“What is it that you think your tits are too small for? This?”
He reaches for me, cupping my right breast in his warm hand. He kneads the soft mound, caressing my not exactly ample curves. It feels good even so, and my impulse is to lean in and arch my back, offering my breast to him.
“This one seems to fit my hand perfectly. Let’s try something else.” Still stroking my right breast he takes my left nipple between the fingers of his other hand, tracing the outline slowly.
I gasp at the feather light, almost ticklish, sensation. He responds by firming his grip, squeezing the sensitive tip, pulling on it just a little. I hiss as the pain starts to bite, and he releases me.
“Your breasts are pretty, curvy, exceptionally sensitive. In fact, Miss Jones, I think we may need to come back to these when your spanking is out of the way, just to demonstrate to you how absolutely perfect your breasts are—or your tits, if you prefer. Now, over the bench again please.”