I have an urge to lick the curve of your bouncing under-breasts. I like them best when they’re slick with your sweat and wicking wet on underwires.
Sometimes sharp nipples don’t like the hard stipple, the slashing, the flicking, the swath. They want to be washed by tongues that are tender and sucked into mouths that are soft.
Fill my hands with breasts.
Let me be your brassiere as
I nuzzle your neck.
The puffy areola,
Before it twists,
Is fragile and rich,
Delightful to kiss,
Until turgid, it turns.
I like to make you cum quickly so in mellow repose you won’t mind if I slowly savor the skin of your breasts. Then I make you cum again.
If I never touched your nipples you would be pleasured enough, by the mouthfuls of flesh that I greedily suck.
Décolletage isn’t anatomy. It is a world of wonderment and unending joy, from which I never wish to return.