"Girl Talk" by Dale Sorenson

“Sometimes I’m sorry I didn’t get the double Ds,” Stacy said.

She washed down her Zanex with a wine cooler and more whiskey.

“Oh don’t say that,” said Michelle. “Proportion is so much more important than sheer size.”

“Really?!” Stacy gushed. “God! That makes me feel just so much better. I’ve always been so jealous of your bodacious Ta Tas.”

Michelle nodded coolly as she sipped her vodka. “I’ve got this little tramp right where I want her,” she thought. "Time for a power play.”

“Here, let me show you,” said Michelle

In one rough, swift motion she ripped open Stacy’s blouse.

Stacy gave out a helpless little cry, but Michelle knew the little slut wanted it.

No bra? Hardly surprising. But no resistance? Intriguing.

Stacy’s round breasts curved up, each nipple pert and eager reaching skyward for attention.

Michelle caressed Stacy’s waist with one hand and bounced a playful tit with the other.

Continuing the facade of innocent girl talk Michelle asked, “See how the proportions go so well together?”

“Why yes. Yes I do,” said Stacy. She leaned forward and arched her back to offer better access to her taut supple features.

Michelle fingered Stacy’s moist erotic love knobs and they hardened. Soft moans filled the air.

“Now compare to mine,” said Michelle

“What?”

“Go on.”

Stacy fell into a trace, barely aware of her actions, yet conscious that each button opened brought her closer to those mountainous orbs of wonder. Slowly they came into view. She felt an almost divine presence. She’s dreamed of this moment for so long. She worshipped Michelle’s heaving, undulating melons with her eyes and felt pulsating envy and desire.

“They’re perfect,” Stacey said.

“Yes. I know. Feel them,” Michelle commanded.

Stacy did as she was told, like the good little girl she was raised to be. “My god!” she exclaimed. “They’re so pink. Your areolas are so dark and lovely. And just one of these weighs more than my last abortion.”

“You know it baby!” Michelle said with the confidence of a goddess.

Stacy’s willpower finally crumbled. She was sick of being the good girl. She wanted to be a dirty tramp. She plunged her face into Michelle’s heaving bazooms. She lapped, licked, slurped and squeezed like a mad jungle woman.”

“You’re good at that,” said Michelle with a faint sigh.

Stacy lifted her sloppy, wet glistening face and said, “Oh it’s the Botox. Keeps everything soft and relaxed.” Stacy went back to work, enjoying the role of boob slave.

Suddenly the door opened and a perky little face appeared. It was Emily.

“Is this the room for hip-hop Pilates?”

Stacy tried to look but Michelle’s hand kept her face firmly planted in Michelle’s magnificent womanhood.

Emily cocked an eyebrow at the muffled sounds of delight and submission coming from between Michelle’s ample cleavage. But she knew better than to say anything.

“It’s next door,” Michelle said.

“Ok thanks,” said Emily. “You girls have fun and try not to get anything on the carpets.”

She bounced off in her usual way with a little grin that said, “I’m a Jew with a secret.”

Michelle muttered to herself. “That little vixen knew we were in here. That’s it. She’s next. I’ll bet her asshole tastes like strawberries.”