By Arla Coopa
Copyright 2013 Arla Coopa
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All character depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years old or older.
The night she first saw the entity, it was around 3AM and Carla Maxwell was on the couch in her bra and panties. She had a hand on each boob, rotating them in circles. She was a short woman, five foot two, so her big boobs looked even bigger on her. Every time she made a new friend it would eventually come up.
“So, are those real?”
If that friend would have seen them naked, that friend wouldn’t have asked. They didn’t droop like an older woman’s boobs, but they didn’t stand up like fake ones. No, they had a nice natural hang and could take on various shapes, from round to more conical depending on her level of excitement and tiredness. When she was excited and energized the cone happened. It was like her nipples, which grew as round as dimes, were pulling the entire apparatus outward. It was almost embarrassing to her when Steve, her husband, looked at them, but she liked it, or at least had liked it.