﻿Brother Likes Boobs

by Pan



Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:08:54
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,628
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/BrotherLikesBoobs/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: After her brother tells her that she has big boobs, she can’t get the phrase out of her head.
Erotica Tags: ex, ma, mc





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5



	Chapter 1

There was no context, my brother just said it to me one day.

“God you’ve got huge boobs.”

I was so stunned, I didn’t say anything in response, but the phrase stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Boobs. Huge boobs. I had huge boobs.

At one point, I went into the bathroom and took off my shirt, just to look at them. He was right, of course—I did have huge boobs. That wasn’t new to me—I’ve been chesty since puberty hit—but I’d never honestly put that much thought into them. Up until now, they’d just…been there.

It’s like when someone tells you to be aware of your tongue: there’s nothing you can do about it, you just notice it, sitting in your mouth, pressing up against your teeth.

Huge boobs. I had huge boobs. No matter what I did, no matter where I was, there they were, right on the front of my chest.

Huge. Huge boobs.

I stared at them for longer than I’d like to admit, before putting my shirt back on and continuing my day. Your nose is always there, right in the corner of your eye—you learn to tune it out. But I couldn’t tune my boobs out. Every time I moved, they jiggled slightly—they’d been doing that for as long as I could remember, but now I was noticing it. Every jiggle reminded me of my huge boobs.

That night, when I was going to bed, a thought struck me. My brother had noticed my huge boobs—did everyone? Again, I’m not stupid—I’m a woman. Of course people were going to notice, and judge me (at least a little) on them. But the way my brother had said it…

“God, you’ve got huge boobs…”

God. Like it was a big deal. Like he was surprised that he’d never noticed before. Probably just because he was my brother—other guys, they didn’t have that familial filter. It was probably the first thing they noticed about me. Hell, for some of them, it was probably the ONLY thing they noticed about me. There were almost certainly people in my life who entirely defined me by the fact that I had huge boobs.

The thought made me more than a little uncomfortable.

_Huge_ boobs, too. Not just big, not just large. Certainly not…I dunno, pretty. Do guys think of boobs as pretty? I know some girls who have girls I’d certainly call pretty, but I think for guys, the size is all that matters.

The size is all that matters…and mine are huge.

I’m a double-E cup. So yeah, I’ve got huge boobs. Huge boobs. Certainly a lot larger than the average, which I think is a C or a D-cup.

My boobs were HUGE.

For a minute, I had trouble breathing. I felt like the weight of my huge boobs was pushing down on my chest, crushing the air out of my lungs. My huge boobs, sitting on top of me like boulders, defining me, controlling me, shaping my life.

It passed, and I was able to breathe again. As I did, I tried to feel exactly how my boobs moved when I was lying in bed, not wearing a bra. I wondered how they moved when I wasn’t paying attention to them.

I wondered how many other people WERE paying attention to them throughout the day. Probably a lot, if even my own brother had noticed.

Huge. Huge boobs.

I’d almost drifted off to sleep when something struck me. If size was all that mattered for boobs, and mine were huge, did that mean that was…good? I’d attracted a fair amount of attention for my boobs, ever since I was a young teen and they sprouted, but I’d never thought about whether it was positive attention or negative attention.

Were my huge boobs sexy? Or were they gross? Was I a babe, or a freak?

I had to know.

I got up, pulled a shirt on (I normally sleep in just my panties) and tip-toed down the hall to my brother’s room. He was asleep when I sneaked in, but it didn’t take much to wake him up.

“What?” he grunted, understandably annoyed by my 2am visit.

“My boobs…” I said, stopping as soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth. How embarrassing! What the hell was I doing?

Well, I’d come this far…

“My boobs,” I continued, after a blushing silence. “Are they…too big?”

“Nah,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy.”

In response to my thanks, I got a pillow thrown at me, and so I left my brother to drift off again. My burning question had been answered, so as soon as I got back to my own room, I immediately fell into a deep sleep of my own.

The next morning, I woke up with a smile. I felt so relieved—big boobs were sexy! To celebrate, I decided to do something I don’t normally do:

I decided to show a bit of boob.

Not a nipple or anything like that. Normally my neckline is right up at my neck, but I was feeling good about my body—better than I could ever remember feeling. And so I pulled one of my two cleavage-showing tops out of the drawer, and wore it that day.

I was still hyper-aware of my huge boobs, but it didn’t bother me. Big boobs are sexy. Today especially.

Like I said, attention to my chest is nothing unusual, but today I was looking out for it. And my brother was right—everyone knew that big boobs were sexy. I got a lot of attention, even for a girl as well-endowed as me. There were a lot of men staring.

Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy.

The sentence kept rolling around my mouth, over and over. Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy. God, I’ve got huge boobs. Huge, sexy, big boobs.

Some of my thoughts from the previous night returned—how huge WERE my boobs, compared to the average? And so I started checking out every woman who walked past. God, my boobs were huge, and big boobs were sexy…so could I find boobs larger than mine?

Well, I’m proud to say, no one I encountered that day had boobs as big as mine. I saw some that could arguably come close—one of my friends, Merinda, had large boobs…but they weren’t huge. Still attractive, but not _sexy_. Huge boobs are sexy. Everyone knows that.

And since no one’s boobs were as big as mine, no one had boobs as sexy as mine.

How great!

As I was stepping out of the shower that night, I glanced over at the mirror. It was fairly foggy, but I could still roughly see my reflection…and I could particularly see how huge my naked boobs were. (how could I miss it?)

Now, I’m as straight as they come. But my brother’s words were ringing through my head—big boobs are sexy. Everyone knows.

Everyone.

Without even thinking about it, I stepped forward and wiped off the mirror, so I could see my boobs better. God they were huge. And big boobs, I suddenly realized…were sexy.

As I stood there, staring at my huge boobs in the mirror, my breathing got faster and faster. How had I never noticed before? Big boobs were sexy. _My_ big boobs were sexy. I had huge, sexy boobs.

I was suddenly more turned on than I could ever remember being.

A part of me felt like something wasn’t quite right…surely I shouldn’t have been this turned on by my own body. By my own big boobs. God they were huge. And—it was impossible to admit—sexy. Everyone knew that.

That thought ran through my head over and over as I got off, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. God my boobs were huge. And, everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.

That night, as I lay in bed, I was still horny. My orgasm had been quick and satisfying, but here’s the thing about having huge boobs—god, they’re always there. They’re attached. And my awareness had turned into a constant arousal—how could I not be turned on, knowing how close I was of a pair of big, sexy boobs?

Even in the dark, when I couldn’t see their fullness, I could still feel them. Their weight, their movement every time I moved…if I focused on it, I could even feel the air on my nipples, reminding me that I was the owner of a pair of huge boobs. Big boobs were so sexy…

It was late before I finally drifted off. I’d masturbated so many times that I lost count. When I woke up, my huge boobs were the first thing I saw, and I masturbated again at the sight of them.

I ran into my brother at breakfast. We made small talk for a while, and I couldn’t help but notice his attention drifting to my boobs. Clearly he was still adjusting to the fact that god I had huge boobs.

He must have been attracted to me. Everyone knows big boobs are sexy.

Everyone.

At one point he noticed me noticing, and a sheepish grin came across his face.

“Sorry,” he said, and I laughed in response. There was no need to apologize—I had huge boobs, and everyone knew big boobs were sexy. It would have been weirder if he hadn’t looked. And then he said something a little weird.

“You must hate having to keep your tits out of sight.”

Before I could respond, he drank the rest of his coffee and left the room. I just sat there, speechless and stunned, mulling over his strange remark.

I was broken out of my reverie by the sound of the clock chiming the hour—crap! I was going to be late! I quickly packed the rest of my stuff and left, my brother’s strange words still echoing in my head.

“You must hate having to keep your tits out of sight.”

You MUST hate. I knew it was just a turn of phrase, but for some reason, it almost sounded like a command. No, that was ridiculous…he wasn’t telling me what to do. He was assuming something to be true.

He was assuming that I MUST hate having to keep my tits out of sight. My boobs…god they’re huge. They’re so big.

So sexy.

Glancing down at my huge boobs, I noticed I’d chosen to wear the only other top I own that shows cleavage.

Maybe that was what he was talking about. He’d seen how much I enjoyed showing off my cleavage, and worked out that the rest of the time, I had to keep them out of sight.

Because…um…

Now that I sat down to think about it, I couldn’t work out why I did have to keep them out of sight the rest of the time. They were MY huge boobs, after all. And they were sexy—everyone knew that.

I glanced down at my exposed cleavage again, and confirmed just how sexy they were. I’d have to find a bathroom soon and get off—my big boobs were just so damned sexy.

So huge. So sexy.

He was right, I suddenly realized. My boobs—god they were huge—were so big, and everyone knew that meant they were sexy. And here I was, depriving the world of getting to see my tits.

I hated it.

I hated having to hide my tits. I hated having to keep them out of sight. They were _my_ boobs—I alone got to decide whether they were shown off or not, and in that moment, I decided.

I wanted to show them off.

Keeping my tits out of sight? I couldn’t think of anything I hated more.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no reason I couldn’t show off my cleavage all the time. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. I was wearing a relatively modest top—with a bit of effort, I could show off so much more of my tits.

A few hours later, as I stepped out of the mall, I wondered if I’d gone a bit too far. At first I’d just wanted to buy a few new shirts and blouses—just so I could show off a bit more cleavage. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. God they were huge…and everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.

But after I’d bought half a dozen new shirts, a thought struck me. Cleavage was all good and well, but really…my tits were still mostly out of sight. And I hated that.

Obviously I couldn’t walk around topless (as much as I would love to) but I couldn’t help but notice a string bikini, hanging on the rack. Now I have a swimsuit at home—it’s a one-piece, and I hate wearing it and having to keep my huge boobs out of sight.

For some reason, I’d set all these rules about what I wore—rules that kept my tits out of sight, which I hated. It was like I was ashamed of my huge boobs, but that was ridiculous—big boobs are sexy. Everyone knows that.

I bought the string bikini. And then I bought two more. We have a pool at home, and so if I needed to justify it to anyone, i could say I was wearing my bikini-top in case I wanted to go for a swim.

But who would complain about huge boobs?

I went into the change-rooms, got myself off (something I’ve worked out I pretty much have to do every hour…it’s a hard life, having huge boobs!) and changed into my string bikini.

Boy oh boy did I got a lot of attention. My brother was totally right—EVERYONE knows that big boobs are sexy.

I ran into my brother when I got home, shopping bags in-hand. He goggled at the sight of my huge boobs in my new bikini. He’ll get used to them—I’m planning on wearing it around the house a lot.

It looked like he was going to say something, but it had been a long bus-ride home, and almost forty minutes since I’d gotten off. I’d been so aware of everyone staring—everyone knowing how sexy my huge boobs were. Everyone knowing how much I had hated having to keep them out of sight.

Well, my tits weren’t out of sight any more, and I was _loving_ it.

I just smiled as he stared at my tits, and quickly excused myself. I hoped my arousal wasn’t obvious—one of the flaws of having a string bikini, I guess.

When I came out, my brother was gone. I didn’t see him again until breakfast, the next day—I was wearing a different string bikini, but I don’t even think he noticed. He just kept on staring at my huge boobs. I could still hear the shock in his voice when he’d first noticed how huge they were.

He was getting up to leave when I noticed that I’d been pressing my chest forward, trying to show off my tits as much as possible. I just hated keeping them out of sight—I’d have done anything to make sure they were always, always visible.

“One of my ex-girlfriends had big boobs,” he mused as he began to walk out the door.

“Oh?” I said, one eyebrow raised. “That must have been fun—big boobs are sexy.”

“It was,” he said with a smile. “Fat tits feel amazing.”

I rolled my eyes at his words. “Fat tits.” What a turn of phrase. Were my tits fat?

Strolling over to the mirror, I removed my string bikini. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight—it was so great when I was alone: I got to show off my huge, sexy boobs.

Turning left and right, I could feel myself getting aroused, just staring at my boobs, really taking in how huge they were. So big, and so sexy.

But were they fat?

Sure, they were large, but that’s not really fat. The rest of me is relatively slender—I’m not a stick figure or anything like that, but while I have curves, it’s nothing to compare to my tits.

My big, huge, sexy tits.

_Of course,_ I realized, _there’s one way to find out if they’re really _fat_._

It was strangely hot, watching as I slowly reached up to grab one of my tits. It was a simple test—if they felt amazing, they truly were fat tits. If they just felt okay, they were big, huge, sexy…but not fat.

They felt _amazing_. Soft and fleshy and warm and squishy, and…fun.

I definitely had fat tits. I must have stood there for close to an hour, just groping myself, loving the amazing feeling of my fat tits. Fat tits. Big boobs. Call them what you like—they feet _amazing._

And when I worked out I could pull a nipple up to my mouth, and suck on my own fat tit?

The sensation was enough to make me cum. God I loved my huge boobs. They were so sexy, and they felt amazing.

After I got dressed and left the house, it was difficult to resist slipping one hand up my top and just feeling them all day long. I just wanted to grope my big, fat, sexy boobs. It was hard enough, having to keep my tits out of sight (although the top I’d chosen showed more cleavage than most women had breast) but now I had to resist reaching up and touching them all day.

I couldn’t wait to get home, strip off, and spend all night touching my fat tits, groping my big boobs, and think about how sexy they are.


	Chapter 2

Life was good.

I had huge boobs. God I had huge boobs. And as everyone knows, big boobs are sexy, so I really hated having to keep them out of sight. I’d started dressing to emphasize my boobs—no matter what the occasion, no matter where I was going, I wanted to make sure that when people looked at me, what they saw was boob.

God I had huge boobs. They were so sexy.

As soon as I was alone, though, my hands were up my top, grasping and groping and tweaking and touching. I felt like I was always wet—I had such big, huge, fat tits, and fat tits feel amazing.

_Amazing_.

When I was home, I’d immediately change into a string bikini. I love my bikini—it just does such a great job of showing off my huge, fat tits. I’d sometimes catch my brother staring at them, but I didn’t mind—everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and mine are no exception. Why wouldn’t he stare?

A few times, he’d caught me groping them. Fat tits just feel so _amazing_ —I’d be waiting for water to boil, and just stand there, grasping my fat tits, enjoying how amazing it felt. It was a bit embarrassed, but I knew my brother was cool with it—besides, he’d dated a girl with fat tits, so he knew just how amazing they felt.

Normally he’d just stand there and watch for a few seconds, but the last time, he said something. It stuck in my head, but I don’t know why—he saw me standing there, thinking about how huge my boobs were, thinking about how amazing my fat tits felt, and he said

“Don’t forget—the rest of you deserves some attention as well.”

I barely even registered it at the time, I was too busy thinking about how great my boobs felt, how nice they were to squeeze, how amazing they felt in my hands…but later that night, as I was laying in bed, absent-mindedly groping my fat tits, I thought about what he meant by that.

The rest of me deserves some attention as well.

He was right, of course—getting too caught up on any one thing was a poor way to treat your body. God, my boobs were _huge_ though—it was no wonder I’d become so fixated on them.

Of course, that didn’t mean that the rest of me should go ignored. The rest of me deserved some attention as well.

My fat tits felt amazing, so it was hard for me to let go, but my brother was right. He’d walked in on me putting all my efforts towards my amazing fat tits, but the rest of me deserved some attention as well. While my left hand continued to tenderly play with my left boob, my other hand started exploring the rest of my body.

It didn’t feel _amazing_ , but it certainly felt pretty good. I ran one hand down my waist, down my leg. I roughly grabbed my own ass, and giggled as I gave it a quick spank. I moved one hand between my legs, and got off a few times, thinking about all my body, not just my amazing fat tits, my huge, sexy, big boobs.

_My brother’s right. The rest of me _does_ deserve some attention as well,_ I blearily thought as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I quickly got dressed (a pair of jeans and a white sleeveless shirt that shows _plenty_ of cleavage), but before I left my room I glanced at myself thoughtfully in the mirror.

The outfit showed off my tits, which was great—I hated having to keep them out of sight. But…well, it was obvious that the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

My big boobs are obviously my sexiest feature, but the rest of me is pretty hot as well. I have nice legs, and great butt. And here I was, drawing all the attention to my huge boobs.

I looked over my outfit once more, and shook my head. This wouldn’t do.

“Wow,” my brother said when I came downstairs, and I couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t just staring at my huge boobs, he was also checking out my legs. The heels and white microskirt I was wearing showed them off so nicely, as I bent over to get some milk, he got a pretty great view of my ass as well.

“You look great,” my brother said, and I just grinned in response, and leaned forward to make sure that he got the best possible angle of my huge boobs. I mean, sure, the rest of me deserved some attention as well, but everyone knew that big boobs were sexy.

That day, I made sure that the rest of me got the attention it deserved. Any time someone checked me out, I ensured that it wasn’t just my big, sexy, fat tits that they paid attention to—no, the rest of my deserved some attention as well.

I had a few tricks up my sleeve—all I needed to do was run a hand down my leg, or give my ass a quick slap. It was good for me, as well; normally if I was standing in line at the post office, I’d just fondle my boobs (god fat tits feel amazing)—it was tricky, remembering to give the rest of myself some attention.

But when I saw someone staring at me, watching me grope my huge boobs, it served as a sharp reminder—the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Sshh,” I’d say, moving my hands from my fat tits to my legs, my ass, my hips…exploring my soft, ample flesh, enjoying the feel of my smooth skin…

The rest of me deserved some attention as well.

It helped with the heat, as well. I was so turned on—having huge, sexy, fat tits like mine will do that to you—but by paying attention to the rest of me, I was able to quell my arousal, at least until I got to be alone, to take care of my needs.

Of course, when I got home that night, I was practically on fire. I didn’t think anyone else was home, so I completely stripped off and threw myself on the couch. My hand immediately made its way between my legs, and soon my hips were bucking with pleasure as I crudely groped my fat tits, enjoying just how amazing they felt.

(And trust me—they felt _amazing_.)

I knew the rest of me deserved some attention as well, so I lay there, stroking other parts of my body, enjoying the sensation of skin on skin…when I looked up, and noticed my brother was watching me.

I blushed slightly, but he just shook his head in shock, blinked twice.

“Everyone must love you,” he said, in his soft, deep voice. He was out of the room almost before I could process what he’d said.

Must. There that word was again.

Everyone _must_ love me. They _must_.

He was just speaking rhetorically, I knew that, but the thought stuck in my head. They _must_. Of course they must. They _must_ love me, because of my fat tits, my sexy boobs…and the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The words rang through my mind for that entire night.

Everyone must _love_ me. Everyone _must_ love me. Everyone must love _me_.

_Everyone_ must love me.

Sitting on the bus the next day, I couldn’t help running a hand up and down my leg, shooting tingles up my spine. I would have just leaned my fat tits against the bus window to enjoy the vibration, but the rest of me deserved some attention too.

I know my brother just meant it as a compliment, but he was right. With my huge boobs, everyone knew I was sexy. Everyone loved me.

Everyone _loved_ me.

They had to.

As soon as I got off the bus, I ducked into the library’s bathroom. My head was spinning. Another girl entered—Carol, I think her name was. I’ve seen her around.

“Carol!” I said, a huge grin on my face. “How are you?”

I pulled her into a hug, which she seemed uncomfortable with for a second, but as soon as my boobs pressed against hers, she relaxed into it.

I knew why, of course—fat tits feel amazing. Plus, big boobs are sexy. Everyone knows that.

“I’m good,” she said, glancing down at my cleavage.

Everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and I hated having to keep my tits out of sight.

“That’s great!” I said, and impulsively did a twirl. After all, the rest of me deserved some attention as well. It was important not to forget that.

“What do you think of my outfit?”

“I love it,” she said firmly.

“You love it?”

“I love it.”

With a smile, I was about to thank her and let her go, when I realized that something wasn’t right.

She loved my outfit? I thought she loved _me_. Everyone loved me. They had to.

“How do you feel about my big boobs?” I said, and she looked at me strangely.

“They’re very sexy,” she replied. “Everyone knows that.”

“How about the rest of me?”

“Well,” she said, still strangely hesitant. What was wrong with her? I thought everyone loved me. God…I had huge boobs, and everyone knew they were sexy. But, I couldn’t forget, the rest of me deserved some attention as well. But my fat tits felt amazing…

There were so many thoughts running through my head, it was hard to think. I shook my head, trying to focus.

Carol loved me. Everyone loved me. They had to. Everyone must love me.

“My tits…”

I was having trouble speaking, and Carol looked concerned, which made me feel better straight away. Concern. That meant she must love me.

“They’re…they’re so fat…”

“No!” she said, but I shook my head again.

“No,” I said, “they feel amazing.”

There was a pause, and I saw Carol glance at the door.

No. I couldn’t have that. She couldn’t leave. She had to love me.

Everyone must love me.

Everyone.

“Feel them,” I said insistently. “Feel my fat tits. They feel amazing.”

Before Carol could say anything, I slipped my top off and undid my bra. As my big boobs fell into view, I asked her again.

“Please, Carol? Feel my fat tits?”

As if in a trance, Carol reached out and grabbed my huge boobs. I moaned as she did.

“Oh, god,” she said. “These…these feel _amazing_.”

With a smile, I leaned forward, and pushed my mouth against hers. I don’t think we’d exchanged more than a handful of words over the years, but here we were, in a public bathroom, making out.

At first, Carol focused entirely on my fat tits, but I soon moved one of her legs to my ass, which she immediately began groping with an equal fervor. God my boobs were huge, and big boobs were sexy, but…

Don’t forget, the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

We stood in the bathroom stall for fifteen minutes, making out. I don’t remember when Carol’s clothes were removed, but I remember being disappointed. Her boobs were nice, sure, but they were hardly fat, and they certainly didn’t feel amazing. Fortunately, I had sexy, big boobs for the both of us.

God my boobs were huge.

Soon, I gave up on touching Carol, and just focused on kissing her, and redirecting her hands around my body. She had a perfectly acceptable body, but compared to mine…

Well, everyone loved me. They must have.

Carol’s hands kept drifting back to my fat tits…it felt amazing, but the rest of me deserved some attention as well. When I wasn’t moving her hands off my big boobs, I was groping them myself, enjoying the new sensation of Carol’s tongue in my mouth.

Finally, after a few minutes of making out, I pulled back and looked Carol in the eyes.

“Please,” I said, breathing heavily, “Carol…

“Love me?”


	Chapter 3

Carol loved me.

Everyone loved me.

Everyone.

But as I left the bathroom, I was practically floating on air.

Carol loved me.

Carol _loved_ me.

It made sense. After all, everyone know that big boobs are sexy…and there are none as big as mine. So mine were the sexiest.

Fat tits felt amazing, and mine were the fattest. I hated having to keep my big, huge, fat, sexy tits out of sight—I hated it, and so I refused. I showed off as much of those amazing tits as I could, and so everyone loved me.

But especially Carol.

As I caught the bus home, I wouldn’t have been surprised to look at my reflection and see love-hearts in my eyes, when a thought struck me.

I knew that my fat tits were amazing. Amazing and sexy. But the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The rest of me _deserved_ some attention as well.

Did that mean that the rest of me was just as sexy?

My eyes fluttered back in my head at the thought.

I had fat tits: they felt amazing. They felt amazing, and everyone loved me. Everyone loved them. But if the rest of me deserved attention as well, maybe…

I turned to the man sitting next to me on the bus. A total stranger, but that didn’t matter. He loved me.

At least, he would soon.

He had to.

“Excuse me,” I asked with a friendly smile, “can I ask you a weird question?”

“Of course, young lady,” he said gruffly, and I tenderly grabbed his hand and moved it to my leg.

“Does that feel amazing?”

His eyes widened in shock, but as I moved my lips to his, he softened slightly. Soon, he was breathing heavily, and his hand was moving up my leg.

“God,” he muttered, as I pulled back to let him take a breath. I didn’t want to give him a heart attack, after all. “Everyone must _love_ you.”

I just giggled in response. I was pretty flustered. I wrote down my number on a piece of paper—he didn’t have a phone on him—and he promised to call.

As I skipped off the bus, I realized—he hadn’t even touched my tits! The rest of me _did_ deserve some attention as well—as amazing as my huge, fat tits were, the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

Maybe that was why everyone loved me.

I didn’t hesitate to strip off as soon as I got home. I considered slipping on one of my new bikinis, but I just hated having to keep my tits out of sight. My huge, fat, amazing tits.

That was where my brother found me. The moment I’d walked through the door, my clothes had ended up in a pile next to me, and I’d found myself staring at the hallway mirror, marvelling at my huge boobs. God they were sexy.

I leaned up against the wall, staring at my sexy big boobs, unable to resist touching myself as I did.

Everyone loved me, and I could see why. Even I wasn’t immune to the effect of my huge, fat tits. I didn’t even think to close the door—why would I? I hate having to keep my tits out of sight.

“Hey,” my brother said casually, and it was an effort to tear my gaze away from the mirror.

“Hey,” I replied, and couldn’t help but smile at the way that his eyes traveled up and down my body a few times, before finally making their way back to my face.

“Huh,” he said, as if a thought had just struck him for the first time.

“What?”

“It’s just…well…”

He paused, and with a half-smile, simply said:

“You are _built_ to serve.”

As he walked upstairs, I was stunned.

What did _that_ mean?

My gaze returned to the mirror, but no longer was I just staring admiringly at myself—now, I was critically appraising my body. My fat tits that I hated keeping out of sight, my sexy, curvy stomach, my long legs, my firm ass…

Maybe I was misunderstanding something.

I wandered back to my room, and lay down on my bed. With my eyes closed, I ran my hands all over my body—my big boobs felt amazing, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

As I lay there, stroking my skin, shivering with pleasure, I tried to think of what my brother could have meant.

Serve. _Serve._

I was built to _serve_.

He was possibly talking about tennis, but that didn’t seem likely. No, more likely he meant…servitude. Like a maid, or a waiter.

Like a slave.

A shiver ran through my body at that thought. A slave.

I’d been naked when he said it—I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well. He might have been my brother, but he’d been unable to help noticing my huge boobs…and everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.

He knew that my big boobs are sexy. God, I had huge boobs. He’d been the one to say it.

“God you’ve got huge boobs.”

I said it out loud, a tingle of pleasure running through my body at the thought.

It was clear that my brother thought of me a sexual being. It wasn’t his fault—everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and fat tits felt amazing. And while I hated keeping my sexy boobs out of sight…the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Everyone must love me,” I muttered. When had one hand made its way between my legs?

“Everyone must love me,” I repeated, moaning. I reached up with my other hand, and started grabbing my fat tits. It felt amazing, and my back arched with pleasure.

“Everyone must love me,” I moaned. “I…I’m built to serve.”

As I lay there panting, coming down from the aftermath of my orgasm, I realized that I still didn’t really get what my brother had said. After all, he couldn’t mean…

Could he?

I got up, determined to get some answers. I considered putting some clothes on, but…I mean, he’d seen everything already, right?

Besides, I hated keeping my huge boobs out of sight.

“Hey…” I said quietly, standing at the door to my brother’s room. He was laying on his bed reading a magazine, but he smiled when he saw me.

“Hey sis.”

“I just…”

He held up a finger, and went back to his magazine. I wondered if I should be mad. Then I wondered if that was a weird thought—surely being mad wasn’t something you normally had to think about; you were either mad or you weren’t.

Maybe that was he meant. It didn’t bother me, being told what to do.

Maybe I really was built to serve.

“What’s up?” he finally said, putting the magazine aside.

“It’s just…”

I trailed off, not really sure what to say.

“Hmm?”

“What you said in the hall,” I mumbled. “What exactly did that mean?”

With a smile, he patted the side of the bed, and I sat down.

I didn’t even question it, I just did exactly what I was told.

Maybe I _was_ built to serve.

“What part are you struggling with?”

“Well…”

Again, I couldn’t reach the end of my sentence. I was blushing—sitting this close to my brother, I was suddenly aware of my scent. I’d gotten off so many times, including in my room just a few minutes ago. He _must_ have been able to smell my juices.

“I mean, look at you.”

He gestured to the mirror, and without hesitation I got up and looked at myself, just as I had been when he’d come home earlier that day.

Without hesitation.

_I’m built to serve._

As I stared at myself in the mirror, my brother started talking. He only said four sentences, but each one hit me like a slap in the face. Each one made me stagger back in shock, and when he was done, I was laying on his bed, breathing heavily.

“To serve is to obey.”

I immediately started repeating the phrase in my mind, again and again. To serve is to obey. I’m built to serve. To serve is to obey. I’m built to serve.

Before I could even begin processing it, he kept going.

“You are always wet.”

I’m always…—

“You live for sex.”

He didn’t hesitate that time, just kept talking, like a relentless thunderstorm of new ideas that I didn’t have time to parse.

“Embrace your submissive nature.”

I shut my eyes, and moved one hand between my legs.

To serve is to obey. I’m always wet. I obviously live for sex. I should embrace my submissive nature.

No, not I should.

That was the one thought I could grasp onto, in a whirling sea of new ideas.

Not I _should_ embrace my submissive nature—it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

And I was built to serve. To serve is to obey.

I was built to obey.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would obey.

I had to embrace my submissive nature.

Embrace my submissive nature.

I’m built to serve.

Embrace servitude.

To serve is to obey.

Embrace obedience.

My nature was…submissive. It wasn’t even that I was submissive. It wasn’t a decision, it wasn’t a lifestyle choice. I was, by nature, submissive.

And it was time to embrace it.

I needed to embrace my submissive nature. To serve was to obey, and I was built to serve. I was _built_ to serve.

And I was so, so wet.

It wasn’t surprising. I was _always_ wet. Everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and god—I had _huge_ boobs. They felt amazing, and so of course I was always wet. I was _always_ wet.

I was so, so wet.

Maybe that was why it was obvious. Maybe that was why it was obvious that I lived for sex—aside from the fact that I hated keeping my fat boobs out of sight, and that I never forgot that the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The fact that I was always wet made it obvious that I lived for sex…

I obviously lived for sex, so I was always wet…

The hand between my legs could confirm that I was always wet, that I lived for sex. But I wanted to embrace my submissive nature—I wanted to advertise to the world that I was obedient, that I was obedient and always wet.

It was obvious that I lived for sex? Well, I was going to make it more obvious.

When I opened my eyes again, I was alone. A pity—I was built to serve, and to serve was to obey.

I found my phone, and went to call Carol. After all, Carol loved me.

I mean, everyone loved me…but Carol had felt how amazing my fat tits were, and I wanted to show her that I was always wet.

But until that afternoon, Carol had just been a casual workmate. I didn’t have her number—it was in the company directory, but I didn’t have access to that from home.

The man on the bus! My eyes fluttered at the idea of calling him, telling him how obedient I was, showing him how submissive I was…but I’d given him my number, and hadn’t thought to get his.

So with no one to obey directly, I decided to obey the last thing I was told: to embrace my submissive nature.

For the second time in a week, I went shopping. Last time I’d bought clothes that just showed off as much skin as possible—I hated keeping my fat tits out of sight; they felt amazing.

This time, I had two missions: I wanted to embrace my submissive nature…

…and I wanted to make it more obvious that I lived for sex.

With a smile, I entered the mall.

This was going to be fun.


	Chapter 4

I got a lot of attention at the mall.

I wasn’t surprised, of course. I had such huge boobs, and everyone knows that big boobs are sexy. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, so I’d dressed to show off. Not just my amazing fat tits—the rest of me deserved some attention as well. But most importantly:

I obviously lived for sex.

_Obviously._

The mall only had one lingerie shop that catered to girls as big as mine. Despite working in a store dedicated to brassieres for large-breasted women, the girl behind the counter still gawked when I entered.

God I’ve got huge boobs.

I smiled at her. For the first time in my life, I was tongue-tied; I wanted her help, of course—I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, and I was sure she’d be able to help me show them off.

But asking for help…I really wanted to embrace my submissive nature, and asking for assistance somehow felt like the opposite.

I was built to serve. How could I ask _her_ to serve _me_?

Fortunately, as I stood there, my mouth flapping like I was a lost fish, she spoke up.

“Wow,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Looking for some new underwear?”

I nodded, and she stepped out from behind the counter. She looked like she was barely out of high school; she had dyed black hair and a nose-ring, but a friendly demeanor.

“My boyfriend would love you,” she muttered.

_Of course he would,_ I silently told myself. Everyone loved me.

Everyone.

“Okay,” she said, flipping through one of the racks. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

For the next few minutes, I stood there silently as the shop assistant stacked up a small pile of bras. Neither of us said much—she’d occasionally ask my opinion on a particular item, and I’d nod my approval.

Finally, she handed me the pile and put one hand on my back, directing me to the change room.

I obeyed, of course. To serve is to obey, and I’m built to serve.

I’m built to serve.

Once in the private stall, I undid the black button-up top I’d worn in, breathing a sigh of relief as my huge boobs came into view. God I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. If I could have, I’d have tried on the lingerie in the middle of the mall, where everyone could see.

The thought made me moan. I lived for sex. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. I just wished I could be more…obvious about it.

“Are you okay in there?”

My eyes widened. The young woman must have heard my moans.

I was so wet.

“No,” I lied.

Everyone loved me.

Everyone _had_ to.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Yes,” I moaned. I hadn’t even tried on the first bra yet—my hands were on my fat tits, groping and caressing them.

But the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The door slid open, and the black-haired girl’s eyebrows were raised one more.

“Wow,” she said flatly.

Before she could say anything, I’d grabbed her hands and moved them to my chest. Fat tits felt amazing, and everyone had to know. Everyone had to love me.

My lips moved to hers, and I soon learned that she had a tongue piercing.

“God,” she panted. “Your fat tits feel amazing.”

I nodded.

“You obviously live for sex.”

I nodded again.

“You’ve got such huge boobs.”

“Mmm.”

For the first time since I’d met her, the shopgirl smiled.

“But the rest of you deserves some attention as well…”

Her lips once more met mine, and her hand moved between my legs. Within a few moments, I was squirming and panting under her touch, and it wasn’t long before I was quivering in a quick, satisfying orgasm.

We sat in the small changing room, smiling at each other…but something didn’t feel right.

I was built to serve.

“My turn,” I said, and the shopgirl’s eyes lit up as dropped to my knees, lifted her skirt, and lowered her cotton panties.

She was already soaking wet.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, I truly embraced my submissive nature.

The shopgirl’s name was Angela—Angie, for short. After I brought her to two orgasms with my tongue, I think she got it.

“Everyone must love you,” she said, smiling down at me. “You’re built to serve.”

I nodded.

“You’re always wet.”

“I’m always wet,” I gasped in response.

“To serve is to obey.”

“To serve is to obey.”

“Will you obey?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Pass me my phone?”

I obeyed.

Angie’s conversation with her boyfriend didn’t take long. As she got dressed and returned to watch the store, she told me to try on the pile she’d picked out for me.

I obeyed.

They all looked great. I hated having to keep my fat, amazing tits out of sight, but god, they were so huge; if I was naked, the rest of me wouldn’t get the attention it deserved.

My favorite piece was a red, lacy teddy—it had a deep plunging neckline, showing off my big, sexy boobs, but showing off the rest of me as well.

I wore it out of the changing room, and Angie smiled at the sight of it.

“You obviously live for sex,” she said, and I blushed. “Mac is going to be here in a few minutes. He’s going to have a lot of fun with you.”

I nodded. After I paid for all my new outfits, I sat quietly in the corner of the room, embracing my submissive nature.

To serve is to obey.

I was so wet. I was always wet.

Before Mac could arrive, however, I got a phone-call from my brother.

“Can I answer this?” I asked, and Angie shot me a strange look.

“Of course,” she said, before turning her attention to the large-chested older woman who had just entered the store.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” my brother asked. He laughed when I told him.

“Okay,” he said. “Just…be safe. You’re valuable property.”

For a moment I thought the connection must have dropped out, because the last few words he said barely even sounded like him.

_Be safe._

_You’re valuable property._

I wrinkled up my nose. I must have misheard him. What he’d said, that…that didn’t make sense.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, my head still wrapping around the last few things he’d said.

Be safe.

You’re valuable property.

The first part made sense. Be safe. Be _safe_. _Be_ safe. That was just standard brotherly advice.

Be safe. I could do that.

Of course I’d be safe. I wasn’t stupid.

It was the second half that I was stuck on.

_You’re valuable property._

I stood up and returned to the changing room, staring at myself in the mirror.

God I had huge boobs.

I smiled at the thought.

I obviously lived for sex. Big boobs were so sexy; I hate having to keep my tits out of sight.

_I’m valuable property._

My forehead furrowed once more. Valuable…property.

Valuable, yes. Everyone loved me. That’s like, the definition of valuable. If everyone loved me, I was inherently valuable. Of course.

Valuable…property.

Property.

Property meant that I belonged to someone. That I was a thing. Chattel. An object.

That someone owned me.

I shivered at the thought. I was built to serve, and had embraced my submissive nature. The submissive side of me—eg _all_ of me—looooved the idea of being owned.

I wanted to be owned. I wanted to be property.

Valuable property.

I was valuable property.

I was built to serve, and I was valuable property.

But in order to be property, I needed an owner.

My whole body throbbed at the thought. I lived for sex, obviously.

Everyone loved me, but I had an owner.

“Mac!”

I turned at the sound of Angie’s excitement. Mac! Could Mac be my owner?

_Be safe._

I’d never met Mac. I knew he’d love me—everyone loved me—but was I his property?

I was valuable property, I knew that for a fact. But whose?

_Be safe._

I obviously lived for sex. I was always wet. I was built to serve.

But I was someone’s property.

And I had to be safe.

The curtain was pulled to the side, and Angie excitedly presented me.

“This is Mac,” she said, looking at him admiringly. He looked…fairly unremarkable, if I’m being honest. He was a well-groomed man, a little shorter than my brother. He had a short beard and was wearing a suit and tie.

As his eyes travelled up and down my body, I couldn’t help but thrust out my chest.

Of course, I couldn’t forget—the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

He reached out and ran one finger down my cheek. I shivered. I was wet.

I was always wet.

“God you’ve got huge tits,” he said admiringly. “I bet they feel amazing.”

I nodded, causing my sexy big boobs to bounce slightly.

“Everyone must love you.”

I nodded again, not talking. Embracing my submissive nature.

Being safe.

“Show me,” he said, and my boobs were out almost before he had finished the thought. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight.

“You,” he said slowly, “obviously live for sex.”

I nodded, and he reached out, grabbing my tits.

It felt _amazing_.

“Please,” I gasped. “Can I serve you?”

Mac smiled, and gave a short nod. Before he could say anything, I was on my knees in front of him.

I lived for sex. I was built to serve.

To serve is to obey.

Looking up at Mac, I took him in my mouth. It wasn’t long before I was swallowing down his load obediently.

“You really found a gem here, Angie,” he said, letting go of my hair. He glanced down at me admiringly. “Do you want to come home with us?”

_You’re built to serve._

_To serve is to obey._

_You obviously live for sex._

_Embrace your submissive nature._

_You’re valuable property._

I blinked twice.

_Be safe._

“No,” I said. “Thank you, but no.”

Mac nodded, his hand reaching down to caress my ass. Good. The rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Shall we play some more here, then?”

“Yes, please,” I gasped. He was already hard again. “Do you have a condom?”

“I do,” he nodded. “I’m glad you’re being safe. You’re valuable property.”

* * *

Angie let us stay past closing time. By the time we were done, I’d served Angie and Mac multiple times. They loved me. They loved my fat tits— _everyone_ loved my tits—which felt amazing, but they made sure to pay attention to the rest of me as well.

They wore out before I did, of course. I obviously lived for sex, and I was always wet. They let me embrace my submissive nature, but we were always safe.

I was valuable property.

But _whose_ property?

Angie and Mac offered to give me a ride home, but I declined. I’d only known them for a single day, and I knew I had to be safe.

I was valuable property.

Instead, I changed into something a little less revealing—I hated having to keep my tits out of sight (everyone knows: big boobs are sexy), but it was important to be safe.

Not that I really had much to worry about. Everyone loved me.

On the subway ride home, I felt ridiculous, covering so much skin. I quickly made a game of it, embracing my submissive nature. Anyone who stared at my chest got flashed. Not just my boobs (god they were huge); the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

Besides, I obviously lived for sex.

When I got home, my brother was waiting for me. His eyes ran up and down my body, clearly enjoying what he saw. I wasn’t surprised—everyone loved me.

“You look good,” he said, which surprised me. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. Everyone knows big boobs are sexy.

“Thanks,” I said, nodding at him as he ascended the stairs. Just as he was about to disappear into his room, he turned back, a half-smile on his face.

“If you weren’t my sister…” he said, and I tilted my head to the side.

“What?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said, closing his door and leaving me alone and confused.


	Chapter 5

I couldn’t sleep that night.

What had my brother been about to say?

It didn’t matter that I was his sister. Everyone had to love me. _Everyone_. Just like everyone knew that big boobs are sexy.

I don’t know if you’ve read the dictionary lately, but ‘everyone’ does _not_ exclude brothers.

After all, wasn’t that what had set me down this path in the first place? The fact that even my brother—my _brother_ —had been unable to avoid noticing that god, I had huge boobs.

It was four am when I finally succumbed to curiosity. I got out of bed, marched down the hall, and entered my brother’s room.

I’d woken him up from sleep before, but he must have been in the middle of a REM cycle or something, because it took several minutes of shaking him before I could get his attention. Eventually, I had to get on the bed and practically sit on top of him before it worked.

I was naked, of course. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Whaaaaat?” he whined, when I finally woke him up.

“I…I need to know,” I mumbled, suddenly shy. He reached over and turned his light on, blinking as he stared at the bare boobs in front of him.

Not that he was likely to complain. Everyone knows, big boobs are sexy.

“Know _what_?”

I suddenly felt bad. I was built to serve, and to serve is to obey. Waking someone up in the middle of the night…I guess it’s not _technically_ disobedient, but it sure felt like it.

I had embraced my submissive nature, and now here I was, acting against it.

Shit.

“What you were going to say,” I mumbled.

My brother looked mad, so I grabbed his hands and moved them to my fat tits. Fat tits feel amazing—I knew that would help mollify him.

“What I was going to say when?” he asked. He still sounded grumpy, but I could tell it was working; he didn’t sound like he was going to kick me out of his room, or forbid me from ever interacting with him again.

“On the landing,” I moaned. My brother’s hands on my fat tits felt _amazing_. And I lived for sex, obviously. I was always wet.

But I had to be safe.

“On the landing?”

“Uh huh,” I groaned, moving one of my brother’s hands between my legs. It was important not to forget—the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Four,” I replied bashfully. My body was starting to respond to my brother’s hands, starting to muddy my thinking.

I was always wet.

“You woke me up at four am…why, exactly?”

“I wanted to know,” I gasped. I could feel an orgasm oncoming. “You said if I wasn’t your sister, you’d…you’d…oh, _god_.”

My body shook with climax, as two of my brother’s fingers gently pumped in and out of me.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You woke me for that?”

“Uh huh,” I said, not entirely paying attention. My brother’s hands were _very_ talented.

“Hang on,” he muttered, moving his sheets to the side and sliding firmly inside me. It seemed that my brother slept naked as well. “Let’s see…what were we talking about?”

“You said I looked good,” I replied, my eyes rolling back in my head with pleasure. I felt so…full. So content.

It made sense; I obviously lived for sex.

I was built to serve.

And _everyone_ had to love me.

They just had to.

“Uh huh,” my brother groaned. It seemed that he, too, had gotten distracted.

“And you said that if I wah-wah- _wasn’t_ your sister…”

I shuddered as I came again.

“Yeah…”

“That was it,” I said. “Then you closed the door and went to bed.”

“Ah,” my brother replied. “Right. So you want to know what I was going to say?”

My brother’s hands had returned to my fat tits. They felt _amazing_.

“I do,” I nodded. “Please.”

“It was nothing special,” he said with a shrug.

“Please…”

“Barely worth mentioning.”

“ _Please_ ,” I begged, and my brother looked me in the eyes. Tenderly, like he loved me. Like I was more than just his sister.

Like I was valuable property.

“You really want to know?”

“I doooo…” I said with a long sigh, another orgasm washing over me. God I was wet.

I was always wet.

“Very well,” he said, pulling out of me and standing up.

“Noooo,” I whined, but he shook his head.

“You wanted to know, sis.”

I fell back on his bed, reaching between my legs to touch myself. Before I could, I felt my brother’s grasp on my hand, his eyes burning into my head.

“You will never touch yourself again,” he said, his voice deep. Thick. Soft. “Your body is for other’s pleasure.”

I nodded, stunned.

“I will never touch myself again,” I repeated back. “My body is for other’s pleasure.”

The words felt like they imprinted on my brain, like they were a part of me now. I would never touch myself again. My body was for other’s pleasure.

I would never touch myself again.

My body was for other’s pleasure.

“You belong to me,” he said, and I blinked twice at the force of his words. “You will come when I desire you to.“

“I belong to you,” I echoed. “I will cum when you desire me to.”

Despite the fact that I was never again going to touch myself, despite being so turned on and unable to get myself off, I suddenly had an intense feeling of…fulfillment.

I’d found my owner.

I was valuable property (it was why I had to be safe), and property needs an owner. I’d found my owner—my brother.

Part of me felt like something was wrong, like this shouldn’t feel so natural, so normal.

But it did.

I was valuable property. Everyone loved me. They had to.

Everyone, including my brother.

I belonged to him.

I belonged to my brother. I was built to serve, I was always wet, and to serve was to obey. Now, at long last, I knew who I had to obey. Who I had to serve. Who owned me.

My brother.

I belonged to him, and I would come when he desired me to.

“You are a pair of tits,” he said, his words ringing through my skull. “That is your primary purpose.”

“I am a pair of tits,” I nodded. “That is my primary purpose.”

The rest of me deserved some attention too, of course, but it was impossible to deny—I was a pair of tits. The real, true me—the me that mattered. Some people are teachers, or dancers, or carpenters. Me? I was a pair of tits.

It was my primary purpose.

God I had huge boobs. I had huge boobs, and I was a pair of tits.

I was a pair of tits.

It was who I was. A pair of tits.

It was my primary purpose.

“You love to be punished,” my brother said, even as I was grappling with his previous declarations. “You strive to submit.”

“I love to be punished,” I gasped, feeling his words imprint themselves upon my soul. “I strive to submit.”

It was true. I loved to be punished. I was built to serve, and I would embrace my submissive nature. I strived to submit, and I loved to be punished.

A smile appeared on my brother’s face. “You are loved, you are precious, and you are mine.”

I mirrored his smile with my own. “I am loved, I am precious, I am yours.”

My brother owned me. I belonged to him—I was valuable property. _His_ property. And he loved me. I was valuable property, and my owner valued me highly. Everyone loved me, because of how precious I was.

I was loved. I was prescious.

I was his.

I belonged to him. I would come when he desired me to.

“You are the best possible version of yourself,” he said, reaching out to touch my face. “Obeying me thrills you; you worship my control.”

“I am the best possible version of myself,” I said, reaching up to touch my brother’s hand. “Obey you thrills me, and I worship my control.”

“Good girl,” he said, and I nodded.

“Yes,” I replied, a tear welling up in my eye. “I’m a good girl. I’m _your_ good girl.”

* * *

That was six months ago. Since then, life has been pretty amazing. I just feel so…loved. I mean, everyone loves me, of course, but there’s something about being loved by my brother.

I’m his. It’s as simple as that. I’ve tried to justify it past that, but I can’t. I mean, I obviously live for sex, but that shouldn’t mean that social norms don’t apply. I have well and truly embraced my submissive nature, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t…well, incest.

When it came down to it, it wasn’t about what’s normal, or even about what’s right. It was just about what made me happy.

It doesn’t hurt anyone, and it makes me happy. Truly it does—obeying my brother _thrills_ me. I’m built to serve, and that means I have to serve someone. Why my brother? Well, why not?

He keeps me safe, he loves me, and…like I said, I’m his.

Submitting to my brother, being his, submitting to him…I truly think it makes me the best possible version of myself. I worship his control. I worship _him_ , if I’m being honest. I’m built to serve, and who better than my brother to serve?

That’s not to say he’s the only one I spend time with. Everyone loves me, and my body is for other’s pleasure. I’m always wet, but I never touch myself.

I’m always wet, but my body’s for the pleasure of others.

It’s hard. Fat tits feel amazing…fortunately, there are plenty of fat tits out there. My brother allows me to be with whoever I want, as long as I’m safe. I’m valuable property, after all.

I spend as much time as I can at home, for a few reasons. Firstly, because I _hate_ having to keep my tits out of sight. At home, we have a simple rule: no clothing, not for me. I am, first and foremost, a pair of tits. Everyone knows, big boobs are sexy…and _god_ I have huge boobs.

It’s my primary purpose, but I try not to forget—the rest of me deserves some attention as well. I live for sex, and (as long as I’m safe), I get plenty of it. Mac and Angie, Carol (from my old work), my friend Merinda, the man on the bus…and if they’re all busy, it’s not hard to find other people to play with.

I quit my job, of course. I’m valuable property—my brother reminds me of how precious I am, each and every day—but ultimately, I’m a pair of tits, and I belong to my brother. I was built to serve, but not by going into an office and working a normal office job.

I need to be available to my brother at all times. I come when he desires me to. I belong to him. My primary purpose is to be a pair of tits.

Fat tits.

Huge boobs.

Although the rest of me deserves some attention as well.

To serve is to obey, and it thrills me to obey my brother. He makes enough money for both of us, so I can spend my time doing what I was put on this earth for—to submit. To obey. For sex.

To be punished.

I love to be punished. I _love_ it. Sounds contradictory, doesn’t it? How can you love something that is definitionally meant to be suffered?

Well, it took me a while to wrap my head around, but I finally worked it out. I’m built to serve. To serve is to obey. I strive to submit. I’ve embraced my submissive nature.

To be submissive is to give yourself up to someone else. I belong to my brother. I’m valuable property. I am his, and I am the best possible version of myself. But if I don’t belong to myself, how can I assess what the best possible version of myself is?

I can’t. And so while I know—I _know_ —that I’m the best possible version of myself (I’m precious. I’m valuable property. I’m loved. And god I have huge tits…) I also know that I’m always striving towards submission. What does that look like? I don’t know.

I’m not being glib, I honestly don’t know. Only my brother does. For I am his. I belong to him. Everything that I am, everything that I’ll ever be is _his_ , his to command, his to control. I worship his control. Obeying him thrills me. I’m built to serve, and to serve is to obey.

So in order to be the best possible version of myself (which I am) while belonging to someone else (which I do), I need him to control me. He needs to control who I am, what I am, and how I am.

How does he do that? Through punishment.

Whenever I fall short, in any way, my brother punishes me. And I want him to. No, more than want. I _love_ to be punished. Whenever I feel my brother’s hand spanking me, I know that I’m improving. I know that I’m getting closer to my ideal self.

I know that I am becoming even more valuable, even more precious for my brother.

I love it.

And when he allows me to cum—I cum when he desires me to—I can feel it, I can feel that I’m being my best self. I’m always wet. I live for sex. I was built to serve. I strive to submit. I am a pair of tits. That is my primary purpose.

_God_ I have huge boobs.


End file.
