I love Ruby's breasts.
She doesn't love her cleavage and it baffles me. I could lose myself there for hours. I have heard that the v-jay has a power; for me it is all about the boobs.
They are soft and supple and full. Her nipples are perfection, her areolas just right in size and shade. Since becoming a mother I have become somewhat obsessed with nipples and the areola surrounding them. Mine changed with nursing, got larger and darker. I don't love my breasts like I once did, but I accept them and enjoy what they are. Mine are different from Ruby's, yet there is familiarity in them, these mother's breasts of ours.
It is hard to adequately describe hers. They have this weight and movement in my hands that I could never tire of. There is a softness of the skin that is held apart from other areas of her body. When she straddled me and they hung above mine for the first time, I wanted to freeze in that moment. It was like a secret that our husbands had known for years was revealed, this under-boob view of wonder.
I run my tongue along her nipples and suck and flick and pull. Sucking on her tits, running my tongue around them, nibbling, lightly running my fingers over them and feeling them respond to that touch- it is simply amazing. They are everything and more that I imagined another woman's breasts would be. The sounds she makes when my mouth is on one while my fingers play with the other set my body ablaze.
Last night we were in the front seats of her van. Seeing and feeling her hard nipples through her thin shirt sent me over the edge. Pulling it down and taking in the view of her being so exposed. Her sensuality in that moment is burned into my brain. I wanted to sit back and watch them in her hands, letting my fingers run up my skirt to play- but I also wanted to experience them first hand and hear her delight. I wanted more time, more space, more Ruby.