It was the best of times but the worst of bras.
The disco lights sparkled across my bazookas like sun on snow. The sweat from my dancing made those funbags glisten as if covered in goose grease ready for a slip and slide.
A shot of tequila held between these two love mountains would definitely bring all the boys to the yard, probably with their tongues hanging out.
I adjusted the nipple on one of the lady lumps to point a little more to the sky. The sweat made them slick to touch and I was feeling a little erotic until I encountered a few crisps… Then
I just felt hungry.
Good foodcatchers always, I never knew just what I could have for a snack later, but there was always something to be found in the depths of cleavage town.
My humps started to move again and I grabbed my tits with both hands to limit the jig they were dancing without me.
They moved around like two possums in a sack trying to fuck each other, or fuck each other up, I wasn’t sure.
Time to chain these puppies.
These girls needed to be strapped in more as I could see someone losing an eyeball – death by nipple might be a great way to go for some but perhaps not tonight.
Looking for the right jug holder for these knockers was just another exercise to remind me how fucking hard it was to be a female impersonator!