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cats_motherEverybody Needs a Bosom for a Pillow
Casey's always been a breast man. He loves the way they look: pale flesh, blue-veined, blushing at the tip; round, softly swelling, or small, upright and perky. He loves the feel of them in his hands, their weight, the tender brush of skin; their taste in his mouth, and their texture, how they yield beneath his tongue. He loves to lie, spent, his cheek cushioned by that bountiful softness.
Danny has no curves, only planes, angles, hardness; he doesn't like to have his nipples touched, squirms away, moves Casey's head downwards. That's all right, too.
That's better than all right.
***
Casey's always been a breast man. He loves the way they look: pale flesh, blue-veined, blushing at the tip; round, softly swelling, or small, upright and perky. He loves the feel of them in his hands, their weight, the tender brush of skin; their taste in his mouth, and their texture, how they yield beneath his tongue. He loves to lie, spent, his cheek cushioned by that bountiful softness.
Danny has no curves, only planes, angles, hardness; he doesn't like to have his nipples touched, squirms away, moves Casey's head downwards. That's all right, too.
That's better than all right.