Nipple Bliss: A Wetting Delight

The rain hammered against the windows of the penthouse, a frantic rhythm mirroring the insistent beat of my heart. Below, the city lights blurred into an indistinct glow, a silent testament to the opulent life I’d carved out for myself. But tonight, the luxury felt hollow, a gilded cage around a restlessness that threatened to consume me. My husband, Mark, was across the room, engrossed in some meaningless business call, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the primal heat building within me.

He was a successful architect, a man of sharp angles and precise lines, a world away from the raw, untamed desire that currently possessed me. And yet, it was in those very lines, in the controlled power he exuded, that I found my weakness. Mark was a master of pleasure, a connoisseur of sensation, and I, it seemed, was his willing captive.

The memory of his hands on me, the way they moved with a deliberate grace, pulling, teasing, and then, finally, releasing a torrent of pleasure, replayed in my mind like a forbidden film. The way he'd begin by gently sucking on my breast, the gentle pressure building, then escalating into a rhythmic, insistent pull that sent shivers down my spine. The focus of his attention, inevitably, landed on my nipples, the delicate pink flesh stretching taut as he licked, tasted, and explored every curve and angle. The anticipation, the slow burn of yearning, was almost unbearable.

I rose from the plush velvet chaise lounge, my silk robe trailing behind me like a dark whisper. As I crossed the room, each step deliberate, each breath held captive, I felt a strange detachment from the world around me. My senses sharpened, focusing solely on the proximity of Mark, the scent of his cologne, the subtle warmth radiating from his body.

He answered the phone, his voice smooth and professional, but his eyes flickered towards me as I approached. There was a flicker of amusement in their depths, a knowing glance that both thrilled and irritated me. I stopped just inches from him, leaning in close, inhaling his scent, savoring the moment.

“Busy,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Just finishing up a deal.”

“It’s alright,” I replied, my voice husky with suppressed desire. “I have something far more interesting to occupy my time.”

Without waiting for a response, I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, my nails digging lightly into his skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, instead leaning into my touch, closing his eyes as if lost in a world of pure sensation.

Then, he did it. He turned his back to me, wrapping his arms around himself as he moved towards the bed. The anticipation ratcheted up another notch, the heat building in my veins. He began to suck on my breast, the familiar rhythm returning, this time with an added urgency. The pressure increased, the pull more forceful, and I found myself moaning softly, my body arching involuntarily.

As he licked my nipples, pulling them taut and teasing, I couldn't resist the urge to take control. My hand instinctively moved towards my own breasts, pinching the nipples, rolling them between my fingers, pulling gently, teasingly. The pleasure intensified, but it wasn’t the same. It lacked the depth, the raw intensity of Mark's touch. Still, the act felt good, a desperate attempt to satiate the overwhelming hunger within me.

The phone rang again, shattering the spell. Mark glanced at it, hesitated, then answered. He listened intently, his expression darkening, before hanging up abruptly. He turned back to me, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of regret and longing.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice strained. "Just a demanding client."

“It’s fine,” I replied, trying to mask the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “But I’m still very interested in what you have to offer.”

He moved closer, his body brushing against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my nerves. He began to suck again, even more aggressively this time, his lips pressing firmly against my flesh. I closed my eyes, lost in the pleasure, letting myself go completely, surrendering to the intoxicating sensation.

Suddenly, a new thought struck me, a desperate desire to elevate the experience, to push the boundaries of pleasure beyond anything I’d ever known. "Mark," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I want you to stroke yourself as you suck on my breast. Show me your technique, your method. Teach me how to reach this level of ecstasy."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then, he smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent shivers down my spine. He nodded, and began to move his hand, slowly, deliberately, across my breast, his touch light, teasing, and then, gradually, more insistent.

As he stroked himself, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, I watched with a mixture of fascination and lust. The heat intensified, building into a crescendo of sensation that threatened to overwhelm me. I responded with moans, gasps, and desperate pleas for more, my body writhing in anticipation.

The climax came swiftly, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that left me breathless and weak. I collapsed against him, clinging to his body, savoring the lingering sensations.

Looking back, I realize that this experience, born from a simple desire and a willingness to explore the depths of pleasure, has fundamentally changed me. It has shattered my inhibitions, unleashed a primal hunger within me, and left me forever seeking the next level of sensation. I've spent countless nights on my own, experimenting with my own body, trying to replicate the intense pleasure I experienced with Mark. But there's no substitute for his touch, his skill, his understanding of my desires.

The rain continues to fall, but now it seems less frantic, less insistent. The city lights still blur, but they no longer hold the same allure. My world has shrunk, narrowed to the confines of this penthouse, and the passionate connection I share with Mark. And in this small, luxurious space, I have found a sense of fulfillment, a sense of belonging, that transcends the limitations of my own desires. The world may see me as a wealthy socialite, but beneath the surface lies a woman consumed by a profound and unrelenting lust, a lust that has led me to the edge of ecstasy and beyond.

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