Sexy Just Got Rich
From The Brit Babes
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Here’s a wee snippet to get you in the mood
Champagne and Tits
Bosoms. Breasts. Tits. Funbags. Nipples.
Whatever. I am completely indifferent to them. They do nothing for me. I like looking at them on other women but mine are of no consequence to me. Well that’s not true—Jim adores mine. He says they are perfectly made to fit in his cupped palm. He sometimes comes up to me from behind and slides his hands up to hold them, knead them, letting the nipples slide between his fingers as he does. Teasing, pressing, coaxing.
They just aren’t sensitive at all. I know it saddens Jim but they really just aren’t. I’ve heard of women who can climax from nipple stimulation alone. My breasts are so insensitive that I can’t even muster envy for that kind of experience—I wouldn’t know how to even imagine what that would be like.
Jim has made it his mission to give me a sexual response through my breasts—I really wish he wouldn’t. It isn’t unpleasant having attention lavished on my bosom but there are far more exciting and stimulating parts that could be attended to. Take the crook of my arm… oh my god… nibble on the inside of my elbow and I will do anything you want… anything. There is a path with a very distinct trail leading from there to my clitoris. All the nerve endings are in perfect alignment on that particular journey, oh yes.
Or my shoulders, or the vulnerable fleshy bit of my arm just where is reaches my underarm—I’m squirming and wriggling just to think of it.
But tonight, I know it; Jim has something planned for me. He’s been looking at my tits all day and there’s champagne in the fridge—some Krug left over from my most recent event. He’s even chilled the flutes in the freezer.
“Strip.” He commands as he presses play on the music remote. My favourite sex song plays, bassy and seductive. I sway and peel away what little clothes I have on and drop them to the floor, leaving my heels and panties. His gaze skims over my body and comes to rest, as I knew it would, on my breasts. I pre-empt his request by taking them in hand and squeezing the nipples to the hypnotic pulse of the beats.
He backs out of the room to the kitchen, eyes still fixed on me, to get the champagne. The best I could find to woo potential clients last night. I’m not sure if they were impressed by my presentation or not, but no matter, gaining new clientele has almost become a sport rather than proper business, lord knows I don’t need the money. Jim seems to like it though, spending it anyway. He has a good eye and catching a glimpse of myself in the gilt mirror opposite, I see evidence of his talents in the underwear I’m wearing. Classy. Silk. Very damn expensive. Designer, apparently, very exclusive though I’ve never heard of them. All this money doesn’t sit right with me at all. I am patron of many charities and clubs yet still, I can’t help the feeling that I’m cheating. It’s as if I don’t feel worthy of such riches. That’s why I feel lucky to have Jim. Even though it’s my own money, he lavishes me with all the luxury I deny myself. The pop of the cork sends shivers of anticipation through me. He expertly holds the stems in one hand and pours with the other. Foam spills over his knuckles and I lick my lips. He keeps pouring until the glasses brim. He puts down the bottle and hands me a drink.
“Down half a glass and no more.”
I do as he says, the cold bubbles chill me with delight and it feels good to swallow a big mouthful over my throat instead of the usual delicate sips.
“On all fours.” Taking my glass, he tips his head and drinks the rest of bubbly then reaches the bottle to top it up again.
No fair, I think while settling my knees into the softest bit of rug.
He examines me for a few moments then kneels at my side, looking at my swinging breasts as if assessing them. He fills the two glasses a little more and looks back at me. He cups one of my boobs and puts a glass beneath it. I hunch my back like an angry cat to get away from the cold liquid.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a little nervous.
“Just trust me.”