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The sequel to
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For my 18th birthday I asked mom if I could get implants like hers. She smiled enigmatically. “Oh, you’ll never find a pair like these. But would you like them? I’m getting a little old for them now.”
It sounds icky having the implants she’s been carrying for nearly 20 years stitched into my breasts but they were the last gift dad ever gave her before he disappeared, just before mom remarried, and they have a lot of sentimental value for her (Or I think they do since I caught her talking to them one time). It seemed wrong for them to just be thrown out on the garbage heap so I said yes!
The surgeon examined them first of course (after all this time, they might have been split or damaged) but they were in perfect condition, like they could last another hundred years. Maybe when I have daughters or granddaughters of my own I’ll pass them down, like a family heirloom!
I love my new tits even if they are a bit big on my petite frame. Step-dad can’t take his eyes off them either. They jiggle more than I expected. They have a mind of their own sometimes, almost like they’re moving of their own accord, especially when I show them off to daddy. That's when they really start wriggling like crazy. I love watching the force of every thrust ripple through them whenever step-dad makes love to me.
But most importantly it feels good to have a gift from dad. Even if I never knew him, he’ll always be close to my heart.
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