Her Breast Interests At Heart

Dee walks through the door after a long shift, still in her scrubs, when she spots Kimmy on the couch staring at her like she’s been rehearsing a speech for hours. Kimmy blurts it out: she wants her breasts done, and she wants her stepmom—the board-certified plastic surgeon—to do them. Dee lifts an eyebrow, keeps her voice steady, but agrees to look her over right there in the living room. Kimmy sheds her top. Dee steps close, cups both small breasts, tests their weight, traces the lower curves with her thumbs, measures how far the nipples point, squeezes until they spill between her fingers. The room is quiet except for fabric rustling and breath catching. When Dee finally releases her, she says they’re already ideal. Then she proves it. She drops to her knees, presses her mouth to Kimmy’s chest, sucks one taut nipple deep, rolls the other between her thumb and finger until Kimmy gasps. Saliva glistens on flushed skin. Dee keeps the attention tight—no wandering—flicking the bud with her tongue in short, focused laps, then biting just enough to make Kimmy shiver. She switches sides, pinching the slick nipple she just left, tugging until it stretches and springs back, while her tongue circles the one she hasn’t tasted yet. Kimmy’s back arches; her hands tangle in Dee’s hair, urging her closer. Dee answers with firmer suction, humming low in her throat so the vibration travels straight through Kimmy’s nerve endings. Every few moments Dee pulls off to admire the view—pink, swollen, shining—before diving in again. She presses both breasts together and drags the flat of her tongue across the joined peaks, then separates them to nip and soothe, one after the other. She slides two fingers under each curve, lifting and presenting them to her mouth like an offering she intends to finish. Kimmy’s thighs tremble; her hips rock forward with each new pull of Dee’s lips. No more talk of surgery. Just the wet sound of Dee worshipping what’s already hers.