The next morning, Monica was bigger. With her much slower growth these days, she’d long since stopped reporting her daily measurements. Once in a great while she’d give an update, always the day her height reached the next even inch. Five eleven had come three days before, and Monica had teased him unmercifully with the news – about how she was finally almost as tall as him, about how she’d treat him once they were the same height. “I promise not to be TOO rough with you of course – I’ll have to remember how fragile you’ll be compared to me. But come to think of it, maybe I WILL take you up on that arm wrestling match…little brother.” It was odd then, how today she simply ate her breakfast across the table from him in silence after such a large and obvious growth spurt.
Kyle finished his cereal, and decided to pour himself another bowl. His clothes didn’t quite fit today. Well, he HAD been eating less, and there was one easy way to fix that. Monica watched him as he ate, a mysterious twinkling in her dark eyes. So intense was her stare that eventually Kyle asked her what, did he have something on his face?
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just looking at you. Thinking how cute you are. Thinking how much I love my little bro…how grateful I am for all your help.”
Kyle felt warmed by this. It was something she used to tell him all the time – except for the part about being cute – and almost never did anymore since her treatment. He realized he had missed it. “It’s nothing, you know…that’s what brothers are for, aren’t they ?”
“I suppose they are.” She shrugged, and smiled that mysterious smile of hers.
“Right. Well, what brought THAT on?”
“Just…noticing how things have…changed.” She stood, and moved to carry his dishes away. As she bent over him her breast plushed very softly against his shoulder, and her blond hair, now three quarters of the way down her back, fell into his face. “Oops, sorry about that.” She gave him a teasing smile, obviously waiting for him to complain.
He sighed. “Okay, get it over with,” Kyle remarked, hoping his weary tone concealed his sudden arousal. “Go on and gloat.”
She looked at him curiously. Kyle found he couldn’t tell if her innocence was feigned or not. “Gloat? About what, little brother?”
He sighed, louder this time. “You’re finally as tall as me. It’s totally obvious. I know you’ve been wanting this for MONTHS. So come on, rub it in my face why don’t you?”
“Do you WANT me to rub it in your face?” she asked blandly. He was uncertain if the innuendo was intentional…though she did bend very slightly as she spoke, bringing her large, plump breasts inches from his cheek.
“No, but I don’t want you sneaking around about it either.” A thought occurred to him, and when he went on it was in a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you being coy about it because, you know, you…touched yourself last night? Is that why you grew?”
Her eyes hardened, but she looked more amused than displeased. “Oh, and what if I had, huh Kyle? Would you stop me? Hmm? Would you come rushing into my room late at night, grab my naughty hand, turn me over your knee and teach me a lesson?” She laughed playfully. “I think I’d very much like that. Or, at least I’d like it if you tried.”
“You know I’m supposed to keep you from cheating,” he said, his voice weak and watery.
She ignored him, and leaned in very, very close, until his nose was nearly resting in her cleavage. “Besides, I don’t think YOU have much room to lecture ME about masturbating. Not after what you did last night, Kyle-y poo.” She put both hands on his shoulders, and lowered herself until her lips brushed against his ear. “Did you know you were moaning my name? Ahh – I bet you didn’t, did you? But it was so cute! ‘Oh Monica, Monica! Yes…bigger! Please bigger!’” She let out a mockingly sensual groan, and nibbled on his earlobe. Abruptly she stood, grabbing his dishes. As she walked away, her gait was overtly sexual.
“But no. Since you have the temerity to ask: I did NOT touch myself last night. Nor have I since my follow-up. I’ve been good. If I happen to be I’m bigger today, well…that isn’t the reason. Now, are you going to take your big sister shopping today, or are you going to have to watch me slowly outgrow all of YOUR clothes – just like you did with mom and dad’s?” She tugged at the seam of the nylon workout shirt she was wearing – Kyle’s. The garment almost fit, except that her breasts lifted it enough that several inches of her midriff stood out.
The question was rhetorical. More, it was an open invitation from Monica to change the subject, without dwelling on the fact that she’d caught him last night, or that she knew just what his fantasies had been about. It would cost him more of their meager spending money, but just then it was a price he was happy to pay. Without another word he left the table and dressed himself for the mall. It took some time – most of it spent lacing and relacing his sneakers. He just couldn’t seem to get them tight enough.
At the mall, she led the way into a boutique that was well out of their price range. He found a place to lean against the wall outside the dressing room, feeling out of temper, yet strangely giddy. When Monica emerged, she wore a flimsy white button-up open to the middle of her chest, a matching knee-length skirt, and, worst of all, four-inch heels.
She frowned at him from her new 6’4” vantage, crossing her arms over her breasts. “No,” she said.
“No?” Kyle stared up at her in confusion. Her scent seemed especially strong all of a sudden…it was really making his head spin. Or perhaps that was her unexpected increase in height.
Monica pointed to an unoccupied bench, closer to the dressing room door. “I want you to sit down while I show off, Kyle. I’m already taller than you – with a little help.” Here she pointed at her shoes, and grinned. “But I’d really like for you to see me from…a lower perspective.”
For some reason this irked Kyle. He had been feeling a bit off all day, as if there were something wrong with the way he was viewing the world. Seeing Monica in those shoes was bad enough - the idea of ‘a lower perspective’ wasn’t at all agreeable just then.
Monica watched him, smiling playfully. In the instant he opened his mouth to protest, she leaned her body against him, lightly pinning him to the wall. He was certainly strong enough to push her away, but as surprised as he was the idea never occurred to him. “Oh Monica,” she moaned breathlessly, as she grinded herself against his thigh. “Bigger! Please bigger…mmm!”
Her voice was darkly sensual, and loud enough that several heads turned toward the two of them. He caught more than a few jealous looks – apparently some of the men in the store were envious of Kyle having a statuesque beauty hanging all over him, moaning. He blushed furiously.
Laughing, Monica released him. “Sorry little brother. But you have to admit – you earned that one. Now come on, do this for me. I’ll make it up to you when we get home, I promise.”
Doing his best to hide his erection, Kyle obeyed. Monica tried on several outfits for him: a couple of low cut summer dresses, a halter top (she complained that it was way too small for her chest, and demonstrated how easy it was for her to jounce out) and even, as her grand finale, a bikini that was at least two sizes too small. She posed each for him, asking him how he looked, making him answer in full and complete sentences. And every outfit had at least one thing in common – each was accentuated with those same four-inch heels.
They left the store without buying anything, much to Kyle’s relief. While Monica perused the aisles at the anchor store, he took several minutes alone in the men’s room to calm himself, splashing cold water on his face.
Monica was even more affectionate than usual that day, even after they returned home. She was always touching him, surprising him with hugs, stroking his shoulders, pressing herself against him. Sometimes her touches were less than appropriate.
Kyle needed to stop his out-of-control sister – he knew that. Yet he found himself utterly unable to voice an objection. Each time he set his will to the task, it would evaporate the moment she laid her dark, almond eyes on him. It was hopeless anyway – she would only tease him with those overtly sexual moans again, and he would melt into a puddle. Late in the day, he even found himself reciprocating. Opening his arms so she could rest her head in his lap as they watched a movie, squeezing her in a bit more than brotherly fashion as she caught him in the hallway with a surprise hug. And he found himself following her from room to room, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her for more than a few minutes.
She made dinner that evening – a fantastic spread – even though it was his turn. She then proceeded to do all the washing too, despite their long-held precedent that when one of them cooked, the other would do the dishes. “You’ve had a hard day,” she explained sympathetically, patting him on the head. “Just sit there and relax for tonight, okay Kyle-y?”
On Friday of that week, Monica came to breakfast and casually announced she was six foot two. If she had ever been six one, the height had come and gone without fanfare. For his part, Kyle thought it was a very sudden spurt – Monica looked MUCH bigger than the day before. She stared him in the eye with a teasing smirk for many seconds, daring him to ask, daring him to object.
He should’ve said something, he really should’ve. He didn’t. Her smell was overpowering all that day, and her new and improved body was beyond amazing. She was toned, curvy, athletic, with an enormous, pert ass, and breasts that must’ve been at least F-cups that wobbled prettily with every step she took. She was far more attractive than any girl in all but his wildest fantasies.
On Thursday the week after that, she was suddenly six four. She made sure to remind him of how tall she had been in her shoes – and that she would now be that height, permanently. Kyle nodded, trying to keep his head straight. He didn’t think her smell had ever been that pleasant…or that strong. As part of her proclamation, she declared that her pitiful little bed was much too small for her now. From then on, she would be sleeping in their parents’ room. By then, Monica was doing nearly all the chores around the house. It only seemed fair.
As her size increased, the need for her milking had grown almost exponentially – as had the way she teased him while she did. She rarely bothered to turn her back at all anymore as he watched. Instead she would daintily conceal her thumb-sized tits with the palms of her hands, or beneath the crook of her elbow. This wasn’t actually good concealment, and it was common for him to see much more of his sister than was proper. From the way she would look him full in the face as she tended to herself, Monica clearly knew it.
Sometimes she would tell him at length how good milking felt. “It’s like I’m having a tiny little orgasm on my chest,” she confessed breathlessly one afternoon, as she began to fill her third bottle. “And it just lasts, and lasts, and LASTS.”
The description of the sensation reminded him, with painful clarity, of the way he’d felt after tasting her milk…how the feeling had lasted and lasted, how he’d been able to cum so many times in such a short span. Even with all of Monica’s teasing as inspiration, and her entrenched starring role in the theater of his imagination, he found he couldn’t get himself off more often than once every few hours. Day after day he found himself thinking about the effects of her milk, how amazing it had made him feel – the endless stamina that had filled him, the overwhelming pleasure. It was a kind of torture, seeing her fill bottle after bottle, day after day, and then dutifully wash it all down the drain.
One day, as she sat milking on their parents’ bed, he asked her about this practice. “You know,” she moaned, as the first thick spray of the session came, “You really should read that pamphlet one of these days.”
“Suppose you could give me the short version?” he asked, his mouth dry. At Monica’s request he no longer tried to conceal the bulge in his pants while he chaperoned her. He was terrible at keeping it hidden, she’d explained, and his attempts made it all the more awkward. Anyway he might as well just relax.
Monica sighed, and gave him a loving, if exasperated smile. “I SUPPOSE I’ll educate you.” She made herself more comfortable, with feet resting firmly on the floor, legs spread wide. Today she wore nothing but a pair of too-small pink polka-doted panties, with a very noticeable and growing wet spot in the center. She made no attempt to cover herself otherwise…her naked breasts rose and fell gently in time with her breathing. “You have some idea at least how full of hormones I am right now, yes? It’s all I can do to control myself on a daily basis. Breast milk, even for NORMAL women, is almost nothing BUT hormones. Things to made the baby calm, to make it devoted to its mother, to help its metabolism, so forth. MY milk has so many exotic chemicals floating in it that it’s classified as a controlled substance.”
Kyle laughed.
“No, I’m serious. When I told the doctor I was experiencing lactation symptoms, he made me sign a form saying I’d dispose and not distribute. It had a Drug Enforcement Agency seal at the top and everything. I don’t know WHY someone would want to drink it…or what it would do for that matter. Probably nothing good.”
She paused long enough to switch out the already-full bottle attached to the pump with an empty one. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Fair. So…what movie do you want to see tonight?”
Despite Monica’s warnings, Kyle’s obsession with her milk continued to grow. The next week, as she suddenly swelled to six and a half feet tall, he began to dream about her almost every night. The way she touched him in those dreams, with milk flowing freely down her chest…as good as it felt, he knew it was a pale imitation of the night he’d tasted her. He always woke unsatisfied, and stroked himself to a disappointing orgasm before drifting back to sleep.