....  She stepped closer to me, her eyes locked on mine, me too afraid to look at her cleavage anymore.  A miracle all in itself.

"Take... off... your... pants."  She couldn't be any more clear than that.

I followed her command.  That's what it actually was.  She didn't ask; she told me to do it.  That same part of my brain that was all gung-ho argued that, when it comes to a statement from a beautiful woman rather than a question, there was no reason to hesitate.

My pants were down around my ankles.  My erection was doing its part to hold up my boxer shorts.

I wondered if this was the time to approach her, to kiss her or something, but I waited for just one more bit of proof that she wanted what my cock was dying to provide.

She raised her hands to her voluptuous breasts and started to fondle them.  My eyes followed her fingers as they smoothed over her skin, traced her shape, and wrapped themselves around her tits.

"I know you want me," she said in that husky voice that I was beginning to crave more of.  She felt her own breasts like they turned her on.  She caressed them like she loved them.  I was falling for them too.

I was speechless, salivating over her tits again, not caring if she realized it this time.

"You want my beautiful breasts," she said as she stepped even closer to me, her hands showing off the weight and feel and size of her breasts for me.  "Worship them," she said.

I looked into her eyes, trying to quickly determine what she meant, what she wanted. She leaned her back against the kitchen counter, getting all the more into her own breast massage.

"Get on your knees, and worship these tits," she directed.

My knees gave out from under me before I had the chance to give them permission.  I was on her kitchen floor, hitting the hard tile in a kneeling position, my cock straining against the front of my boxer shorts at an agonizing angle.

Her amazing chest was above me then, like an erotic display I couldn't acknowledge as real.  She looked down on me, her pretty face just visible over her tits jutting out from her shapely body.  Her legs spread slightly, assuming a firm stance expressing her dominance over me.  The gentle mound between her legs became visible under her thin dress, making me acutely aware of how very close it actually was to my face.  My cock quivered at the thought.

"Worship me," she said.  "Show me your devotion."  She nudged my hard cock with the tip of her shoe.

The touch, that first touch from her, made me ache for her.  Her words, every phrase, swirled around in my confused, disbelieving mind.  I was kneeling on a stranger's kitchen floor, the tiles already bruising my bare knees, my cock the hardest I've ever known it to get, and the woman standing over me seemed more gorgeous with every second.

I did want to worship her.  I wanted to be worthy.

"Stroke to me," she instructed, giving me permission to address that intense aching in my nuts.

I whipped my underwear over my protruding cock.  No hesitation this time.  It felt so good in my hand.  I started beating off at a crazy rate.

"No!" she corrected, instantly stopping the amazing show taking place above me.  "You must show your devotion.  You will only come with my permission.  Stroke slowly."  ....