Literotic asexstories – Objectifying my Latina Proffy by Brunette88,Brunette88 It was on an autumn afternoon when I discovered how much I loved being objectified, on the outside, I bragged about how offensive every situation was, but inside, I wanted more, I was getting addicted to this, men shamelessly seeing naturally DD cup breasts, nice tanned legs, Latin body, inviting body… Exactly that’s what she, my student, thought, she let me know one early morning through a document with her full name in my inbox.
“How to feel addicted to a heat I have never felt, in fact, I don’t know how they taste like- I am ashamed of this but, just to get an idea, one night I took my own breasts, small, infinitely smaller and less inviting than hers, I tried to put them in my mouth but it was impossible. Hers reach her neck, they embrace and protect her, she can eat them alone, she can eat them for someone, that guy she is dating must enjoy them so much, sleeping on them, made by gods, and just thinking and thinking about that intimacy, that unlimited access, makes me angry, angry because she should not be so available to anyone who does not worship her as the perfect mommy she is. This is becoming a very recurring thought, her tits, my mouth, her denial, my insistence, my desire, her offense, my triumph.
I have come to imagine that we are roommates, we are a few years apart; I rub my pussy imagining that she walks around the house shirtless, I approach and suck her tits when I please, both watching TV on the couch and while we are spending the afternoon, enter her room and sit in another chair to suck her tits while she teaches. All that while experiencing her reprimands, her discomfort, her speeches of righteousness. I seriously don’t know why I like to burn myself with that danger, to feel that I push her to her limit, that I transgress her principles, that I make her betray her family, someone like her shouldn’t have a family, she owes it to the world, not to a limited crowd, and if she had only a VIP audience, I should be among them (…).
(.. )I wish she would tell me that she is mine, all mine, this absurd need to have her has neither feet nor head; I have bought myself a fake penis with a harness that I only use to fantasize about fucking her tits, first with my mouth, my tongue, my hands, but finally…. put a fat and veiny member like the one we both like for sure, see how her breasts squeeze it, choke it, masturbate it It is the most twisted but most exciting image that comes recurrently to my head…. From time to time in class I imagine hands coming out from behind her back and starting to open her blouse, without her noticing, she keeps talking, explaining, remembering what is important in sentence structure and her tits exposed, her bra perfect, her tits shiny, soft, hot asking me to take them out of that prison of fabric, that they can finally breathe and I kiss them, kiss them so much that they come to miss me, that she is the one looking for me.
I love her and hate her, hottie, how many more will she have like me; longing for a little piece of what she doesn’t even know we all desire, or she knows but plays crazy. She keeps dressing the same, visiting me every night in my nightmares, sometimes I think I know what she smells like, how her skin feels and even the weight of her tits… they must weigh more than 2 kilos, they are extra big(…)
My hands were shaking from the moment I saw the length of that document, 5 pages, the title, the words… it was not possible; I had a night of staring at the ceiling going over every class, every movement, everything was starting to make more sense, her lost looks, her lack of attention, her late deliveries, her requests for extra classes, always more, always wanting more, in any way possible… but the worst thing was that in a few hours I was going to have her in front of me.
My head was flooded with questions, I didn’t understand why, a little student, a girl a few years younger than me with such morbid outbursts, the most reasonable conclusion is that she must be experiencing a curious hetero stage perhaps.
The truth is that history was repeating itself, and I had already become addicted to this idolatry, to open my legs for those who least deserved it and give the warmth of my breasts without asking for anything in return.
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