thickhourglass1
TITs Posting Prince
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I'd love to see this story continue. I hope it's not abandoned.
One In Four Billion (Fiction)
- Thread starter CoatedChimera
- Start date
CoatedChimera
Active Member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2023
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Hi everybody, sorry for the long hiatus... some unexpected health issues got in the way which caused me to abandon my promises. The story is not abandoned at all though, I'm highly motivated to continue writing whenever I find the time!
In fact, I will release the second, and, if I'm happy enough with it by then, the third chapter on Monday. Just be a little bit more patient!
And again, thanks for the many supportive messages, it really means a lot to me. I didn't expect to receive such positive feedback on my first attempt
Regards, coatedchimera
In fact, I will release the second, and, if I'm happy enough with it by then, the third chapter on Monday. Just be a little bit more patient!
And again, thanks for the many supportive messages, it really means a lot to me. I didn't expect to receive such positive feedback on my first attempt
Regards, coatedchimera
CoatedChimera
Active Member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2023
- Messages
- 6
- Reaction score
- 104
Chapter 02
So apparently last evening was not a figment of my imagination. The shuffling on the bunk bed below me indicated that Lenna was in fact in the room with me and not just an exceptionally lucid daydream. My heart started racing. As it had been almost continuously throughout the entire night. I must’ve fought with myself to fall asleep for hours and hours on end, as my brain simply could not give me a break from thinking about Lenna. As I had listened to her breathing and the occasional snores, my mind had been occupied solely with the question of how to pacify my pulsating boner. Despite being somewhat of a boob-obsessed degenerate, as described before, I knew how to divert my mind and sidestep a mistimed erection. Wow, I should put that on my CV - anyway. I tried it all. Calming, slowing my breath, trying to get into a sort-of meditative state, flexing my muscles to redirect the blood flow away from my member, vividly imaging Gabby’s rather British teeth - nothing had helped. Never have I been obsessed like that with somebody after just meeting them. Replaying every glimpse of her gigantic mounds in front of my eyes, imaging her cute tummy, her slender arms and legs, realizing that her fairly good-looking - and at the same time drop-dead gorgeous face on its own could make me cum. I could’ve got up and gone to the bathroom, but for some reason I had been paralyzed, thinking she might wake up, that she was onto me already, that she would know I was going to wank over her. How stupid. My crotch was aching still, I had the worst blue balls I ever experienced. I must’ve been pure exhaustion that finally put me to sleep in the early morning, while my dick had continued to stand his ground.
The rustling noises from below indicated that Lenna was unwrapping herself from the blanket. Time to play dead. No need to risk an awkward interaction that might crush my confidence and with it my boner. Yes, I would have to stop being intimidated by Lenna at some point, but now was not the time. I closed my eyes.
3, 4, 5 creaks from the slatted frame. The piercing sound of suitcase zippers being opened and closed quickly. The rustling of bags and fabric. Non-attributable, subtly damped smacking sounds. Short nasal exhales and inhales. Joints creaking. Feet shuffling past. The door opening and closing.
I breathed out. Even just listening to Lenna was more erotic than the entire porn catalogue I had compiled on my hard drive until now. Simply experiencing 15 seconds of this girl doing everyday stuff was enough for a blind person to notice that there was something very unusual about her figure. Her 18-year-old, rather petite, fragile body was so beyond normal, it constantly seemed to give acoustic cues resulting from the excessive demand that two secondary sexual characteristics made which would seem disproportionate on a 300-pound Amazonian trucker lady. How was she even real? How?
***
I had decided to avoid contact with Lenna until I got the chance of getting rid of my boner. In my state of mind, it was simply unreasonable to take the risk of em-b-b-b-arrassing myself in front of her, let alone presenting the unhidable tent in my pyjama pants that just refused to collapse. It was like I had been struck by that infamous south american spider that gave you a day-long hard-on. So I waited, 'sleeping', until Lenna came back from the bathroom, sorted out her stuff and left again, presumably to the kitchen. Once I heard some distant chatter from my mum, I jumped up and made my way down to the floor. While wrestling with my dick for it to at the very least not stick out that much, strapping it against my stomach with the waistband, just in case, I hesitated for a second. Glancing over at Lenna’s luggage, I was tempted to investigate. Of course, I was most interested in checking out her underwear, looking at all the bra tags, finding out which ridiculous, unbelievable combination of even numbers and letters of the roman alphabet described her impalpable beauty - but no. Now was not the time. She might come back at any moment. There would be plenty of opportunities to do such research and right now, my main objective was to blow my load.
***
I listened. They were still in the kitchen. I opened the door, peeked, snuck outside, turned left, into the bathroom, turned the key - whew. One step closer to feeling like a normal human being again. Looking around - unfortunately, Lenna hadn’t left her bra behind, as I briefly hoped. But as I undressed, just before hopping into the shower, I noticed something else - her phone. It sat on the sink, capturing my attention, tempting me. I went over and picked it up, tapping the screen. Hm. A generic rock formation greeted me on her lock screen. I swiped up, revealing nine dots. Bingo. I switched the display off, held the screen against the ceiling light, slowly changing the angle - there it was. The lock pattern stood out from all the other greasy smears distributed across the glass surface. I had seen this trick in an Insta reel months ago - never would I have thought I might sink as low as actually using it to spy on a woman’s phone. But my curiosity was too great. Click - swipe, swipe, swipe, I was in. What next. If I had infinite time, I could find out everything about this girl, right now. My hands became cold, my fingers stiff. I was beyond excited, but also anxious like never before. Yes, the door was locked, this wasn’t the point - it was the risk of fucking up in some way. I felt drunk and stoned from arousal and I was one shaky mishap away from - I don’t even know. Some stupid mishap maybe. I was just scared that she might find out somehow, later on. But- okay. I let the intrusive thoughts win already, there was no point in going back. Let’s get to the point. What to do, what to do… My thumb aimlessly hovered from one app icon the next - yes. Obviously the gallery. What else. Tap. I exhaled and started stroking. Cautiously, as even a gust of wind might send me over the edge right now.
So I jerked… to a bunch of nature photography. Scroll. And also architecture. Scroll. Ah yes, and also to a seagull chomping down on a bread crust. Jesus, does this girl take any pictures of herself?? Just as the thought crossed my mind that this was a sign I should’nt stick my nose where it didn’t belong, one pic grabbed my attention. Because finally, there were people depicted. One of them was Lenna. The other was a different girl. Let her be a friend? Most possibly. The setting: a girl’s bedroom. Lenna’s old room or her friend’s, who knows. Half-empty beer bottles standing around, some snack bowls too. A movie night? It was Lenna holding the phone, facing the mirror. The two stood side by side, looking tipsy and jolly. Wide-eyed, I scanned them. First her friend, then Lenna, then the other girl again. It took me a while to deduce what was going on. They had swapped clothes. Her friend was wearing a marine blue, super baggy fleece sweater. Well, she was barely wearing it as she had lifted it up to show something pretty spectacular underneath. The biggest bra I have ever seen. There were no words to describe what I was seeing. I was clear that it was Lenna’s. It hung there, from her friend's torso, slack and wonky. I would’ve never imagined that a bra could be so big that it was unable to cover a smaller chested woman’s bosom - was it not usually the way around? But in that case, the comparative 'smaller' was doing some inhuman heavy lifting, as Lenna’s friend was literally flat as a desktop. And it was all there to see, in the open. The entirety of both her pierced, nonexistent 'tits', at least half a foot clear of the reinforced cups her gal pal had lent her.
And then there was the other half of the image. It was clear that the boobless girl had been dressed way less conservative than Lenna. Not scandalous though, by any stretch of the imagination. It was a white spaghetti strap top. Or a… tube-top…-dress? Is that a word? In any case, it was really low cut all around, allowing to leave pretty much all skin around the torso a thumb’s withs above the nipples to be exposed.
On a normal girl.
On Lenna, the flimsy fabric was behaving in a different way. By the looks of it, on her, the cleavage was pretty much twice as deep as it should be. Not due to the straps stretching - they didn’t look that much elastic, but due to the back part riding up, the hem, that would probably sit right below her shoulder blades, slightly bunching up against her neck. So basically, her 'back cleavage' had shifted to combine with her 'front cleavage' - so to speak. On 99% of girls, this would mean that, well, her tits would be completely out. I mean, her neckline would be pretty much a hand’s width above the underside of her ribcage. On a super-busty onlyfans model, tits hanging down halfway to her belly button, it would reveal a long, enticing, mesmerizing crease, tempting you to jump inside dick-first.
None of that was the case for Lenna. Except the mesmerization, times a thousand.
Neither her nipples were out, nor a deep crease was visible. Where, on a girl her age, her girls would be placed, normally - there was just skin. From her collarbones downwards, the outlines of her ribs were faintly visible, and around the height where I used to place my palms on Gabby, the skin started lifting, departing away from the bones, only gradually morphing into two separate shapes. And right where this visualization of a beautiful three-dimensional mathematical function ultimately warped into two contacting inner walls in the middle, the thin white fabric censored the rest.
The rest being, of course, her giant boobs. It felt insane, it was completely ridiculous that right now, it wasn’t even their size that was the most captivating thing. I had seen them yesterday, imagined them a million times last night, her enormous bouncy basketballs on her tiny frame, the biggest breasts on the planet, ever, in the history of humanity maybe. Impossible to conceive, to wrap my head around, but it was something else that dropped my jaw. It was their placement. As I already saw, even with a bra, Lenna’s breasts covered at least half her stomach. Here, Lenna was not wearing a bra. She had stuffed her friend’s AAA cup under the white fabric to use as a nipple cover, with the straps and hooks not connected and loosely hanging out from the bottom.
So her bosom sat firmly on top of her stomach.
Her entire belly was literally covered by her naturally hanging chest. No matter how long I looked at it, I could barely grasp what I was seeing. It was like these 3D-optical illusions where you had to cross your eyes and really concentrate to see the hidden pattern. My gaze would wander from the outlines of her toy-sized bra cups, to the organic silhouette of her mounds sticking out to the sides impossibly far, to the hinted, strain-induced skin folds where her womanhood attached to the girly body carrying it. I simply couldn’t take it all in at once. Breasts sagging that much was something that would happen to older women, naturally, as only they would have breasts a quarter as big in the first place, and also as it was a process of aging and material fatigue that would stretch the skin over long periods of time. At the same time, such bosoms tended to be out of shape and deflated, as they might have experienced many cycles of slight expansion and shrinking due to fluctuation in body weight, pregnancy and well, the female cycle. Oftentimes this left them not too appealing even to a boob hound like me, despite being big on paper. In Lenna’s case, none of this was true. Even in their braless state, her breasts looked full and plump - not painfully stretched like a balloon but also not wobbly and watery. Still, they kept a natural teardrop shape and by the placement of her friend’s undersized accessory, her nipples pointed about 45 degrees downwards. Looking at Lenna’s chest made me feel like an 18th century scientist discovering an entirely new physical phenomenon, trying to make sense of it with the limited knowledge and understanding I had at my disposal. So I deduced that the only explanation for their perfect shape was that her breasts had been growing fairly quickly. So, on the rounded parts, the skin hadn’t been granted enough time to start ‘creeping’ too much, losing some of its tension so to speak and allowing gravity to trade forward projection against frontal footprint. On the other hand, the skin further up, around her original chest area, whose entire job was to suspend many, many pounds of fat any time Lenna stood or sat upright, presumably not getting sufficient support by supposably undersized and misfitting bras, got stretched as well. But since it wasn’t filled with billions of ever expanding and dividing fat cells pushing outward, but instead getting pulled by them relentlessly in the direction of the earth's supermassive core - it could not conceal it’s failure, it had to allow Lenna’s permanently attached cargo to be lowered gradually, leaving her with two gigantic udders sitting where other girls her age would show off underboob tattoos, belly button piercings or expensive belts.
Again, I looked back at her friend. At her nonexistent chest. Nothing that would bounce, likely barely enough fat to pinch and grab with two fingers. Like puberty had just forgotten her. Overall pretty skinny, her tongue sassily sticking out of a good-looking face that came across as at least five years more mature. On her stomach, almost a six pack, and a silvery piece of jewelry hanging from her belly button.
I shifted back to Lenna. Again, a nonexistent chest, at least where you would expect - a chest. Just highly stressed skin that was entrusted with an impossibly challenging task way too early in its life. More fat than would fit in a mixing bowl. In two mixing bowls. Like her body had experienced the puberty of a thousand girls. Overall rather slender, with a youthful, cute face and reddened cheeks that revealed that this was not a type of picture she’d usually take in a different setting and without some intoxication. On her stomach, nothing but two humongous bags of fatty tissue, just barely covered by a piece of terminally stretched fabric that was meant to be just comfortably form-fitting, as well as contain her butt.
It was too much. I hadn’t even stroked my dick for two minutes, and still I felt that there was something building up I could not suppress anymore. I was standing outside the shower stall, facing the sink - three feet away - holding Lenna’s phone in my shaky left hand, realizing there weren’t more then a few tenths of a second left to react. Not enough to jump into the shower, not enough to get to the sink and hoist and bend my impossibly hard member over the ceramic edge to aim inside. Just enough for the phone to slip out of my sweaty palms, for me to catch it with my foot right before the tilework, trading a broken screen against a sharp pain from the instep, causing the mobile to slide over the bathroom carpet, coming to a halt two feet in front of me. My knees turned weak, just lost all their strength, causing me to involuntarily sink to the ground like a devout man of faith. In a last-ditch-attempt to avoid more damage, I tried to use my foreskin as a seal, to at least keep contained what my dick was determined to eject the very next moment. Not even that was successful, the skin was stuck behind my glans penis, which was swollen up to a degree I had never seen before. A brief moment of confusion and exasperation - and the first load was fired, like a sniper shot, hitting Lenna’s spaghetti straps, ricocheting off and spraying across the wall. Two, three, four strings followed, traversing the room at Mach 2 in random directions, until I finally regained my presence of mind back and shielded the gun barrel. Three, four more loads came out with diminishing force, covering me in goo, but at least not causing more havoc in the neatly cleaned bathroom. Breathing heavily, fighting not to pass out, I glanced back at Lenna’s phone, at her face and fat fucking udders being submerged in my sperm. Resuming to stroke again, an encore followed right after. Another climax, maybe only a third as strong as whatever magic I had just experienced, but still without precedent. Three more charges decorating the floor, at least fifteen more spasms after my dick ran out of ammunition.
I exhaled. Held my breath and listened. Suddenly being struck with the fear that Lenna and/or my mom might be standing right infront of the door, eavesdropping on these unmistakable sounds I was making.
But no, still chatter from the kitchen, all good. That was close. Time to clean.
***
What a lovely day. To sit with your very normal family and have a lovely breakfast after a wonderful sleep and a refreshing shower. Mum sitting to my left, dusting off the barely visible bumps on her chest after dropping some crumbs on herself, talking about everything in the word but the two elephants in the room sitting across her, hovering inches above my roommate’s thighs.
'Jamie, are you ok?' Mum inquired with a worried look on her face.
'Yeah, of course.. why?' I tried to cover up my weariness.
'Mhm, I don’t know… you look like you stayed up looking at the youtube again…'
I rolled my eyes, ignoring her. Lenna was with us now, and every time she was around I felt extra conscious about anything I said and did, and especially about the rather cringe interactions with my mum. But sure, there was no doubt I looked winded. The past weeks of my life, maybe even the past year had been mind numbingly uneventful, every month breezing past in the blink of an eye. But since I got to know Lenna, every moment felt like an hour. In a good way though, no discussion about that.
'Uhm, by the way, you left your phone in the bathroom-' I pulled out Lenna’s mobile and handed it to her.
'Oh, thanks.'
She barely looked me in the eyes but for the first time, there seemed to be at least a hint of genuine appreciation in her voice. But to be honest, I didn’t even care right now - as long as she didn’t notice any unpleasant smell emanating from the touchscreen, I should be more than happy.
Again Lenna wore an oversized hoodie. A black one, that seemed to be last-years merchandise by Beyoncé, as the print indicated. Interesting, I thought, this will not have been cheap, right? I can see her going to Primark and buying these baggy-ass curtains as a makeshift solution but would she really spend 60, 70 bucks on XXL-sized world tour souvenirs of her favourite singer if she planned to chop her tits off next month and replace half her wardrobe anyway?
'Your shishter and I will go schopping today. You want to Dschoin us Dschamie?' Mum mumbled right after shoving the remaining quarter of her peanut butter sandwich in her mouth. I almost choked at her description of Lenna as my 'sister' - but glossed over it.
Should I go? Witness Lenna in public the first time, study how she behaved around people that would keep ogling at her like a three-legged circus animal? Or should I stay here and snoop around in her personal belongings, hoping to find clues about what cloud this goddess had descended from?
'I- uhm, I think I… I’m ok. I wanted to finish my book, so…'
It did feel a bit like a coward’s decision, like I was too scared to spend considerable time with Lenna, especially with my mum added to the mix, fearing I’d reveal my true identity as a creepy loser. I knew I had to find a way to get through to Lenna, and this would certainly not happen if I avoided her and barely spoke a word. But I’ve probably already ruined my initial appearance, so there was no point in rushing things. Furthermore, there was no clear idea of what 'things' was, since first of all, this girl had to be dead set on going under the knife in the near future no matter how much I made myself believe otherwise, and second of all, my mum was insisting on calling her my sister.
'Fine, very well. But listen, you do need to get out some more… Jamie, I love that you’re reading and such but fresh air is also important.’
Yes mama. Please stop embarrassing me. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.
‘Ma’am, can I-’ Lenna interjected.
‘It’s Betty, honey, don’t call me ma’am, I’m begging you…’
‘Sorry, Betty, I just wanted to ask if it’s ok that some friends from Luton wanted to visit in the evening?’ Lenna asked. ‘For a game night or something… haven’t seen them in a while so…’
‘Wonderful! Jamie, didn’t Oliver want to come over too tonight? You guys can join up!’
Ollie was my best friend. A slightly more eloquent, talented, good-looking version of me. Who was usually playing wingman for me. It wasn’t his fault the success had been marginal in the past.
‘Sure, why not.’
I looked over to Lenna enquiringly, putting on my politest smile. She nodded, shrugging her shoulders. The look in her eyes, like she just caught me staring at her chest. Or I insulted her family. What a girl. So shy and so tough at the same time. Eating away at my sanity. Melting my brain. Amazing.
******
Chapter 03 following this week
So apparently last evening was not a figment of my imagination. The shuffling on the bunk bed below me indicated that Lenna was in fact in the room with me and not just an exceptionally lucid daydream. My heart started racing. As it had been almost continuously throughout the entire night. I must’ve fought with myself to fall asleep for hours and hours on end, as my brain simply could not give me a break from thinking about Lenna. As I had listened to her breathing and the occasional snores, my mind had been occupied solely with the question of how to pacify my pulsating boner. Despite being somewhat of a boob-obsessed degenerate, as described before, I knew how to divert my mind and sidestep a mistimed erection. Wow, I should put that on my CV - anyway. I tried it all. Calming, slowing my breath, trying to get into a sort-of meditative state, flexing my muscles to redirect the blood flow away from my member, vividly imaging Gabby’s rather British teeth - nothing had helped. Never have I been obsessed like that with somebody after just meeting them. Replaying every glimpse of her gigantic mounds in front of my eyes, imaging her cute tummy, her slender arms and legs, realizing that her fairly good-looking - and at the same time drop-dead gorgeous face on its own could make me cum. I could’ve got up and gone to the bathroom, but for some reason I had been paralyzed, thinking she might wake up, that she was onto me already, that she would know I was going to wank over her. How stupid. My crotch was aching still, I had the worst blue balls I ever experienced. I must’ve been pure exhaustion that finally put me to sleep in the early morning, while my dick had continued to stand his ground.
The rustling noises from below indicated that Lenna was unwrapping herself from the blanket. Time to play dead. No need to risk an awkward interaction that might crush my confidence and with it my boner. Yes, I would have to stop being intimidated by Lenna at some point, but now was not the time. I closed my eyes.
3, 4, 5 creaks from the slatted frame. The piercing sound of suitcase zippers being opened and closed quickly. The rustling of bags and fabric. Non-attributable, subtly damped smacking sounds. Short nasal exhales and inhales. Joints creaking. Feet shuffling past. The door opening and closing.
I breathed out. Even just listening to Lenna was more erotic than the entire porn catalogue I had compiled on my hard drive until now. Simply experiencing 15 seconds of this girl doing everyday stuff was enough for a blind person to notice that there was something very unusual about her figure. Her 18-year-old, rather petite, fragile body was so beyond normal, it constantly seemed to give acoustic cues resulting from the excessive demand that two secondary sexual characteristics made which would seem disproportionate on a 300-pound Amazonian trucker lady. How was she even real? How?
***
I had decided to avoid contact with Lenna until I got the chance of getting rid of my boner. In my state of mind, it was simply unreasonable to take the risk of em-b-b-b-arrassing myself in front of her, let alone presenting the unhidable tent in my pyjama pants that just refused to collapse. It was like I had been struck by that infamous south american spider that gave you a day-long hard-on. So I waited, 'sleeping', until Lenna came back from the bathroom, sorted out her stuff and left again, presumably to the kitchen. Once I heard some distant chatter from my mum, I jumped up and made my way down to the floor. While wrestling with my dick for it to at the very least not stick out that much, strapping it against my stomach with the waistband, just in case, I hesitated for a second. Glancing over at Lenna’s luggage, I was tempted to investigate. Of course, I was most interested in checking out her underwear, looking at all the bra tags, finding out which ridiculous, unbelievable combination of even numbers and letters of the roman alphabet described her impalpable beauty - but no. Now was not the time. She might come back at any moment. There would be plenty of opportunities to do such research and right now, my main objective was to blow my load.
***
I listened. They were still in the kitchen. I opened the door, peeked, snuck outside, turned left, into the bathroom, turned the key - whew. One step closer to feeling like a normal human being again. Looking around - unfortunately, Lenna hadn’t left her bra behind, as I briefly hoped. But as I undressed, just before hopping into the shower, I noticed something else - her phone. It sat on the sink, capturing my attention, tempting me. I went over and picked it up, tapping the screen. Hm. A generic rock formation greeted me on her lock screen. I swiped up, revealing nine dots. Bingo. I switched the display off, held the screen against the ceiling light, slowly changing the angle - there it was. The lock pattern stood out from all the other greasy smears distributed across the glass surface. I had seen this trick in an Insta reel months ago - never would I have thought I might sink as low as actually using it to spy on a woman’s phone. But my curiosity was too great. Click - swipe, swipe, swipe, I was in. What next. If I had infinite time, I could find out everything about this girl, right now. My hands became cold, my fingers stiff. I was beyond excited, but also anxious like never before. Yes, the door was locked, this wasn’t the point - it was the risk of fucking up in some way. I felt drunk and stoned from arousal and I was one shaky mishap away from - I don’t even know. Some stupid mishap maybe. I was just scared that she might find out somehow, later on. But- okay. I let the intrusive thoughts win already, there was no point in going back. Let’s get to the point. What to do, what to do… My thumb aimlessly hovered from one app icon the next - yes. Obviously the gallery. What else. Tap. I exhaled and started stroking. Cautiously, as even a gust of wind might send me over the edge right now.
So I jerked… to a bunch of nature photography. Scroll. And also architecture. Scroll. Ah yes, and also to a seagull chomping down on a bread crust. Jesus, does this girl take any pictures of herself?? Just as the thought crossed my mind that this was a sign I should’nt stick my nose where it didn’t belong, one pic grabbed my attention. Because finally, there were people depicted. One of them was Lenna. The other was a different girl. Let her be a friend? Most possibly. The setting: a girl’s bedroom. Lenna’s old room or her friend’s, who knows. Half-empty beer bottles standing around, some snack bowls too. A movie night? It was Lenna holding the phone, facing the mirror. The two stood side by side, looking tipsy and jolly. Wide-eyed, I scanned them. First her friend, then Lenna, then the other girl again. It took me a while to deduce what was going on. They had swapped clothes. Her friend was wearing a marine blue, super baggy fleece sweater. Well, she was barely wearing it as she had lifted it up to show something pretty spectacular underneath. The biggest bra I have ever seen. There were no words to describe what I was seeing. I was clear that it was Lenna’s. It hung there, from her friend's torso, slack and wonky. I would’ve never imagined that a bra could be so big that it was unable to cover a smaller chested woman’s bosom - was it not usually the way around? But in that case, the comparative 'smaller' was doing some inhuman heavy lifting, as Lenna’s friend was literally flat as a desktop. And it was all there to see, in the open. The entirety of both her pierced, nonexistent 'tits', at least half a foot clear of the reinforced cups her gal pal had lent her.
And then there was the other half of the image. It was clear that the boobless girl had been dressed way less conservative than Lenna. Not scandalous though, by any stretch of the imagination. It was a white spaghetti strap top. Or a… tube-top…-dress? Is that a word? In any case, it was really low cut all around, allowing to leave pretty much all skin around the torso a thumb’s withs above the nipples to be exposed.
On a normal girl.
On Lenna, the flimsy fabric was behaving in a different way. By the looks of it, on her, the cleavage was pretty much twice as deep as it should be. Not due to the straps stretching - they didn’t look that much elastic, but due to the back part riding up, the hem, that would probably sit right below her shoulder blades, slightly bunching up against her neck. So basically, her 'back cleavage' had shifted to combine with her 'front cleavage' - so to speak. On 99% of girls, this would mean that, well, her tits would be completely out. I mean, her neckline would be pretty much a hand’s width above the underside of her ribcage. On a super-busty onlyfans model, tits hanging down halfway to her belly button, it would reveal a long, enticing, mesmerizing crease, tempting you to jump inside dick-first.
None of that was the case for Lenna. Except the mesmerization, times a thousand.
Neither her nipples were out, nor a deep crease was visible. Where, on a girl her age, her girls would be placed, normally - there was just skin. From her collarbones downwards, the outlines of her ribs were faintly visible, and around the height where I used to place my palms on Gabby, the skin started lifting, departing away from the bones, only gradually morphing into two separate shapes. And right where this visualization of a beautiful three-dimensional mathematical function ultimately warped into two contacting inner walls in the middle, the thin white fabric censored the rest.
The rest being, of course, her giant boobs. It felt insane, it was completely ridiculous that right now, it wasn’t even their size that was the most captivating thing. I had seen them yesterday, imagined them a million times last night, her enormous bouncy basketballs on her tiny frame, the biggest breasts on the planet, ever, in the history of humanity maybe. Impossible to conceive, to wrap my head around, but it was something else that dropped my jaw. It was their placement. As I already saw, even with a bra, Lenna’s breasts covered at least half her stomach. Here, Lenna was not wearing a bra. She had stuffed her friend’s AAA cup under the white fabric to use as a nipple cover, with the straps and hooks not connected and loosely hanging out from the bottom.
So her bosom sat firmly on top of her stomach.
Her entire belly was literally covered by her naturally hanging chest. No matter how long I looked at it, I could barely grasp what I was seeing. It was like these 3D-optical illusions where you had to cross your eyes and really concentrate to see the hidden pattern. My gaze would wander from the outlines of her toy-sized bra cups, to the organic silhouette of her mounds sticking out to the sides impossibly far, to the hinted, strain-induced skin folds where her womanhood attached to the girly body carrying it. I simply couldn’t take it all in at once. Breasts sagging that much was something that would happen to older women, naturally, as only they would have breasts a quarter as big in the first place, and also as it was a process of aging and material fatigue that would stretch the skin over long periods of time. At the same time, such bosoms tended to be out of shape and deflated, as they might have experienced many cycles of slight expansion and shrinking due to fluctuation in body weight, pregnancy and well, the female cycle. Oftentimes this left them not too appealing even to a boob hound like me, despite being big on paper. In Lenna’s case, none of this was true. Even in their braless state, her breasts looked full and plump - not painfully stretched like a balloon but also not wobbly and watery. Still, they kept a natural teardrop shape and by the placement of her friend’s undersized accessory, her nipples pointed about 45 degrees downwards. Looking at Lenna’s chest made me feel like an 18th century scientist discovering an entirely new physical phenomenon, trying to make sense of it with the limited knowledge and understanding I had at my disposal. So I deduced that the only explanation for their perfect shape was that her breasts had been growing fairly quickly. So, on the rounded parts, the skin hadn’t been granted enough time to start ‘creeping’ too much, losing some of its tension so to speak and allowing gravity to trade forward projection against frontal footprint. On the other hand, the skin further up, around her original chest area, whose entire job was to suspend many, many pounds of fat any time Lenna stood or sat upright, presumably not getting sufficient support by supposably undersized and misfitting bras, got stretched as well. But since it wasn’t filled with billions of ever expanding and dividing fat cells pushing outward, but instead getting pulled by them relentlessly in the direction of the earth's supermassive core - it could not conceal it’s failure, it had to allow Lenna’s permanently attached cargo to be lowered gradually, leaving her with two gigantic udders sitting where other girls her age would show off underboob tattoos, belly button piercings or expensive belts.
Again, I looked back at her friend. At her nonexistent chest. Nothing that would bounce, likely barely enough fat to pinch and grab with two fingers. Like puberty had just forgotten her. Overall pretty skinny, her tongue sassily sticking out of a good-looking face that came across as at least five years more mature. On her stomach, almost a six pack, and a silvery piece of jewelry hanging from her belly button.
I shifted back to Lenna. Again, a nonexistent chest, at least where you would expect - a chest. Just highly stressed skin that was entrusted with an impossibly challenging task way too early in its life. More fat than would fit in a mixing bowl. In two mixing bowls. Like her body had experienced the puberty of a thousand girls. Overall rather slender, with a youthful, cute face and reddened cheeks that revealed that this was not a type of picture she’d usually take in a different setting and without some intoxication. On her stomach, nothing but two humongous bags of fatty tissue, just barely covered by a piece of terminally stretched fabric that was meant to be just comfortably form-fitting, as well as contain her butt.
It was too much. I hadn’t even stroked my dick for two minutes, and still I felt that there was something building up I could not suppress anymore. I was standing outside the shower stall, facing the sink - three feet away - holding Lenna’s phone in my shaky left hand, realizing there weren’t more then a few tenths of a second left to react. Not enough to jump into the shower, not enough to get to the sink and hoist and bend my impossibly hard member over the ceramic edge to aim inside. Just enough for the phone to slip out of my sweaty palms, for me to catch it with my foot right before the tilework, trading a broken screen against a sharp pain from the instep, causing the mobile to slide over the bathroom carpet, coming to a halt two feet in front of me. My knees turned weak, just lost all their strength, causing me to involuntarily sink to the ground like a devout man of faith. In a last-ditch-attempt to avoid more damage, I tried to use my foreskin as a seal, to at least keep contained what my dick was determined to eject the very next moment. Not even that was successful, the skin was stuck behind my glans penis, which was swollen up to a degree I had never seen before. A brief moment of confusion and exasperation - and the first load was fired, like a sniper shot, hitting Lenna’s spaghetti straps, ricocheting off and spraying across the wall. Two, three, four strings followed, traversing the room at Mach 2 in random directions, until I finally regained my presence of mind back and shielded the gun barrel. Three, four more loads came out with diminishing force, covering me in goo, but at least not causing more havoc in the neatly cleaned bathroom. Breathing heavily, fighting not to pass out, I glanced back at Lenna’s phone, at her face and fat fucking udders being submerged in my sperm. Resuming to stroke again, an encore followed right after. Another climax, maybe only a third as strong as whatever magic I had just experienced, but still without precedent. Three more charges decorating the floor, at least fifteen more spasms after my dick ran out of ammunition.
I exhaled. Held my breath and listened. Suddenly being struck with the fear that Lenna and/or my mom might be standing right infront of the door, eavesdropping on these unmistakable sounds I was making.
But no, still chatter from the kitchen, all good. That was close. Time to clean.
***
What a lovely day. To sit with your very normal family and have a lovely breakfast after a wonderful sleep and a refreshing shower. Mum sitting to my left, dusting off the barely visible bumps on her chest after dropping some crumbs on herself, talking about everything in the word but the two elephants in the room sitting across her, hovering inches above my roommate’s thighs.
'Jamie, are you ok?' Mum inquired with a worried look on her face.
'Yeah, of course.. why?' I tried to cover up my weariness.
'Mhm, I don’t know… you look like you stayed up looking at the youtube again…'
I rolled my eyes, ignoring her. Lenna was with us now, and every time she was around I felt extra conscious about anything I said and did, and especially about the rather cringe interactions with my mum. But sure, there was no doubt I looked winded. The past weeks of my life, maybe even the past year had been mind numbingly uneventful, every month breezing past in the blink of an eye. But since I got to know Lenna, every moment felt like an hour. In a good way though, no discussion about that.
'Uhm, by the way, you left your phone in the bathroom-' I pulled out Lenna’s mobile and handed it to her.
'Oh, thanks.'
She barely looked me in the eyes but for the first time, there seemed to be at least a hint of genuine appreciation in her voice. But to be honest, I didn’t even care right now - as long as she didn’t notice any unpleasant smell emanating from the touchscreen, I should be more than happy.
Again Lenna wore an oversized hoodie. A black one, that seemed to be last-years merchandise by Beyoncé, as the print indicated. Interesting, I thought, this will not have been cheap, right? I can see her going to Primark and buying these baggy-ass curtains as a makeshift solution but would she really spend 60, 70 bucks on XXL-sized world tour souvenirs of her favourite singer if she planned to chop her tits off next month and replace half her wardrobe anyway?
'Your shishter and I will go schopping today. You want to Dschoin us Dschamie?' Mum mumbled right after shoving the remaining quarter of her peanut butter sandwich in her mouth. I almost choked at her description of Lenna as my 'sister' - but glossed over it.
Should I go? Witness Lenna in public the first time, study how she behaved around people that would keep ogling at her like a three-legged circus animal? Or should I stay here and snoop around in her personal belongings, hoping to find clues about what cloud this goddess had descended from?
'I- uhm, I think I… I’m ok. I wanted to finish my book, so…'
It did feel a bit like a coward’s decision, like I was too scared to spend considerable time with Lenna, especially with my mum added to the mix, fearing I’d reveal my true identity as a creepy loser. I knew I had to find a way to get through to Lenna, and this would certainly not happen if I avoided her and barely spoke a word. But I’ve probably already ruined my initial appearance, so there was no point in rushing things. Furthermore, there was no clear idea of what 'things' was, since first of all, this girl had to be dead set on going under the knife in the near future no matter how much I made myself believe otherwise, and second of all, my mum was insisting on calling her my sister.
'Fine, very well. But listen, you do need to get out some more… Jamie, I love that you’re reading and such but fresh air is also important.’
Yes mama. Please stop embarrassing me. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.
‘Ma’am, can I-’ Lenna interjected.
‘It’s Betty, honey, don’t call me ma’am, I’m begging you…’
‘Sorry, Betty, I just wanted to ask if it’s ok that some friends from Luton wanted to visit in the evening?’ Lenna asked. ‘For a game night or something… haven’t seen them in a while so…’
‘Wonderful! Jamie, didn’t Oliver want to come over too tonight? You guys can join up!’
Ollie was my best friend. A slightly more eloquent, talented, good-looking version of me. Who was usually playing wingman for me. It wasn’t his fault the success had been marginal in the past.
‘Sure, why not.’
I looked over to Lenna enquiringly, putting on my politest smile. She nodded, shrugging her shoulders. The look in her eyes, like she just caught me staring at her chest. Or I insulted her family. What a girl. So shy and so tough at the same time. Eating away at my sanity. Melting my brain. Amazing.
******
Chapter 03 following this week
CoatedChimera
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Chapter 03
The moment the apartment door closed, I jumped up. This excitement I felt, I hadn’t experienced it in a long time. Like the morning of going on a long-awaited school trip. It was many years ago on an excursion to Paris that I spied out a girl’s cup size for the first time. My classmate Helena's. 26C, the biggest in my form. Good times. I remember the way I obsessed about her. The thoughts in my head, the feelings she evoked inside me, it was like a blueprint for the way Lenna turned my head. Back in the days I was convinced - Helena was the epitome of adolescent curviness, the definition of busty. The day I was able to put a size information next to that mental image of her billowing hills, I felt like the first human on mars. I chased this high when I did the same with my ex, and also with my brother’s girlfriend Abigail. And right now, my compulsion would be allowed to be unleashed again, for an unexpected, climactic sequel. On Lenna, the bustiest girl in the world.
I scurried over to the window, peeking down at the main entrance. Soon enough mum and Lenna popped out. It was a chilly, but sunny day, so the girl was still in her attire from breakfast. My god. I had only one and a half seconds before the two figures got out of sight, but - fuck - from this perspective, Lenna looked even more impressive. Seeing these boulders from above, the footprint they took up in front of her, the width, the projection, the unhideable mass, right next to the nothings of a 35 years older woman - no words could accurately describe the way this whacked my brain.
After closing the curtains, I turned to her luggage. She had brought two big trolley bags, a backpack and a sports bag. Altogether it took up almost half the floor space in our tiny bedroom. So I started. Unzipping, opening compartments, carefully lifting and inspecting one layer of fabric after the other. Jeans, dresses, shorts, scarfs, jackets. Here and there, random items were mixed in, like a reading lamp, books, board games. Many tops had a wide fit - L, XL, XXL - and at most, displayed modest necklines. Predominant though, were articles that could never possibly fit Lenna right now, just like the white crop top in the picture I kept having flashbacks to. Negligées, shirts, blouses, even crop tops - down to XS. Most certainly from her previous life. Why did she keep these things? As a memory? Looking forward for them to fit again in the future?
I sighed. Yeah, probably. But... I should not get depressed again.
It was the last bag, a sports holdall, that finally revealed the main price… or so it seemed at first. Sticking out from an assortment of underpants and bath towels, a bra clasp. I cracked my fingers, pulled it out. Black, modest lacework, padded cups - smaller than my hands. I read the tag.
'UK: 26AA | US: 26AA | EU: 50AA'
Mhm. Not exactly what I was searching for. I sifted through the backpack some more. A grey strap caught my attention. I unearthed a sports bra - only to be disappointed again.
'26 - 30 XXS'
Another prehistoric excavation from… smaller times. I paused, chuckled. It was weirdly hot that this thing would still fit Lenna perfectly, if, once upon a time, out of four billion sperms, a different one had won the race. Or so I imagine at least - I sucked in biology class.
Tossing the bra aside, I resumed rummaging through Lenna’s bag, getting increasingly impatient. Two more bikinis crossed my path, equally unusable to house more than a tangerine per side if you really pushed the limits. This couldn’t be… it? Or had the rest been destroyed in the infamous apartment inferno? Could be. I moved on. Socks, pillowcases, sweat- wait. The pillowcase. I felt it up. Yup, definitely not empty, and very promising. I zipped it open, turned it upside down. *Plop* - a tangled mess fell out, like a DNA-structure composed of underwear. Eagerly, I unscrambled the structure, three, four, five cup bras in different shades of black and grandma-beige, all different sizes, from moderate to eye-popping. I laid them out in order and read:
'UK: 28B | US: 28B | EU: 60B'
'UK: 28DD | US: 28DD | EU: 60E'
'UK: 32G | US: 32F | EU: 70F'
'UK: 38FF | US: 38H | EU: 85H'
'UK: 46F | US: 46G | EU: 105G'
I wondered why I was so obsessed with some numbers and letters printed on a rectangular slip of laminated fabric. What made the alphabet so sexy? Did this mean I was sapiosexual? Or was I just a freak? I marvelled at the sight before me. It was not exactly what I had looked for. Evidently, Lenna did not have a spare bra with her current size - since I would bet my left testicle that none of the items before me were even close to meeting her requirements today. But I couldn’t be too disappointed. This was something. A story of growth. The most unparalleled case of juvenile breast hypertrophy, spelled out as a temporary art work in the bedroom of the world’s most autistic breast fetishist.
I inspected the biggest one. Forty-six inches. A perfect fit for the average Walmart customer, way oversized for Lenna. How difficult it must’ve been for her to keep up with her growth, to find anything with enough fabric to somehow contain two ever-expanding body parts that only adhered to the laws of motion, not to her own will. Looking closely, the underband was heavily wrinkled in two separate places, indicating that Lenna had used it to tie a knot, leaving the eight hooks untouched.
Documenting my findings was the most important thing. So I whipped out my phone, opened my secret second mail account in incognito mode and noted down all the sizes, snapped pictures, labelled and added them to the draft, obviously deleting them from the gallery right after. You never knew when this might come in handy. Were I to get hold of more selfies - a shoulder strap might be peeking out here and there, that I could identify, match with my datasheet, connect with the date, establishing a timeline of Lenna's growth.
I was proud of my ingenuity.
I pocketed my phone again, shifting my pursed lips side-to-side in contemplation. What to do with the rest of the day? I needed to get more out of this. Why not get a bit silly? I removed my shirt - grabbed the biggest bra - and put it on.
I had to find out just how undersized it was. Luckily, I was well equipped with measuring gauges predestined for the task at hand. As I grabbed one basketball from the top of the wardrobe, then a second one, carefully lowering them into the cups one by one, trying to get them settled, strapped against by bare chest, I squinted my eyes as if God himself was watching my actions from my own point of view.
The fuck am I doing? Yes, science. Science. Granted, the test object’s weight, elasticity coefficient and friction factor were wildly inaccurate, but since I wasn’t about to publish a paper about my findings, for the community of fellow boobologists to pick apart, I should be fine.
I looked at myself in the mirror, two balls throning on my musculus pectoralis major. Okay, to answer my previous question - I am a freak. No denying that at this point. Already, I had forgotten myself, all I could think about was how heavy these would be on Lenna, about the number that would show up on a hanging luggage scale if Lenna were to use it on one of her gigantic udders, about how uncomfortable the shoulder straps were already, about how Lenna couldn’t see her feet, evidently, about the way these lumps of fat dictated every moment of her life, all I could think about was Lenna, Lenna, Lenna and her gigantic bosom-
*Click-clack*
The front door. I stood there, rock hard, frozen solid, ogling the closed bedroom door.
'Aaargh, sweetheart, I’m getting old. I’m just getting old…' mum lamented. 'Eyes getting worse, keep forgetting things, urgh… So where’s my purse now?'
'It’s ok Ma’am', Lenna calmed her down, 'I can pay for myself-'
'Did you call me Ma’am again? It’s Betty, darling. And no, you don’t pay a cent. I’ll find my purse and we’ll get you…’ she exhaled, ‘...we’ll get you everything you need.'
'Thanks, Betty' the girl replied coyly. Agitated footsteps were audible, drawers being opened and slammed shut, jacket pockets sifted through one by one. Still, my legs were glued to the ground. I looked around. Suddenly, I realised how much of a mess I had created. For fuck’s sake, what was I thinking-
'JAAAMIE! Sweetheart? Did you see my purse?'
My mum’s high-pitched voice pierced through my ears like a dart. It is the day I die.
'Aren’t you in there!?'
For a second, I hesitated, but when I finally pulled myself together, reasoning that the risk of someone peeking inside was greater if I didn’t reply - I could only - ghh - gasp, as at the same moment my right boob, no, my right ball fell out, provoking my sweaty, shaking hands to a reflex reaction. As I caught it, barely grasping it with my fingertips, the second one followed, causing me to juggle both, in panicked silence, like the saddest impersonator of the Harlem Globetrotters. As I finally managed to secure them, bent over and pressing them against my stomach, I got ready for my end. An eternity of silence passed.
'Ah well, maybe he went outside after all…', mum concluded. ‘He always used to go to the park to read his books… Hmmm… where did I leave it?'
Oh thank GOD. PLEASE just find it and go, I can’t take this anymore…
Holding my breath, I slowly started to clean up the embarrassing chaos I had created. Carefully laying the balls on my part of the bed, taking off the bra in slow motion, putting on my shirt, tip-toeing over to Lenna’s luggage, stopping, listening.
'So, sweetheart, we’ll get you some shoes and some pants and what else… what else…' mum chanted, sounding slightly out of breath, presumably from running around, searching her goddamned purse. 'Oh, there’s this thing I wanted to ask- I didn’t mention because, you know, I don’t wanna be indiscreet- about, you know your-' there was a short pause '-you know, is it, like, a long term thing or- sweetie I’m sorry if you don’t wanna talk about it-'
'No, no it’s ok Betty, I understand-'
'I mean, I have not-, I’m saying, I don’t actively remember seeing a girl your age with such- with, I mean, being so womanly you know-'
'I understand, I’m used to these questions, it’s ok.'
'I mean, I don’t want to be nosy, I just wanted to… help you, right, so my question was how you are going about underwear, if you need something in that department, or if you’re planning to just wait it out until you see a doctor or something?'
'I’m ok Betty, I mean… I would need a new one but it’s not like… they sell my size…' Lenna let out a tensed chuckle.
'What do you mean? Listen, I don’t know anything about this whole sizing metric,' mum confessed in her usual Lorraine-McFly-esque speech rhythm, 'Not like I need it, right? Anyway… you do know, from the site Skinners.. or Skims, or something, they even have G-cups! G?- Yes, I think so...'
Lenna hesitated. 'Mhm… I-I’m ok, trust me. I’ll figure something out.’
‘If you say so…’ mum returned absent-mindedly. A few seconds of further stomping and rummaging followed. ‘So you have a very short-term appointment to get them… corrected then?’
'I uh…’ Lenna mumbled after a short pause, ‘a short-term appointment, that would be a stretch, I-’'
'Well, I thought so, the NHS is not what it used to be, you can’t get any appointments anymore, they say see you in two years for replacing your fillings Ma’am, thank you very much- I mean, what I was trying to say: You need to make sure you don’t hurt your back so much, you need something that fits you somehow, right? Until then.'
I was so captivated by this car crash of a conversation, I almost forgot the situation I was in. Still I had to stuff Lenna’s clothing back to where I purloined it, close the zippers, and disappear into thin air. Somehow. Cautiously, like assembling the core of a nuclear bomb, I resumed tidying.
'It would have to be custom-made, I think.'
A short pause followed where I could feel my mum’s sheer disbelief through the door.
'Custom-made?'
'I guess. I don’t know where, but…’'
'Oh, my poor girl, we’ll work something out for you... Mmmmmh... oh, you know what - Maggie! Margot is a good friend of mine and a tailor, she wanted to come over tomorrow for tea and biscuit anyway, I can tell her to bring her measuring tape.'
'Are you sure? She does… bras too? '
'I don't know but she’s a... virtuosa. She’ll knit socks for a squid if you ask her nicely.'
'Well then, if it’s not too much of a headache… Thanks.'
'Don’t mention it sweetheart.'
With the careful touch of a brain surgeon, I pulled the last zipper inch after inch, pressing my thumb against the gap to muffle the sound. I was almost safe. Just a few dozen more teeth…
‘Uhm, Betty’ Lenna interjected, ‘I’ll just grab something from the bedroom...’
Fuck. Why?? I shot up, leaving the zipper pull as it was. Lenna wouldn’t remember how diligently she closed her suitcase, but a bellend standing around in the middle of a room she believed to be empty, she would certainly notice. Everything had to go quickly. No time to think. The sound of Lenna removing her shoes in the hallway, Increasingly louder getting pitter-patter by her socks on the laminated flooring - one, two, I dropped on my knees, three, I lowered myself further down on my stomach barely suppressing a groan after accidentally ramming my boner against the carpeted floor, four, five, six, seven and I had snaked myself sideways under Lenna’s bed. The millisecond I tucked in my left foot, *clack-click*, the bedroom door opened. After shutting it behind herself, a few more shuffles and there she was, in her dotted socks, a foot in front of my nose. I had no mental capacity left to compute what had just happened, all I could feel was an unprecedented mixture of relief that I had somehow avoided a colossal embarrassment, and the terrible fright that it might catch up with me any second.
For a few moments, Lenna just stood there, seemingly typing something on her phone. What perfume was that? She had worn the same yesterday. It was lovely. I was bad at distinguishing different smells, but this one stood out. Again, I felt this rush, another surge of endorphins clouding my brain, multiplying my already unbearable attraction to Lenna by a thousand. Why was everything about her so perfect?!
Finally, she finished, chucking the phone onto her mattress. My mom, who had started to hum with an increasingly displeased intonation, could be heard stomping up the stairs in search of her wallet. I allowed myself a few proper breaths of air, as I could feel my head getting redder and redder and my vision fading. Unaware of the life- or death situation taking place just half a step away from her, Lenna went on to… take her top off. When I heard the fabric of her black cotton sweater sliding against the underlying textile and skin, accompanied with the creaking sounds from her back, shoulders and neck, a pair of suppressed groans, I could feel my heart pounding away in my mouth, almost giving me the sensation of choking. What I would give to hang from the ceiling right now, seeing what my ears promised, like a perverted spider-pig. Instead, I was wedged under our bed like a pill bug, condemned to resort to my imagination.
Or was I?
A glossy object caught my eyes - the chromed surface of the vacuum cleaner pipe a foot away, leaned against the bed frame. No wonder I hadn’t noticed it at first, as I religiously avoided doing my chores most of the days. Specifically a little knob on the side was it that got my attention, as it was the only somewhat even surface, resulting in an only barely distorted reflection. And there she was, pretty blurry from all the smudge on my spying device, and a bit widened, but almost perfectly framed. Lenna, in nothing but socks, regular-fit jeans and a… massive bra. Immediately, I recognized it. It all matched up. The colour, the shape, the lacework. It was the one from the picture. I looked closer, squinted my eyes. Could it be- yes. No way. No way. It got even better. The creamy white surface left exposed between her belt and the bra’s elastic band, it was not just… stomach. The first word that came to mind was underboob. Which was an… understatement. Calling it an understatement was an understatement. It was the equivalent of two small pineapples hanging out from below a humongous bra, that was filled to capacity, unable to contain the additional bulges of flesh from both sides of both its shoulder straps. Lenna let out a short sigh, lifting her arms, bending backwards, stretching her back under another rapid burst of cracks and creaks emanating from her maltreated skeleton. The moment she returned to her regular posture, a multitude of things happened in quick succession - a sudden loss of stiction between the right boob and it’s respective cup resulting in additional amount of two Gabbys escaping from their confinement in the blink of an eye - Lenna wincing, bending over, reflexively pulling in both her arms, catching the plunging tissue with her hands, resulting in an unexpectedly loud and reverberating SMACK.
'Fuck’s sake' I could hear Lenna mutter with an unmistakable hint of exasperation.
As she got upright again, I observed her... reestablishing order in her front yard. Grabbing her right tit from above with one hand, giving support with the other one from below, tugging the fabric in place, pushing some more pillowy folds inside, catching the left boob with her forearm as it too saw the chance to make a run for it, repeating the whole process there, moving back to the the right one again, and forth to the left one, back and forth, back and forth, tugging, shoving, squishing, accompanied by muted, laboured panting, individual stitches tearing, gelatinous tissue smacking together. It sounded and looked more like someone moving furniture, than an 18-year old girl dressing up for a Saturday shopping trip.
Once again I felt that my body was about to react. My pulsating cock, forced against the floor, mistaking the warmth of my underbelly for the glorious sensation Lenna’s ‘pineapples’ promised, started pulsating more emphatically by the second. As I closed my eyes, trying to avoid another catastrophe, giving my best to redirect my mind's focus, I nearly missed the reason why Lenna actually came inside.
She went over, opening the bag, opening the pillowcase, pulling out a bra I couldn't identify - putting it on.
She needed a second bra.
Two bras to contain her breasts. To keep them from falling out. I had never even read about something like this. What the fuck. I could not hold it in any more. There was no point in resisting. All I had to do is hold still. I could've sworn that the warm discharge going into my clothing, enough to overfill a shot glass, would be audible from the living room, but once I regained my senses, opened my eyes, all I could hear was the door closing, my mum's triumphant 'let's go!' shriek as she came trampling down the stairs, rattling her purse, followed by Lenna's 'congrats!'.
***
Without doubt, I was doing something wrong. Terribly wrong. Not even a full day had passed since I met Lenna, and I had exchanged about three words with her, jizzed on her phone and into my own pants, hid under her bed on a mission to identify her bra size, which I also kinda failed. I needed to get my shit together. Quickly.
What would that mean. Would this mean unlearning my boob fetish, restricting my field of vision to eye level only, ecstatically applauding any celebratory breast reduction post on instagram?
God no, let’s stay realistic. This would’ve been unthinkable in any universe, but since the moment I learned that this one created Lenna, that ship had sailed permanently. I could not not see her boobs first, everything else second. I was ashamed to say that. But I needed to start seeing anything else at all. I didn’t know nothing about her - her past, her plans, her hobbies, interests, fears, desires. Instead she was, unknowingly, making me learn about myself. My immaturity, my tendency to look at girls through the eyes of a window shopper, as products with impressive statistics and design features that could make my dick go stiff. My affair with Gabby had made me believe that I was finally an adult, that I wasn’t just some porn-addicted loser, gooning day in, day out, a personality like wet toast, uninteresting, bitter, entitled. I was wrong.
Lenna, the girl with presumably the biggest breasts on the planet, the most perfect definition of my wildest wet dreams, living in my room - it was a gift and it was not to be taken for granted. Yes, I had to assume that I had limited time to admire her, enjoying to just marvel at her healthy, lively flesh, before the butcher's knife would eventually separate it into a walking tik-tok trend and a bag of biowaste. At the same time, I should never, ever end up under this bed again. Once more, what the fuck, Jamie. No - I will talk to her, like a normal human being. I will try to break her ice. Find out who Lenna is. Deep inside. Take care of her. But first, I will take care of myself, my hygiene, my fitness, my personality, everything. I'll have to put in the work, to deserve even a sympathetic look from this angel.
From now on.
******
The moment the apartment door closed, I jumped up. This excitement I felt, I hadn’t experienced it in a long time. Like the morning of going on a long-awaited school trip. It was many years ago on an excursion to Paris that I spied out a girl’s cup size for the first time. My classmate Helena's. 26C, the biggest in my form. Good times. I remember the way I obsessed about her. The thoughts in my head, the feelings she evoked inside me, it was like a blueprint for the way Lenna turned my head. Back in the days I was convinced - Helena was the epitome of adolescent curviness, the definition of busty. The day I was able to put a size information next to that mental image of her billowing hills, I felt like the first human on mars. I chased this high when I did the same with my ex, and also with my brother’s girlfriend Abigail. And right now, my compulsion would be allowed to be unleashed again, for an unexpected, climactic sequel. On Lenna, the bustiest girl in the world.
I scurried over to the window, peeking down at the main entrance. Soon enough mum and Lenna popped out. It was a chilly, but sunny day, so the girl was still in her attire from breakfast. My god. I had only one and a half seconds before the two figures got out of sight, but - fuck - from this perspective, Lenna looked even more impressive. Seeing these boulders from above, the footprint they took up in front of her, the width, the projection, the unhideable mass, right next to the nothings of a 35 years older woman - no words could accurately describe the way this whacked my brain.
After closing the curtains, I turned to her luggage. She had brought two big trolley bags, a backpack and a sports bag. Altogether it took up almost half the floor space in our tiny bedroom. So I started. Unzipping, opening compartments, carefully lifting and inspecting one layer of fabric after the other. Jeans, dresses, shorts, scarfs, jackets. Here and there, random items were mixed in, like a reading lamp, books, board games. Many tops had a wide fit - L, XL, XXL - and at most, displayed modest necklines. Predominant though, were articles that could never possibly fit Lenna right now, just like the white crop top in the picture I kept having flashbacks to. Negligées, shirts, blouses, even crop tops - down to XS. Most certainly from her previous life. Why did she keep these things? As a memory? Looking forward for them to fit again in the future?
I sighed. Yeah, probably. But... I should not get depressed again.
It was the last bag, a sports holdall, that finally revealed the main price… or so it seemed at first. Sticking out from an assortment of underpants and bath towels, a bra clasp. I cracked my fingers, pulled it out. Black, modest lacework, padded cups - smaller than my hands. I read the tag.
'UK: 26AA | US: 26AA | EU: 50AA'
Mhm. Not exactly what I was searching for. I sifted through the backpack some more. A grey strap caught my attention. I unearthed a sports bra - only to be disappointed again.
'26 - 30 XXS'
Another prehistoric excavation from… smaller times. I paused, chuckled. It was weirdly hot that this thing would still fit Lenna perfectly, if, once upon a time, out of four billion sperms, a different one had won the race. Or so I imagine at least - I sucked in biology class.
Tossing the bra aside, I resumed rummaging through Lenna’s bag, getting increasingly impatient. Two more bikinis crossed my path, equally unusable to house more than a tangerine per side if you really pushed the limits. This couldn’t be… it? Or had the rest been destroyed in the infamous apartment inferno? Could be. I moved on. Socks, pillowcases, sweat- wait. The pillowcase. I felt it up. Yup, definitely not empty, and very promising. I zipped it open, turned it upside down. *Plop* - a tangled mess fell out, like a DNA-structure composed of underwear. Eagerly, I unscrambled the structure, three, four, five cup bras in different shades of black and grandma-beige, all different sizes, from moderate to eye-popping. I laid them out in order and read:
'UK: 28B | US: 28B | EU: 60B'
'UK: 28DD | US: 28DD | EU: 60E'
'UK: 32G | US: 32F | EU: 70F'
'UK: 38FF | US: 38H | EU: 85H'
'UK: 46F | US: 46G | EU: 105G'
I wondered why I was so obsessed with some numbers and letters printed on a rectangular slip of laminated fabric. What made the alphabet so sexy? Did this mean I was sapiosexual? Or was I just a freak? I marvelled at the sight before me. It was not exactly what I had looked for. Evidently, Lenna did not have a spare bra with her current size - since I would bet my left testicle that none of the items before me were even close to meeting her requirements today. But I couldn’t be too disappointed. This was something. A story of growth. The most unparalleled case of juvenile breast hypertrophy, spelled out as a temporary art work in the bedroom of the world’s most autistic breast fetishist.
I inspected the biggest one. Forty-six inches. A perfect fit for the average Walmart customer, way oversized for Lenna. How difficult it must’ve been for her to keep up with her growth, to find anything with enough fabric to somehow contain two ever-expanding body parts that only adhered to the laws of motion, not to her own will. Looking closely, the underband was heavily wrinkled in two separate places, indicating that Lenna had used it to tie a knot, leaving the eight hooks untouched.
Documenting my findings was the most important thing. So I whipped out my phone, opened my secret second mail account in incognito mode and noted down all the sizes, snapped pictures, labelled and added them to the draft, obviously deleting them from the gallery right after. You never knew when this might come in handy. Were I to get hold of more selfies - a shoulder strap might be peeking out here and there, that I could identify, match with my datasheet, connect with the date, establishing a timeline of Lenna's growth.
I was proud of my ingenuity.
I pocketed my phone again, shifting my pursed lips side-to-side in contemplation. What to do with the rest of the day? I needed to get more out of this. Why not get a bit silly? I removed my shirt - grabbed the biggest bra - and put it on.
I had to find out just how undersized it was. Luckily, I was well equipped with measuring gauges predestined for the task at hand. As I grabbed one basketball from the top of the wardrobe, then a second one, carefully lowering them into the cups one by one, trying to get them settled, strapped against by bare chest, I squinted my eyes as if God himself was watching my actions from my own point of view.
The fuck am I doing? Yes, science. Science. Granted, the test object’s weight, elasticity coefficient and friction factor were wildly inaccurate, but since I wasn’t about to publish a paper about my findings, for the community of fellow boobologists to pick apart, I should be fine.
I looked at myself in the mirror, two balls throning on my musculus pectoralis major. Okay, to answer my previous question - I am a freak. No denying that at this point. Already, I had forgotten myself, all I could think about was how heavy these would be on Lenna, about the number that would show up on a hanging luggage scale if Lenna were to use it on one of her gigantic udders, about how uncomfortable the shoulder straps were already, about how Lenna couldn’t see her feet, evidently, about the way these lumps of fat dictated every moment of her life, all I could think about was Lenna, Lenna, Lenna and her gigantic bosom-
*Click-clack*
The front door. I stood there, rock hard, frozen solid, ogling the closed bedroom door.
'Aaargh, sweetheart, I’m getting old. I’m just getting old…' mum lamented. 'Eyes getting worse, keep forgetting things, urgh… So where’s my purse now?'
'It’s ok Ma’am', Lenna calmed her down, 'I can pay for myself-'
'Did you call me Ma’am again? It’s Betty, darling. And no, you don’t pay a cent. I’ll find my purse and we’ll get you…’ she exhaled, ‘...we’ll get you everything you need.'
'Thanks, Betty' the girl replied coyly. Agitated footsteps were audible, drawers being opened and slammed shut, jacket pockets sifted through one by one. Still, my legs were glued to the ground. I looked around. Suddenly, I realised how much of a mess I had created. For fuck’s sake, what was I thinking-
'JAAAMIE! Sweetheart? Did you see my purse?'
My mum’s high-pitched voice pierced through my ears like a dart. It is the day I die.
'Aren’t you in there!?'
For a second, I hesitated, but when I finally pulled myself together, reasoning that the risk of someone peeking inside was greater if I didn’t reply - I could only - ghh - gasp, as at the same moment my right boob, no, my right ball fell out, provoking my sweaty, shaking hands to a reflex reaction. As I caught it, barely grasping it with my fingertips, the second one followed, causing me to juggle both, in panicked silence, like the saddest impersonator of the Harlem Globetrotters. As I finally managed to secure them, bent over and pressing them against my stomach, I got ready for my end. An eternity of silence passed.
'Ah well, maybe he went outside after all…', mum concluded. ‘He always used to go to the park to read his books… Hmmm… where did I leave it?'
Oh thank GOD. PLEASE just find it and go, I can’t take this anymore…
Holding my breath, I slowly started to clean up the embarrassing chaos I had created. Carefully laying the balls on my part of the bed, taking off the bra in slow motion, putting on my shirt, tip-toeing over to Lenna’s luggage, stopping, listening.
'So, sweetheart, we’ll get you some shoes and some pants and what else… what else…' mum chanted, sounding slightly out of breath, presumably from running around, searching her goddamned purse. 'Oh, there’s this thing I wanted to ask- I didn’t mention because, you know, I don’t wanna be indiscreet- about, you know your-' there was a short pause '-you know, is it, like, a long term thing or- sweetie I’m sorry if you don’t wanna talk about it-'
'No, no it’s ok Betty, I understand-'
'I mean, I have not-, I’m saying, I don’t actively remember seeing a girl your age with such- with, I mean, being so womanly you know-'
'I understand, I’m used to these questions, it’s ok.'
'I mean, I don’t want to be nosy, I just wanted to… help you, right, so my question was how you are going about underwear, if you need something in that department, or if you’re planning to just wait it out until you see a doctor or something?'
'I’m ok Betty, I mean… I would need a new one but it’s not like… they sell my size…' Lenna let out a tensed chuckle.
'What do you mean? Listen, I don’t know anything about this whole sizing metric,' mum confessed in her usual Lorraine-McFly-esque speech rhythm, 'Not like I need it, right? Anyway… you do know, from the site Skinners.. or Skims, or something, they even have G-cups! G?- Yes, I think so...'
Lenna hesitated. 'Mhm… I-I’m ok, trust me. I’ll figure something out.’
‘If you say so…’ mum returned absent-mindedly. A few seconds of further stomping and rummaging followed. ‘So you have a very short-term appointment to get them… corrected then?’
'I uh…’ Lenna mumbled after a short pause, ‘a short-term appointment, that would be a stretch, I-’'
'Well, I thought so, the NHS is not what it used to be, you can’t get any appointments anymore, they say see you in two years for replacing your fillings Ma’am, thank you very much- I mean, what I was trying to say: You need to make sure you don’t hurt your back so much, you need something that fits you somehow, right? Until then.'
I was so captivated by this car crash of a conversation, I almost forgot the situation I was in. Still I had to stuff Lenna’s clothing back to where I purloined it, close the zippers, and disappear into thin air. Somehow. Cautiously, like assembling the core of a nuclear bomb, I resumed tidying.
'It would have to be custom-made, I think.'
A short pause followed where I could feel my mum’s sheer disbelief through the door.
'Custom-made?'
'I guess. I don’t know where, but…’'
'Oh, my poor girl, we’ll work something out for you... Mmmmmh... oh, you know what - Maggie! Margot is a good friend of mine and a tailor, she wanted to come over tomorrow for tea and biscuit anyway, I can tell her to bring her measuring tape.'
'Are you sure? She does… bras too? '
'I don't know but she’s a... virtuosa. She’ll knit socks for a squid if you ask her nicely.'
'Well then, if it’s not too much of a headache… Thanks.'
'Don’t mention it sweetheart.'
With the careful touch of a brain surgeon, I pulled the last zipper inch after inch, pressing my thumb against the gap to muffle the sound. I was almost safe. Just a few dozen more teeth…
‘Uhm, Betty’ Lenna interjected, ‘I’ll just grab something from the bedroom...’
Fuck. Why?? I shot up, leaving the zipper pull as it was. Lenna wouldn’t remember how diligently she closed her suitcase, but a bellend standing around in the middle of a room she believed to be empty, she would certainly notice. Everything had to go quickly. No time to think. The sound of Lenna removing her shoes in the hallway, Increasingly louder getting pitter-patter by her socks on the laminated flooring - one, two, I dropped on my knees, three, I lowered myself further down on my stomach barely suppressing a groan after accidentally ramming my boner against the carpeted floor, four, five, six, seven and I had snaked myself sideways under Lenna’s bed. The millisecond I tucked in my left foot, *clack-click*, the bedroom door opened. After shutting it behind herself, a few more shuffles and there she was, in her dotted socks, a foot in front of my nose. I had no mental capacity left to compute what had just happened, all I could feel was an unprecedented mixture of relief that I had somehow avoided a colossal embarrassment, and the terrible fright that it might catch up with me any second.
For a few moments, Lenna just stood there, seemingly typing something on her phone. What perfume was that? She had worn the same yesterday. It was lovely. I was bad at distinguishing different smells, but this one stood out. Again, I felt this rush, another surge of endorphins clouding my brain, multiplying my already unbearable attraction to Lenna by a thousand. Why was everything about her so perfect?!
Finally, she finished, chucking the phone onto her mattress. My mom, who had started to hum with an increasingly displeased intonation, could be heard stomping up the stairs in search of her wallet. I allowed myself a few proper breaths of air, as I could feel my head getting redder and redder and my vision fading. Unaware of the life- or death situation taking place just half a step away from her, Lenna went on to… take her top off. When I heard the fabric of her black cotton sweater sliding against the underlying textile and skin, accompanied with the creaking sounds from her back, shoulders and neck, a pair of suppressed groans, I could feel my heart pounding away in my mouth, almost giving me the sensation of choking. What I would give to hang from the ceiling right now, seeing what my ears promised, like a perverted spider-pig. Instead, I was wedged under our bed like a pill bug, condemned to resort to my imagination.
Or was I?
A glossy object caught my eyes - the chromed surface of the vacuum cleaner pipe a foot away, leaned against the bed frame. No wonder I hadn’t noticed it at first, as I religiously avoided doing my chores most of the days. Specifically a little knob on the side was it that got my attention, as it was the only somewhat even surface, resulting in an only barely distorted reflection. And there she was, pretty blurry from all the smudge on my spying device, and a bit widened, but almost perfectly framed. Lenna, in nothing but socks, regular-fit jeans and a… massive bra. Immediately, I recognized it. It all matched up. The colour, the shape, the lacework. It was the one from the picture. I looked closer, squinted my eyes. Could it be- yes. No way. No way. It got even better. The creamy white surface left exposed between her belt and the bra’s elastic band, it was not just… stomach. The first word that came to mind was underboob. Which was an… understatement. Calling it an understatement was an understatement. It was the equivalent of two small pineapples hanging out from below a humongous bra, that was filled to capacity, unable to contain the additional bulges of flesh from both sides of both its shoulder straps. Lenna let out a short sigh, lifting her arms, bending backwards, stretching her back under another rapid burst of cracks and creaks emanating from her maltreated skeleton. The moment she returned to her regular posture, a multitude of things happened in quick succession - a sudden loss of stiction between the right boob and it’s respective cup resulting in additional amount of two Gabbys escaping from their confinement in the blink of an eye - Lenna wincing, bending over, reflexively pulling in both her arms, catching the plunging tissue with her hands, resulting in an unexpectedly loud and reverberating SMACK.
'Fuck’s sake' I could hear Lenna mutter with an unmistakable hint of exasperation.
As she got upright again, I observed her... reestablishing order in her front yard. Grabbing her right tit from above with one hand, giving support with the other one from below, tugging the fabric in place, pushing some more pillowy folds inside, catching the left boob with her forearm as it too saw the chance to make a run for it, repeating the whole process there, moving back to the the right one again, and forth to the left one, back and forth, back and forth, tugging, shoving, squishing, accompanied by muted, laboured panting, individual stitches tearing, gelatinous tissue smacking together. It sounded and looked more like someone moving furniture, than an 18-year old girl dressing up for a Saturday shopping trip.
Once again I felt that my body was about to react. My pulsating cock, forced against the floor, mistaking the warmth of my underbelly for the glorious sensation Lenna’s ‘pineapples’ promised, started pulsating more emphatically by the second. As I closed my eyes, trying to avoid another catastrophe, giving my best to redirect my mind's focus, I nearly missed the reason why Lenna actually came inside.
She went over, opening the bag, opening the pillowcase, pulling out a bra I couldn't identify - putting it on.
She needed a second bra.
Two bras to contain her breasts. To keep them from falling out. I had never even read about something like this. What the fuck. I could not hold it in any more. There was no point in resisting. All I had to do is hold still. I could've sworn that the warm discharge going into my clothing, enough to overfill a shot glass, would be audible from the living room, but once I regained my senses, opened my eyes, all I could hear was the door closing, my mum's triumphant 'let's go!' shriek as she came trampling down the stairs, rattling her purse, followed by Lenna's 'congrats!'.
***
Without doubt, I was doing something wrong. Terribly wrong. Not even a full day had passed since I met Lenna, and I had exchanged about three words with her, jizzed on her phone and into my own pants, hid under her bed on a mission to identify her bra size, which I also kinda failed. I needed to get my shit together. Quickly.
What would that mean. Would this mean unlearning my boob fetish, restricting my field of vision to eye level only, ecstatically applauding any celebratory breast reduction post on instagram?
God no, let’s stay realistic. This would’ve been unthinkable in any universe, but since the moment I learned that this one created Lenna, that ship had sailed permanently. I could not not see her boobs first, everything else second. I was ashamed to say that. But I needed to start seeing anything else at all. I didn’t know nothing about her - her past, her plans, her hobbies, interests, fears, desires. Instead she was, unknowingly, making me learn about myself. My immaturity, my tendency to look at girls through the eyes of a window shopper, as products with impressive statistics and design features that could make my dick go stiff. My affair with Gabby had made me believe that I was finally an adult, that I wasn’t just some porn-addicted loser, gooning day in, day out, a personality like wet toast, uninteresting, bitter, entitled. I was wrong.
Lenna, the girl with presumably the biggest breasts on the planet, the most perfect definition of my wildest wet dreams, living in my room - it was a gift and it was not to be taken for granted. Yes, I had to assume that I had limited time to admire her, enjoying to just marvel at her healthy, lively flesh, before the butcher's knife would eventually separate it into a walking tik-tok trend and a bag of biowaste. At the same time, I should never, ever end up under this bed again. Once more, what the fuck, Jamie. No - I will talk to her, like a normal human being. I will try to break her ice. Find out who Lenna is. Deep inside. Take care of her. But first, I will take care of myself, my hygiene, my fitness, my personality, everything. I'll have to put in the work, to deserve even a sympathetic look from this angel.
From now on.
******
HugeNaturalsOnly
Boob Connoisseur
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2021
- Messages
- 140
- Reaction score
- 1,118
One of the best stories I’ve read so far thank you
I love the description of her struggling to fit in her bra, and her back cracking
Really emphasizes how huge she is
I love the description of her struggling to fit in her bra, and her back cracking
Really emphasizes how huge she is
