My Stuffed Bra

For as long as I remember I have always wanted big tits.

Not real ones.

Fake ones.

Big, jaw dropping globes that simply blow out tops and make jaws drop.

I love it when I grab my top and slowly lift it up, feeling the anticipation build deep inside as I reveal myself nice and slow, knowing that my bra is moments away from being revealed.

It drives me wild.

It gets me wet.

The moment I reveal the underwire of my awesome bra I stop.

So I can look.

So I can twist.

So I can angle another sexy bulge and stare at it.

So I can take in the feeling of anticipation, making the butterflies in my tummy intensify and the quiver of my thighs being more acute.

Taking a breath I patiently look away just so I can delay it a little longer. When I look back, I am looking at the bulge in my panties.

The bulge of my pussy.

My big pussy.

Meaty.

Thick.

The perfect metropolis of thick lips, prominent mound and a bushel of hair.

Pushing my panties to the brink.

Punishing them as they also stick like skin so I can see it all. Every curve, every line, every puff and explosion of my sexy sex.

Seeing it jettisoning out along my inner thigh, I crave its sexiness for myself even as it fills out my underwear. I love how it dominates my frontal region. I love how it bulges into the crotch of my pants making me and everyone around me painfully aware that my sex is absolute. I love how my panties struggle to to keep it and the hairy "V" perched above it all contained.

Unmissable.

Unmistakable.

Just like my tits.

And when I do I am also reminded of the thick foam pads currently pressed to my hips and backside.

The swell of them working in tandem to give me my big and perfect bubble butt and hourglass figure all in one, all at once.

All to work in tandem with and support my ultimate desire.

My ultimate passion.

My stuffed bra.

My big and sexy tits.

When I return my adoring gaze back to my tits that are still covered by my top, I start to drool.

I start to feel my insides tighten as my thighs quiver and my stomach turns, exploding in a mixture of butterflies and knots as the raging inferno within me begins to overwhelm my senses. Fueling my desires as I take one more look at my big pussy.

The one bulging out the crotch of my slutty thong.

The pussy that never gets wet, never makes a wet spot in my undies, but drives me wild as I feel its thickness grazing my skin, tickling my inner thighs as it acts like a wedge into my wanton and wet womanhood that I hide beneath. The pussy that dribbles and sputters, gets red hot and swells shooting out my clitoris that happily strokes the back of the big looking thing currently stuffed in the crotch of my underwear. Like my tits and my ass, its fake too.

All of my sexiest curves are fake.

Just the way I like it.

But they all serve to satisfy one purpose.

And one purpose only.

To enhance the feeling of the big stuffed bra currently pressing into my chest, biting into my shoulders while tugging my sides like a hug.

Biting my bottom lip, I feel my pussy squirt its hot liquid into the foam that is my box, the liquid that is meant to lather my insides and prepare them for penetration.

Lifting my top as I feel my elbows lift into the air, I arch my back and take a pause. Even though I cannot see my favorite pose as I strip, I can feel it.

The curl of my back, the bend of a knee as I balance on one leg, straight and tense as I feel the foam caressing my hips and outer thighs, butt and crotch move in tandem with me, even as they fight the secure tape that binds them to me. The weight against my chest buckling, sliding, shifting and grinding as my big bra tries to resist the rise of the enormous secrets contained within.

The secrets that fill the cups.

The secrets that make men drool.

Make me drool.

The very secrets that I keep all for myself now punishing me, yet fueling my innermost desires making my pussy drip even more to the point that it is completely soaked and begging for action.

Begging for my fingers to slip up and inside and go round and round, curling and rubbing as my clit happily grinds along the smooth back of the thick and sexy bulge slit that I proudly flaunt as my pussy to the outside world.

Like I do with all of my other fakery.

The fakery that drives men wild, making them turn their heads even when they shouldn't.

That pisses most women off as their eyes gravitate towards me against their will because they can't stop asking why...

How?

When?

Either way, it doesn't matter because it's the attention I want. I revel in it all.

Just so I can get to this moment.

In my bed room.

In front of my mirror.

Even with my face covered, my body is arched and poised. All so the tremendously sized cups of my massive bra can be right in this moment. The big spheres with perfectly arched points of their own pointing even more upwards as the mirror no doubt reflects the sheer superiority of my humongous tits.

Smiling within, and behind the tight cotton of my top, I freeze myself then peel it up and over my face. My hair rising and falling down my back as I let it go and hear it hit the floor with the softest of fluffy flups.

"Ish."

It's how it sounds and the only way I can describe as I look at my poise in the mirror, my body still stretched as I stare at the mountains adorning my chest, appreciating their power and burst. Their largess in this moment absolute as I also revel in the feeling of the large and expansive silicone backers that are completely flat and pressed hard into my dainty, narrow chest. My hidden nipples hard already, now bent upwards by their sheer **** of will.

My **** of will.

Looking past the towering and enormously rounded under cups of my bra, I admire my stretched out tummy so to see the peak of pubic hair rising out of said slutty undies. Undies still struggling to contain the bulge of my fraudulent sex even as I cream all over it, excited to see so much even if it would elicit the laughs of everyone else I know and those I don't who still stop to stare anyways.

It is this moment I relish the most.

For the moment I lower my arms from the sky, my body will relax and my giant fake tits that I stuff my bras with will come back down. Everything will stop fighting in this way. The complex turn of emotions flowing within me will start to cease as the tug of my taped on padding will stop pulling the skin of my thighs, hips and tush this way and that. The perfect turn and perfect silhouette of my bulging sex will return to a more normal feel and situation, no longer struggling, straining and pushing on me just this way.

No one has any idea how exactly this pose feels to me when I strip.

Each and every time.

It is perfect.

It is me.

It perfectly encapsulates every flurry of complexity that struggles to resist, come free and yet stay where I design, thus driving my sexual innards to the point of exhaustion, the pinnacle point where I cannot bare it anymore.

My clit so hard that the temptation to finally release it of its growing arousal to the point of pin prick like pain becomes so much that it makes my knees start to shake. Shake along with the quiver and bend of my sensitive little nipples hidden securely behind my big, bullshit tits sending so many pin prick of pain and arousal mixed as one big mass of messy confusion all throughout my body and in my mind that it makes it impossible to breath. Gasping as I hold it to the point that prickling becomes ****, it feels like white light (if light can be a physical manifestation to accurately describe how I feel in this moment) as even the air entering my nostrils starts to tickle and smell and feel different.

Biting my bottom lip, I feel my body shake to the point that my hips begin to quiver and when they do it is then that pain of so much rubbing of my clit becomes so much that I just HAVE to release the ultimate pose, release me of my paradox, my pinnacle, my ultimate hypocrisy just so I can finally give my aching sex what it so rightfully deserves.

My attention.

And it is then that I throw my self forward, spreading my stance so I can pick the crotch of my panties aside just enough to free my wanton womanhood from the dungeon that is my expression of the ultimate sex and finger fuck it till I collapse into a heap on the bed, covering my fingers with the nectar of my paltry essence that is me all in the name of shame.

And excitement.

And desire.

To be what I want, what everyone else thinks I am, even if it is all fake.

The foam and the silicone that give me my ultimate dream.

That not only binds me and confines me, but frees me too.

The paradox of purity and hypocrisy that also defines my inner most core and drives my ultimate obsession.

To stuff my bra.

To be what I want to be without being it at all.

All because of some TV show I watched as a little girl.

The Wonder Years.

Little Debbie and the cheerleader who stuffed her bra. The cheerleader who choked on the biggest night and let her secret be revealed.

It was hot, it was sexy to me to see such a bust be revealed to be stuffed!

I just had to do it myself.

And I already was, but that show, that day so long ago completely redefined what it meant for me to stuff my bra.

Now all I have to do is find someone who will share in my passion with me, or at least be supportive as continue to pursue my ultimate obsession.

To be the fake who doesn't get caught even as she dreams of having her stuffed bra slide down her chest in front of her friends and family.

A dream I satisfy myself to every night.

On my back and atop my bed.

Or where ever the urge strikes, there is always a bathroom near by, but the best is right after I get undressed.

The ultimate humiliation is having my stuffed bra rising and falling atop my heaving chest as I stand there in front of so many people. Wearing nothing more than just it and my itty bitty panties with all of my curvy enhancing paddings hanging out. Everyone laughing as they point at me, in slow motion, as I look back and forth with wide open eyes. Frightened, ashamed and embarrassed all at the same time.

Big Titty Vicki

The hottest girl ever to exist in their worlds and in mine.

To be revealed as a fake.

Laughing at my stuffed 30H bra that is absurdly oversized and completely covering my chest, or not even broad enough to hide the sexy secrets contained within.

Laughing and pointing, mocking and belittling me.

*groans...*

And then in the ultimate betrayal my bra reveals me.

The shoulder straps that hold it up and keep it secured, break and whip like sling shots, or simply drift down, or even subtly slide off of shoulders, any and either way are thus about to relinquish me of my ultimate secret that everybody already knows.

Yet don't know.

They know I stuff.

They can see it.

But they don't know what exactly is hiding beneath.

That is until my bra starts sliding down.

Carrying my big tits with it.

The straps wrapped around my narrow torso tickling and teasing my skin as they do nothing to stop the downward trajectory.

My jaw falling as I feel my body convulse ever so slightly with the shifting of the weight away from my chest. My bra continues to fall so that once it reaches my rapidly extending and distending stomach, as I breath heavier and heavier with every passing moment, it is of no matter once it is there.

How it finishes its journey to the floor no longer matters.

Everyone can see my chest.

My pathetic, minuscule and utterly embarrassing chest.

Completely lacking anything at all, even my nipples are pathetic and not worthy to look at.

And yet they will humiliate me as they stand at attention.

Teeny and Tiny.

And it wont be long before people begin to figure out that it is not that air that is causing such a cruel and torturous erection of my nips, but my own arousal at being caught.

Just like when I saw Deanna Delgado.

Only now it's my turn.

As I stand there with my chest completely barren, in just my bulging pussy thong and padded hips, thighs and butt, my hips will flick and my wanton womanhood will flood my big, bullshit slit. So bad so that my cream will drool down my quivering and shaking legs like slow moving rivers.

Then they will know that my "big" pussy is a lie too.

And that's when the laughter will break out the loudest.

When I will scream until it is the only sound heard in and around the world.

So loud that even in space it shall echo.

And then it stops as I open my eyes.

Still echoing into the recesses of my mind like the end of a bittersweet song.

My chest is still heaving.

My legs are open and sore.

When I look down at the bulging crotch of my panties, it will be askew as my cramped and locked hand is still deep within me.

And towering atop my chest will be my glorious tits.

Rising and falling like the gentle waves of the ocean lapping the shoreline as I calm.

A small smirk crossing my face.

I cannot help but appreciate them.

My big and glorious stuffed bra making my dreams come true yet again.