Karl sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Donna’s heavy, full breasts that didn’t even fit in his palms and still swayed with every breath, with every slightest movement even in this position. The bra with its enormous cups lay discarded on the floor, looking somehow even larger from this angle, almost mocking him.
“I hate these tits,” he thought for the hundredth time, helplessly trying to press them against himself to at least somewhat calm that insolent, relentless swaying and to stop feeling how fiercely the nipples had hardened today from the events, from the sheer awareness of what was happening. But the moment his fingers shifted even slightly, the heavy, resilient flesh slipped out again.
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