‘God it was getting out of control…’ Diane thought as she looked at the image from her latest photo shoot.

Ok, maybe it wasn’t getting out of control, maybe it was out of control.

The problem was that she had no idea how to get a handle on it, how to stop the incessant need emanating from her tits.

She set her phone down and started to rub her tits, a moan escaping her lips as she did so, then she raised her hands from them and slapped them as hard as she could. The jolt of pleasure that ran through her made her gasp and the squeal in joy as she did it again and again until she could take no more and orgasmed.

She rolled over, naked in bed, and rubbed her hard nipples against the sheets as her hand slipped between her legs to find her dripping wet pussy. Another orgasm came soon enough, then another and another. It was well over an hour later when she was finally able to stop and manage to get out of bed and head to the shower.

Showering was nearly as much of a problem as getting out of bed, the warm water, the soapy luffa, all bringing more orgasms as she tried to get ready for the day.

She had never considered herself very sexual growing up, nor in high school or university, not even when she entered the workforce as a nurse. She would never imagined herself as some sex symbol on the Internet, let alone with a giant pair of tits that defined gravity.

But that was what her life had become, and to be honest, it wasn’t a bad life, just not the one she had envisioned having.

It had all turned on happenstance. A chance encounter with a man, who she doubted even knew the extent the meeting had changed her life.

She didn’t understand his power, probably couldn’t understand it, but she’d been at the mall doing some shopping when she’d obviously caught his eye. He’d walked up to her, wrapped his arm around her waist and before she knew it she was walking to his car, leaning against him, nibbling at his ear like a love sick teenager.

He hadn’t kept her for long, maybe a week, a little more, it was hard to tell for sure it was all so hazy. But there were a few things that were very clear.

Like the attention he paid to her tits, she could remember each and every time he squeezed, licked, sucked, slapped and fucked them. They weren’t the largest at the time, a large C cup at best, but he spent more time on them than any other part of her body. And whatever power he had, had made her love every moment of it.

So much so that she was cumming just from the attention to her tits in no time.

When he left, that hadn’t changed. She still came hard and easily from any attention to her tits, weather that was her own hands or anyone else’s. But it wasn’t nearly as good as when he’d done it, and that was the problem she still grappled with.

He hadn’t suggested she get larger tits, no, if anything, he seemed more than happy with the tits she originally had. Her constant need for bigger and bigger tits came from her own mind, her own rationalization of her problem.

After all, if her tits were big enough, famous enough, good enough… maybe, just maybe, he’d see them and remember her. Then he might come back and use her tits again, and bring with him those life shattering orgasms she had every time he had before.