bigger than my head

You're staring at tits bigger than your head, heavy and full, the kind that make your hands feel suddenly, urgently empty.

You feel your breath go shallow as your eyes trace the curve of that chest — the weight of it, the warmth it promises, the way gravity pulls everything into something almost unbearable to look at directly.

You know exactly what you want, and that want sits low and insistent in your body, tightening as you let yourself keep looking, keep wanting, keep imagining the press of all that softness against your face.