Your Amazing, Growing Breasts

a story of your amazing growing breasts, 1500 words on the nose.

You were not small, by any stretch of the imagination. 5'6", pleasant hips, a waist kept toned with crunches when you remembered to do them, and a nice pair of breasts. You told yourself they were perky, shapely, and filled out your shirts just so. Plenty of boys wanted you; you had their crude messages filling up your inbox on any number of social networking sites, the occasional erect penis popping up in Snapchat. And that was enough, for a while. But the more you browsed the internet, the more you realized that there was a truer self hidden beneath the surface.

You loved breasts.

To be a little more specific about it: you loved growing breasts. Breasts swelling out of their reinforced bras. Overrunning any feeble attempts at containment. Bloating larger and heavier until the woman attached to them was little more than an afterthought to her enormous, heaving, mountainous bosom.

You made friends with the big-titted girls in your town, listened sympathetically as they occasionally complained about what a burden having big breasts was on them. You even attended the sleepover of one Millicent Bloom Anderson, who was dreadfully dull and smelled faintly of mothballs, because she happened to wear – and you knew this for a fact – a 34G bra, and you were dying to see what she looked like with no shirt on.

All of which serves to explain, if not fully excuse, your behavior when, after coming home from work one day, you began to wonder why your bra was pinching in weird new places when you laid down.

You pulled off your shirt and bra and took careful, repeated measurements – the same set of number you’d been recording since you started growing, the measurements you could take in your sleep. Sure enough, a change. An extra quarter-inch around your chest. Not a huge change, to be sure, but you were so worked up over the merest suggestion that your breasts could still be growing that you were already soaked. A few passionate hours later, you finally fell asleep with your fingers still resting within your panties.

The next morning, you found that the number had ratcheted up again – another quarter-inch all the way around, enough that your bras were now definitely not fitting properly. You wore one anyway, your new, bigger breasts pressing to escape both above and below the cups, You could feel your underwire squeezing them. Halfway through your shift, you realized a button had come undone from all the bouncing your breasts were doing, and that was so incredibly sexy you nearly came right then and there.

A quick session of self-love in the bathroom helped somewhat, but you were still a quivering mess by the time you got home that evening. Peeling off your button-down, you examined yourself.

Your bra, which fit perfectly just last week, was now obviously overmatched by your breasts. Your big, succulent breasts, which formed a long line of cleavage even with the separation of your bra, were overflowing the cups. The clasps sprang open, and you squeezed your thighs together in excitement.

They were growing, all right, visibly bigger than that morning. You measured to be sure, and found you’d gained an entire half-inch during the day! No wonder that bra was too tight.

They were now big enough that you could, if you angled your body just right against your headboard, lick your nipples, something you’d always dreamed of doing. And so you lost track of time, eventually falling asleep more fulfilled and sexually sated than you’d ever been in your life.

Until the morning, that is.

You awoke to discover that your industrious bosom had been busy overnight. If they’d been merely ‘big’ yesterday, your breasts were now beginning to thrust proudly into the ‘huge’ portion of the English language. You could feel them resting against your ribs, now, but still projecting forward a good amount, holding their shape and staying perky. You measured again and found another inch had appeared overnight, but that seemed to too narrowly circumscribe the volume of flesh that was now supporting your aureola (which, you noted, were tender and puffy now from all your ministrations the night before).

You called in sick to work and decided to go to the mall instead, but not before a good few rounds exploring your new breasts and thrilling yourself with the orgasms that your tits – and they truly were tits now, anyone would agree – could provide.

The girl at the fitting counter brought four or five bras for you to try, and you eventually selected two that provided you with the biggest, deepest cleavage, as well as some extra space in the cups, in case your body wasn’t finished fulfilling your deepest sexual fantasy just yet.

You also stocked up on groceries. At the dairy section, you leaned over and felt your breasts come to rest in among a shelf of butter. Getting some cereal off a top shelf, you could feel your shirt straining to contain your breasts as they pushed up, up, up, the eyes of the employee who “helped” you find the aisle following them as they sought to escape…

The rest of the evening was a haze of pleasure, your body writhing between your sheets as you explored every inch of your burgeoning form. How much bigger would they get? They were already bigger than anyone you’d ever seen in person in your travels in the city, bigger than most models, even the ‘big bust’ ones you could find on the internet!

You awoke the next morning and were immediately glad you’d purchased a bra with some breathing room. The lacy contraption that had contained your tits yesterday with plenty of space, and that you’d worn overnight, was now stuffed to capacity by your enormous melons. Eagerly, you stripped down and measured again.

Just a half-inch this time. That was somewhat disappointing, but also a relief, you realized. Although you would have been happy to grow an inch a day until you could no longer stand up, practical concerns were also starting to raise their head – such as, you no longer had any work shirts that even remotely fit. Unless you left every button above your sternum open, of course.

Squeezing into your button-down, you marveled at the enormous canyon of cleavage this presented, then went into work, knowing full well the very first thing you’d have to do would be change into a shirt designed for someone twice your weight. And sure enough, you did, your boss looking extremely cross, but not before every single one of your coworkers got an eyeful of your stupendous boobs.

You still had to sneak off to the bathroom twice to grind out some of your irresistible horniness during your shift as you felt every pair of eyes – men, women, everyone – landing on your breasts. Even with a baggy, ill-fitting shirt, there was no hiding them. They demanded attention, jiggling and wobbling with your every movement.

That night, you were somewhat more controlled in your arousal. Instead, you went through your closet, seeing what still fit your new boobs. Half your clothes had been bought with a much smaller torso in mind, and were going to have to be dropped off at a charity shop. Stretchy sweaters, though, looked amazing, even though you were probably ruining them for anyone else, ever.

The morning brought another measurement and what you guessed (based on the recent tapering) was the last little spurt of growth: another quarter-inch. And yet, they were noticeably heavier again, and definitely plumper, which you didn’t even think was possible. Even standing bra-less, the slopes of your very full breasts rose subtly toward your chin before arcing out to your nipples.

You had another day off stored up, so you wisely used it and took your bras back to the store for exchange. The clerk apologized profusely – she’d obviously made some mistake during your fitting, as the bras she’s sold you were definitely too small.

And, it turned out, so was every other bra in the store. Outwardly, you tried to seem unaffected by this news, but your own nipples betrayed you, fattening and hardening excitedly as you were told you’d outgrown the entire stock of a lingerie shop. Take that, Millicent! Your G-cups are no match for these amazing boobs! You placed a special order and made your way home with your breasts covered in nothing more than your tightest sweater, your nipples standing out like buckeyes in the soft fabric.

And that, as they say, was that. The most magical week of your life. Sure, you grew a little bigger as your metabolism leveled out (but it was more your ass that benefited from that little bit of weight gain), but the pleasure you experience during those five days of unrestrained, explosive growth would never be rivaled again by another human being. But you could always try, but just closing your eyes, leaning back, and imagining – bigger.