It’s chilly, and we’re outside. Leaning in to each other for warmth, but delighting in the cold as well. My shirt is unbuttoned slightly and pulled down below my shoulder to expose one of my tits. He licks the tip of his finger slowly and runs it around the nipple. Wet spit meets cold air and hard nipples, and I shiver with longing.
That’s all there is to this story. No context, no identifying details. No emotion or backstory. None of that matters. The only thing that matters is that he’s playing with my tits, and all my thoughts are focused on that tiny fingertip touch – the way the wetness on his finger makes my nipple harder, and the way that shudders through me. Right down my body to my cunt.
Just one breast exposed – firm and goosepimpled in the breeze. My nipple standing out solidly, me arching my back ever-so-slightly as he weaves his finger through the night air towards it. The moment of knicker-flooding catharsis when it finally makes contact.
He does it slowly. Methodically. He’s the picture of restraint. Tracing that finger round and round in tiny circles, as I bite back mewls and whimpers. Cold air, hard nipples, gentle fingers. He draws lines around my nipple and my breast aches for a fuller grab: the warmth of the palm of his hand cupping me, the sensation of my rock-solid nipple shrinking under the heat and pressure.
He doesn’t grab me, but he does start to dip his head – slowly, again. Achingly slowly. Wetting his lips as he goes. The sight of it makes me squirm and pant.
When he finally takes my nipple in his mouth, I gasp. It’s not deliberate. The anticipation has set me trembling, and the climactic rush as he sucks at me is almost overwhelming.
I see stars.
I want to hold the back of his neck while he does it – keeping him there in just the right place, as he rolls his soft, wet tongue around my hard nipple. But I know if I did that the magic would be lost.
When he sits back up again, I wriggle. Grinding my legs together to try and temper the flush of arousal in my cunt. I’m so eager to get fucked, yet not even close to ready for this glorious part to end.
I shift position, pulling my shirt down over the other shoulder and exposing my other breast for him to play with. The nipple there is soft to start, but quickly stiffens in the darkness. Then he wets his finger again.
As he rolls his finger softly around my hard nipple in the cold air, I press my face into his neck and muffle my moans against his warm, sweet-smelling skin. He pinches it gently, lifting me slightly up, and the dominant control of that gives me yet more of those shudders.
When he dips his head to take it in his mouth, I whisper: “I need you inside me right now.”
I whimper ‘please’ and ‘yes’ and my moans become louder.
I’ve forgotten that we’re outside, and people might hear. Forgotten that it isn’t just us two, cuddled up together under a blanket in private.
In that moment I forgot what time was, and who he was, and what I wanted. All that existed was cold air, hard nipples, and one wet finger tracing circles and circles and circles. Hypnotising me with the need for what comes next. Paralysing me with my own wretched lust.
Then, as if he hadn’t already got me in the palm of his hand – kitten-limp and mewling and utterly desperate for him – he paused and sat back. With agonising and painstaking care, he reached for the bottle of fridge-cold water that was sitting beside him and poured a tiny amount into the bottle cap. Then dipped his finger in to wet it, and used that cold cold fingertip to tease my hard nipples again.
Round and round in icy circles, then re-dip, and back for more. Till time stood still and everything went dark and the rest of my body disappeared – there was just the pinpoint frozen hardness of each of my nipples, smarting with the need to have him soothe them with warm lips.
When he sucked on the first nipple, I let out an involuntary whimper. As he took the second into his mouth, my cunt flooded.
When we stood up to go inside, I took his hand and slipped it down my knickers, explaining:
“Thought you might like to know just how thoroughly amazing that was.”
He grinned, licked his fingers, then replied:
“Don’t worry: I know.”
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2 Comments
I like this!
This awoke something within me.
My nipples are very sensitive – something heightened, perhaps, by the fact that they were once rubbed almost raw by a thick card in very cold weather (this is not an interesting story). I don’t have boobs, but I do have relatively pert nipples, and they are sensitive.
Unlike you, I don’t like them being touched… but, like you, I do, only when I’m about to come.
It’s impossible to divine when that is, and therefore, difficult to time; realistically, it’s only happened a couple of times. Get me on my back masturbating and touch my nipple: I’ll scream. Wait until I’m almost there and then close your lips around it: I’ll have one of the most intense orgasms ever known to humankind.
GOTN, I am jealous of your nipples’ resilience to so much stimulation. I’d have no idea how to deal with any of that.