It's a Process
Emilia's breasts compress together as she squeezes through the doorway into the dining room. She moves slowly and deliberately to maintain her balance. Despite her tailored foundation garments as well as her routine daily lumbar exercises, thirty-six pounds of breasts on her petite frame severely limits her mobility.
Arriving at the dining table, Emilia is pleased to find her favorite cherry sorbet and a cup of fresh coffee. She turns to the side, careful to maintain her center-of-gravity as she slides both the dessert and coffee further away—she would need the extra space. Next, she pulls back the chair, angling it slightly towards her.
Turning to face the table, Emilia tilts back until the bottoms of her breasts clear the table edge, then steps forward. Feeling the surface brush the underside of her bust, she leans in, letting her breasts drop onto the table. The weight transfer alleviates the stress on her lower back, and she pauses to savor the rare moment of relief.
Realizing she'll be unable to see anything beyond her chest if she sits down, Emilia reaches over her vast bosom and nudges her coffee and napkin to the side. Satisfied with her placement, she takes her sorbet in hand and settles into her chair, where a thought immediately occurs to her. I forgot the damn spoon.
Emilia grumbles, leans forward, and stands back up. Her sorbet still in hand, she blindly feels for the spoon with the other, until fingertips brush against the spoon handle. Reaching down further, she finds the utensil pinned between her tit and the tablecloth. I knew I felt something under there.
Emilia sits back down, experiencing a fleeting panic when, in her haste, she nearly slides off the corner of her seat. She sighs with relief, certainly not in the mood to have to be rescued from underneath her breasts this morning. Spoon and dessert in hand, Emilia brings both towards her face but soon realizes she lacks a free hand for her coffee. Desperate for a quick solution, she wedges the small bowl into her cleavage, wincing at the cold ceramic against her skin. That will have to do.
Taking a sip of her coffee, a perturbed Emilia finds it has gone lukewarm. She sets it back down and turns her attention back to the sorbet lodged between her breasts, scooping a hearty spoonful. Enamored by the smooth texture and aromatic fruit scent, she tilts her spoon too far, dropping a dollop onto her chest. Before it can slide into her cleavage, she scoops it up and into her mouth.
Emilia's tastebuds immediately rejoice, and she pauses to savor the rich, delicious flavor before letting it glide down her throat. The cold sensation gives way to a warm satisfaction in her belly that radiates outward and upward into her chest. The stressed threads of her dress groan, the oak table creaks, and her sorbet sinks deeper into her cleavage as her breasts subtly swell outward. Emilia smiles with delight.
Originally published May 30, 2020