Worshiping You

"That was the perfect day," I said wistfully as we sat beside the fire watching the last of the light drain from the sky in a show of spectacular warm colors. I'd started the day enamored by your truck as I pulled onto the camping beach. I parked nearby to get to look at it and dreamt of building mine up like it one day. By the end of the day, I was enamored by you; so playful, so free, so quick to laughter.

When you invited me to go out snorkeling with you, I was shocked at my immediate answer, and you were gracious with my embarrassed admission that I swim like a rock. So, I'd floated in my trusty, dorky life vest and snorkel, awestruck by the life teaming through those reefs. You swam around me like a mermaid, putting me more and more at ease. You'd helped me trust the water, and by the time we'd made it back to camp with a bottle of tequila and a couple of fish, I was looking forward to shedding the pure awkwardness that defines me in the water and being in a place where I shine: safe on land, building a cooking fire and feeding others, under the big, beautiful Baja sky.

It wasn't long before I felt confident that my embarrassment for floating in a life vest all day had nearly been balanced out by my ability to clean and cook a fish to perfection on an open fire. It's hard to be vulnerable around new people, but I've found it's better than being fake. As the tequila set in, smoothing out the last of any stress that managed to survive through the beauty of a sunset in this spectacular place, our conversation began to show that you too were willing to be vulnerable. We ate while we talked about life and love, the wanderlust and heartbreak that brought us each to living on the road, and the immense joy (and sometimes loneliness) that comes from the life of a traveller. Somehow, we ended up in a surprisingly lighthearted conversation of the things we regret, punctuated by laughter and acceptance of how we overcame each challenge to become the people that we love being.

I told you of an ill-fated, helmet-free motorcycle ride that fucked up my memory. We talked of how I overcame the fear of riding again to live a life enthralled by the machines, and was surprised to hear that you had once shared the obsession. It was the next story you told me that I really didn't expect.

It was the story of a surgery that hadn't worked out like you'd hoped. It seemed it was your turn to be vulnerable as you shared how it had changed your body in a way that left you self-conscious for years. You told how you reclaimed your beauty sharing pictures of yourself for the world to enjoy. You admitted how you'd come to love yourself for who you are and who you've become, despite still feeling a little self-conscious. You laid out your plan to embrace your own beauty while you raise money to fix the damage. As the sky's last light faded, and the firelight took its place, I sat bewildered. Not by your story or your perseverance, they both made perfect sense, but there was something. Something that needed to be expressed but didn't have words exactly. Especially not words that were easy to just throw into a conversation.

"Can I tell you something that I probably wouldn't say if I'd had less tequila?"

"Of course," you replied with a laugh.

"For whatever my opinion is worth, a perfect pair of breasts could never be as beautiful as yours. Not that I'd discourage you from fixing them, if that's what you want, but it's the imperfections that create true beauty. Given the chance, I'd worship your breasts until the sun came up."

"There's no chance like the one in front of you." Your eyes twinkled in the firelight as you turned to see what move I'd make next.

I turned to face you. You turned to face me. We both smiled at each other a little mischievously and I reached up to drop the straps of your tank top. I noticed that you took a deeper breath than usual. Anticipation rising in your chest. I leaned in and kissed the heart that's never alone. Then, I kissed the opposite side. I slid my hands up your ribs until my thumbs hinted at touching your breasts, but not quite yet. A worshipful evening with something so beautiful can't be rushed into.

Your breasts rose as you leaned your head back, letting out another deep breath. I kept kissing down the edge of your tank top and up the other side, then toward your neck and circled back again. The second pass came with deeper, more passionate kisses than the first. After the second pass, I could just see the top of your dark areola in the fire light. My hands rose again, brushing the sides of your breasts and feeling the edge of your shape. Only when I noticed that you had started wiggling, like you desperately wanted your glorious globes to climb out the top of the shirt, did I oblige by pulling the soft fabric until your hard nipples bounced into the night air. My hands slid back down your sides, thumbs slipping underneath your tits as my lips began to explore in wide firm circles. Each kiss covered half of what the other had explored.

I continued in a wide figure-eight pattern, slowly inching inward and occasionally switching direction. Every miniscule move toward your nipple was met with the tingling electricity of our building anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like a teasing eternity, my lips reached the edge of your nipple, standing taught in the cool night air. I could feel its rigid tip at the corner of my mouth. I changed direction, moving back outward. You moaned a mix of pleasure and frustration, but a worshipful evening could not be rushed any more than a long trek through the earth's most spectacular mountains.

I took another slow circle around each of your breasts. I'd felt and seen every part of them. I'd explored all but the most sensitive peaks. I pulled back, my hand slipped up your belly between your breasts, my thumb flipped gently across your nipple as I gently pushed you to your back. Your tits, in this light, just like they are... it's beauty that can only be expressed through touch.

I took one of your breasts in my hand with a firm squeeze and you moaned. I moved beside you and met its twin with my lips, sucking your nipple into my mouth like a parched man in the wilderness who found a crystal clear spring. I massaged you deeply with my hand and flicked my tongue across your nipples as I squeezed. My other hand undid your shorts and slid inside. The massage got firmer as I explored the gloriously wet gift between your legs. Once my fingers were slippery, I matched the flicking of my tongue with the motion of my finger on your clit. I let myself get lost in the sheer pleasure of your breasts as I listened to your breathing go ragged. As your orgasm came to you, I squeezed your breast with a firmness that I hoped would be just enough to bring you over the edge without hurting. It did the trick, and you exploded into ecstasy. I smiled, thinking that was a good start. Such a pleasurable evening of worship shouldn't be rushed by a single orgasm.

I let you settle for a moment until we both caught our breath. I left you laying on the blanket in the sand, stoked the fire to make sure you wouldn't get cold, then came back to slide your shirt and shorts over your hips. I kissed just below your belly button, and made my way back up to your glorious hills. I sucked each nipple into my mouth and then began another massage around the outside of each of your mounds and alternating on the way back down, one hand down your sternum and the other across your nipple. I repeated this slow massage as I kissed back down your belly, across your hip, and between your legs. Your hand came to my hair and you moaned as I found your lower lips and kissed them passionately. The massage continued with firm squeezes, round strokes, and occasionally accentuated by pinching your nipples. All while I slowly brought you back to the edge with my tongue.

I brought you to the edge, and slowed, kissing your labia and the soft skin over your hip bones. Then I slid back between your legs and slowly brought you back to the edge. The massage on your chest continued for as long as I could hold myself in the somewhat awkward position. My core burned, but I persisted. A night of worship could not be rushed by a twinge of discomfort.

Finally, I could tell that there was no turning back. One of your hands was in my hair, the other was on top of my hand. Showing me how hard you wanted to be squeezed. Perhaps I could have tried to bring you back from your orgasm, but I thought it too much of a risk. You might still come even if I removed my tongue from your delicious pearl. I wanted to feel you come in my mouth. So I squeezed both breasts with the intensity you modeled and felt you shudder as you released against my lips.

As I climbed up to lay beside you, I deftly slid my own shorts off and kicked them into the sand. You looked rapturous, with your hair wild, your tits rising and falling, as you caught your breath in the flickering firelight. I leaned in and kissed you. One hand still gently exploring your nipples, each one in turn. As we made out, your hand found its way to my naked hip then to down to my cock. There was no denying that this worship was mutually pleasurable. I was rock hard.

I reached down to your hip and rolled you on top of me. As you threw your leg over and smiled, I slid both hands to your spectacular ass. It might not have been the focus of this particular journey, but it had not gone unnoticed throughout the day's adventure. "One day, I may need to spend an evening worshiping this too."

You sat tall, biting your lip with a chuckle, and slid your pussy up and over my cock. It needed no encouragement to stand and find your opening. As you slid down, letting me fill you, I resumed my massaging worship with both hands. I raised my hips and gave you the perfect angle to pleasure your clit as I swelled even harder deep inside you. You rocked forward and pressed back on me until you settled to take a break from the motion.

I responded by grabbing your hips and thrusting up inside you. I was mostly here for your enjoyment, but watching your beauty bounce above me as I pounded into you felt like pure selfish pleasure. When I needed a rest from thrusting, I went back to massaging you while you ground your clit into me. We both were moaning now like a terrestrial whale song of pleasure. We went back and forth grinding and pounding, squeezing, pinching, and bouncing, both getting to the very edge. Eventually, you fell over the edge and came hard on my cock. I wanted to come with you, but it wasn't time for me yet. The conclusion of a night of worship couldn't be rushed.

You slipped off of me, your racing breath sounding like you'd had enough pleasure for one night. You rolled onto your back beside me, one hand over your head and a satisfied smile on your face. I climbed on top, straddling your belly. I took your other hand in mine, raised it over your head, and held them both trapped to the ground. With my other hand, I began to stroke. Your breasts rose and fell with your breath. Each movement brought me closer until I couldn't hold it any more. I exploded my offering onto the object of the evening's worship. My body convulsed with pleasure as I covered your tits.

Once my orgasm subsided, I kissed you deeply, then stood, stoked the fire, and made a warm wet cloth in my camper. I returned with it and a dry towel. You were still laying on the blanket in the sand, looking satiated and content, breasts covered in my seed. I knelt beside you and cleaned you, then dried the water from you as it cooled in the night air. I took my time, cleaning you gently. Even the sleepy end of a night's worship shouldn't be rushed.

We threw a large blanket over our naked bodies. As we settled into sleep on the deserted beach, I noticed that there was just a little bit of light on the eastern horizon. I let out a short, contented, chuckling breath through my nose. "We almost made it until the sun came up."