Is longer better?

Hello everyone! So recently with my writing, and part of the reason it's taking so damn long, is my descriptions have become, well, fucking long to say the least. What makes it even worse is that the elf descriptions tend to add an extra one to two pages onto the base description that they use as a template, here, let me give you an example.

Strawberry fat default (breast descriptions):

Moving your gaze to your colossal breasts the first, and the most obvious, thing you notice is how truly colossal they are. While you’ve made note time and time again of their size it’s hard to not continue to drive that point home. Each one of your tits is easily larger than your head, maybe even twice the size of your head. Some women are blessed with massive melons, you on the other hand have titanic pumpkins. Your breasts rest heavily in your bra that you had to have altered just to contain them, and even then they are already managing to overflow it. You can see about an inch of soft titty flesh spill over the top of your bra cup, luckily for now your bra’s cup lip is just barely able to keep it from spilling out, though the distinctive double curve it makes is clearly visible though your ever tightening dress. Besides just being titanic in volume and surface they also support a massive cleavage that’s comparable to some sort of grand canyon in size. Your deep cleavage is more of a tight crack as your breasts push against each other as they compete for space. Your left breasts actually lay on top of your right breasts slightly, giving your cleavage a slight S shape. You can imagine that your cleavage is deep enough to bury a head completely and it's probably more than tight enough to firmly hold a cup between your breasts. Speaking of firmly, your bra clings to you rather firmly, especially around on the sides. Lifting up one of your weighty arms, the fat sagging slightly, you can see how your bra cuts into your side fat, forming a slight indent in the soft flesh. You can imagine that it’s going to leave a red mark when you finally remove your titty container later.      

Letting your flabby arm back down to your side you bring both of your porky hands to the underside of your chest, cupping your humongous breasts as best as you can. Your hands are tiny in comparison to them, if it weren't for the bra keeping them together you have doubts you could effectively lift them. Bringing your heavy breasts upwards is no easy task, especially when each one probably weighs close to twenty pounds, as you lift up you feel a large weight lifted off of your upper back. You feel your spine relax, finally not having the burden of your huge milkers pulling on it constantly. Letting your breasts down a little, putting some of the weight back on your spine, you start to give them a good shake. You watch as the soft flesh jiggles and wobbles, forming little ripples that almost look like waves. Actually, the more you watch them the more they do look like little waves on an ocean, or at least a large lake, of fatty titty flesh. You finally let your breast flesh calm down a bit before letting them all the way down. You feel a little out of breath from shaking what was probably a total weight of like thirty pounds or more, maybe less considering your spine was helping to support them. After taking a second to catch your breath, bring a hand up to the top of your breasts. You feel the soft and warm, as well as slightly sweaty, flesh. You rest your hand there for a second, noticing how it seems to sink into the marsh of breast flesh. You then start to gently rub the flesh and squeeze it. You feel your fat ooze between your fingers as you do this. Next you move your hand to your cleavage, pushing it between the tight walls your breasts form. Your inner cleavage is sweaty and very warm, you could see it being quite the nice spot to rest one's head… or maybe not as that would definitely be weird and not something you would like at all or want someone to rest their head between your tits. Taking your now sweat covered hand out of between your tits you let it hang back to your side, you decide it’s time to move onto your belly.

Strawberry fat elf (breast descriptions):

Moving your gaze down to your colossal breasts you dread what you might find. You already are painfully aware of how massive and fat your disgusting utters have become but still, actually inspecting them fills the pit of your stomach with dread. The first, and most obvious, thing that you notice is just how truly massive they have gotten. Each one of your titanic utters is easily larger than your head, maybe even double the size of it. You feel so disgusted by your tits and they’re massive size. Most elvish women have smaller breasts that are perky and shapely, your breasts are as perky as what you could have ever hoped for given their size but their sheer mass throws shape out the window. Your bosom is just a colossal pile of lard crudely formed into the shape of breasts. If it weren’t for the confines of your bra keeping them in place you have no doubts that they would have little shape resembling the elegant bosom of a fair woman, instead they’d probably resemble just another large roll of fat on your pathetic and repulsive body, only serving to remind you that you are no elf; that you are just a fat cow. As you look at how your breasts rest in your bra you notice that they actually over flow your bra a bit. They overflow your bra by about an inch, though your bra’s lip is just barely managing to keep the fat overflow contained, but if you get much bigger you're going to need to get a new bra, again. You feel disgusted with yourself, it’s always again. You always seem to need to buy a new bra again, or some new panties, or dress, or stockings, or whatever else you’ve outgrown again. You’re supposed to be the beauty standard but instead you’re a prime example of how some people just can’t control themselves and are ruled by their fat guts more than their own heads. You are not the standard of beauty, you’re the standard of gluttony, and hedonism. Your titanic breasts also, just as one would expect, boast a massive canyon of cleavage that has become a swamp of sweat, crumbs and whatever else has found its way into your disgusting cleavage. Your cleavage is tight as your breasts are forced together in your tight bra, which leads to it rarely airing out let alone cleaned. Not only is your cleavage tight and dirty but it’s not even symmetrical as your massive breasts compete for space, which has led to your left breast overlapping your right breast slightly. This makes your cleavage into a slight S shape rather than being straight. As you look at your deep cleavage you feel your mind wonder. You wonder what it would be like to have a head between your breasts, maybe a lover's head? Feel them kiss every inch of your fat utters, touching your body, telling you what a fat worthless cow you are. Maybe they’ll even-What are you even thinking about? These are disgusting thoughts that a cow-Elf like you shouldn’t even be having. You really are pathetic. Shifting your gaze back to your body and away from your disgustingly lewd thought you inspect how tight your bra has become. Lifting up one of your shameful arms you have a look at the side, you can see how the tight bra cuts a trench into your fat sides with the purple strap resting in the center bottom of it. You feel so embarrassed and humiliated that your body has gotten to the point your ribs are covered in such a thick layer of fat that anything could be pressed so deeply into it before meeting any resistance.       

Letting your pathetic, flabby arm back down to your side you decide to bring both of your porky hands to the underside of your chest, cupping your humongous utters as best as you can. Your hands are absolutely tiny in comparison to your breasts, if it weren't for your bra keeping your breasts together you have doubts you could even effectively lift them. As your hands contact the underside of your breasts you notice how damp the bra is with sweat, though it’s no surprise to you considering most of your body has sweat on it to some degree. There really aren’t enough words to describe your shame and humiliation with your body. It’s so pathetic that you’re covered in nearly a constant sheen of sweat, or oil, or crumbs because you just can’t stop stuffing yourself. Lifting your heavy breasts is no easy task, especially when each one probably weighs close to twenty pounds of pure lard. As you lift up your utters you feel a large weight being taken off your upper back. You feel your spine relax and straighten, finally not having to lift the burden of your eating habits and carry them around constantly. Feeling your arms struggling under the weight of your breasts you let them down a little, putting a bit of the weight back on your spine. It’s truly pathetic how weak you’ve gotten, not even able to hold up your own breasts is just shameful. You give your breasts a good shake, wanting to see how your lard moves. You watch as the soft flesh jiggles and wobbles, forming little ripples that almost look like repulsive waves. Actually, the more you watch them the more they do look like little waves on an ocean, or at least a large lake, of disgusting fatty titty flesh. You finally let your breast flesh calm down a bit before letting them all the way down. You feel your heart beating faster in your chest and your breathing coming more rapidly, as well as a little bit of sweat trickling down your face. Elves should be able to run though the forests and lands of the world for hours before exhausting themselves, your limit seems to be shanking your own bosoms for about a minute. You take a dreadful moment to catch your breath, the whole time your mind weighing heavy with thoughts of how pathetic, and weak, and out of shape you are. You’ve really let yourself become a fat cow. Now having your breath back you move one of your hands up to the top of your breasts. You feel your warm and soft, as well as sweaty, breasts flesh. You rest your hand there for a second, noticing how it sinks into the mire of breast fat. Out of curiosity you start to gently rub and knead the fat, squeezing it too. You feel your fat ooze between your fingers, giving you an odd sense of disgusting satisfaction. Next you move your hand to your cleavage, pushing it between the tight walls your breasts form that make up your cleavage. Your inner cleavage is very sweaty and warm, you even feel a few crumbs left over from your last meal. The ideas you hand earlier slowly creep back into your mind, thoughts of being touched and humiliated. Told how fat and pathetic you are. Maybe even they would feed you, letting you indulge like that fat cow you are. You feel yourself blush slightly as you feel yourself starting to become aroused, your blush deepens as you become embarrassed. This isn’t you, you don’t want that! You want to lose this weight and go back to being a trim and petite beautiful elvish woman that is respected and longed for for her perfect body. Any other thoughts would be pathetic for an elf to have. Taking your now sweat covered hand out of between your tits you let it hang back to your side, you decide it’s time to move onto your belly.  

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So, as you can see it is a lot longer, like, way longer and this is just one small area of the description. So, is longer better or should I try to shave off some length? I just worry about descriptions becoming too long.