Big Tits Theory
by Pan
Saturday
I couldn’t believe it when I woke up.
I mean I literally couldn’t believe it. I stood and stared at the mirror in absolute shock. My stunned brain didn’t even notice the other changes - my hair was twice as long as it had been at the start of the week, my waist was somehow even thinner than it had been before, and in contrast, my hips had widened. My ass was plump and around, and my legs were toned, despite the fact that I wasn’t really one for exercise.
No, all that I could see was my breasts…
They’d grown.
If I had to guess, I’d say I was an F-cup, but I was in completely unknown territory here. I could have been a G, H…do they even make “H” cup? I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life as an A, I’d never expected to have to know anything about the larger sizes.
What’s more, they seemed to be completely defying gravity. A chest as large as mine, you’d expect a bit of sag…anything this large that stood up proudly would look fake, but somehow my breasts managed to be large, perky, and completely natural-looking.
I couldn’t understand it at all.
My brother came looking for me when I didn’t come downstairs. After filling my ass with his seed the previous night, he’d told me that he was going to cook me breakfast, and that I could wash it all down with another milkshake. He knocked on my door, and when I didn’t answer, came in to find me standing naked in front of the mirror, staring in absolute shock.
“Wow,” he said, reaching out to cop a feel of my new, huge chest. It felt incredible…each time his fingers brushed across my nipples was like a mini-orgasm, but even when my pussy started to drip, I still didn’t move.
What now?
When Marty had first told me the Big Tits Theory, I’d understood it immediately. It made so much sense…but he’d only explained what happened up to an E-cup. E-cups were porn stars, freaks who fucked their brothers, who got off from sleeping with anyone and everything. For some reason, I hadn’t even thought about tit-sizes larger than that…
…but now, I was an I-don’t-even-know-what-cup. What did that make me?
Marty led me downstairs…he didn’t even bother putting clothes on me. I guess that meant we were going to be fucking sooner rather than later, a thought which excited me without altering the blank look on my face.
What was I?
As I mindlessly ate the bacon and eggs that Marty served me, and sipped on the milkshake he put into my hands, he began to explain.
F-cups, G-cups, H-cups, and everything above…they were special. Precious, he said. C-cups were a dime a dozen, D-cups were everywhere you looked (which was why he’d managed to take a different one home each night last week), and anyone could open up a browser window and find dozens, hundreds, thousands of E-cups, fucking and being fucked online for everyone’s amusements.
But F-cups? F-cups were incredible.
F-cups were property.
I sat there as his words washed over me. Everything he was saying made sense - he explained that F-cups had no free will, no mind of their own. F-cups exist to be fucked, to be owned; if you let an F-cup out on the streets by themselves, they’ll just latch onto the first man who glances at them sideways, the first man who shows any kind of attraction.
F-cups exist to get men off…and literally nothing else.
And when you grew past an F-cup, that’s when you were really something special.
Where E-cups would say yes to anything and F-cups needed an owner to tell them what to do, G and H-cups went even beyond that. They got off on the sickest, most perverted things they could think of. They’d sit in a room for hours, just to come up with dirty things that they could do…and their orgasms were stronger than every other cup-size put together.
When an G-cup gets aroused, Marty told me, she’ll do things that ordinary people would never dream of…and get off on it. They’re extraordinary, he assured me, and then sat back to let me process what he’d just said while I finished my milkshake.
I found his words extremely comforting. I’d panicked, more than a little, not knowing what I was going to do, but as I sat there and sucked up the last of Marty’s latest delicious milkshake, I realized exactly what I was going to do.
I was going to embrace my life as an G-cup. H-cup? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, just getting fucked, getting off…and being owned.
Marty jumped as I stood up suddenly, turning to him, grabbing him by the hands, and pulling his face toward mine.
“Come here,” I said seductively, before making out with him, letting his hands roam all over my new, hot body. His every motion sent shivers down my spine, and I swear I had a small orgasm just from him grabbing my butt.
He followed me as I marched into the bedroom…he was curious, no doubt, as to exactly what I was going to do. I thought I sensed a hint of fear, as well, but you know what they most likely say: Nobody gets in the way of an G-cup and her perversion.
Throwing him down on the bed, I pulled his jeans off, and took his cock deep down my throat, choking slightly and slobbering all over it. His eyes opened wide in shock as I reached around behind him and put a finger up his ass, but he soon relaxed and even seemed to enjoy it.
When he was as hard as he was going to get, I sat on top of him, and slowly guided him into my pussy.
“Marty,” I purred, “I want you to put a baby inside of me…”
God, just saying the words was the hottest thing I could think of. I knew that I had more than lived up to the G-cup challenge: being knocked up by your brother was, by far, the most perverted thing I could think of, and I was getting off just at the idea of it. I imagined how swollen my tits would be, how sexy my extended stomach would look…I’d be walking around with my brother’s incestuous spawn inside of me.
I wanted my brother to own me. I wanted to be his, in the most extreme way possible. I wanted to be owned, fucked, knocked up…I was my brother’s property, and I wanted to be a vessel to grow his incestuous babies.
And when the image of myself being fucked in the ass while nine months pregnant came into my head, I began to orgasm, bucking and thrashing around on top of Marty’s cock, screaming his name with pleasure.
We didn’t leave the house that day, or the next. I don’t even know if Mom even came home that night, I was so engrossed by the idea of getting knocked up by Marty. As much as we both loved anal and oral, we agreed that until I was definitely pregnant, it was safest to stick to vaginal sex. I threw away the prescription that Dr Lorne had given me, thanking the stars that I’d never bothered to fill it.
Marty took me in every possible position, and we both grew extremely familiar with the sight of my swollen pussy lips being parted by his thick cock, over and over again. We only stopped to take pictures.
I swear, there are now more pictures of my cunt-lips oozing cum online than there are of my face.