Breast Inflation

A Day In The Life of a Popper

Before I tell you what I do for a living, I want to say two things about my job.  One is that I'm probably effectively a mass murderer according to most of you.  That's obviously not how I see it and I don't know anyone else in this line of work who does. 

My friend Wendy and I sat at a small large round table at a small restaurant in the mall. Wendy was having her usual health plate of sparkling water and a vegetarian sub. I was having pizza, four slices with all the toppings, a chocolate milk and a brownie for dessert. Seated around us were an assortment of mall visitors; a couple old ladies, three young boys at one table, two young mothers with their children and an older guy who was quite intrigued with the newspaper he was reading.

Okay, what was I supposed to do? Here I was nearly 26 and my body still "developing" as it were. It seemed like my condition...the ballooning one...was not subsiding with age and now, whenever I blew up and then deflated, my boobs were staying just a bit bigger than they previously were. There was no more 44GG bustline, nor the 68 inch whoppers I had originally thought would be fun. There was no more 82 inch melons bulging from my blouses. I was stuck currently with a pair of 96 inch dandy's with a MMM bra adjustable in both cup and strap areas if I should increase another 4 inches.