I give Bailey a titgasm

While we kiss, I grab Bailey’s top and pull up. She releases me to grab it and pull it off, breaking our lip lock just long enough to get it over her head. She deftly opens the front catch of her bra and pulls it open, shrugging the straps off her shoulders, then grabs my hands and puts them on her tits. I squeeze them both; she moans at my touch, and I pull back in surprise to look at them: they’re distinctly larger than I had ever realized.

“Bigger than you thought, huh?” Bailey asks with a knowing smirk. I cup them in my fingers, hefting their beautiful weight, and nod. Her nipples are quite large, too (though her areolae are small), dome-shaped, and a little above center so that they point jauntily upward; they’re a deep purplish-pink that contrasts quite interestingly with her bronze skin. “I wear minimizing bras with high support.” I look up at her and she continues, still smirking, “I have to, doing cheer. My tits are very sensitive; all the bouncing would hurt, while the friction on my nipples would get . . . let’s just say it would be embarrassing to have an orgasm in the middle of a routine.” I feel a bolt of lust surge through me and see it mirrored in her expression. “I could give you a demonstration, if you like . . . but I suspect you’d be happier to give yourself one.”

I kiss Bailey again; she pushes her tongue into my mouth. I rub my thumbs across her nipples, back and forth, and feel them lengthen under my touch. She moans gutturally into my mouth. I plant kisses on her cheek and along her jawline; when I reach the area below her ear, she shivers. “Squeeze my tits, Mr. Harrison,” she breathes, “squeeze my big titties. Pinch my nipples—pull them—twist them—once I’m good and horny, they like it a little rough.”

“Bailey, I’m about to fuck your brains out,” I murmur. “You don’t need to call me Mr. Harrison.”

“Yes, Sir,” she moans, shivering again when I lick her earlobe.

“You don’t need to call me sir, either.”

“What if I want to call you Sir?” Bailey asks, her voice rich with lust. “What if I like it?” She squeaks when I scrape her pink nubs with my thumbnails. “Ooooooh, like I like that . . .”

I shrug mentally as I start kissing my way down her neck to the slopes of her sweet curves. “You can say whatever turns you on, baby girl.” I rotate my wrists, bringing my pointer fingers around to meet my thumbs, and pinch her nipples—now short, thick pegs. Bailey gasps.

“Ohhhh, that’s good, Sir, that’s so good, pinch my nipples, pinch ’em harder—pull—oooh, that’s good . . . Can I tell you to call me your slut? Can I tell you to call me your little whore?” The lust in Bailey’s voice is electric. “I want to hear you say I’m your fucktoy, your fuckdoll, that you’re going to make me your naughty little cockslut and use me as your personal cumdump. I want you to tell me you own me, that I’m your sex ****, that from now on—ohhhhh, fuuuuuck, Sir, that feels good—suck my nipples, please, Sir, please, I want to feel your mouth on them before you make me cum—from now on, my hot little kitty belongs to you and you’re going to take her whenever, wherever, and however you want. That’s what turns me on, Sir.”

“Wow . . .” I breathe, completely taken aback. “You really are a dirty little cumslut, aren’t you?”

Bailey shivers again, then mewls as I gently explore one of her nipples with the tip of my tongue. “Yes, Sir,” she moans, “and I need to be treated like a dirty little cumslut . . . I’m your dirty little cumslut, Sir—I need you to take possession . . .” I take the sweet pink peg between my lips, caressing it, as I pull and twist the other one, then start to suck. I take it as deep as I can, filling my mouth with her soft, firm titflesh; I suck on my luscious mouthful and paint it all over with my tongue. “That’s good, Sir, that’s so good, no boy has ever done that to me,” she cries out, grabbing my head with both hands and holding me to her breast.

I grip her flesh gently with my teeth, making her mewl, then release her and pull back to focus on her nipple. I suckle it hard and fast, lashing it with my tongue, and Bailey starts to shake. “Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—FUCK—Ben!” she screams, trembling violently with the **** of her climax. I can feel her holding onto my head for dear life; I wrap my arms around her to help keep her up.

When Bailey’s arms unclench, I let her nipple slide from my lips and start kissing my way south. “Hang on a minute, Sir—I need to get these off. Not only are my panties soaked, I think I soaked my shorts, too.”