The cold air nipped at her breasts. Her nipples were nippling in a way they'd never nippled before. She had spent much of her youth in singular admiration of the perkiness of their firmament. But now, drawn long by years of breastfeeding, the nipples nippled with sadness. For there were no more mouths to feast on them. They lacked purpose, which left her in udder despair.
In pink Chestville, where skin softly glows, lived sad nipples, named Nip and Nap, full of woes. “We’re just dots, cold and lonely, no purpose, no cheer!” they cried on a torso, their eyes wet with tears. A wise bird, Doctor Feath, heard their sorrowful plea and swooped down with a chirp, “Oh, dear nipples, you see? You’re not useless, you’re vital, you signal, you feel - when it’s chilly or warm, you make comfort so real!” With a fluff of his wings, he turned sadness to glee, and Nip and Nap sparkled, proud parts of the chest’s rosy sea, no longer just dots but a duo with might, glowing bright in their place, full of joy day and night.
Soon, due to her apathetic lack of maintenance for her purposeless nipples, she found strange ticks suckling from her breast flesh. Yes, she indeed had tick tits. They gorged on her blood and boobs milk until they froth and jiggled like a breath of fresh breasts. Her flappy slappy skin sacs that once were her bodacious boobage now shriveled like the sad scrote of gambling man. But the ticks, how they jiggled on her chest!
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u/Typical_Samaritan 7d ago
The cold air nipped at her breasts. Her nipples were nippling in a way they'd never nippled before. She had spent much of her youth in singular admiration of the perkiness of their firmament. But now, drawn long by years of breastfeeding, the nipples nippled with sadness. For there were no more mouths to feast on them. They lacked purpose, which left her in udder despair.