Submitted by megan on Sun, 06/07/2009 - 18:31
Both my hands are on your chest, the mounds of my thumbs resting on the tops of your breasts where they spill up out of your bra. In one movement: my left slides down, over the smooth lace, your nipple against the centre of my palm; my right slides up, up your windpipe, where my fingers count your tracheal ridges. I cup your chin and push up. The expanse of all that smooth taut skin, delicious.