My breasts haven’t stopped growing my entire life and now, at nineteen, they look fit to burst. When I complain to Oscar—my older housemate—about it he says he knows a way to fix them. You won’t find it in any medical books, but I can tell you it works.
I’d do anything to relieve myself of the pressure, so I agree to his suggestion. When he starts to suck I’m overcome with arousal and I find myself behaving very strangely indeed. Now I have to take down Oscar's swelling. Should I suck that too?