Hurt Me
“Wow,” was all I could say.
She sat next to me again, kissed me, and then spoke quietly. “You
can touch them if you want. Half the fun of titrings is the stimulation.
You don’t have to worry about hurting me, even if you do this.” She
demonstrated with a tug and twist that looked horrible, yet she grinned
all the while.
I must have looked shocked. “I’ve got an office mate who
breastfed her kids,” Susan said, putting her arm around my shoulder.
“She said that babies suck and bite awfully hard, yet it usually just
felt good until the kids got teeth. Nipples really are made to take it,
so you don’t have to worry. Come on, touch them.”
I did, feeling the cool metal of the rings, and then gingerly
following the ring to where it entered her nipple through the knit fabric
of her sweater. My fascination quickly got the better of me as I gently
traced the curve of her nipple, then tentatively took the ring in my
finger and lifted it.
“That feels nice,” she said, squeezing me and resting her cheek on
my shoulder as I tentatively pulled at a ring.
Soon, I was lost in an erotic reverie as I explored the soft
shapes of her breasts, the hard lumps of her nipples, the soft texture of
her sweater, and her rings. Her hands were on me, sliding over my chest
and running down my hips as we kissed, and then her hand was on my penis.