A little tit music

“Take off that shirt, Abby,” I say. “I want to see your tits.”

“Not as much as I want you to see them,” Abby says, her voice husky. She strips off her shirt to reveal a low-cut black-and-white bra that looks really good against her light tan. I bend my head to her chest and kiss every square inch of uncovered skin, enjoying its silken softness. I run my tongue along the line of demarcation, tracing the edges of her cups, and find her nipples through the sheer fabric to tease them with my lips. Abby groans softly and strokes my hair. “I’ve dreamed of this . . .” she murmurs.

I raise my head and open the front clasp of her bra, letting the cups fall away and reveal her sweet handfuls. I would call them medium-sized, but they’re just big enough that some might describe Abby as busty; they’re big enough to hang down just a little, to have just that little bit of downward curve on the underside where they sprout from her ribs. Her pinkish-purple nipples are pegs the size of the last joint of my pinky that crown her breasts at a jaunty angle. I bring my hands up from beneath them, letting them rest on my fingertips, then wrap my fingers around them and squeeze very gently, enjoying their firmness.

I look up into Abby’s eyes, hard though it is to tear my own eyes away from her perfectly-formed young chest, and see—to my surprise—unease and anxiety. I smile tenderly at her and flick her stiff pink nubs with my thumbs. Her eyes close with a gasp and she bites her bottom lip—she looks absolutely adorable. “You have nothing to worry about,” I tell her softly. “They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you sure?” Abby asks, uncertainty as plain in her voice as on her face. “I know my girls are a lot smaller than Scarlett’s, and—”

“Yes, Scarlett has perfect tits,” I tell her, intensifying the worry on her face for a moment. “So do you.” Abby looks at me in confusion. “One of the wonderful things about tits is that there are so many ways for them to be perfect. Big tits, little tits, in between, they can all be gloriously sexy and perfectly delectable, and yours are. They’re perfect.” I see relieved delight blossoming in her expression as I bend my head to slurp a nipple into my mouth.

I start gently, caressing her quivering pink peg with my lips and feathering my tongue over it. I capture the other one with thumb and forefinger and pinch gently, then start wiggling it a little. Abby lets out a low, heartfelt groan. I pull off to admire her nipple before going to work on it in earnest, and realize there’s a small crystalline bead of fluid on the tip. I remember reading somewhere that the Chinese called that “the peach juice of immortality.” I lick it off, enjoying the sweetness with a hum of pleasure.

“You don’t think that’s weird?” Abby asks, some anxiety threaded through her dreamy tone. “My boyfriends have all thought it was weird.”

“It’s perfectly normal, baby,” I assure her. “Some women’s breasts do that when they’re aroused. It’s just a sign you’re a healthy young woman who enjoys sex. To any man with brains, it’s a sign that here are tits that deserve special attention.” The look of pleasure on her face is beautiful to see.

I bend my head again and fill my mouth with Abby’s sweet mound, trying to see if I can get all of it in. I don’t quite, but I come close. I suck on her tit gently and run my tongue all around her succulent flesh. Then I pull back to just the nipple and areola and suckle her, slowly at first but increasing in speed, flicking her nub with my tongue. I tug lightly on her other nipple and roll it in my fingers. “Oooooh, Ben, that feels so good,” she moans, holding my head tight to her breast and humping the bulge in my pants. “Keep doing that . . . that’s magic . . . love my breasts . . . no one ever has . . .”

I let Abby’s tit fall from my mouth, earning myself a groan of disappointment. “No one?” I ask, finding it hard to believe. “You’ve had boyfriends, I know you have. None of them? Really?” I’m incredulous, and my tone reflects it.

“None of—ooooooooh,” she begins, her answer interrupted when I suck hard on her wet nipple and pull gently. It takes her a couple tries, but Abby eventually manages to say, “None of them. They just squeezed them a bit and got their dicks out.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” I murmur around a mouthful of tit, “your boyfriends are clearly the sort of people who think Burger King is fine dining.” Abby giggles. Her giggles are cut off with a ragged gasp when I slip my free hand into her panties to explore her snatch. I stroke her inner lips and find her clit, but my main purpose at the moment is to collect some of her nectar. I pull my hand out, lean back, look her in the eyes, and ostentatiously suck my fingers clean. “Mmmmm,” I say in a low voice. “Tasty pussy.” She is, too—spicy and musky and dark in flavor.

Abby’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “No one’s ever done that either,” she breathes.

“Baby, you have so much to learn,” I tell her, my voice redolent of lust. “You have so much to learn about what your body can do, and what a man can do to pleasure you . . . I’m going to enjoy teaching you.” I seize her wet nipple with my wet fingers, fasten my mouth over the other one, and reach into Abby’s panties with my dry fingers. I suckle her hard and fast, pinching and tweaking the other nipple, and start playing with her button. I rub her up and down, then capture it between two fingers and squeeze it just a little.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Fuck . . . What the fuck are you doing to me? How are you—oh fuck that feels amazing . . . So good . . . so good . . . What your fingers are doing to me—your mouth—no words . . . so good . . .” I try again to get a whole tit in my mouth; I don’t manage it this time either, but I get another glorious mouthful. I suck on this tit as well, licking Abby’s silken skin all over and just pressing my teeth into her springy titflesh. I pull and twist her nipple, and I reach farther down into her panties. I curl two fingers up and push them into her honeypot, then lightly strum her pearl with my thumb. “What are you doing to me?” she moans again. “Suck my tit, baby—finger me—rub my clit—it’s all so good—you’re driving me crazy—driving me so fucking crazy—making me so hot, so horny, you’ve got me so high—”

I find Abby’s G-spot and curl my fingers into it, and she goes off in my lap like a Roman candle. She gives a faint, strangled scream, her hotbox clamps down hard on my fingers, and she writhes and twists like a flame in a breeze. Her girl-cum froths and spurts around my hand, and I realize I should have been smarter about the couch this time.

When Abby slumps forward, she clings to me and shakes. I kiss her ear, her cheek, the side of her neck, and she strokes my hair. “Why have I been wasting my time with boys?” she murmurs.