Chapter 3

As she stood there, in the gym, her mind still dwelt on herself, her vices, and perceived weaknesses while the biggest man in the world exercised in that bench.

It was all good, for all of these thoughts and considerations happened in a split second.

Her breasts.

Just like her mother’s, her breasts would be the singular, most noticeable feature in her body… if the rest of her wasn’t also so startlingly erotic!

Her breasts. Huge and heavy breasts… though not the biggest breasts in that gym that day, in that community.

“Mmph!” She pouted.

Her breasts were as immense as one would imagine the tits of a MENA goddess like hers to be, and round and firm as well, with only the slightest, natural sag to show they weren’t made of cement, not like the breasts of some of the plastic fake bitches there.

Her breasts, like the rest of her, were all natural, and almost unnaturally hard and plump.

More than even her ass, her enormous tits surpassed the confides of her frames—specially so when her torso was so much thinner than her lower body.

In her lower body, at least she had these long, fat legs and wide hips to cushion a lot of her huge ass. The same generosity of real estate wasn’t afforded to her upper body, where she was more like a classic supermodel, and where her years of daily training in the gym made the smallest difference.

Her tits would have been ginormous on any other woman, even 7ft tall bitches, but on hers they were… almost unreasonable.

Although she didn’t lactate a lot, her breasts always gave onlookers the impression that she was a dairy cow form the Middle East, always gushing and pumping milk from her fact, erect nipples with the gentlest sag and wave of her monstrous tits.

Her tits didn’t just look hard, but they looked… full.

Full to bursting with liquid. Always one drop away from being overwhelmed with milk.

Her tits looked as if every step she gave would make then burst with cream.

Whenever she walked, all eyes were drawn to her breasts, which actually made noise as they swung and shook and bounced:

Bwoom!

Bwoom!

Bwoom!!

And a little bit of noise of the tremendous amount of milk they seemed to hold:

Glursh…

Glursh…

Glursh…

People were often disappointed that, no, she wasn’t a milk-gushing cow with a dozen threads of milk rushing out of her nipples with every step, flooding her bra and wetting her blouse after only a few feet of moment…

… but her breasts were indeed dangerous, and she knew they had a lot of milk stored in there, just waiting for the right opportunity—the right man—to set it loose.