"Well what? They are beautiful." And they were. Even without the bra they stood up tall and proud, gently swaying with each breath. Her breathing in that condition left me breathless. She did not have traditional nipples but only the inverted kind that created huge aureoles. I imagined that rough flesh on my tongue. I realized I was back to staring at her tits and looked back up into her eyes. "They truly are. They are beautiful." I labored, still nearly breathless with what was sitting within arm's length of me.
"I know. I have great tits. I can see for myself both by looking down and in any mirror except one at the funhouse. At the funhouse my bare tits look like a big ridge on a dinosaur's head or something. I bet you never fucked in a funhouse before."
I looked back down at her tits. I was captivated so I made no effort to consider what she was saying, her words got all jumbled up and lost their immediate meaning. I knew she was talking but had little grasp of what she was saying, something about fun, which by the way, I approve of.
"I, have very sensitive tits, that is to say, I can and have climaxed just from having them sucked or kissed, or something. To be truthful, I just remember that feeling, the flooding of my senses with the sensation of the right man's lips. I can come when a man, uh, you know. But not always. Not with everyone, the technique must be right. Or something. So, so you see my problem?"
I shook my head because what I was seeing in no way looked like a problem to me.
"You have to kiss my breasts and see if I, so I can, so I know, uh, so I can know how I respond to your lips on me."
Oh boy, did I want my chance. You have to wonder why I was hesitating because I just sat staring at her bare breasts.
D. Debra asked that very thing. "So? Do you want to touch them?"
In answer I reached out and ran a finger along the underside of her breast nearest me. It was soft, smooth, but hot. Her skin was fine porcelain. I moved my finger around the lower curve of her breast and then to the boundary of her aureole. I was totally unprepared for her reaction. She gasped and lifted her chin, closed her eyes and held very still. "Yes, touch them." She mumbled, her voice tremulous and lusty.
I ran the nail of my index finger down the underside and around to the high slope of one tremendous breast, skirting the broad, round oval of her aureole. After a couple circuits, I switched to the other breast. D. Debra held very still, panting as I touched her and for once, she said nothing. She was totally focused on my finger leaving tingling lines on her skin. When I stopped touching her, it was not because I lost concentration, well not really. It was because I realized we were sitting in front of her house with her sweater pulled up and her bra off, her tits bare to the world in the light of the night-light over the door. I could see the two broad windows were curtained with light around the edge of only the one to the right, towards the back of the car. The front door was right there over Debra's shoulder.
"Your father does not have any guns in the house, does he?" I thought that was a very clever question, indirect but to the point so that the answer should yield me the answer to the dick-softening question that interrupted my physical appreciation of this woman's breasts which she had presented to me with such calm deliberation, right here before her front door. I wanted to know if her father was home. I withdrew my one finger from the inside taper of her breast.
Her eyes opened. Her chin lowered. She licked her full, delicately pink lips, rubbed clean of the evening's initial coating of scarlet lipstick by our occasional necking. "What?" She said softly. "You, you said something?"
"Your father does not have any guns in the house, does he?"
"Please touch me again. That was very nice." She sighed.
I compiled, all my concerns forgotten. My heart hammered and in truth I do not know if it was inspired by the woman's awesome breasts cloaked in the patina of my infatuation—yes, love if you are a romantic—or fear of what I was doing and what could happen to me if things went awry, if the front door opened and an angry father appeared in the doorway with an Uzzi in his hands. I touched her as she requested but with just a finger.
"Oh, oh yes, I like that. I love it so much!"
My palms itched so much, demanding the kiss of her breasts on them, I thought I was delirious. I maintained my delicate contact with the one lucky finger, but turning my hand around so that the rough pad of my finger traced invisible lines under her breast. I lifted each one with just my finger, feeling their weight and imagining my tongue on them, my lips pinching at her so sensitive flesh. Then suddenly like a store front closing, the sweater descended and she was shrugging into her coat. When she was cloaked again, though the bra was tangled about her breasts in a way that drew sharp, hard lines in the soft sweater—she looked me in the eyes. "My father is gone, out of the picture. Thank you for a lovely night. Your touch is oh, oh so delicious." The last came out as a suspiration that made my throat go dry. "Your lips, perhaps another time."
I think I blanked out because when I came to myself again, she was gone. The front door was closed. I swear I do not even remember her getting out of the car. It was like she was teleported out of my car to who knows where. I think I was hysterically blind. The drive home was similar. I got home, somehow, coming aware sitting in the garage in the darkness, ebullient but unable to move. I stalked into the house with full intent to be off to bed. Since I had turned my back on my sisters and their little "we will fuck you now" schedule, it was nearly as cold in my house as it was outside of it. I had no illusions about hearth and home welcoming me with warmth and sympathy for my plight.
They were clustered like a little coven in the living room and save for Tawny, glared at me as I sauntered through the room. At the foot of the stairs, I turned and went back to the back the couch. Georgia looked up at me and paused the movie they were watching. "Yes, Sonny, what is it? Mom says we must be kind to you."
"I am in love." I blurted it out like I was projectile vomiting. "I, I know this makes no sense but I am in love. I, I met her just before Thanksgiving." I stopped. I had no idea why I was saying this, nor why now or why in this way to them. Suddenly I wanted them to feel why I was, uh, refusing the implied offer that their schedule held. I did not register their reaction but only when I was showered and tucked safely in the bed in my safely locked room did I come aware. But it was not an awareness I expected. I became aware that my dear sisters could not be allowed to rule me or mine. It was a MILF awareness. My cock sprang to life after a less than satisfying shower, and I consciously considered fucking my sisters.
It was like I was Snow White waking up. After all this time, I felt suddenly stupid for refusing their offer but at the same time, recognized the indentured service it implied if I left the matter up to them. I hadn't and that was good, lucky perhaps because till that moment I had not consciously recognized the situation, denying them only because I was in such hot pursuit of the tits I had touched just that night. My sisters surely had taken my inattention personally, hence the various cold shoulders. I understood that I could not be subject to them. I had to...then I saw clearly. The MILFs had represented the same danger. My sisters, I had to own them like I owned the MILFs! I went to sleep and slept sound and long for the first time in weeks.
