Twins in College

Twins in College Ch. 47: Breasts

I still do not know why, but suddenly, out of the blue, I was so much more aware of them than ever before:

Breasts.

Granted, I had two breasts of my own: breasts which I loved to present to my big brother, breasts which I preferred to have unhindered for his gaze and for his touch. I enjoyed having him massage my breasts, lick my breasts, bite my breasts, squeeze my breasts, rest his head upon my breasts, and even severely whip my breasts.

When in public, I enjoyed the attention others would often grant to my breasts. I especially liked the reactions of complete strangers when I wore a top with a plunging neckline, revealing a good amount of feminine flesh while still remaining socially acceptable, providing others with a nice view of my cleavage. I also liked the way I looked when I wore a tight-fitting top, my breasts straining as if fighting to be free of the garment. While I did not swim very often, I enjoyed wearing a bikini, displaying my breasts to the general public in a way which was socially acceptable yet which left scant little to the imagination.

Suddenly, as I crossed my college campus between classes, the breasts surrounding me all beckoned to me, all demanded that I pay them my full attention: small breasts, average breasts, large breasts, high breasts, low breasts, covered breasts, nearly-uncovered breasts... The eye candy was abundant, making me ever more aware of my own breasts as I crossed the campus.

A pair of bouncing breasts captured my attention as I spotted a young woman enjoying a late-morning jog across campus. I tried not to stare, tried not to look too intensely, while still admiring how they moved underneath her loose-fitting t-shirt. Tied back in a ponytail, the bobbing of her hair added to the overall visual appeal as she jogged toward me, and I had to consciously restrain myself from turning my head to watch her pass me on the wide sidewalk.

Ahead of me, a college girl was on her back on one of the stone benches, her fingers interlaced beneath her head, the position causing her breasts to strain nicely against her fairly tight shirt. Discretely, I kept an eye on her, admiring the twin curves as they rose and fell from her chest, admiring the gentle rise and fall that signaled her breathing.

Is this how my big brother views me?

I wondered.

Is this what he sees when I lay around nude for him? Is this how he reacts whenever he openly admires my chest, whether I am wearing clothes or not?

I slowed a little, wanting to reach out to the girl on the stone bench and touch her - specifically, touch her breasts. I wanted to feel her breasts beneath my hands, feel their pliability as I closed my hands around them, squeezed them, kneaded them, manipulated them.

...much like how my big brother would adoringly manhandle my breasts.

I longed for my big brother's touch just then, to have him suddenly come up behind me, reach around me, and grab my breasts, initially squeezing them hard enough to be uncomfortable, then simply cupping them with his hands essentially forming a human bra as I leaned back into his chest.

I glanced at the college girl on the bench one more time, and noticed her slyly glancing at me as well. I smiled, and she seemed startled initially before she returned the smile. It was a shared smile of recognition, so very similar to the smiles I had so often shared with my big brother: a shared smile of two individuals thinking the exact same thing.

...and she and I were not even fraternal twins.

At last, I made it to my class. The professor was fortunately male, or else I would have had yet another pair of breasts beckoning to me throughout the hour. As it was, my mind kept drifting, kept envisioning the many breasts I had seen on the way to class. As soon as the class had ended, I chatted briefly with one of my teammates about the next intramural volleyball match, then started back to Berkeley proper to work an afternoon shift at the video store.

However, the breasts beckoned to me yet again, their appeal more and more alluring. I may as well have been a drug addict, craving a fix. Eventually, I simply could not take it any more.

I had to touch a pair of breasts, even if they were only my own.

I practically dove into the Linus Chemistry Building, and quickly spotted the restroom. I locked myself into a stall, took off my blouse and my bra, and began to fondle my breasts.

My nipples were as hard as bullets, and each brush of my hands across my nipples closed the connection, sending electrifying sensations surging throughout my body. I thought yet again of the jogger, and especially of the college girl who had been laying on the stone bench, and imagined that I was actually touching their breasts...

I was amazingly wet; I wondered if my thong could actually contain my desire. Somehow, I was able to remain quiet, so as not to call any undue attention to myself even as I heard a few people enter and exit the restroom.

It was with some sadness that I finally donned the bra and blouse anew, and made my way to the video store.

Upon arriving home that evening, I found my big brother cooking spaghetti for dinner. I stepped up behind him and hugged him tightly, enjoying the feel of my breasts pressing into his back.

"My breasts are yours, Master," I whispered as he stirred the spaghetti.

On my Master's order, I spent the evening naked, my breasts on display for him throughout dinner and as we studied together at the table. It was with great pride that I was later chained to the wall of the basement playroom, my back arched, my breasts thrust forward to provide better targets for my Master's flogger, the whipping light and erotic to cause me to moan and writhe sensuously. And that night in my bed, his hands seemingly never left my breasts as he made love to me, and when he could hold back no longer, he withdrew from my body and spilt his passion upon my heaving breasts.

The next day, as I entered the BART station on the way to class, I recognized that my "fetish" with breasts had passed. Just as quickly as it had begun, it had come to an end. That saddened me in a way, but the previous twenty-four hours had certainly left me feeling more feminine than ever before.