Her Breasts His Hands

Very slowly, with just the tip of his finger, he touches the very tip of her left nipple.

Very slowly, he makes slow round motions with his fingertip, barely making contact with the tip of her nipple.

Very slowly, her nipple becomes hard.

She watches. Wide-eyed.

Very slowly, he does the same thing with both nipple, barely touching them.

Her eyes say what her body is feeling.

Then he pulls his right hand away.

And very slowly, with just the tip of his finger he makes round movements around the outside of her erect nipple.

He is so slow she can feel slight differences under and on the sides and on top of each nipple. He's barely touching her and yet it feels intense.

She closes her eyes. Not out of pleasure, although the pleasure is enormous. But out of concentration. She wants it to last. She doesn't want to react and rush things. She wants to focus and relax and let it go on as long as possible.

And very slowly he begins with his right hand, just touching the sides of other nipple, making slow circles around it.

She forces herself to breath slowly and deeply.

He's rarely this way. He's good. But he is rarely this good. His own desires most often take control. And things get rushed. And things get neglected. And orgasms come. Good orgasms. Loud orgasms. Fun orgasms. But when he is like this, orgasms are in a whole other category.

Again he pulls back his right hand.

Very slowly, with his other hand, he begins to circle around the out part of her nipple. The soft part. The part flush with her breast.

He's barely touching her. Around and around. So very slowly. His breathing too is slow and deep. She can hear if she listens for it, but she can't do it for long. She can't think about him. It'll speed things up. She must only think of one thing to keep control.

Her nipples are small, yet they are wonderfully sensitive. The contours of them are delicate and very tender.

Then he begins with the other hand. Just one finger. Slow, circular motions. She thinks of one thing. One thing only. The exact spot he is touching at the moment. She can't think about sex. She can't think about touching him. She can't think about touching herself. All that would bring an end to this. And she knows, if she can hold out, he has miles to go.

Typically he treats her breast as two beloved softballs. He tends to be more masculine with them. His squeeze is firm. His hold is definite. His hands are big. He can palm her like they're two softballs.

She enjoys it. She likes it. She wants it. She's far more in love with her breasts than he is. She seeks the attention. She desires the reaction. She craves the pleasure.

But today is not a typical day. Today he is not treating them in his typical quick and passionate and lusty and fun way. Today he is loving them differently.

Again he pulls away his right hand.

Slowly, very slowly, he runs one finger down from her nipple, down her breast to where her breasts meets her bottom ribs. And he stops.

And he very slowly traces the little scare left from her implant surgery. Back and forth. Back and forth. Left to right. Right to left.

A man who most often palms his wife's breast in passionate love making is rarely aware that every inch of her breast craves to be caressed.

Very slowly his lone finger leaves the little scare and travels beyond it. It makes it ways slow going to the outside of breast, slowly up the side, slowly to the top, slowly down the inside, slowly between her cleavage, and slowly down to her little scar again.

He make this slow circuit three, four, five, six times.

She's been feeling a slight throb and tingle between her legs. She been feeling the swelling and rising and expansion of her clitoris. She's been feeling the wetness and moisture of her vagina. But she tries awfully hard to push those sensations to the back of her mind. She tries so hard just to focus on where his finger is at the moment.

He raises his other hand and begins the same thing on the other breasts. Circling the very place on her breast where it rises from her body.

Men are aware, but often forget, the underside of a women's breast is more sensitive than the top. The skin is most soft there. The softness lessens as you go up the sides to the top.

He's now, with both hands, very slowly circling one finger under both breasts. It's not erotic like her nipple, but it feels so good. It's a unique feminine pleasure.

And with both hands, he slowly, very slowly makes his way up the outside of both breasts doing the same thing with his fingers. Small, soft circles.

This has a unique sensation. It gives a woman a sense of the size and dimension of her breasts.

She likes the sensation. She severely injured a breast in a boating accident. Her breasts were smaller then. In the hospital the doctor asked. And she said yes. She never felt small or inferior. But since the accident she is bigger and feels bigger and fuller. It's a feeling she likes.

As he slowly and gently brings his fingers to the outside of both breast she feels full and round. It's a profound feminine feeling, especially sexually. But once again she has to stop her mind. She has to force herself to think only of where his fingers are. Nothing more. For anything more brings desire to racing to her body and mind.

Men think of breasts with heightened awareness, almost alertness. Women think of breasts with passive pleasure, not sensual, not sexual, but womanly. They became sexual when they decide. Or their body decides.

She concentrating. She's almost bearing down. She's commanding herself to stay focused.

Because she knows what is coming next. Because this is not the first time. It's rare, but it is not the first.

He again drops his right hand.

Very slowly, with one finger, he traces the outside of her left breasts downward, back over the little scar, and up the inside.

The inside, for some women, perhaps most women, is the most sensual after her nipple. Inexplicably, perhaps because of cleavage, this is most erotic.

Very slowly, his finger touches both breasts. She feels it. Deeply. In her chest. And between her legs. And in her stomach. She feels desire.

Every woman has a sexual breaking point. Sometimes she lets loose early. Why not? And sometimes she draws out the pleasure as long as she can hold her man at her pace. Which, we all know, is nigh unto impossible.

A finger, at the right place, at the right time, can break a woman's resolve. It can break her strength.

She wants. More. She's reaching the place where she will throw herself at him. Or ask, or beg, for him to throw himself at her.

His finger presses her right breast. Softly. Still touching her left breast. Up. Slowly. Back down. Slowly. Pressure against the left breast. Up. Slowly.

Repeat. Repeat. Two fingers. Just the finger tips.

Men struggle to contain themselves with bare breasts. They are too powerful. Too pleasurable. To desirable. They are beautiful.

He's more in control than she is. But she is not showing it. But her thighs are beginning to hurt. Her stomach too. Her muscles have been too tight for too long. But if she lets loose. She'll succumb.

Three fingers. Slowly. Repeated. Over. And over. Then a single finger down the middle. Her mind goes to his penis there. Her mind goes to his tongue there. Her mind goes to her own fingers there.

She's fighting the urge to reach for his hand and redirect them to her nipples. She's losing control. The thing she wants is the thing that will stop all this.

He pauses. She dare not open her eyes.

She feels several fingers on both sides of her breasts. And then a thumb on the other side of each breasts. He holds his hands there for a moment than slowly pulls them back letting his fingers and thumb meet at her nipple.

Gently, very gently, his finger tips touch her nipples. She'd breaking.

But he does this several times. She tries to force her mind to think of something, anything else, but it's hard. It feels so good.

In her concentration, she is startled to feel his breath on her neck, but distantly. His fingers continue to stroke her breasts back and to and from her nipples.

His breath is a terrific distraction, but she doesn't connect the dots until she feels a soft kiss just below her right ear. He's very close to her. She cranes her neck towards the kiss. She's melting. His lips barely make contact and they make no noise.

He knees are bending. She just can't keep them straight anymore. He knees are bending back. And just as slow she connects the dots. He's leaning her back onto the bed.

She let's go.

Finally.

She reaches, finally, to wrap her arms around him and as she does she feels her knees go up. She doesn't know if she's doing it or him. She embraces him.

Then. The sensation that her body is craving, screaming for, desiring, wishing, lusting.

She feels him enter her.

He's slow.

She lets out a breath she feels like she's been holding for ten minutes.

In. Out. In. Out. So very, very slowly. He feels big. He feel so long. So hard.

This will be an orgasm unlike any other.