A pinched nipple is a happy nipple. Or at least a happy masochist who craves a certain amount of pain.
Until the pain becomes excruciating, and I don’t think I can take another second of it.
Even so, my body always betrays me with molten heat between my thighs and a cunt that becomes heavy and swollen with need.
But when I pinch my own nipple, the effect changes. The movement becomes sensual, an invitation. A tiny dare that says, “Don’t think I do it right? Come show me how.”
What better time to play with my own boobs than on Boobday?