I love the curve of my breast and the way my nipples pucker up when I am cold or turned on. I love how they sit high and full in a good bra and the deep dip between them that I love to run my finger up and down. I love the way they feel when I pull and tug on the nipples, how they tighten beneath my touch and send little shock waves of sensation through my body to between my thighs.
They are not the breasts I had when I was in my teens or twenties or even my thirties and yet they are in fact a little bit of all those and more. They have been smaller than they are now and much bigger then they are now. They have swelled with pregnancy and filled with milk to sustain my two children in the first two years of their lives. There are tiny feathered stretches marks that I am oddly fondly of, they run in delicate little lines as if they are leading the eye, and your mouth, to my nipples.
I like to feel your mouth on them, kisses on the rise of my bosom, hands reaching into my bra to pull them free, taking nipples between thumb and forefinger and twist them just so until it makes me hiss as pleasure and pain mingles. Your teeth graze against the tender skin across my breast as you seek out one of the nipples to take into the heat of your mouth and I arch my back, offering myself to you.
They might not be the breasts of my twenty year old self but the best thing about that is that now they are the breasts of a woman who knows what she likes and is much better at getting it.
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