forward, his voice dropping lower as his breath skated across her cheek. "I am going to reverse the stroke now. Look into my eyes and tell me exactly how it feels. What you feel. Do not think of me or of anything but my hands on your breasts."
She flinched slightly at his bald word, but then chided herself for such stupidity. He had been touching her for a good twenty minutes or more; why would he draw back from simple words? He was touching her breasts, she told herself firmly. And it felt...
"Tell me!"
She nodded, the movement unsteady. Then she did as she was told, setting her gaze on the fold of his eyelid, the dark circle of his eyes. This close, she could see the individual colors in his eyes. The iris was actually a circle of very dark brown hues radiating out from the black pupil in the center. It was bizarre to be thinking such things, and yet, the sight of his eyes gave her such an expansive feeling. As if she were slowly flowing outward from him. From the center of his eyes.
Then, she began to breathe with his stroke; exhaling as he began the downstroke, this time on the outside of her breasts, to circle underneath. As he drew his fingertips up through the center of her chest, she inhaled, simultaneously drawing his hands up and pushing them deeper into her skin.
"I feel the heat of your hands," she finally said. "They are so large. I know it is not possible, but I feel as if you are leaving a part of you behind with each movement. And that I..."
"You what?"
She inhaled deeply. "I am meeting it. I am meeting your heat, your fingers."
"That is your yin, rising to greet my yang. Tell me more."
"My br..." She could not say the word. "I am so warm. I feel as if I am growing. Expanding." Was it his eyes, or his touch that was doing this to her?
And then something changed. There was a build-up of pressure, a swelling of some kind. Abruptly, her breath became tighter, more erratic. She tried to remain calm, but she could not. It was as if a fountain had sprung up inside her, welling up and up until her chest then her head began to swell. And with her gasp, it exploded. Quietly. But loud enough that she felt and heard a bang inside her ears.
"Oh!" she said. "I... there was... a sound." She could not express it any more clearly than that.
"That was your body throwing off its age," he responded, and she found herself grasping the soothing notes of his voice, using them to ground herself as yet another wave began to build.
"I don't understand," she whispered, unable to find enough breath to speak normally.
"You do not need to understand. Only accept. You are growing more youthful with every moment."
"But—"
"You are avoiding your feelings. Tell me what you feel."
She flushed, knowing he was right. She would much rather think about his bizarre philosophies than about the way her breath was completely keyed to his movements, her entire body throbbing to his stroke.
"I feel... everything." All of it. Focused on her breasts, flowing toward her breasts, aching inside her breasts. "I am so full." She had no idea what she was saying, but he apparently did. She watched his eyes crinkle as he smiled.
"We are almost done. Let everything flow to your breasts. Let them grow full. Let them understand what it means to be breasts."
She barely heard him, so wonderful was the experience of fullness. It was all drawing together, pushing toward some peak that she did not understand. That she wanted desperately.
And then it was over, and he drew his hands away. So startling was the moment that she actually cried out when he withdrew. She looked down at her chest as if such a movement could draw him back to her.
What she saw amazed her even more. Her breasts were pink and peaked, full and yet not nearly as large as she felt. It was as if her spirit had grown outward from her physical body. She even drew her hand up, holding it just beyond her skin. And she could swear she could feel it: the heat of her own hand, the pressure
She flinched slightly at his bald word, but then chided herself for such stupidity. He had been touching her for a good twenty minutes or more; why would he draw back from simple words? He was touching her breasts, she told herself firmly. And it felt...
"Tell me!"
She nodded, the movement unsteady. Then she did as she was told, setting her gaze on the fold of his eyelid, the dark circle of his eyes. This close, she could see the individual colors in his eyes. The iris was actually a circle of very dark brown hues radiating out from the black pupil in the center. It was bizarre to be thinking such things, and yet, the sight of his eyes gave her such an expansive feeling. As if she were slowly flowing outward from him. From the center of his eyes.
Then, she began to breathe with his stroke; exhaling as he began the downstroke, this time on the outside of her breasts, to circle underneath. As he drew his fingertips up through the center of her chest, she inhaled, simultaneously drawing his hands up and pushing them deeper into her skin.
"I feel the heat of your hands," she finally said. "They are so large. I know it is not possible, but I feel as if you are leaving a part of you behind with each movement. And that I..."
"You what?"
She inhaled deeply. "I am meeting it. I am meeting your heat, your fingers."
"That is your yin, rising to greet my yang. Tell me more."
"My br..." She could not say the word. "I am so warm. I feel as if I am growing. Expanding." Was it his eyes, or his touch that was doing this to her?
And then something changed. There was a build-up of pressure, a swelling of some kind. Abruptly, her breath became tighter, more erratic. She tried to remain calm, but she could not. It was as if a fountain had sprung up inside her, welling up and up until her chest then her head began to swell. And with her gasp, it exploded. Quietly. But loud enough that she felt and heard a bang inside her ears.
"Oh!" she said. "I... there was... a sound." She could not express it any more clearly than that.
"That was your body throwing off its age," he responded, and she found herself grasping the soothing notes of his voice, using them to ground herself as yet another wave began to build.
"I don't understand," she whispered, unable to find enough breath to speak normally.
"You do not need to understand. Only accept. You are growing more youthful with every moment."
"But—"
"You are avoiding your feelings. Tell me what you feel."
She flushed, knowing he was right. She would much rather think about his bizarre philosophies than about the way her breath was completely keyed to his movements, her entire body throbbing to his stroke.
"I feel... everything." All of it. Focused on her breasts, flowing toward her breasts, aching inside her breasts. "I am so full." She had no idea what she was saying, but he apparently did. She watched his eyes crinkle as he smiled.
"We are almost done. Let everything flow to your breasts. Let them grow full. Let them understand what it means to be breasts."
She barely heard him, so wonderful was the experience of fullness. It was all drawing together, pushing toward some peak that she did not understand. That she wanted desperately.
And then it was over, and he drew his hands away. So startling was the moment that she actually cried out when he withdrew. She looked down at her chest as if such a movement could draw him back to her.
What she saw amazed her even more. Her breasts were pink and peaked, full and yet not nearly as large as she felt. It was as if her spirit had grown outward from her physical body. She even drew her hand up, holding it just beyond her skin. And she could swear she could feel it: the heat of her own hand, the pressure
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