It got so that she loved very much baring her breasts for him. She'd arch her back to push her breasts forward, uninhibitedly proffering the gift she'd been given to give.
She'd take her hands and lift her naked breasts up for him, showing them, shaking them, as if to say, 'see? This is what I have. It might not be a lot, but it's all yours...'
The sight of her arching and holding out her breasts, those perky little sugar cones,... it would craze his eyes. He had that look, that leap in his eyes, she grew to love...
~
"Say...", he said one fine day, "do the 'Bosom Dance'...! The 'Gypsy Dance'...! Like you did before! But topless this time...!"
So she performed for him the 'Bosom Dance' that Damiana had taught her. 'The Dance of the Gypsies'. Bare chested this time. Standing before him, she arched her body and head back far, far, far back, like the most flexible yoga girl, so her breasts were facing the heavens, and she was looking straight behind her. Her breasts stood straight up, like pyramids atop her. Bold like bells. Then she shook them as rapidly as she could, her whole torso moving so they jiggled in a frenzy of jumping, bouncing, shimmering abundance. THIS MADE HIM CRAZY. There is hardly a man alive who can resist a woman doing this. (Take note, ladies.)
It was her jubilee dance, to the Goddess of the fruit of fertility. In her exuberance, she'd shake and quiver and jiggle her fruit at the heavens, at the Gods and Goddesses above, as if, she was sure, she could seduce all the gods and goddesses above.
And it must be true, for what man can look at a woman like that, and not feel the blood rush to his manhood, as it now did Tomek's, so that it raised and pointed at her like a flaming spear.
The Goddess dance, that witches teach their progeny. To lure a man.
~
Tomek stared at the bouncing, moving array of hip-hopping hallelujahs, dancing across her bosom.
He is Bamboozled By The Bevy Of Bulbulous Bouncing Bazoombas.
~
Venecia started to curl her way back up. Straightening up, though her fast-dancing, bosom-bounce never slowed nor stopped. As her head rose up, her eyes fluttered open and saw his. Saw the wild, beast-eyes in his face. She looked at them. She looked at him looking at her. And then a slow smile spread out across her face, — growing as wide and exuberant as a rainbow on a sunny day.
There is nothing more charming than a maiden's smile, when she 'knows' she's being watched. She smiles so disarmingly at the man watching her. Showing her appreciation of the man's appreciation of her.
She shook her ta-tas furiously at him, with renewed vigor and energy. His eyes, his 'look', had given her that energy. She shook her milkmaid bells and stared at his eyes, smiling as she seemed to say: 'You like them...? You like what you see.....?!'
~
And somewhere out in the distance, a band seemed to play. And the heavens and hills all seemed to resonate with song:
♫"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..."♫ My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
~
She relished in this, in his undivided attention, in her putting on such a show for him, and his eating it up. She was the 'star' of this show!
And what girl doesn't want to be the 'star' in her own show, someday…?
She threw back her head and closed her eyes, and his eyes felt like a thousand hot suns on her naked torso, as she basked in it.
~
He was thinking: a lady who can dance like that would feel so fine dancing on his manhood.
~
When she'd finished, and stood up dizzy, she saw his gleaming eyes big and round and his mouth open, gaping, — she blushed scarlet, and laughed, too embarrassed to do anymore. But he kept begging her, ''More! More! More!'' He wouldn't let her stop.
Until she again arched backwards and shook herself in a titty tizzy. It ended when he pounced upon her as a panther, finding her teat, and suckling on it. And she was glad to be a woman. So men and children all hunger for your bosom breast.
~
~
Over the next weeks, she often repeated this dance. It didn't take a lot of prompting to get her to 'put on a show' again. In fact, some days she took to initiating it herself. If she wanted his attention, boy oh boy, the woman in her knew how to get it. Bare breasted, she'd walk up to him, arch and thrust her breasts out at him, then with a blush, hake them all around, jiggling and wriggling them as fast she could.
It always made the man in him go wild. He'd drop whatever he had in his hands. And then she couldn't help folding into a cacophony of giggles. It was fun being a 'chickadee', — or a robin red-breast birdie, — when you had something to puff up and 'shake' at your man.
A gal doesn’t need to have 'big ones', but she does need to know how to thrust 'em and swing 'em.
~