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I've always wondered what it would be like to have big breasts.
That isn't to say that I don't like being petite. I love it. I love the looks I get in bars and clubs; sure, at 4'11" I'm not ridiculously short but I'm way, way on the tiny end. I love being able to shop for clothes made for twelve year old girls (although the gap in styles between twelve year olds and twentysomethings is worryingly slight these days). I love the fact that I can strut around in massive heels, make myself look elegant and long-legged, and still not come up past the chin of my paramour du jour. I love the fact that, for my 30As, bras are optional, support is unnecessary, and back pain is nonexistent.
But I've always wondered what it would be like to have bigger breasts.
Double-D is about the biggest I could be without my breasts looking absurd on my tiny frame; any bigger and I think I'd look ridiculous, top-heavy, a surgical creation of silicone instead of my adorable self.
What would it be like, I wonder, to have 30DDs?
Well, let's see. They'd bounce, I'm sure. They'd jiggle and sway, no matter how far I might go down the road of The Bra As Structural Engineering. I'd feel them shifting up and down, side to side, as I danced.
I'd feel them swaying underneath me, big and round and obscene, as I was mounted from behind, my body slamming forward with every pounding stroke in my cunt or ass, recoiling back against each thrust and begging for more.
I'd have them pressed together around a hot shaft of cock-flesh, that's for sure, on my back with my partner straddling my torso and fucking my tits, his red and engorged head spearing up at my face from that tight cleavage.
Not that I dislike my little 30As, but yeah. I could have fun with 30DDs too.
Big ones would be fun.
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