Start Babbling About Bigger Tits

Maria moved, and Lois Lane's gaze was caught by the screen again...now nothing more than endless pink swirls. Immediately her heart began to beat faster and her violet eyes were drawn chasing spiral after spiral, as if the screen had terrible depths to it...words and images floated past, too fast for her conscious mind to grab ahold of, but just seeing it made her rub her clitty harder, and moan as Maria's hands kneaded her fat tits.

"Keep going," Lois arched her back, to present her cantaloupe-sized tits to the young woman's hands. "Bigger. I want to go bigger."

"How big do you want to get?" Maria said, careful not to keep out of Lois Lane's line of sight with the screen. With thumb and forefinger she was pulling on the reporter's nipples, and it hurt and Lois swore she could feel her tits stretching.

"Big. Bigger than big. Fucking watermelons. Soccer balls. I don't want to be able to stand. So fucking big that they rest in my lap when I'm sitting down. So big I can't sleep on my back or I'll get smothered. I want to look like my tits are ten months pregnant with triplets.."

Lois was babbling now, her whole body heating up as though with a fever, and her hand was a blur on her pussy, the spirals moving faster and faster, and the reporter was shaking with the intensity of her erotic need, lost in strange and unrealistic fantasies.

"I want tits so big...bigger than anyone! Big as fucking beanbags, as motorcycles, as fucking cars. I just want to be a fucking life support system for my fat fucking tits..."

"And once you're that big," Maria pressed, her hands sinking into the reporter's bloated, aching teats now, really pushing and pulling with all of her muscles, like a professional masseuse. "What do you want to do with those big tits."

"Do?" Lois said, lost in the haze of pink spirals. "I want...I want..."