When I was a little girl growing up, my parents became accustomed to being showered with adoring comments from men and women alike. They received compliments such as “My goodness, Ashlee is so pretty” or “When she grows up, she’s going to be a stunner,” or “You are going to have to beat the boys off with a stick when she’s older!”
By the time I reached junior high, I noticed that the fathers stopped making these comments and it was only my friends’ mothers who would delight in saying such things. I didn’t understand the sudden silence from them at the time, especially since I still drew their smiles that used to be paired with expressions of praise.
It was around this same time when I started developing breasts; in fact, I was the first girl in my grade to wear a bra. The older girls I knew from the neighborhood treated me like I was special for it, but I was more embarrassed than anything else. I wasn’t ready for the attention that was being thrust upon me.
Fast forward to my first week of high school: by this time my pretty face was no longer what caught people’s attention first. Everyone in the building noticed me. Everyone stared. My tits entered the room before I did. They announced me. I was barely 14 years old; my boobs were D-cups and as firm as my age suggests they would be.
It was summer, I was 21, and I was having the time of my life with my friends. My entire adult life was in front of me, and yet I had already attained the wisdom of women who were much older. From having boys beg for a chance to do my homework, to professors rewarding me with special privileges and select internship opportunities, I had learned what men could do for me (when I allowed them to).
But, I still hadn’t learned yet to what lengths they would go for me, even when it was totally unsolicited on my part. I was with my girlfriends at the beach, sporting a string bikini which really left nothing to the imagination. When I asked the cashier at the convenience store on the strand about the price of the suntan lotion, he said “Usually it’s five bucks. But for you, it’s free.” Before I could blush and thank him he added, “And I’ll pay you $200 if I can rub it into those ripe melons that you brought bouncing into my store.” I was appalled! I threw the bottle at him and stormed out. As I walked off the steam spewing from my ears, I was reminded of something another hot, gifted girl once told me, “You have powers in those beautiful tits, and you cannot be upset when men worship them.” I thought on it for a while, and decided to return to the store.
The cashier was alarmed at first, but I soothed him with a beguiling smile. I glanced down at my heaving bosom, raised my eyes upwards to meet with his, while slowly tracing the outline of my lips with my knowing tongue. Then I let my sultry voice do the rest.
In addition to extracting an apology, I convinced him to hand over the $200, and then some! I also made it crystal clear that my amended terms would be for the sole privilege of rubbing just a dollop of the “complimentary” lotion into my back. He had zero chance of getting near my tits.
My tits are a big part of who I am. They are part of why you are rubbing your cock right now. They are supple, and they are shapely. They are perfect for cradling you’re stiff cock. They feel good in your hands or in your mouth. However, as titillating as they are, my voice adds that third dimension.
If you haven’t spoken to me yet, or it has been a while since you have, please know that together, my beauteous breasts and velvety voice will give you the one-two punch that will send you reeling into ecstasy every time you call.
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