Let's dance.

Paisley stretches in her corner; touching her toes lets her bubbly booty peek over her back. Pulling her arms back strains her corset to breaking point. No, it doesn't strain, it stretches.

Faux corset; must be lycra. I need to remember that.

The bell rings: round 1.

You circle around each other, jockeying for position. Her E-cups bounce along the way. You step quickly toward Paisley to test her, but she spins away. She slips behind you & cinches in a rear waist-lock. Her grip's just strong enough to keep you in place, but the bigger problem is the big soft titties pressing into your back. Your struggling squishes them more & more. Pushing down on her hands strains her grip—you break it, slip behind her & cinch in your own rear waist-lock. Paisley twists & writhes in your grip to no avail. Soft little whimpers escape her lips. Her hard breathing pumps her breasts up & down, not to mention her soft ass grinding into your crotch. Even her belly has just a little squeeze to it.

So soft, I could just hold her for days.

The princess tries to drop out of your grip, but you yank her back up, her legs fly up in a wide split.

"Whoa! Thanks for the view, John!" the announcer adds.

Your grip slipped a little in the lift, and she twists enough to turn around & face you. Now Paisley's pair are pressing into your pecs.

"You dance well sir, fine form."

"Yeah, you too."

Her face screws up a little & her hand playfully slaps your cheek.

"Manners."

You two share a chuckle, but the princess struggles more intensely. She pulls you around the ring bit by bit. It's a real challenge to maintain grip, and your arms are getting tired. For almost a minute you grapple-waltz, eventually ending up with Paisley hugged in a corner. She raises her hands to her side, open-handed for a clean break.