A quick question for the ladies

How about this does this sum it up…
She’d been thinking about them all day — not just her breasts, but her nipples. They felt huge, thick, swollen from the constant press of her bra. Every step in the grocery store had been a tease: the firm fabric grazing them, the subtle drag over their erect tips. It was almost too much, like they were begging for attention she couldn’t give in public.

By the time she made it home, the fullness in her breasts had become a deep, pulsing ache. She barely made it to the bedroom before her hands were tugging at the buttons of her blouse. Her bra straps slid down her shoulders, and the cups strained forward until she unclasped them with a sigh that was almost a moan.

Her breasts spilled out, heavy and ripe, the skin smooth and tight. Her nipples stood proud and swollen — not just hard, but thick from the pressure, flushed a deeper shade that spoke of how ready they were. She ran her thumbs over them, slow circles at first, then gentle pinches that sent a sharp spark straight to her core.

She climbed onto the bed and lay back, letting her breasts settle heavily against her chest. She took them in both hands, lifting them slightly so she could feel their weight shift. The heat of her own palms made her nipples throb, and she pressed her fingers into the soft flesh, coaxing the fullness toward the tips.

Her breath caught. A firm squeeze, and the first bead of milk crowned her nipple, fat and glistening. She gasped as it gave way to a sudden, warm spray that arched across her stomach, the sensation making her toes curl. Another pulse followed, thicker this time, dribbling down her side before she caught it with her fingertip.

She stared at the drop for a moment before lifting it to her lips. The taste was warm, faintly sweet, and it made her moan softly. She wanted more — wanted someone’s mouth on her, drawing deep, greedy pulls from her aching breasts. She imagined the wet heat of lips sealing around her nipple, the tongue coaxing the flow faster, her own breathless begging for them to take every drop.

She focused on each nipple in turn, rolling and pressing, feeling the deep ache ease into blissful relief. The streams came quicker now, sometimes in short sprays, sometimes in slow, creamy dribbles that traced lazy paths over her ribs and belly. The warmth against her skin was intoxicating.

Her nipples, still thick and aching, stood impossibly firm with each pulse, as if reluctant to soften even in release. She gave them a final, lingering squeeze, watching the last droplets gather and fall, her whole body trembling with that strange, orgasm-like aftershock.

She lay still for a long while, sticky warmth drying on her stomach, breasts heaving with each slow breath. The ache was gone, replaced by a deep, molten calm — but the craving remained. And in the quiet haze, she knew that next time, she wouldn’t be alone