TNT: tits and talk

I flip myself up into a sitting position on the sofa to let Heather up. She sits up, but instead of standing up she swings herself around into a straddling position across my lap. She grabs my shirt and pulls it up firmly. I take the hint and raise my arms; she pulls my shirt all the way off and tosses it aside. She purrs approvingly as she runs her hands along my arms to my shoulders, feeling the muscles shift as I lower my hands to her thighs, then from my shoulders down my chest to my abs. I’ve been working out with the baseball team—and Coach Hansen, who didn’t earn the nickname “Coach Hammer” for nothing—long enough that I’m in far and away the best shape of my life. I was never overweight or anything, but I didn’t have a lot of muscle definition. That has changed. I’m even developing a six-pack!

“My man’s turning into a real hunk,” Heather coos. I can feel myself blush with pleasure to hear her call me “my man.” She doesn’t seem to notice—she’s staring at my abs. “Alyssa told me you were walking on to the baseball team and that the workouts had made a real difference,” she continues, “but I don’t think she gave you enough credit. Lover, you’re hot. I’m going to have to beat the girls off with a stick.”

I know Heather is saying this to praise me, and perhaps to reassure me a little—but I can’t help wondering if there’s a little anxiety coming through there. I slide my hands around to her ass and squeeze lightly. “No you won’t, love,” I tell her quietly. “I’ve had a lot of practice saying ‘no’ to sex the last few months.” She looks surprised to hear that. “A lot of my clients—not as many as I expected at the start, but a lot of them—have boyfriends or even fiancés. Some of those boyfriends are around, but won’t eat pussy; others aren’t around, for whatever reason. Either way, they want their pussies eaten, but they don’t want to do anything else, because they don’t want to cheat on their men. They don’t believe they are if all I do is eat them out, I don’t think their boyfriends would agree, but that’s how they see it. For them, my job isn’t just to go down on them and give them an orgasm or four—”

“Four?” Heather says, startled.

“It’s happened,” I say. “Anyway, my job is to go down on them, make them cum as many times as I can, and then when they want to fuck me, tell them ‘no.’ I have just about had to beat one of them off with a stick. I finally had to drop her as a client after three sessions because she was getting increasingly out of control about it. I didn’t tell her that the day of the session, of course, I let her sleep on it. She didn’t like it, but she was mostly unhappy with herself, not with me; she couldn’t argue with my reasoning.

“Point is, baby, you have nothing to worry about. Even if there were a girl at school as hot as you—and I haven’t met one yet, though some are close—she wouldn’t be the girl I’ve had a thing for since sixth grade, who wanted to be my friend when no one else in the class did, and who’s been the best friend I’ve had ever since. All those relationships start off just physical, and none of them have really gone beyond that yet. Now that you want to be with me—believe me, love, when I say no one can compare to you. I don’t just mean your beautiful eyes, your tight round ass, or your incomparable tits—though I do mean all those things, and all the rest of your body; I mean you, your heart, your mind, your friendship.”

“But I—” Heather breaks in, eyes starting to fill again.

“But nothing,” I interrupt. “Please, Heather, hear me on this: I—don’t—care. The past is the past—it’s done, dead, and gone. Now is us. I heard the line once, ‘Tomorrow is a mystery; yesterday’s a sigh,’ and that’s right. Sigh for the past and let it go; you’ve learned from it. As long as we’re walking into the mystery hand-in-hand, committed fully to each other, that’s all I care about. That’s all that matters.”

Heather cups a hand behind my head and kisses me hard, almost desperately, her tongue probing aggressively for mine. I return her kiss with equal hunger and squeeze her ass cheeks. We make out for a while, then I shift down and trace her jawline with my lips and tongue. I suspect that the area below the ear might be a hotspot for her, and her reaction confirms it, so I linger there for a little while. “I never knew that felt so good,” she murmurs.

I move my hands from Heather’s ass to her tits. They hang perfectly, carried quite high for their size, with no visible sag, splaying just a little outward. “Oooooh, yeah, baby,” she moans. “Touch my big soft tits. Play with my girls, lover. Whatever you want—they’re all yours.” I lift them with my fingers, then turn my hands so they rest in my palms, feeling their elastic weight. I lift them higher so their full weight is cupped in my hands, stroking their sides with my fingers and thumbs. I turn my wrists inward, feeling the curves of her heavy melons; the tips of my middle fingers brush her dusky-rose nipples, making her moan. Her moans grow louder when I start lightly massaging her firm titflesh. “Mmmmm, love, you’re the best,” she says huskily. “Your hands feel wonderful.” I roll her boobs in my hands, feeling them shift. “I’ve never been—never felt—ohhh, baby, take your time, I could enjoy this forever.”

“I’ve been fantasizing about your tits for years, baby,” I tell her. “I don’t intend to rush this.”

“Years?” Heather asks, then interrupts herself with a wordless moan as I slide my hands up the curves of her twin peaks, capturing each of their large sunset-hued summits between two knuckles. “Ohhh—ahhh—I wish I’d let you do this years agoooooooh!” I tighten my fingers around her nipples, then start massaging her tits like a cat, working their hard tips between my knuckles as my fingers move up and down. “So good, baby—so good—” she pants.

I angle my head to suck her earlobe into my mouth, then murmur, “I wasn’t this good years ago.” I shift my hands up further, covering the front of each tit; I enjoy the feeling of their stiff points poking the centers of my palms.

“I know,” Heather replies, her voice smoky with passion. “Neither were my boyfriends. They just wanted to squeeze me a little, then get their dicks out. You wouldn’t have been this good, but you would still have been this interested—you would still have wanted to enjoy my tits—we could have learned together. I’ve never loved my tits as much as right this moment, because I’ve never had a man love my tits as much as right this moment.”

“It gets better,” I whisper in her ear. I move my hands further up the slopes of Heather’s spectacular peaks, letting them slip from my grasp and bounce, then capture her nipples and twirl them a little. She gasps sharply, and her whole body shudders. I stroke them all over with just my fingertips, learning the feel of their curves and the way they move, then wrap my hands around them, squeezing lightly, and fondle them all over. I kiss my way down her neck and find another hotspot in the hollow of her collarbone, earning myself a small gasp and a hum of pleasure. Then I go lower.

I follow Heather’s clavicle with my lips to the notch where it meets the sternum, pausing there to trace it slowly with my tongue as I once again lift her tits in my fingers; I can feel her body humming in pleasure and anticipation. I nuzzle and lick my way down her breastbone to the center of her cleavage, then take a firm grip on each boob. I press them together and rub my cheeks against them, catlike, reveling in their softness and firmness and the feeling of her skin against mine. I stay there for a while, teasing her nipples with my thumbs and breathing deeply, rejoicing to feel myself surrounded by her tits. Heather strokes my hair. “Love my tits, baby,” she murmurs. “You make me feel so special.”

I turn my head to kiss the inside of first one breast, then the other. I taste her skin, sucking in sweet mouthfuls of supple titflesh and playing my tongue over them. I work my way down to the undersides of her big melons, letting them splay across my features so I can enjoy the feel of their soft weight resting on my face.

Suddenly I feel a hand wrap around my cock; Heather works her cupped palm around my cockhead and moans, “Fuck, baby, no one’s ever—I could cum just from you playing with my big titties.” I pinch and twist both nipples and gently nip the heavy globe currently filling my mouth, and she yelps. “Oooooh, lover, you make me feel so fucking good.” She starts wanking my shaft with a hand well-lubed with my pre-cum. “Such a beautiful long, thick cock . . .” she breathes. “I can’t wait to have it in my hungry pussy—but you don’t even need it to make me cum . . . Suck my tits, baby, suck my big fucking titties and make me cum.”

That’s an invitation that can’t be refused. I take a firm grip on one massive peak and feed its perfect summit into my mouth. Her nipples are quite large and cone-shaped with moderately-sized oval areolae, and they’re very sensitive. I caress it with my lips and tease it lightly with my tongue; Heather moans my name and eggs me on. I close my lips around it and suck gently, swirling my tongue around it, enjoying the taste and the texture of its knurled surface. I squeeze and massage that tit as I feast on it; I caress the other and roll its stiff tip slowly against my thumb. After a while, I switch sides, pinching and rolling the wet nipple somewhat harder. Heather’s breath comes faster and shallower now. “More, lover—that’s so fucking good—” she urges me. “Suckle me—feast on me, baby, feast on my big fucking titties—suck my big nipples—make me cum just from my tits—make me your tit-****, baby—oooooh, your mouth is fucking addictive . . .”

I cram my mouth as full of Heather’s perfect breast as I can, painting it with my tongue and biting gently; she trembles like a leaf. I pull my head back and squeeze both tits; I twirl one titbud between thumb and forefinger while I suckle the other one hard and fast, flicking it with my tongue. Heather shrieks, clings to my head for balance, and grips my prick like she’s hanging on for dear life as another orgasm rips through her like a lightning bolt. This one is fairly brief, but clearly intense, judging by the energy overloading her muscles.

When she sags against me, I let her nipple slip from my mouth and wrap both arms around her, holding her close. She squeezes me tightly, buries her face in my neck, and shakes for a while. “You . . . are . . . in—fucking—credible,” she whispers fiercely into my skin. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had, and my pussy’s still empty, and all you’ve gotten out of it yet is a blowjob.”

I turn and kiss her hair. “No, love,” I murmur. “I’ve gotten the first striptease of my life—one that was created just for me; you have no idea how incredible that was, and is. And I’ve gotten to watch you cum four times already, which is wonderful. And, yes, the blowjob—titjob—was also a dream come true. I’m certainly not done with you yet, but this has all been amazing for me, too.”

When Heather speaks, her voice is thick, and I feel moisture trickling down my neck. “I called them boyfriends, but all I ever really had was fuckbuddies. That was all I ever asked for. Now I don’t just have a boyfriend, I have a lover, and I will never go back.” She raises her head, and I can see the tears flowing. “You’ve made me happier than I have ever been before. I can’t believe I have it so good.”

I kiss her tears and tell her, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, so I’m very glad you feel that way.”

“Baby,” Heather responds, “you’ve done more for me than—what are you smiling about?” From the expression on her face, she doesn’t actually think I’m laughing at her but she can’t think why else I could be smiling.

My tone matches my grin for wryness when I reply, “We sound like a bad romance novel. ‘I love you more.’ ‘No, I love you more.’”

Heather bursts out laughing, so hard the tears begin to flow again, and buries her face back in my neck. I hold her tightly and feel her body shudder and shake. Finally, she lifts her head again and says, a little shakily, “That gives me a new appreciation for bad romance novels.” She pauses to get her breathing under control before continuing, “Let’s get upstairs before I break down and fuck you into oblivion right here on the couch.”

“What would be bad about that?” I ask her with a deliberately smug grin.

“My bed is more comfortable, allows for more positions, and will work much better for falling asleep together—though that will matter more tonight. And . . . I want you in my bed,” Heather adds, almost shyly.

“Love, your wish is my command. Lead on.”