Rachel lets her guard down

Rachel looks surprised and thoughtful at that; then she lifts her arms and pulls off her shirt in one fluid motion. She winks at me over her shoulder, enjoying my stunned gaze at the additional cleavage she’s just exposed, and says, “Well, the oil’s in the kitchen.” I pull myself together and go get some olive oil and a shallow bowl.

When I come back, I find that Rachel has also slipped the shoulder straps off somehow. I thank her and return to the massage. Before long, as I’m kneading her muscles and working the oil into her skin, she’s purring under my hands. When I get down to the bra strap, I expect that to be as far as she wants to go, but instead she tells me to wait a moment. She gets up, walks over to a futon which is set up as a couch, and folds it down flat. She lies face-down on it and undoes the clasps on her bra. With the strap lying to either side of her on the futon, she asks, “Would you be willing to keep going?” I don’t even need to say anything; I just apply more oil.

I enjoy the softness of her skin and the smoothness of her back as I keep working my way down. Some of the knots are pretty stubborn, but I leave her loose and relaxed behind me. When I get down to the top of her shorts, I reach for the dishrag I grabbed to wipe the oil off my hands, and Rachel says, “You aren’t stopping, are you?”

“Ummmm, I . . .”

She giggles. “You’re so cute. You came here to eat my pussy, but you feel shy about this. Here.” She lifts her hips off the futon and pulls shorts and panties over them together; I slide them the rest of the way off. When I shift my focus back to her ass, I realize it’s not only her tits that are spectacular. Her ass is smaller, yes, but round and perfectly defined, apple-shaped and insanely tight. I marvel at it as I oil my hands and begin massaging her cheeks. I can’t help fondling her, which makes her giggle more. At one point, she says, “I don’t think what you’re doing qualifies as massage, Andrew.” Before I can freeze up, she adds in a softer voice, “But it feels even better.”

I work my way from there down her toned, shapely legs; I get little moans when I massage her feet. I get louder ones when I massage her inner thighs and tease her soft black bush. Finally, I tell her that if she’ll roll over, I’ll massage her front. She rolls over, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of those huge tits. She sees me looking and gives me a sultry smile. She takes one in each hand and brings them together, showing them off to me; then she says, “Let’s see how well you can concentrate on massaging my thighs while I play with my tits.” The answer is—not well; but I get it done. I do get a bit of my own back when I reach the tops of her thighs and tease her pussy, as she forgets what she’s doing at that point and starts bucking her hips.

As I look down at this incredibly sexy woman, she looks up at me and says, “I think someone’s overdressed.” I look at her, and she blushes a little. “I’m not asking you to take your pants off—I’m certainly not ready for that now—but could you take off your shirt?”

“Gladly,” I say, and do so. Then I get off the futon and reach down to help Rachel to her feet. I lead her back to the loveseat; I take a seat and draw her down to sit next to me. She looks at me a little quizzically, and I say, “This is a better position for making out.” That wins me a shy smile. I take a moment to look at her tits before I do anything else, and her smile deepens at my open admiration. There’s no gap between them, and they hang close together, not splayed off to the side. As big as they are, they sit quite high for their size and weight; rather than looking like most of the weight of her boobs is at the bottom, leaving a concave slope, she carries the weight higher in her tits, giving a slightly convex slope. They hang down quite a bit but don’t sag at all, if that makes any sense. Her nipples are large—they’re thick little pegs, plenty to get my lips on—and her areolae are medium-sized and oval rather than round. They’re a deep pink with a faint purplish tint, and they sit high enough on her mounds that they point somewhat upward.

“You like?” Rachel asks shyly.

“Ohhhh, yes,” I say, and draw her in for a kiss. I cup her cheeks with my hands and tenderly kiss her lips. I go slowly—I have little experience, but she has infinitely less. I gently caress her face as my lips caress hers, keeping my tongue back. She’s passive at first, but quickly gets into it and starts kissing me back.

I let my hands explore, tracing the lines of Rachel’s jaw and neck. Tentatively and timidly, she begins to do the same. She touches my face with one hand, stroking my cheekbone, and lays the other flat on my chest. She feels the muscles in my chest and abdomen, then begins to play with one of my nipples. “Mmmmm, baby, that feels good,” I tell her, interrupting our kiss just long enough to speak. I stroke her arms, then her back and sides; then I slide my hands around to the front. She sighs in pleasure as I finally touch her boobs. I slip my tongue into her mouth and lightly stroke her lips; she does the same, hesitantly at first, then more boldly. When I caress her tongue with mine, she pulls it back, but then extends it again to meet mine. She moans in pleasure, perhaps at our tongueplay, perhaps at the feathery touch of my fingertips on her heavy melons.

As much as I’m enjoying kissing Rachel, my desire to see what I’m doing with her tits soon becomes too great to resist, so I pull back. Alyssa’s advice is really important here: I need to let Rachel’s body tell me when to make the next move. I trace the contours of her big tits, enjoying the softness of her skin. I don’t know how she’ll like having them moved around, so I start off touching them lightly, avoiding her areolae, just learning their curves with my fingertips. Her eyes close and her lips part; she’s listening to her body and enjoying what it’s telling her.

I’m committed to keeping my touch light until Rachel wants more, but my palms are beginning to tingle with the desire to touch her, so I begin caressing her with my whole hands. I cup her twin peaks in my palms, not lifting at all, but enjoying the sensation of them filling my hands far beyond overflowing. I stroke them everywhere around her areolae, softly and gently. I particularly like sliding my hands up the insides of her tits, because they hang close enough together that I’m stroking both at once.

From the soft noises of pleasure Rachel is making in the back of her throat and the look of sensual delight on her face, I think I can try a little more. Slipping my hands back down to the undersides of her tits, I rotate my wrists with my fingers to the outside and lift her breasts in my palms. “Mmmm . . . so good . . .” she moans quietly. I hold them there, relishing the feeling of their soft, supple weight in my hands, and caress them gently with my fingers and (especially) thumbs. Rachel moans a little and runs her hands distractedly through her hair; I suspect she wants to do something with them but has no idea what.

As I watch my hands on Rachel’s golden globes, a thought comes to me. “Rachel,” I say quietly. Her eyes open somewhat and she looks at me. “If you want something to do with your hands, you could stroke my chest and play with my nipples.” The tip of her tongue peeks from her mouth and strokes her upper lip as she reaches for me; I gasp softly, learning from her touch that my own nipples have grown quite erect and sensitive, and she gives me a sultry little smile. She arches her back, thrusting out her chest, as she teases my little buttons with her fingertips.

I think this might be my cue, so I begin gently squeezing her tits and pressing my fingers into her abundant flesh. They’re delightfully supple, soft and yielding and yet firm and springy at the same time. “Oooooooooooh,” Rachel says, clearly finding the unexpected sensation pleasurable. I continue lightly kneading her huge melons, still avoiding her areolae but trying to squeeze them all over; under the stimulation, she starts pinching my nipples, earning a gasp that makes her smile. “Please,” she moans. “Please, Andrew . . . my nipples . . .”

“What do you want, you sexy thing?” I ask.

Rachel flushes a little to hear me call her that. “Please touch them,” she moans. “They’re all tingly . . .”

“Like this?” I ask, brushing my thumbs over them. She gasps, and her body arches and bucks as if an electric shock went through her, which is all the answer I need.

I draw my hands back and begin touching them lightly with one finger each, circling them and teasing their tips. “More,” Rachel moans. “More, Andrew . . . I need more . . .” I add a second finger, then a third, and she continues to beg for more.

“Here,” I say, “shift with me.” Uncertain but overcome with desire, Rachel allows me to rearrange us so that I’m sitting against the arm of the loveseat and she’s leaning back into me with her ass against my cock. I cup her abundant mounds in my hands and tell her, “It’s easier to do more in this position,” then start kissing and nuzzling her neck.

I give each of her tits a light squeeze, then start teasing her highly-aroused nipples with the tips of my middle fingers. Rachel trembles and wriggles in my arms as the waves of sensation wash over her. “Ohhhh, Andrew,” she gasps. “Ohhh, I’ve never—never felt—mmmmm, what you’re doing with your hands—so good . . . you make me feel so good—never felt anything like this . . . please—need your hands—more, more, more . . .” I cup her supple mounds in my hands with each nipple between two knuckles. First, I stroke her curvy beauties with my whole hands so that my fingers judder and bump over her eager little pegs, making her gasp and moan and writhe. Then I let my hands rest in their original position and begin squeezing and massaging her titflesh, moving and flexing my fingers in such a way as to pinch and roll her titbuds between my knuckles. She moans louder at that and calls out my name.

“Your mouth,” Rachel moans. “Kiss my breasts . . . my nipples—I want to feel your mouth on me—please, Andrew, please . . .”

“Anything for you, my sexy little thing,” I murmur in her ear. “Just let me move.” Rachel shifts forward and I slide out from behind her; then I encourage her to shift back and lean back against the armrest.

I fill my hands with her boobs again, flicking her nipples with my thumbs, then bend down to one and cover her ample titflesh with kisses, licks, and nibbles. I keep my grip on it so I can kiss it everywhere, including all over the underside. Rachel writhes and bounces on the loveseat until at last I come to her quivering nipple and wrap my lips around it. “Yessssssss . . . .” she hisses in exaltation, her body going still. From her reactions, I think she might be one of those women who can orgasm just from titplay; I decide to see if I can find out.

I feast on Rachel’s breast. I feather my lips across her nipple, then capture it between my upper lip and bottom teeth. I let my tongue play with it for quite some time, teasing it, flicking it, tracing circles around it, painting the tip, and even curling around it. I suck as much of her boob into my mouth as I can possibly get, amazed both by how much fills my mouth and by how much remains in my hand. While my mouth is stuffed, I lick her all over and very, very gently bite her supple flesh. Then I pull most of her melon out and suckle her nipple, first slowly, then rapidly.

At the same time, my hands are busy on both Rachel’s mounds. I continue to stroke and squeeze the one I’m feeding myself, my fingers enjoying whatever titflesh my mouth will leave them. My other hand is fully at play. I fondle and massage her supple weight, kneading her flesh and caressing her skin. I tease her with feathery strokes from my fingertips, then wrap my hand as far as it will go around her golden globe. I lift her boob until it’s pointing upward, then turn my hand and feel it shimmy down my palm. And of course, I enjoy her nipple. I tease it with my fingertips and rub it against the center of my palm. I press my thumb on it and move it in circles, I run it up and down the sides of my fingers, and I judder my fingers sideways across it. I capture it with my thumb and forefinger, and I pinch it, tweak it, roll it, and twirl it. I even try twisting and pulling it. Rachel loves it all.

She loves it all quite vocally, in fact, keeping up a steady flow of commentary between her wordless moans. “Oooooh, yeah, Andrew, suck my tit. Suck my nipple. Lick me . . . If your tongue feels that good on my tit—ohhhhhhh—how good will it feel in my pussy? . . . Ohhh, yeah, baby, that feels so good when you squeeze my tit—so good, so good, so good—so fucking good . . . Ohhhhhh, fuck, you pinch my nipple, my pussy tingles—fuck, eat my tit—how do you do that? What the fuck are you doing to me?” (That looks bad on paper, but it isn’t bad at all, I promise. It’s said in a tone of lustful amazement.) When I started pulling and twisting her nipple, Rachel cried out, “FUCK yeah, baby! Oh, fuck that feels good. You’re driving me so fucking crazy—how the fuck!—can’t stand much more—don’t stop, I can’t take it—ahh—ahhhh—ahhhh—how the fuck do you—FUCK!” That last was a scream that tore from her throat as her orgasm blasted through her like a missile from a silo. She writhed and trembled in the throes of ecstasy, moving so violently that I pulled my head off her tit, though I kept my hands on them.

When she could focus her eyes again, Rachel looked at me in wonder. “You’re the first man ever to give me an orgasm. It’s the best one of my life. And all you’ve done is kiss me and play with my tits. I would never have imagined what just happened. Andrew, that was incredible. You’re incredible.”

“So are you,” I tell her. “That was amazingly hot.” I lean forward and kiss her; she kisses me back eagerly. Then I bend forward further and murmur in her ear, “I need to see your pussy. I need to taste you.”