Chest

I sat on the bed, reading more of the Star Doc series, when movement at the edge of my peripheral vision caught my attention. Looking up, I was pleasantly surprised to see my newlywed wife enter the bedroom. All she wore were a favorite black thong and one of my old faded blue flannel shirts, unbuttoned and just barely hiding her feminine swells.

With a smile, I set the book aside and held my arms wide. Anya knelt in my lap and leaned into me, kissing my neck as I wrapped an arm around her waist and slipped my other hand inside the flannel shirt. Anya purred like a contented kitten, obviously enjoying my touch as I balanced a breast in my hand, feeling its gentle weight as I gave it a subtle squeeze.

"You could fondle me all night," she whispered, "and I still wouldn't get tired of it."

"Perhaps I will, then," I said softly with a smile, squeezing the breast a little harder and a little longer.

"Just remember, mister," she countered with a laugh, "that I really am more than just my chest."

"But you know I've always been a breast man. But how about this: Why don't you lean back against me?"

"Sure, sweetie." After sharing a brief kiss, my young wife shifted her position, leaning back into my chest and then placing my hands upon her own chest.

"I thought you said you're more than just your chest," I observed.

"I am!" Anya agreed vigorously, letting her hands finally drop to her lap.

"I know you're of course much more than your chest," I said, kissing her soft cheek.

"But can you blame me if I like to fondle your breasts like this?" As I spoke, I caressed and lifted and gently squeezed her breasts, enjoying their weight and feel and warmed.

And Anya purred yet again.

"But..." I removed my hands from my wife's chest (begrudgingly), and caressed her shoulders. "But, I also like your shoulders."

I kissed the side of her neck. "I also like your neck."

My lips moved upward. "I also like your cheeks."

My fingers toyed with the long strands brushing her shoulders. "I definitely like your long, sand-colored hair."

"More than my breasts?" Anya asked. Even though I could not see her smile, I could practically hear the ends of her lips curling upward.

"Perhaps," I admitted, slipping my hands down the front of my wife's body, rhythmically squeezing her ample feminine swells through the flannel shirt. "Then again, perhaps now."

Anya purred again, practically melting as I manipulated her chest. Briefly, her hands covered mine, causing me to squeeze a little harder.

"But I also like your stomach," I added, slipping one hand down to her belly, briefly dipping a finger into her navel to cause Anya to giggle quietly.

"But you apparently REALLY like my chest. You still have a hand kindly groping my breast."

I dropped my other hand to her thigh.

"No, no, no!!!" Anya grabbed both my hands and placed them back on her chest, this time inside the open flannel shirt. "That's better!"

For several long minutes, I lovingly fondled my wife's chest, listening as the sound of her breathing subtly changed in response to my actions. "You chastise me for thinking only of your chest," I finally whispered into her ear, "yet I can tell from the sound of your breathing that you love it when I focus my attention on your chest."

Anya nodded as she whimpered softly.

"Wrap your arms back around my neck and keep them there."

Anya complied, and I felt her fingers intertwine at the back of my neck. This position naturally forced her chest forward, and I took the opportunity to squeeze harder, and even pull at her breasts. My beautiful young wife responded and I had expected, mewing and moaning as she squirmed a little from my slightly-rough treatment of the most visible symbols of her femininity.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, you naughty girl?" I challenged. Anya simply nodded, her breathing heavier and louder now. "You knew that I would ultimately molest you like this when you came into the bedroom, didn't you, you naughty girl?" She nodded again.

My wife yelped when I slapped a breast; in fact, she practically jumped out of her own skin. But she then quieted considerably, grunting softly as I spanked her chest, purposely avoiding any semblance of a rhythm to keep her guessing and off-balance. Since I was only wearing briefs myself, I knew she was enjoying this erotic play from the moisture seeping through her thong and onto my thighs.

I lost track of time as I played my wife's breasts as if they were a pair of drums. I varied the force of each strike, generally keeping each strike somewhat soft, but occasionally giving her a hard staccato blow, just so I could enjoy her related slightly-pained vocalizations.

Eventually, just as suddenly as it had begun, the breast-spanking ultimately ended. Instead, I returned to caressing and hefting and kneading and generally admiring and respecting each feminine protrusion. Slowly, Anya calmed and relaxed, slumping back against my chest. Once again, she purred as I massaged her breasts with all the care and desire and respect and love within me.

Throughout the entire ordeal, I had been able to essentially ignore my throbbing erection., Anya seemed to finally take notice.

"Now let me fondle my favorite part of your anatomy," she said with an audible smile.