I don't know why even safe-for-work images and thoughts of your chest stir me, but it does. Seeing your breasts under whatever layers you're hiding them, every jostle and bounce, seeing the fabric strain just makes me want you ( and them) more.
And there's so many ways I would enjoy them, indulge that need I can't explain or deny. Groping, pawing at them, palms open, rougher then I should, enjoying the weight of them even through those layers. Or ripping your shirt open, watching the fabric tear, the thrill of being unable to wait, just getting to your chest however I can. I could just pull that sweater up, enough to bury my cock in your tits, make you see how hard you get me, squeezing them as I rut and spurt. Is it more urgent than that, unable to wait for even that first contact, jerking furiously as I push you to your knees, spurting into your mouth and on your chest before I can get to a welcome home.
You riding me, my hands squeezing and pinching them, the flesh sleeping out from my eager hands. Or your thighs around my face as I eat you out, my hands clawing at your breasts as I feast between your legs. Or just whenever I feel the need, ambushing you, diving at your chest and sucking and squeezing, mouth on a nipple as my hands attack your big tits.
If you want your tits to be worshipped/used/enjoyed/attacked as much as I want to do those things to them, we should talk.
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