}!{ + Rosa!
“My boobs are definitely not getting bigger,” Rosa insisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
And yet, Rosa’s arms were crossed underneath a pair of heaving tits that had absolutely no business being attached to such a petite figure. It was as if she had taken to smuggling bed pillows under her shirt; given how they lopsidedly drooped over her wrists, it was crystal clear that there was no bra in contention.
“Like, I would definitely know if they did get bigger. My shoulders would ache, or my shirt would be uncomfortably tight, you know? And none of that’s happening, buster!”
Pinocchio could tell a lie and instantly add several inches to his nose; Rosa could describe her breasts and immediately provoke them into doing the opposite. Slowly, they began to grow. The hem of her shirt steadily rose to reveal her enviably sculpted midriff – but it was soon hidden behind breasts that dangled ever lower, dropping like curtains until her belly button disappeared from view. Nipples with the thickness of rolling pins sprouted outward and pointed down at the ground in threatening fashion. The temptation to get her to say something about milk had never been greater.
Naturally, Rosa’s top had grievances. Her growth had practically turned it into a crop top that could only contain the upper half of her rapidly swelling bust. The bottom half exposed a deep line of bare cleavage that could comfortably store an entire briefcase.
Shirt sleeves wound painfully tightly around her slender shoulders like coiling snakes. Rosa could not hide a reactionary wince. She slid her arms out from underneath her chest, permitting them to pendulously tap against her waistband.
“Just because you want them to get big enough to be a nuisance doesn’t mean they will.”
Rosa approached your kitchen table. If pens had been attached to the ends of her nipples, they would be drawing drunken little circles on the wood.
"They're not making a mess or anything like that!"
It was like you overturned a gallon of milk upon the surface. In a fraction of a second, the entire table was covered in her product; it dripped from the edges of bowls and saturated your neglected mail. And yet, her boobs were still unsatisfied. It wasn't enough to drown her adversaries; no, her tits had to billow out in every direction to either smother the evidence or push it off the edge.
CLANG!
CRACK!
You may as well have set a pair of beanbag chairs on your table. It had completely disappeared underneath a pair of massive breasts that would be better supported by the bed of a pickup truck than any kind of bra. Even her nipples had thickened out; a whole car tire could be wrapped around them like a wedding ring around a finger. Milk continued to pulse from her areolae in haphazard spurts.
"I'm telling you, you're just imagining things. Sheesh... what are you going to say next? That I should moo like a cow or something? Like I'd ever do that!"
