breasts - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
He looks at me with a soft smile, commenting on my breasts and how looking up to see them is surprising. We have been friends for so long that he's used to me being clothed when we are together. I laugh and say that they are right there each day when I look down, right where I left them. He laughs too. Then we kiss and in that moment we have found our heaven, that place where our souls are bathed in a truth that is such joy.
There is nothing more bewitching than Lucy's naked form. In clothing no heads turn her way to admire. They don't know what they're missing and I'm glad. The world can keep its supermodels, anorexic looking as they are. Lucy is soft and her breasts so warm, so responsive to the touch. As soon as my hand is upon them her kisses change, deeper, more sensual. I can't imagine anyone with implants can respond like that. Everything about her is natural and I love it. I love her too, everything that she is. I don't need eye candy to make the guys jealous, I need a soulmate to keep me warm at night and that she will always be.
There is something so disarming about seeing Miranda naked. There's a vulnerability in her eyes I can't resist. My eyes travel from her face to her collar bone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her breasts. Without lingerie they sit lower, more natural, less close together, each so perfect and moulded to her form. I don't linger too long, just enough for her to see how beautiful she is to me. It's her eyes I want to see and my hands can tell me the rest.
The closest Caleb had ever come to a breast was placing the lingerie on the store-front mannequins, almost blushing as his fingers touched their plastic chests. He loved the summer for the sunglasses, the chance to look without being noticed, to see them move unlike the static ones in his mother's mail-order catalogues.
Her milky breasts spilled out of her bra as I unhooked it. Enlarged brown nipples dotted both her breasts. The white of her breasts contrasted to the tanned skin around. I put the little boy in her hands and she pulled him towards her bosom. He opened his mouth and gently suckled. The occasional drop of white slid around his greenish mouth as he slowly fell to sleep. The tiny hands that were tightly clutched to her shoulders now loosely held his mother. She slowly put him to rest on the lacy crib, that was so soft. Almost as soft as the velvety skin of my boy. Almost as delicate as the heart of my boy. And as alive as my boy was. And a single tear rolled down my cheek as I let my son go- away to fly over the stars. The dawn that had arised was now setting.
Her breasts were not silicone monsters, they were small, perfectly shaped and to my eye, cute. They were in proportion to her small frame with nipples that were contained and well defined, not spreading and stretched. They were the perfect size for a newborn's mouth and our infant latched on with ease.
The only part of Colette the men noticed were her breasts. Even in a sports bra they appeared unnatural, enhanced. By the end of the day her back ached and the straps of her bra had dug deeply into her shoulders. The small chested women always glanced her way in envy but if she could swap she'd do it in a heart beat.
Nadia had the breasts of a french actress rather than anything North American television has to offer. The tops caught the moonlight, the underneath a soft shadow. She walked without shame or false modesty, knowing she was beautiful to the eye, sleek with an athletic frame.
Ava ran her hands down her front, over her body that changed by the day. No longer was she flat, yet she wasn't fully developed either. She turned sideways to the mirror to see her profile, to see how her new breasts protruded from her rib cage. She raised her hand to push from below, to push them upward into a larger mound of soft fat. With a sigh she took her hands away and turned square to her reflection once more. She'd hoped for more by this point in her life, but at least it was a start...