really the only solid food she’d ordered for them.

“Yeah,” Melissa agreed, tossing her hair and reaching again for another dumpling. This one she took for herself: all in one bite. “Itssf…” she began, but then stopped, giggling, her mouth still full. She chewed for a moment with a hand shyly to her mouth and rolling her eyes, swallowed, and began again. “It’s for your tummy,” she said, “I know how you’ve been having trouble these days. I figured soup would be easier for you. But these ginger dumplings are supposed to be good for the stomach, too.”

With a furrowed brow he nodded, grateful for her concern but sheepishly shrinking in his seat as one of his many recent fragilities were pointed out. He watched her choose another dumpling for him. Yes, something was up with his stomach and his constitution in general. He knew he should get it all checked out, when things calmed down a little. It was emasculating, how weak he’d been these days, but none of it seemed to bother Melissa. In fact, she seemed to embrace it, love it, and really leaned in to helping him be comfortable in his meagerness. So, he allowed himself to be pampered, a bit. “Thank you,” he simply acknowledged, and opened wide for another bite.

Melissa’s heart was fluttering, she was almost shivering in seeing - even after a tough week in which she hadn’t been able to pay him much attention - how easily he was falling into this docile, submissive role tonight. She was feeding him like a mama bird and he wasn’t complaining at all! She’d spoken to Abby about how important it was to show him how gentle she could be, how loving and nurturing. She thought she’d have a little fight but this is fucking easy, she thought to herself, and the warmth she felt for him in her chest grew. Eventually, after feeding him three of the dumplings, she could sense how he maybe needed a break, to let that tummy settle. Chopsticks were back on the table, and she reached for the now-opened bottle of wine, poured him a glass. She handed it to him and then sat back, moving to tuck her knees under herself on the couch. That raised her up a bit, brought her chest right up to about his eye level. She smiled down at him, and watched him take his first sip of fancy French white wine.

“So, I wanted to apologize for something,” she began, knowing she had to be careful with how much she told him, “I’m sorry for not asking you to help me move. Lakshmi said you felt a little bad about it.”

“I, uh,” he started, struggling with how he was going to express himself here without just making himself sound petulant. He began by explaining how he thought boyfriends were supposed to help girlfriends move their stuff, right? Heavy boxes and all? Just because he was, like, half a wimp didn’t mean he couldn’t have helped in some way, right? He tried to sound casual, in good humor as much as he could about it, but she saw through it and it brought a chorus of apologies from her. In the end, he went on to tell her, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just one of the many little emasculations he was now weathering on a daily basis. That brought another wave of apologies and coos from her, and she scooted closer to him. She just wanted to hug him so bad!

“I know, I know, I know!” she whined, laughing a little to herself, “You were just, y’know, you're so busy, and not feeling great…” She was gushing with half-truths, here, fully aware that she couldn’t tell him the real reason she couldn’t have had him help her move, see her old place. That would have been too much to try to explain haha. And getting him clearance would have been impossible.

“I wasn’t that busy,” he said, “for you, I would have made time.”

Ohmigod.

In a sudden burst of affection, she reached out to grab his head again and began to cover his face with apology kisses: <Muah Muah Muah!> they came, rapid, all over his forehead and cheeks, nose and eyelids. After more than a dozen she sat back and the lipstick marks she’d left made her giggle. “Omigod you are so sweet,” she cooed, licking her finger to clean him up. He had awkwardly started moving his hands onto her; she felt them on her hips.

She had given him some space, after the elections, after being a little physically aggressive with him, and she began to tell him as much. But she now knew that he’d taken it as being too unfeeling and distant. Yes, maybe he had been a little emotionally needy, but she loved it! She, though, should have responded with reassurance and affection, and she knows now she was too casual about it. She had to remember to be better about his feelings in the future. It wasn’t just his weak little male bones that were fragile…his heart was, too.

He tried to protest, defending himself, but really just sounded sort of silly. He knew it, too.

In the meantime, Melissa realized that with her emotions her pheromones had begun pouring off her body and had begun to really affect him, as they sat here. His hands were on her hips, and his gaze had once more lowered to study the hourglass of her body. His eyes had dropped to her lap, again, to her big bulging thighs, smoothly bare and throbbing with muscle as her feet stayed tucked beneath her. They were huge and perfect and haha someday soon might each weigh nearly as much as he did, but she had to remind herself again why she’d brought him here tonight.

Sitting up, above him on the couch, Melissa casually lowered her stretchy top a bit more off her shoulders. A big breath pulled the neckline down a bit, exposing more of the upper swells of her firm, giant breasts and a bit more cleavage. Aha, she thought, that worked. Now she had him looking where she wanted.

“Jay, I never, never, ever want to make you feel bad, or ignored, or that you’re on your own,” she began again, “I want to make life easy on you. I want to protect you.”

“P-protect me?” he queried, and she could see the protest again beginning to build behind his brow.

“The world’s been changing, and it’s about to change even faster,” she continued, making sure her voice was strong but gentle and soothing, “I know what happened in clinic, with that girl. There’s going to be more of that, everywhere. Women are becoming different. So me and the girls think you need protecting - not just with the clinic patients. But, like, all the time.”

Now she saw him start to really bristle, but then she began to list the recent news stories they’d all heard, the female-on-male violence, the gangs, what had happened at some of the rallies. Unconsciously, her body had begun to flex her musculature while she was talking. Was it already rising to defend him, swelling, or was the idea of women breaking men into little pieces secretly exciting her?

He seemed to be in denial, like so many men were. He didn’t see the reality that things might actually get dangerous on so many levels for him in the coming months. He assured her that the world would settle down, like they always did. She tried to be patient, knowing this was hard for him, but knew she needed her point taken.

“Here, let me show you this thing I recorded,” she said, reaching back to the table to grab the remote. With a single button, a big-screen TV rose out of the floor, bringing a nod of admiration from him.

“That’s cool…” he commented.

Nonplussed by the technology - much of what she’d been surrounded with since her childhood would put this fancy television setup to shame - Melissa pressed another button or two and brought up the news clip she’d wanted to show him. Abby had suggested it and she’d had it all queued up, prepared.

It was a piece from one of the late-night shows, from one of the news channels, an interview by a blonde anchor. She was speaking via satellite feed to a woman who he immediately pegged as a leader of one of these “fringe” groups, one of the extreme female-empowerment outfits that were being given more and more of a voice in the media: “It used to be that we sat back and watched as men in society were slowly becoming infantalized, doing it to themselves. The video games, the laziness, the dwindling education,” the woman - a pretty, but somewhat severe looking redhead in glasses -  was saying, “It upset us, a little. As wives, mothers, partners. Now, though, we have it figured out - hey, let’s encourage it. Let’s encourage these people to sit back, to give up their responsibilities so we can take them ourselves.” The woman was obviously excited, energized, and something about her tone certainly did have the effect Melissa wanted: it was making him nervous, as he sat there on the couch. She also noted - with a quick, furtive glance down - it was also making him hard. “Now...now we have the opportunity to FORCE it,” she continued, “Forced infantalization, forced physical infantalization. Make them smaller, make them weaker. Make them dependent on us for our minds, for our physical strength. We have the ability to make them physically dependent on our bodies for the very nutrition their bodies need.”

“W-wait,” he said, as he still watched, obviously confused, “what is this woman talking about?” They’d maybe missed the first part of the interview but his tone was plain: this chick is crazy. There were, he knew, all sorts of kookie conspiracy theorists out there and he was half in disbelief that this one had been allowed on CNN. The other half of him, though, began to get even more nervous.

To his question Melissa said nothing, but had turned to watch him and how he was reacting, handling what this lady was saying.

She was still talking. “We can start the process. We can start to physically turn them into the infants they’ve been for nearly a generation now,” she ranted. The anchor lady had to stop her, at some point, but instead of cutting away like they normally would when a guest went wacky, she presented some follow up questions.

“Sure, there will be a place for men,” the bespectacled redhead answered, “physical labor, landscaping, package delivery. It just may take two of them to do one job, and we’ll have to be patient. But with our surplus of undereducated men we do have to find a use for th-.”

Melissa clicked off the TV. Smoothly, it sank back into the floor, and she turned back to him.

The big house was suddenly, eerily silent. “Th-this is scary,” he admitted in disbelief, obviously struck but what he’d just heard. I mean…it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? That lady’s a crazy lady, right?

“Is it?” she asked, controlling as best she could the excitement in her voice, “Is it scary to you?”

“Y-yeah,” he answered, “a little.”

“When you say that,” Melissa spoke, inching herself on her knees a little closer to him, “It makes me feel extra protective of you. It so does…” He’d slumped back, now, against the back of the couch, while she still sat up straight aside him, facing him. She smiled warmly as he looked up at her; he looked so deliciously little. “Like, I feel like your big cuddly wolf mommy, and you’re my pup,” she continued with a little giggle, reaching out to stroke his hair, “My pup. My little pup, my puppy <giggle!>. I want to protect you from the big, mean world.”

He looked up at her, and was unquestionably aware of her greater size, her greater strength, her greater mass. Her immense beauty, her warmth. It was also not lost on him that he was here, in this magnificent mansion that was basically hers, while he was near homeless, dependent on the mercy of his bitterly angry ex-wife for the hovel where he lived. He was dependent on women, he knew he had been for years, and now his reckoning had come. They were not going to tolerate his kind any longer; they were sick of all the shit. Maybe he needed her, Melissa, now. She was offering to be his protector, and maybe he needed to latch on to a strong woman for the sake of his own safety. But, perhaps somewhat abstractedly, he knew inwardly what he’d be giving up if he put himself in her care.

He watched as she pivoted towards him, and smoothly raised her left leg to straddle him. She now faced him, sitting heavily on his lap, towering over him like a giant. He looked up at her, and tried to keep his jaw from falling open, or quivering. He could just barely see her face beyond the imposing swell of her enormous bosom.

“I can be your superhero…” she said with a glorious smile, sitting up straight and raising her arms into an impressive, double-biceps pose. She flexed, causing her muscles to explode in a display of her surprising, secret brawn. “…don’t you think I’m built like one?”

At that, Melissa giggled, and then threw her head back in a laugh. She couldn’t help it! It just felt so good, showing him how strong she was. She raised her arms up into the air, above herself, in a stretch that reached towards the heavens. She felt his eyes on her, gaping, in awe of what she was and what she was becoming. She was just so big! And below her, he felt very, very small.

“oh my god Melissa…” was all he could manage, in a weak little voice.

She looked down at him again. Good, she saw, allowing herself a crooked little smile, he’s staring at my tits. With her hands she gently cupped his face, held it in place, allowing him to look, forcing him to look. Slowly, then, she ran them down, down his neck in a caress, down to his chest, over to his shoulders. She palpated him, felt his smallness, how frail he felt under her big hands. He could feel it himself: she was examining him, sizing him up.

Finally, she couldn’t help but ask. “Hey…are you smaller?” she posited, cocking her head.

“Wh-what? I don’t…I don’t know.” He looked away, embarrassed, caught.

“Hmm…” she continued, running her hands down his thin upper arms, now, feeling them for their meager strength. He’d worn a white collared polo shirt for their date, with his khakis, and she pushed his short sleeves up a bit, revealing how weak he looked. “I think you are. You look thinner, smaller, shorter.”

Though his heart was racing, and his cock was throbbing under her, he said nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he already knew.

“Haha, how shy, I like it,” she said, with a little laugh. She did love how flustered he got when they talked about the difference in their sizes. Knowing that he knew, and could feel, how much bigger she was than him was just so thrilling. She knew tonight was about making him feel safe and protected, but she really couldn’t help herself. Plus, it might make him understand how much he needed her protection if she did this…

“Let’s measure you,” she said dreamily, her strong hands having moved from his arms back to his shoulders, now grasping him behind his neck, kneading him in a gentle massage. The suggestion, the thought of him and her and a measuring tape, was turning her on.

“N-no, it’s okay…” he answered, remembering his morning, the moments of self-pity, “I did it myself, at home, this morning.”

Melissa’s eyes widened, and she tried to hide her excitement. Oooo….  “How tall are you now?” she asked, with prurient interest.

“I’m…just about five-one,” he said, face flushing in shame. How had it let it go this far?? Where was his self-respect?? Why wasn’t he doing anything about this, his health??

“‘Just about five-one’?” she asked, “you mean you're not actually even five-one?”

He saw how exited this was making her. “Well, I’m like…” he began, in answer, “just over five-feet even.”

“Like, five-foot, and a half inch?”

“More like…” he started, pulse throbbing in his face, cock ready to break through his khakis and press into her mighty thigh, “…five-foot and a quarter.”

“Oh god you are shorter,” she exhaled, overcome, with an enthusiasm that betrayed her excitement but just made him feel even weaker and more afraid. Like telling her this, speaking it aloud, had made it more real: he was shrinking, faster.

He was looking up at her, while she smiled down at him, and his lip was quivering, his eyes glassy and full. Her expression changed from one of animated exhilaration, though, to one of immediate concern when tears began coming out of his eyes. Then, he covered his crying face.

“Are you…crying?” she gasped, quickly putting her hands into action. “Aww, don´t cry, come here,” she cooed as she both leaned forward into him and pulled him up away from the couch into her. She felt it immediately: this did not have to be an act, or contrived in any way. Melissa’s maternal instincts were kicking in, plain as day, and she couldn't bear to see him crying. Thirty-five or forty or however many years-old he was, it didn’t matter; she wouldn’t have him crying without comforting him.

She had his face right on her boobs. Her bosom was huge, and his head sank into it like a child’s. She was about to comment on it but just as she was about to speak up, he started outright sobbing.

“Shh, shh, it´s okay, don´t cry, honey, don´t cry,” she cooed, wiggling herself closer to him to more adequatelyhold him, “Why are you crying? Hmmm? Did I say something wrong? What´s the matter?” He was obviously incapable of speaking, so distraught, so she just hugged him tighter to her chest. “It’s okay. Let it out, just let it all out for me,” came her voice, surrounding him and filling his ears, “Melissa’s here…”.

He went on like this for a couple minutes, and she just let him cry. She coooed and clllllucked and purrrrred to him, reassuring him, coddling him, feeling his hot, wet face against the soft skin of her big breasts. She was telling him it was alright, that everything would be okay as long as he had her. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him, no sir! Her voice, her tenderness seemed to calm him, but still he sobbed, more gently now. And, after a while, he stopped.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” came her sweet voice again, as she rubbed his back with one hand, the other gently releasing him from her chest so he could sit back a bit.

“I… I am…” he replied, and opened his tear-blurred eyes to look up at her. He saw how she was looking at him in a strange way. He felt suddenly ashamed, so he turned away.

“Aww, don´t be shy,” she cooed, immediately taking his chin and redirecting his face to look back up at her, “it´s natural for a man to cry. You shouldn´t hide your feelings, not from me. If you have a need to cry sometimes, it´s okay. I’m here.”

Melissa knew he had become overly aware, overly sensitive of his height, and hers. She knew how it made him feel, knowing she was growing larger and stronger while he for some reason kept dwindling away. His eyes, so many times over these past weeks, had been caught running up and down her body, checking her size, her height, how tall she was compared to him. And that didn´t changed with other people. She could also see it, out of the corner of her eye, when he was trying to talk with the other girls. She knew his shrinking had make him insecure, and now imposing herself and her growing size over him should be a last resort. A “power” she shouldn’t abuse.

But her boobs were a different story.

Seeing that he had stopped crying, for sure, she allowed her smile to change from one of pure matronly concern to one flavored with a bit more mischief.

“Did my chest make you feel better?” she asked, with as much girlish innocence as she could muster. The hand which cupped his chin, her right, left his face and came to rest lightly on her more-than-maidenly bosom. Her fingers began to play with the neckline of her top, and slowly started peeling it down, fraction by fraction, as her left hand slid up his back, behind his head. His gaze was redirected by her to her tits, and he was getting harder and harder. More and more of the huge upper swells of her breasts were being exposed, and his eyes became fixed and dilated.

She tried to keep from giggling. “I don’t know if you’ve been properly introduced, Jay,” she began, her voice gentle but full of good junior, “These are my breasts. Say hello…”

With that, Melissa drew in a great, filling breath and watched his eyes widen as her chest expanded, her already enormous tits seeming to double in size as her mighty lungs filled. The elastic fabric of her top stretched to its limit and god knows how she didn’t just pop right out of it. She felt her nipples harden and announce themselves through the spandex. He had begun to shake, and she felt his thin hips try to press up into her, as he struggled to keep himself from rutting.

“They’re excited to see you,” she began again, twisting at the waist just enough to pivot one hardened nipple right in front of his face, aggressively showing him its size, plain to see even through the aquamarine lycra of her too. She twisted again, to now show him the other one, equally swollen. “My breasts are just so ready to comfort you and make you feel good tonight, Jay,” she continued, as she slowly inched her massive breast closer to his face, his eyes staring and unblinking at its nipple, “They just want you to get to know them better.”

She knew, she knew for sure, just how breast-obsessed Jay was. All men, really, these days, had been becoming tit-men, had grown to be attracted to and fascinated by the big female breast. It gave women, especially women built like Melissa, a new power. It was a growing weakness in all men, something guys everywhere were developing. But Jay, she knew, and his weaknesses for tits, were really on another level.

She shimmied her shoulders, just the slightest bit, just enough to bring some movement to the massive monument of mammary she had right in front of his face. Below her top her whole breast shifted, and he let out a groan as he gaped at the jiggles and waves of movement that flowed through the flesh just under the skin of her upper tit.

“What’s your favorite word for them?” she asked, as she gathered her shoulders together a bit, squeezing her KK-cups together in a wedding-cake display of cleavage that nearly made him explode. He did, in fact, groan again, heedless of just how enthralled he was by her chest.

But, she’d asked him a question. “Boobs? Breasts? Tits?” she began again, “What’s your fave? Knockers? Mommy Milkers?” He had begun to pant, and she felt his hips press up into her again. He seemed to like that last one haha, she thought and in response she redoubled her display, squeezing her shoulders together some more, now pressing in on her mountainous boobs with her upper arms. It surprised even she herself how big she could look when she did this. “BIG Mommy Milkers?” she pressed on, “BIG, HUGE, MASSIVE Mommy Milkers <giggle!>? What do you want to call them?”

It was hard not to stare at the deep line of cleavage between her tits. Seeing him stare, she jiggled her monstrously burgeoned cleavage a little, right in front of his face. He, of course, had - aside from now the occasional whine - gone totally quiet. He was speechless. She knew she’d rob him of his voice by overwhelming him with her chest like this, but it was still fun to tease. “Can’t decide, huh?” she finally concluded for him, allowing him to stay quiet, “Well…why don’t you just call them ‘home’ for now…”

At that, Melissa used the hand still behind him to hug his face once more to her chest. If she thought she could fit his head inside them, probably make it disappear between them, she was right. With just a little wiggle, some readjustment of her torso and shoulders, she sunk his face and head fully between her breasts. She now then hugged herself around him, surrounding him completely. The feeling was divine, enveloping his whole head like this, and she could only imagine what his world felt like right now. Darkness, her warmth, her body’s sweet perfume: it would be all around him, enwombing him.

“I…” she heard his muffled little voice begin, “I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this…” Indeed, his body was tensing, trying to keep itself from just spasming into her.

She felt a new wave of maternal love flow over her. ““Get used to it, baby. You’re going to be spending a lot of time like this,” she purred, knowing her voice would carry through her chest to him, “if you want to relax, let the pleasure take you and just let go, you’re welcome to. Go ahead, I don’t mind.” She felt big, magnanimous. “Take as much pleasure as my breasts can give you. Use them how you want.”

He was still  trying to keep himself, she could feel, from outright rutting up into her like a dog. He didn’t want to come this way, so soon, in his pants again. He wanted to save himself. She held him to her, and she understood. She just wanted him to be happy, but she knew he couldn’t last much longer. It was okay.

After allowing him another moment, but not wanting him to struggle too much more, Melissa slowly released his head. “I love getting closer with you, more intimate,” she said, gently, as his head and face slid out from between her breasts and she cupped his chin again to bring his gaze up to her. She wanted him to look her in the eyes. She was happy with how rapt he was, how mindlessly he paid attention to her. “And,” she continued, “I have some ideas on how we can…bond, together.”

With that she tilted his face down again, so he could watch as her hand had come once again to her chest, right above the nipple of her huge left breast. Her fingers took delicate hold of her neckline, the stretchy fabric that just barely now covered her grandly erect nipple. “Skin-to-skin contact helps, make two people closer connected,” she said, and began to peel down her top.

He noticed the faint hint of a tanline, still, separating the most intimate, creamiest skin of her breast from the rest of her chest. She pulled down her top, oh-so-slowly some more and he watched, with wide, unblinking eyes, as the darker skin of her areola now appeared. Already there were smaller bumps, engorged Montgomery glands, grown and ready to moisturize her nipple. Her flesh was otherwise smooth, perfect, and he could just barely see the fine hairs like down on her skin. He had begun to pant, and whine, and oh no just as she pulled down, a bit further, just as the big nub of her nipple played at the hem of her top, ready to pop above it and finally be revealed to his ravenous stare, he felt himself jolt. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no…

“Ohhh…” she cooed, her fingers freezing in place, keeping her nipple just covered by the spandex of her top, “oh no…”

He groaned, in defeat, and felt his hips buck up again into her. A familiar shock ran through his hips, into his belly, tightened his torso and made his eyes clamp shut. The first burst of wetness he felt on his thigh.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay,” she cooed, feeling her lover be taken by premature climax under her, “let it out…”

He groaned, he whined again. Nooo…! But he couldn’t help himself. Still staring at her tit, at the promise of her big nipple under her top, he came in his pants. He rutted, weakly and with as much restraint as he could, up into her. This was…this was…

“Shhhhh, honey, shhhhh…” she purred to him, allowing him his moment and secretly satisfied she had him on his way to where she wanted to get him, “we have all night, baby. Mama’s just getting started…”

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next one in progress, another long one. hope you enjoy.