Her Tits or Mine?

 

It was a stupid argument. Who had the bigger tits. We’d had it a dozen times—every time we went out, every time someone stared too long, every time one of us got free drinks and the other didn’t. She insisted it was her. I swore it was me. But this time?

We let a coin decide.

Heads, her boobs would double. Tails, I’d take hers. Not just grow mine. Take hers—right off her chest, right into mine.

She laughed when we flipped it, arms squeezed under those massive tits of hers, practically glowing with smugness. She thought it was just a joke. She didn’t realize the coin was enchanted.

It landed: Tails.

And the second it did?

Pop. Pop. Squish.

She let out this helpless little gasp as her tits deflated—not instantly, not like a cartoon, but in slow, sultry waves. Her cleavage sank, her previously tight blue bikini top sagging with every inch that disappeared. You could see it—one tit shrinking faster than the other for a moment, making her panic and cup them, like her hands could hold them in place. “Wait—what’s happening—wait wait—those are mine!”

Too late, baby. They were already moving.

Because on my side?

Ohhhh… I felt them coming.

It started like heat. Low, slow, curling under my skin, bubbling up under my chest like I was about to burp up sex. Then the pressure hit. My own modest chest swelled, and then kept swelling—POP!—a sudden bounce of mass, a rush of weight I could feel pulling my top down. POP!! again, bigger now, and then—ohhh—squisssshhh—as both her tits merged into mine, like hot water pouring into a balloon.

I moaned. Couldn’t help it.

Straps stretched. Fabric whined. My top went from snug to painted-on, nipples poking through tight fabric like they were grateful to finally be so big they couldn’t be ignored. I felt them bounce, settle, wobble with every breath, soft and heavy, obscenely alive. Her tits—my tits now—moved like they’d always belonged here, like my chest had just been waiting to be upgraded.

And her?

She was devastated.

Her arms hung awkwardly, hands fluttering near her now-flat chest like she didn’t know where to put them. Her top was loose. So loose it looked borrowed. Her cleavage was gone. Gone. Like it’d been erased.

“I—I can’t—those were—”

I swayed my hips a little, just to feel them bounce. They jiggled with a luxurious slosh, and I grinned like I’d won the lottery.

“I told you I’d win,” I purred, squeezing them together just to watch her eyes bulge. “You should’ve known better than to bet against me.”

She just stared. Like my chest had hypnotized her. And maybe it had.

Because every move I made now? Every twitch, every step, every subtle little shoulder roll—squish, bounce, jiggle—they followed me like I had planets orbiting under my shirt. They were obscene. They wanted attention.

And I was gonna give it to them.

“Bet you miss how they used to feel,” I teased, pressing them together until they swelled like rising dough, nipples peeking through with desperate need. “Bet you really miss them.”

She whimpered.

And me? I licked my lips.

Because I didn’t just win.

I stole them.

And I never give back. 💖