I’m Valeria, 23, and I’ve spent my whole life hiding. Baggy hoodies, loose jeans, zero cleavage, always looking down. My tits are huge—real 36DD, heavy, always bouncing no matter what I wear—but I hated them. They made guys stare, made me feel dirty, made me feel like a slut just for existing. I’d never even let a guy touch them. Never even came with anyone else. Just quick fingers in the dark when I was alone, guilty and fast.
Then I met Alejandro in theater class. 28, tall, dark hair, that easy smile that made my stomach flip. He wasn’t pushy, just… confident. Always found excuses to talk to me after rehearsal. One day we were practicing a scene—some intense dialogue about desire—and I was wearing this stupid oversized sweatshirt. During a break I spilled water all over my chest. The fabric stuck to my skin like glue. My nipples went hard instantly, poking through like they were screaming for attention.
I panicked, tried to cover up, but Alejandro just looked at me—really looked—and said, low and calm:
“You don’t have to hide them, Val. They’re fucking beautiful.”
My face burned. I wanted to die. But my pussy clenched so hard I almost moaned.
After that he started teasing me. Subtle at first. A lingering look at my chest when I talked. A “you look good today” when I wore anything remotely fitted. One rehearsal he “accidentally” brushed his hand across my tit while adjusting my posture. I froze. He whispered sorry… but didn’t move his hand right away. I didn’t pull away.
The tension built for weeks. Every class I left soaked. I started wearing tighter tops on purpose, pretending it was an accident. He noticed. Always noticed.
One night after everyone left he asked me to stay and run lines. The room was dark, just the stage light on us. He stepped close—too close—and said:
“You’re shaking. Are you scared… or turned on?”
I couldn’t lie. “Both.”
He didn’t rush. Just cupped one tit over my shirt, thumb circling my nipple slow. I whimpered. He pulled the fabric up, exposed me. My big brown tits spilled out, nipples thick and aching. He stared like he was starving.
“Fuck, Val… these are perfect.”
Then he sucked one into his mouth. Slow. Wet. Tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. I grabbed his hair, hips bucking against nothing. He switched to the other, kneading the first one hard, squeezing like he owned them.
“These tits deserve to be worshipped,” he growled against my skin. “Not hidden.”
He pushed me down on the stage floor, yanked my leggings off. My pussy was shaved, already dripping. He spread my legs wide, looked at me like I was dessert.
“You’ve never let anyone taste you, have you?”
I shook my head, embarrassed.
He dove in. Tongue flat, slow licks up my slit, then focused on my clit—circling, flicking, sucking. I came in under a minute, screaming, hips grinding against his face, squirting all over his chin.
He didn’t stop. Kept eating me until I was begging.
Then he stood, dropped his pants. His cock was thick, long, veiny—way bigger than anything I’d imagined. He rubbed the head against my clit, teasing.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it… please, Alejandro… fuck me.”
He pushed in slow. The stretch burned, then bloomed into full, filthy pleasure. He fucked me deep and steady, hands never leaving my tits—squeezing, slapping them lightly, pinching my nipples until I cried out.
“Look at these perfect fucking tits bouncing while I fuck you,” he groaned. “You were made for this.”
I came again, pussy clamping down, milking him. He sped up, pounding hard, the wet slap of skin echoing in the empty theater.
“Gonna fill you up, Val. Gonna mark you.”
He buried himself deep and came—hot, thick ropes flooding my pussy. I felt every pulse. When he pulled out, his cum leaked out of me, dripping down my ass.
We lay there panting. He kissed my forehead.
“You’re not a shy little girl anymore. You’re a woman. And you’re fucking incredible.”
After that night I stopped hiding. I started wearing tight tops on purpose. Started touching myself thinking of his mouth on my tits, his cock stretching me. I let him fuck me again and again—backstage, in his car, once even bent over his kitchen counter while he squeezed my tits and called me his dirty little theater slut.
Now I love my body. Love my big tits. Love how they bounce when he fucks me hard. Love how he worships them, slaps them, cums on them.
I’m not the shy girl anymore.
I’m addicted to the pleasure.
And I never want to go back. 😈
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