The pads of his thumbs run over the tips and I jolt in place as a zap of pleasure shoots straight between my legs.
Holy. Shit.
Is that supposed to feel that good? He’s merely touching my nipples — that’s all. Just touching them. He’s not twirling or squeezing or anything.
I’ve always had sensitive nipples, but this is a new level.
He twists the tight buds. This time, I can’t hold in the sound, and I let the moan fall free in the silence of the room.
I don’t even know what’s happening to me, but my back arches, pushing my breasts into his expert hands.
Pinching one nipple, he teases the other with a feathery touch. It’s so soft and yet so damn painful. I never thought nipple play could get this unbearable or out of control.
It’s like I’m losing all common sense and my body only listens to this stranger’s ministrations.
My belly dips and an odd type of stickiness coats my thighs.
Am I…wet?
How on earth did that happen? And what the hell is this sweeping sensation forming at the bottom of my stomach?
He twists both nipples again, making me whimper and squirm. He goes back to the gentle caress just to pinch again. My pussy stings and I’m tempted to reach out and touch that ache.
The moment I do, he stops his ministrations.
No, no.
Why did he…oh, is it because I’m touching myself?
“I-I’ll be good,” I murmur, my voice so sexual it almost doesn’t sound like mine.
I let my hands drop to my sides again. He makes no sound or move, and I start to think I ruined the whole thing.
But then he returns to torturing my nipples. With each brush of his skin against mine and every cruel pinch, I moan aloud.
It’s too raw, too real.
Just too much.
He squeezes my nipples one more time, and my moan breaks into something so utterly foreign I stop making sounds altogether for a second.
It’s like being attacked from the inside out and I need to push it outside. The wave is so sudden and violent it steals my voice.
I grip the stranger’s arms, his fingers still pulling on my nipples as my pussy contracts and more juices coat my thighs.
Holy. Hell.
I think I just…came.
For the first time in my life, I had an orgasm, and he didn’t even have to touch my most intimate part.
What would he do if he got to that? Break me?
And why the hell am I getting so hot and bothered at that idea?
Even as the wave slowly subsides, I don’t release my hold on him. My nails dig into his forearms — they’re strong, feeling veiny to the touch, as expected from an older man.
I sigh, my heart rate slowly leaving the dangerous range and going back to normal.