I never believed she was the type of girl who wore a padded bra to make her breasts appear bigger. My running hypothesis was that she had huge nipples. But there was only one way to find out: coffee, another coffee, lunch, coffee, another lunch, coffee, drinks, dinner, another dinner, dinner and a movie, dinner and drinks.
I’m finally at her place and we are making out. My scientific inquiry is about to be laid to rest. She catches me fixated on the bra line crisscrossing her chest. She strips off her tight, pink shirt and I suck on her revealed skin. I back away, still fixated on her chest, and she unhooks her bra and pushes the straps off her shoulders. The bra falls away from her nipples, in slow motion. They are as big as strawberries. OK, they’re more like sweet raspberry tits, but the long plump variety that somehow hasn’t been picked over from the bush by a scavenger.
I nibble but do my best not to bite. I know I’m going to want to come back for more: with honey, with ice cream, with chocolate sauce, hell, even with yogurt. But now, I’m happy to have them plain.
From there, I feast on her peach down to the core. When she recovers, I ask her to climb on top of me. She puts her hands above my waist and sinks her fingernails into my love handles for a slamming fuck. I know I’m not going to last long watching her melons bouncing…bouncing.