Kim Is Guided Into Discovery
"You've got your tits out again, don't you, Kimmie?" Devaughn's voice was silky smooth in Kim's ears, and so warm and soothing like honeyed whiskey that she barely even felt the tiniest bristle of frustration at his condescending nickname for her before it was brushed away by curiosity. She looked down to see that yes, her bikini top had been peeled up, exposing her light brown breasts and stiff, dark nipples, and before she could even think to be embarrassed something in the back of her mind melted into warm, sleepy bliss and she wound up just staring at her own chest for a long, thoughtless moment. The muscles in her jaw relaxed, and it seemed like everything else relaxed right along with them.
Slowly, she remembered that Devaughn had asked her a question, and her words came out in a drowsy monotone as she answered, "Yes. My tits are out again." She felt a fierce tingle in her nipples at the sound of her droning voice, and she was vaguely surprised to discover that both the arousal and the sleepy murmurs were familiar to her; she was used to coming over to Devaughn's house and hanging out at his pool, which was honestly about the only reason she stayed friends with the patronizing man she used to know in high school, but she was certain she would have remembered if she was in the habit of… of…. Oh. Huh. She was drooling into her own cleavage. That was weird.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Devaughn adjusting his swimsuit to let his ebony cock and heavy, hanging balls swing free… but it didn't really seem all that important when compared to the sight of those stiff, aching nipples. They begged to be played with, teased and pinched and sucked, and really that was all Kim could think about right now--but the water was warm from the summer sun, and Kim's whole body felt heavy with exhaustion, and moving felt too much like work. Even when Devaughn asked her, "And what are your tits, pretty Kimmie?" she felt like she floated in soft, sleepy fascination for ages before it finally occurred to her that she needed to answer his question.
Fortunately, she didn't need to think to know the answer, because thought was becoming increasingly difficult. "My tits are my trigger, Master," she mumbled, her voice slurred by the slackening in her jaw, and if she wondered why she was calling Devaughn 'Master' the question was quickly erased by another wave of tingling lust that seemed to pool in Kim's tight, stiff nipples. She was so excited for Devaughn to tell her to play with them. It seemed somehow intuitive and obvious that a command would break the lethargic catalepsy that gripped her and let her hands go to her breasts, and that sounded so wonderful that despite her drowsiness Kim could actually see her breathing quicken.
It was such a joy when Devaughn purred out in response, "That's right, Kimmie, your tits are your trigger. And your nipples are the off button for your brain." Kim knew without being told that his words were a command, an implied insistence that she demonstrate her susceptibility to his suggestions by reaching up and squeezing her stiff nips until her mind shut down and she rocketed into insensate oblivion for her Master. There was a tiny, infinitesimal moment of self-awareness when she realized how vulnerable she'd be when she was empty and open like that, but the need for pleasure was too strong and her hands were already in motion, and once she began to grope herself even the inner narrative of thought finally ceased.
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