Brother Loves Married Sister 8217 s Big Lactating Boobs
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Molly was a sister of my best friend Tom. She was 6 years younger than Tom, a little cutie who played in the garden, while Tom and me were busy doing all the important things teenage boys do. We built a hut, ride bikes, steal cherries and apples from other gardens, and sometimes we went fishing instead of going to school. We fought, too. One day when I got beaten by a group of older boys Tom helped me throwing stones at them. Well, one stone hit me, but the other stones hit the bullies and the resulting effect was their hunting Tom. He managed to escape on his bike and I went home to have my wounds treated. From that evening I swore I would protect him and he made the same promise to me. So, we were best friends and Molly was his little sister.
One day when I was about 17 I was walking home from school. Suddenly I saw a group of k**s laughing at Molly. They called her names. They shouted at her and laughed at her, while she was running out of them. I knew my duty was to protect her as if she was Tom, because she was the little sister of my best friend. So, I ran to them and gave them what they deserved.
That evening, there were some phone calls to our home. My parents called me to come downstairs. The problem was that several parents complained that I had beaten their c***dren. My Father was really angry and my Mom was furious because the k**s were younger than me. And, no, they were not interested why I gave the little bastards the lesson.
The next day Molly’s mother, Mrs Horowitz, paid us a visit. She brought a big blueberry pie. The pie was for me. During the visit my Mom and Dad learned why I had beaten the bullies. She told them everything, including why the bastards were laughing at Molly. Molly was only 11, but she already developed some breasts, and the idiots shouted at her things like “fat cow”, “Horowitz has udders”, and stuff like that. Well, I think Mrs Horowitz knew what it is like when c***dren mock a girl because of her breasts. She was quite endowed a rather overweight. So, I guess she experienced something similar when she was young.
Tom and me became “official” protectors of Molly and after two or three more incidents, no k** in the neighbourhood dared to even mention breasts if Molly might be closer than 10 miles to them. And I got a reputation of a fighter.
Then the time came when I was to leave my family and go studying. I was interested in languages. Being trilingual, as my parents were immigrants from two different countries, it seemed to be my fate to go studying abroad. I got a grant to study Slavic languages in Warsaw, the capitol of Poland. Tom went to study computer sciences to London.
I had a good time in Poland. I studied, travelled all over east Europe, met many people, took part in many parties, got drunk many times, and played soccer, the main game of central part of Europe. It took me two years before I came home for a visit during summer holidays.
The third day after I had arrived, Tom invited me to their home. We talked, and smoked, and drank, and Mrs Horowitz supplied us with lots of her famous blueberry pie. When we were called to go for a dinner I saw Molly. She grew up. Although she was only 15, she looked 18 or even older. The main reason was - her breasts. She had really big boobs. I had never seen a girl her age with such breasts. They were not as big as those of Mrs Horowitz, but her mother was a mature chubby woman of an outstanding size. But still, Molly’s boobs were big. They were overflowing her bra making the “muffin top” in her cleavage. The bra was clearly too small for her. I found that quite interesting and I had to remember that she was still a c***d.
The next two years I studied in Sofia in Bulgaria. I enjoyed warm climate, good wine, excellent meals and, of course, I had a good time with several busty Bulgarian girls. One of them, Marianna, had fantastic boobs with large dark areolas crowned with big hard nipples. She wore a bra the tag of which said 75F. In the local measurements it meant the band was 75 centimetres and the her overbust measured 98 centimetres. I must admit that I fell in love with her for a while. Yet, anytime I remembered my home, I could not help thinking about Molly and her boobs stuffed in the too small bra.
When my term ended, I came back home again. The first evening I was at home, I went to a pub with Tom to have some beers, talk about big boys stuff, and play pool. One moment, late night, a man playing at the next table said something.
“What did you say?” asked Tom with a deep threatening voice.
“I said your sister is even bustier than your mother.” said the bastard.
Tom did not say a word and hit his face with a pool cue. Other men stood up. I hit the one that was closest to me. Than we fought back to back. Tom and me. Like knights in the old days. We would have beaten more of them, but the police thought we should go with them to the local police station. Anybody can imagine the consequences, so I will skip the details.
After Mr Horowitz bailed us out, we sat down in the dining room of Horowitz family. Mrs Horowitz gave us a speech that v******e is not a solution. Mr Horowitz was sitting in his chair silent rubbing his massive chin. Molly was not there. We had to promise, we would not fight like brats anymore. Then Tom said Molly should come and tell her opinion, too. Mrs Horowitz went upstairs and I could hear her saying Tom was fighting because of her again. So, I deduced there had been more incidents like that while I had been enjoying the Bulgarian wine.
Molly came. As she was walking down the stairs her boobs were swaying from side to side. I was petrified. She was really bigger than her mother. Much bigger. Her chest was endowed with two breasts as big as water melons. Her loose T-shirt could not hide much. I just stared thinking “what the hell happened to her?” Molly sat down, her boobs were touching the edge of the table, looked at Tom, eyes full of tears.
“Sidney,” said Mrs Horowitz slowly, “Molly suffers from juvenile macromastia. There is no cure, no medicine, the only solution is operation. However, the doctors recommended us to wait, and perform the surgery after Molly riches the age of 18 and stops growing.”
She made a pause. Molly looked at me as if she was begging for something.
“She has been laughed at, she has been ridiculed, but I believe, that what you did in the pub was bad. The best way is to ignore such remarks and such people. I want you to know, that the problem is medical and will be solved. And stupid people will stop laughing at my daughter.”
There was not much I could say. It was time to go home.
My parents wanted to know what happened. So, I told them. Mom said Molly's boobs are really horrible and she is a poor girl. Dad just asked how many men we were standing against. When I said they were 8, he just smiled. Later that evening, when Mom was in the kitchen he asked me if I thought Molly's breasts were ugly. I said “No.” He patted me on my shoulder and said good night.
Next time I came home from my studies I had a diploma from the Charles University in Prague, Czech Republic. I was a doctor of Slavic languages. My parents came to Prague for the ceremony and after a week spent in the magic city, we travelled back home together. I had not been in our little town for three years.
When I was sitting in a pub with Tom we talked about our lives. He told me about his new girlfriend, a new job with a computer company and his dream to start his own computer shop. I had to describe my life in Prague, Czech beer, Czech girls, playing soccer with Czech guys and my plans to find a job at a university. Then the inevitable question came:
“How is Molly?” I asked.
I thought she might have had the surgery, normal looking breasts, and a boyfriend.
“Well, Molly works in an office as an accountant for a company nearby. She is OK. By the way, she asked about you many times. I told her to sent you an e-mail, but as you are asking about her, I think she did not do it.”
“Why?” I asked.
“She is rather shy.” said Tom.
“Shy! She has always been shy.” I said.
“You will see.” said Tom, “Just come over.”
The next day I rang the doorbell at Horowitz house. I wanted to see Molly. I had dated many girls of many nationalities during those 7 years of my tramping east Europe, but Molly somehow always been in my heart. So, when Mrs Horowitz answered the door I asked if Molly was at home.
“Molly!” shouted Mrs Horowitz, “Sidney is here!”
Then she said softly: “Come in, Sidney, I am happy to see you back.”
I entered the house and went into the dining room. Molly was going down the stairs. I looked at her blue eyes, her auburn hair falling down on her breasts. It was clear she had not undergone any breasts surgery. Her boobs were huge. They were hanging down her torso like two big bags. They were sticking to the sides hiding her arms. They were bulging in her cleavage like two soft orbs. Molly's front side was completely covered with her boobs from the neck down to her waist. Her loose top just covered the flesh of the largest natural boobs I had ever seen.
She invited me to go upstairs to her room. I followed her. From the back view she seemed to have normal proportions of an average 21 years old girl. Her legs and butt were average size. Her arms were normal, too. Only when I looked upper I could see the sides of her enormous boobs swaying from left to right with every step.
We sat down in her room. It looked like a living room except there was a desk with a computer in one corner and a sewing machine covered with pieces of cloth in the other. Molly served tea and cake and we started a small talk. After I told her about my stay and studies in Prague, I asked her about her life. She shyly said where she worked. I asked her about more things, but she was so shy that her answers were very short. Just one or two sentences. After a moment of silence I did not know what more to ask about. To continue in the conversation I turned towards the corner and asked:
“What are you sewing?”
“A bra.” She said.
“A bra?” I asked.
“Yes. There are no bras in the market for me. I needed to learn sewing them for myself.” she said and looked down at her massive bosom.”
“I thought you were supposed to undergo a plastic surgery.”
“I was. I refused that. The doctor said, if I had the surgery I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed my c***dren.”
I was looking at her in a shock.
“I want c***dren and I want to breastfeed them.” she added simply.
“What does your boyfriend thinks about it?” I asked.
“I have no boyfriend.” She shook her head, “I haven’t found a man who is able to accept me the way I look.”
She bent her head and looked at her huge breasts sitting in her lap. They covered her thighs reaching up to her knees. We both were staring at her unusual body feature.
With her head still down, Molly silently added: “Everybody sees only these, and nobody sees my soul. Everybody finds my body disgusting. But still it is me. It is my body. I do not want to have a part of my body amputated. I do not want to lose sensitivity of my breasts and ability to breastfeed. So, I make my own bras. And I wait for somebody who would accept me as I am and love me as I am.”
She looked up. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“I think I know somebody who would accept you.” I said.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“Could the man love me?”
“He already does, Molly.”
Molly was looking at me, tears were still running down her cheeks. I leaned towards her and kissed her beautiful red lips. When I embraced her, I could feel her warm soft breasts pressing on my chest.
THE END
One day when I was about 17 I was walking home from school. Suddenly I saw a group of k**s laughing at Molly. They called her names. They shouted at her and laughed at her, while she was running out of them. I knew my duty was to protect her as if she was Tom, because she was the little sister of my best friend. So, I ran to them and gave them what they deserved.
That evening, there were some phone calls to our home. My parents called me to come downstairs. The problem was that several parents complained that I had beaten their c***dren. My Father was really angry and my Mom was furious because the k**s were younger than me. And, no, they were not interested why I gave the little bastards the lesson.
The next day Molly’s mother, Mrs Horowitz, paid us a visit. She brought a big blueberry pie. The pie was for me. During the visit my Mom and Dad learned why I had beaten the bullies. She told them everything, including why the bastards were laughing at Molly. Molly was only 11, but she already developed some breasts, and the idiots shouted at her things like “fat cow”, “Horowitz has udders”, and stuff like that. Well, I think Mrs Horowitz knew what it is like when c***dren mock a girl because of her breasts. She was quite endowed a rather overweight. So, I guess she experienced something similar when she was young.
Tom and me became “official” protectors of Molly and after two or three more incidents, no k** in the neighbourhood dared to even mention breasts if Molly might be closer than 10 miles to them. And I got a reputation of a fighter.
Then the time came when I was to leave my family and go studying. I was interested in languages. Being trilingual, as my parents were immigrants from two different countries, it seemed to be my fate to go studying abroad. I got a grant to study Slavic languages in Warsaw, the capitol of Poland. Tom went to study computer sciences to London.
I had a good time in Poland. I studied, travelled all over east Europe, met many people, took part in many parties, got drunk many times, and played soccer, the main game of central part of Europe. It took me two years before I came home for a visit during summer holidays.
The third day after I had arrived, Tom invited me to their home. We talked, and smoked, and drank, and Mrs Horowitz supplied us with lots of her famous blueberry pie. When we were called to go for a dinner I saw Molly. She grew up. Although she was only 15, she looked 18 or even older. The main reason was - her breasts. She had really big boobs. I had never seen a girl her age with such breasts. They were not as big as those of Mrs Horowitz, but her mother was a mature chubby woman of an outstanding size. But still, Molly’s boobs were big. They were overflowing her bra making the “muffin top” in her cleavage. The bra was clearly too small for her. I found that quite interesting and I had to remember that she was still a c***d.
The next two years I studied in Sofia in Bulgaria. I enjoyed warm climate, good wine, excellent meals and, of course, I had a good time with several busty Bulgarian girls. One of them, Marianna, had fantastic boobs with large dark areolas crowned with big hard nipples. She wore a bra the tag of which said 75F. In the local measurements it meant the band was 75 centimetres and the her overbust measured 98 centimetres. I must admit that I fell in love with her for a while. Yet, anytime I remembered my home, I could not help thinking about Molly and her boobs stuffed in the too small bra.
When my term ended, I came back home again. The first evening I was at home, I went to a pub with Tom to have some beers, talk about big boys stuff, and play pool. One moment, late night, a man playing at the next table said something.
“What did you say?” asked Tom with a deep threatening voice.
“I said your sister is even bustier than your mother.” said the bastard.
Tom did not say a word and hit his face with a pool cue. Other men stood up. I hit the one that was closest to me. Than we fought back to back. Tom and me. Like knights in the old days. We would have beaten more of them, but the police thought we should go with them to the local police station. Anybody can imagine the consequences, so I will skip the details.
After Mr Horowitz bailed us out, we sat down in the dining room of Horowitz family. Mrs Horowitz gave us a speech that v******e is not a solution. Mr Horowitz was sitting in his chair silent rubbing his massive chin. Molly was not there. We had to promise, we would not fight like brats anymore. Then Tom said Molly should come and tell her opinion, too. Mrs Horowitz went upstairs and I could hear her saying Tom was fighting because of her again. So, I deduced there had been more incidents like that while I had been enjoying the Bulgarian wine.
Molly came. As she was walking down the stairs her boobs were swaying from side to side. I was petrified. She was really bigger than her mother. Much bigger. Her chest was endowed with two breasts as big as water melons. Her loose T-shirt could not hide much. I just stared thinking “what the hell happened to her?” Molly sat down, her boobs were touching the edge of the table, looked at Tom, eyes full of tears.
“Sidney,” said Mrs Horowitz slowly, “Molly suffers from juvenile macromastia. There is no cure, no medicine, the only solution is operation. However, the doctors recommended us to wait, and perform the surgery after Molly riches the age of 18 and stops growing.”
She made a pause. Molly looked at me as if she was begging for something.
“She has been laughed at, she has been ridiculed, but I believe, that what you did in the pub was bad. The best way is to ignore such remarks and such people. I want you to know, that the problem is medical and will be solved. And stupid people will stop laughing at my daughter.”
There was not much I could say. It was time to go home.
My parents wanted to know what happened. So, I told them. Mom said Molly's boobs are really horrible and she is a poor girl. Dad just asked how many men we were standing against. When I said they were 8, he just smiled. Later that evening, when Mom was in the kitchen he asked me if I thought Molly's breasts were ugly. I said “No.” He patted me on my shoulder and said good night.
Next time I came home from my studies I had a diploma from the Charles University in Prague, Czech Republic. I was a doctor of Slavic languages. My parents came to Prague for the ceremony and after a week spent in the magic city, we travelled back home together. I had not been in our little town for three years.
When I was sitting in a pub with Tom we talked about our lives. He told me about his new girlfriend, a new job with a computer company and his dream to start his own computer shop. I had to describe my life in Prague, Czech beer, Czech girls, playing soccer with Czech guys and my plans to find a job at a university. Then the inevitable question came:
“How is Molly?” I asked.
I thought she might have had the surgery, normal looking breasts, and a boyfriend.
“Well, Molly works in an office as an accountant for a company nearby. She is OK. By the way, she asked about you many times. I told her to sent you an e-mail, but as you are asking about her, I think she did not do it.”
“Why?” I asked.
“She is rather shy.” said Tom.
“Shy! She has always been shy.” I said.
“You will see.” said Tom, “Just come over.”
The next day I rang the doorbell at Horowitz house. I wanted to see Molly. I had dated many girls of many nationalities during those 7 years of my tramping east Europe, but Molly somehow always been in my heart. So, when Mrs Horowitz answered the door I asked if Molly was at home.
“Molly!” shouted Mrs Horowitz, “Sidney is here!”
Then she said softly: “Come in, Sidney, I am happy to see you back.”
I entered the house and went into the dining room. Molly was going down the stairs. I looked at her blue eyes, her auburn hair falling down on her breasts. It was clear she had not undergone any breasts surgery. Her boobs were huge. They were hanging down her torso like two big bags. They were sticking to the sides hiding her arms. They were bulging in her cleavage like two soft orbs. Molly's front side was completely covered with her boobs from the neck down to her waist. Her loose top just covered the flesh of the largest natural boobs I had ever seen.
She invited me to go upstairs to her room. I followed her. From the back view she seemed to have normal proportions of an average 21 years old girl. Her legs and butt were average size. Her arms were normal, too. Only when I looked upper I could see the sides of her enormous boobs swaying from left to right with every step.
We sat down in her room. It looked like a living room except there was a desk with a computer in one corner and a sewing machine covered with pieces of cloth in the other. Molly served tea and cake and we started a small talk. After I told her about my stay and studies in Prague, I asked her about her life. She shyly said where she worked. I asked her about more things, but she was so shy that her answers were very short. Just one or two sentences. After a moment of silence I did not know what more to ask about. To continue in the conversation I turned towards the corner and asked:
“What are you sewing?”
“A bra.” She said.
“A bra?” I asked.
“Yes. There are no bras in the market for me. I needed to learn sewing them for myself.” she said and looked down at her massive bosom.”
“I thought you were supposed to undergo a plastic surgery.”
“I was. I refused that. The doctor said, if I had the surgery I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed my c***dren.”
I was looking at her in a shock.
“I want c***dren and I want to breastfeed them.” she added simply.
“What does your boyfriend thinks about it?” I asked.
“I have no boyfriend.” She shook her head, “I haven’t found a man who is able to accept me the way I look.”
She bent her head and looked at her huge breasts sitting in her lap. They covered her thighs reaching up to her knees. We both were staring at her unusual body feature.
With her head still down, Molly silently added: “Everybody sees only these, and nobody sees my soul. Everybody finds my body disgusting. But still it is me. It is my body. I do not want to have a part of my body amputated. I do not want to lose sensitivity of my breasts and ability to breastfeed. So, I make my own bras. And I wait for somebody who would accept me as I am and love me as I am.”
She looked up. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“I think I know somebody who would accept you.” I said.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“Could the man love me?”
“He already does, Molly.”
Molly was looking at me, tears were still running down her cheeks. I leaned towards her and kissed her beautiful red lips. When I embraced her, I could feel her warm soft breasts pressing on my chest.
THE END
Pansy
- 11.03.2022
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