Take A Look At Yourself

He said "look at yourself" to help me see that my breasts are sexy. Well, practise makes perfect, as I sat in front of the mirror at home, remembering his touch, his words and the view of us.

“Look at yourself”, your words vibrating through my back as you held me close, challenging me… “Tell me that’s not sexy.”

We stood there, facing the mirror.

Me pinned to you, the fingers on your right hand pinching my left nipple so tight sparks of lust fire off to my bare cunt. Your left hand restraining me at my throat, tight but not restrictive. Opening my eyes, seeing your face in the mirror, following your line of sight down, down, down to my chest. To the lacy blue fabric. The straps framing my breasts. My firm nubs puckering inside the fabric as you switched from my left nipple to my right, setting a fresh trail of desire alight, your left hand tightening simultaneously.

Desire bubbled in my throat as my head relaxed back into your shoulder, eyes closing with the exquisite sensations. Your chest hair grazing my back as you held me tightly, the lingering scent of your deodorant, the ever increasing firmness of you against my buttocks, balls heavy in my hand as I drop anchor amidst the tide of surrender.

“Look at yourself”, your command snapping me back to my predicament.

But I do as you say. If a little hesitantly.

I look at myself. I feel the prickle behind my eyes as I force myself to look down, sharing how brave I’d felt wearing the bra. But I don’t feel so brave anymore, with your requirement that I look.

That I see.

Do you know how much more challenging it is to frame myself as a piece of art for you than it is to just be naked? Not that you asked me to, I just thought you’d enjoy it, not realising the repercussions of my actions. How could I possibly know you’d have me pinned to your chest? Could I have predicted my royal blue delicates across smooth, milky white flesh, contrasting with the darkness of your hair? Head in your shoulder I feel small, fragile, afraid, but also protected, safe and cared for.


Even as you make the demand again “look at yourself” you switch back to pinching my left nipple in your vice like grip. You tighten the throat embrace and I do. I drop my gaze, drink in the sight of us, of me, wrapped up in you. When you ask again that I tell you it’s not sexy I can’t.

Can I look at myself, at my breasts, and say that they aren’t sexy? I don’t know, there is resistance inside. I’m scared, though I know not why. But the scene in front of me, in the mirror… This blonde, little lady framed by You. The contrast of your strong, firm, hairy body against my soft, smooth curves. Your vice like grip exaggerating the disparity on power as I melt into you. The other senses come to life in your arms; touch and scent, and the sound of your voice in my ears as the rumbles pass through my back, soothing me, vibrating into my core.

That is sexy. Clit tinglingly sexy.

When you told me “Look at yourself” you knew what you were asking of me…

Maybe one day I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror and immediately tell you that I am sexy. But for now, know that when you ask me to look at us in the mirror I think that we make a sexy, seductive sight.

Boobday Button

Click the button above to see what everyone else is doing this week. Or check out my BoobDay archives to see more of my boobs!

And not only am I sharing for Mrs Fever’s September Song Project, I’m also linking up to Lists, Prompts and Inspiration, a shamelessly stolen (with permission) list from her 43 for ’23.


  1. Hot damn! I felt this on so many levels. The fear, the vulnerability, the sudden realization that there is something to be desired. Beautiful story telling!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.