Titty Kat and the Pearl Necklace

Titty Kat and the Pearl Necklace

Titty Kat and the Pearl Necklace

This is an ode to tiny tits.

If you prefer more--either in breast size or in action--then this might not be the story for you. However, if you believe the best things come in small packages and are a connoisseur of only the finest, most delicate breasts, this family-friendly story contains depictions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. If you find family members fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in naughty ways, then you probably should stop reading right about... now.

All characters in this novel are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead, or under the age of eighteen, is in your own dirty little mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. I wish.

If you are still reading and are not offended by SILF or BILF and believe siblings should behave in very naughty ways and that such misbehavior is hot, I hope you enjoy this naughty story.

I was never much of a Lothario. That doesn't mean a man can't dream...

When I began college, not only did I have a dream, but a goal. An ambitious goal, yet achievable: to feast upon a blonde bush.

After a few failed attempts, my eye improved until I could avoid wasting time with bleached-blondes and distinguish those whose curtains match the carpet. Late spring freshman year, I accomplished my modest goal with a girl who was otherwise nothing to write home about, but did have a wonderful, lush blonde bush!

Pleased with my success, for sophomore year, I set a more difficult goal. That year, I was determined to go down on a red bush. In some ways, a far simpler goal, as natural redheads are easy to spot, with their milky complexion, eyebrows like neon advertising signs and flashing bright eyes. At the same time, rare as finding one of these rare creatures is, with demand far exceeding supply, locating one not already snatched up by a boyfriend is slightly more exhausting than a unicorn hunt.

Just before final exams, though, perseverance won out, and I met Rose, a true American Beauty Red Rose. For the next year, while my friends ate pizza and hamburger, I munched on firebush. Then, at the end of junior year, she dumped me. To make matters worse, she ditched me for a dude who was colorblind! He literally could not distinguish between the colors red and blue, so for all he knew, he was eating blue bush and sucking on Smurf nipples!

It was enough to destroy my faith in womankind. I swore off dating through the summer, and when I returned for my senior year, had no interest in again exposing myself to that sort of indignity. Worse things have happened than spending a year in college as a monk.

Besides, this year, I wouldn't be alone.

New students streamed into freshmen dorms, laden with boxes and suitcases filled with treasured positions and new clothes for a new life. Some came with their boyfriends, others with their parents. But they all came, in droves.

On the second floor of the freshman women's dorm is where I found what I was looking for. There, a nerdy girl with tragic hair was digging through a box.

"Anyone need some help moving anything?"

She spun around at the sound of my voice. Her eyes twinkled. "About time a strong guy showed up to help with the heavy lifting."

How can I describe Kat? Imagine a girl who was one answer short of having a perfect SAT score and did all her clothes shopping at that secret store that must exist where only the nerdiest kids in school were aware of its location. A sitcom stereotype of a female nerd. Petite and slender enough to be mistaken for a middle-schooler, a figure most charitably termed flat. Her hairdresser must be a war criminal--somehow, cut both too short and too long simultaneously. And she's Korean, although most people can't tell the difference between a Japanese and Malaysian woman.

Only after taking all that in, if you are still looking, you'll notice under the tragically geometric bangs a quite cute face. Not many people expect that and give up looking before they spot it.

Seeing me, she flashed a beautiful smile, the special one she saves only for me. The smile I have seen for my entire life. Kat is my little sister.

Technically, she is my adopted sister. I am a blue-eyed white boy. Before I was born, I must have been messing around inside our mom and somehow fucked up her uterus or vagina or something. Not sure of the details and never asked out of guilt and embarrassment. Intent on having a son and a daughter, but with her son having ruined her reproductive system, they adopted a 6-week-old Korean girl when I was three. We have been inseparable ever since.

Until college. Kat had always promised to join me at the state school where I went, but I figured she was joking and would accept one of the scholarships offered by Harvard or Yale or Oxford rather than keeping a promise to attend college with a brother who wasn't half as smart as her. But she wasn't kidding, and now we were reunited.

She ran into my arms, flinging herself against me with all the force a body weighing 93 pounds soaking wet can muster, and she was not wet. Far as I could tell.

"It's great to see you--and not just because all my stuff is still out in the car."

"Great to see you, too, Kat." We held onto each other for a minute or so until she put me to good use as her pack mule.

Without skipping a beat, we were back where we left off, close as ever. After a campus tour, I introduced her to some friends and we settled into a new routine, like Siamese twins, except neither twins nor Siamese. No one understood it, because on paper and just looking at us, we seemed to have nothing in common. But a bond between brother and sister cannot be explained by either words or blood. And after what I'd been through, a sister was far superior to a girlfriend.

Kat yearned to experience everything college had to offer, and I was happy to indulge her. When she expressed interest in checking out a sorority party, though, it set off alarm bells. I knew sorority girls could be like. How judgmental and cruel. Kat didn't stand a chance. But I had an idea.

"Okay, but sororities are looking for girls who are like them. First, you will need a makeover." As an experiment, I pulled her hair back into a ponytail, with remarkable results. The tragedy of her bangs notwithstanding, a cute Korean girl with a ponytail is hard to beat.

Two sororities were elite and wouldn't consider anyone whose parents were in ours' income bracket. At the other end were the slutty sororities, where she would neither fit in nor want to. In between, some were preppy--this was back in the mid-80s, after all--some pretentious, and a couple were relatively normal where she had a chance of fitting in. In any event, she'd raise the house GPA of any sorority by a full point, but she still needed to pass as a sorority girl.

At the mall, she modeled a few party dresses. After I shot down a dozen she picked, she let me choose, and what I picked was more appropriate, fashionable and showed a bit more skin than she was comfortable.

"Trust me," I assured her.

"I always have, so why stop now?"

A sapphire-blue dress with a halter top looked amazing on her. The color looked great against her skin, and it hugged her butt enough to show how nice it was--something her shapeless, knee length nerd skirts concealed so effectively, I might have been the only person who knew the fine shape hidden beneath. The top needed to be taken in, since it was made for the average girl, but was otherwise perfect.

"How do I look?"

"Give me a spin to see." An awkward, self-conscious turn from a girl unaccustomed to being gawked at in a positive way. Looking good from the front, the side, turning... Holy shit! From one side, the top flapped loose, giving a fantastic view of side boob for a good 3-4 seconds. And what a boob she had! Released from the loose-fitting clothes which typically hid them, it was pert, impossibly firm and bigger than I imagined. Maybe a solid A. From what I could see, the nipple was high and fine.

And then, as she continued her turn, it was gone. Although I tried to maneuver back into the right viewing position, the dress never cooperated again. But she bought it and sent it for tailoring to fit her diminutive, yet alluring bust.

The party she wanted to attend was a sorority I knew. In fact, I dated a girl there back in freshman year. One of the bleached blondes. A cool girl, despite the false advertising, and we had remained friends. My fingers crossed, we entered the fray.

Once Kat warmed up, she took to the girls and they to her. A little alcohol helped. We ended up in a small room where a sister was telling a long story about a date the previous week which had gone all kinds of hilariously wrong. I'll skip to the chase.

"So, after I had told him 'no' in every way I knew how--including Spanish, which is exactly the same as English, so he had no trouble understanding--he looks at me with his little puppy-dog eyes and says, 'Can I at least titty-fuck you?'"

Several of the girls said at the same time, with a gasp, "What did you say?"

In her syrupy-sweet Southern drawl, the girl answered, "What do you think I said? I looked him straight in his beady little eyes and said, 'My Daddy gave me a pearl necklace, and that is the only one I will ever wear!'"

Everyone burst out laughing at once. Everyone, that is, except Kat. Brilliant as that girl is, she wore this odd look of confusion, as if the punch line was in some exotic language she had never heard spoken.

"Best of all, it's true," the girl said, sending us into another round of laughter.

"What kind of pearl necklace?" one girl managed to get out.

"Well, that is between me and my Daddy, and is no one else's business!"

We were all doubled over. One girl fell out of her chair, which only sent the rest of us into more fits, and that was the only part that made sense to Kat, although she apparently didn't appreciate the slapstick much more than the main joke.

At the end of the night, as I walked Kat back to freshman dorm, we talked about who she met, how much she enjoyed her first college party, the girls. "You were pretty as any of 'em, and prettier than most," I told her.

"Aww, you're so sweet, even if you only are saying that because you're my brother."

"Maybe so, but it's also true."

"I have a question. I didn't want to ask, because everyone else seemed to understand and I didn't want to come across as a dork, even though I am--despite your makeover."

"Alright, shoot."

"When that girl, Debra, I think, was telling that story, I didn't get it. What is titty, ahem," she said, avoiding cussing, as always, "and what does the necklace her father gave her have to do with anything?"

It was at exactly that moment I understood how naïve my little sister was. Sure, she wasn't the type to give handjobs at Math club, but I assumed she at least would know what a handjob is. How is it possible for a college girl to have never even heard of titty-fucking?

But this is not the kind of information my little Sis should learn on the streets. Awkward as it might be, it was oddly exciting. And, when you think about it, teaching about titty-fucking is what big brothers are for.

"Let's sit down. It's time we have the Sex Talk." Settled down on one of the benches found all around campus, I said, "Sometimes, when a couple is very much in love--or at least in lust--a boy will have certain urges which he wants a girl to take care of. Maybe she isn't ready to have sex or to give him oral sex yet. Maybe they forgot the condoms. Or he might just want to try something different."

"What some couples do is the guy puts his penis between the girl's boobs and, well, does pretty much what he does when he has intercourse, only instead of being inside her, he is between her boobs."

"Oh, I see. What, um... oh, yeah. Wow. Okay. Is it... fun?"

"Well, it's a combination of two of any guy's favorite things: boobs and sex. So yeah, it's a lot of fun. Ahem," I said, worried I might sound too enthusiastic for the circumstances.

"Have you ever... titty--you know--a girl?"

Remember that natural blonde from my freshman year? She was determined to hold onto her virginity until marriage. She did love having her clitoris licked, though, and was more than willing to reciprocate with her hand or mouth. She had these nice, fleshy boobs right on the line between B-cups and Cs, so one night I decided to take full advantage of them.

"I have."

"Did you... like it?"

"Oh, yeah! It was..." I checked myself, remembering I wasn't bragging to my buddies, I was discussing titty-fucking with my kid sister. "It was quite pleasant."

"I bet," she said with narrowed, judgmental eyes, then shook her head as if chasing a nightmare away. "Oh, I really don't like thinking of you with other girls. Especially with your... between her.... So, what does the girl get out of this... arrangement?"

"A pearl necklace." Again looking confused as a fish on an airplane, I explained the term to her. "When the guy finishes, sometimes his, um, sperm will come as drops on her neck that look like little pearls. A pearl necklace." Or, in my case, a pearl puddle, but that seemed better to skip over.

"Eww, gross!" The gears were whirling now. "So, in Debra's story about Daddy giving her a pearl necklace, did she mean her Daddy...???"

Sometimes super-intelligent people overthink humor. "Thedouble entendreis what made it so funny. As she said, it is between her and her daddy whether he gave her a string of cultured pearls for graduation, or..."

She laughed and waved a hand above her. "Right over my head." But she was still processing this tidbit I had given her. "How does it work, because unless a girl is wearing a bra and is pretty big, boobs don't just, you know, form a natural tunnel?"

"Well," I demonstrated using accordion-hands, "you just hold them in the right place, or the girl can hold them for you. That's part of the fun."

"This has been quite informative. Weird but educational. I had no idea people did that.Coulddo that. Not that I ever could."

"Why not?"

With an eyeroll, she said, "Since I don't have titties, no one canblankmine, right?"

Her comment drew my eyes down involuntarily. Her dress, sexy as it was, gave more a hint of boob than actual boob--at least since the tailor had taken in that good side. But far be it from me to make my little sister feel inadequate. Girls face so much pressure about their looks, their bodies--the first time she ever looked truly sexy, I could not sit there and allow her to bad-mouth her boobies. Particularly ones so damn gorgeous--they deserved to be good-mouthed!

"Sure, you have titties! Very nice ones, if you ask me, and I bet if you pushed them together, you could..." my hand moved towards her chest on their own. "Maybe we shouldn't..."

"No, we definitely shouldn't."

The rest of the walk home, we chatted about all sorts of things. The party, school, everything except her tits. But her doubts about her equipment made me curious. I couldn't help but keep glancing down, trying to work out the logistics. Although small, it seemed within the realm of possibility...

That night, sleep was impossible. While trying to imagine the potential, the only way I could do so was to imagine my erect cock between her breasts as she pushed them together. Or I pushed them around it. Flashbacks of her side-boob flooded my head, competing with this new image of my rod between her titties. My cock took the hint, of course, and was hard as a rock all night while I tried to imagine if they were sufficient to do the trick. What began as an exercise in logistical possibility became, in my dark bed, an image I could not wipe from my head.

Nor did I want it out of my head.

Which brings us to the second problem. Every time I thought about my sister's titties or about fucking them, I got hard. This was a very big problem, because I could not stop thinking about them. Sitting there in class the next day, I found James Madison's views on the limits of presidential power a much less interesting topic than my sister's tiny titties. Note to self: don't wear khaki pants to avoid pitching another tent in class.

Walking across campus, my eyes drifted from co-ed to co-ed, focused at chest level. Big boobs didn't capture my attention, though. I was searching for titties her size. There weren't many. If any of the girls on campus had breasts as small as Kat's, maybe they stuffed their bras with Kleenex? That's a shame, too, because all I wanted to see were little tits.

My brain rationalized it as just a need to compare, to help imagine what was possible.

Tits. Tiny tits. The smaller the better!

Not since I saw Raquel Welch inMother, Jugs and Speedin junior high had I been so obsessed with tits. Back when I saw that movie, in which Raquel played a character named Jugs, I knew nothing about titty-fucking, just obsessed by her generous breasts. Of course, titty-fucking Raquel would be no problem. Kat, on the other hand, presented more of a challenge.

College is all about curiosity and questioning and learning, so my initial interest was probably only natural, almost academic. But this had gotten much deeper than mere curiosity. My sister's titties called to me like Sirens from my Greek mythology class. Those Sirens caused madness or disastrous shipwrecks on the rocky coast, and I felt myself heading for disaster.

Freshman year, I had a goal. Sophomore year, a dream. Junior year was a nightmare, and Senior year a nightmarish obsession. This was heading in the wrong direction.

When old enough to start cooking, Kat had connected with her culture by learning to cook Asian food. By the time she was a high school freshman, she was damn good. Korean was her specialty. I called it her Seoul food. Now that she was back in town with me, eager to show off her skills, she invited me to her dorm to try out her electric wok. Her room smelled like the best Korean restaurant in town.

She was even wearing one of the school shirts I had bought for her, both to show school pride and as part of her makeover. The one I really wanted to get her was not available in women's small, so I got her a girl's size, and it was a bit too small, but she wore it anyways, and I couldn't have been happier. It was tight, leaving no doubt that she wasn't wearing a bra. It was more titillation than a man can withstand.

We sat down at her little table, covered with Banchan, rice and several kinds of kimchee--the kind hot enough to melt your face off and several hotter than that. Her shirt was tight enough to outline the contours of slightly puffy nipples through the fabric.

"How is it?"

"Beautiful," I answered.

"Do you like it?"

"Love it," I said.

"But you haven't even tried any yet."

"I mean, they look amazing." Since it was possible she assumed I was looking down at the food, rather than a few inches higher across the table, she didn't seem to catch my slip-up. "I really want to try it--I mean, it's been so long since we had your Seoul food."

After stuffing in a couple of mouthfuls, I said, "Really delicious." This time, I was referring to the food.

"Glad you enjoy it as much as before. I was really looking forward to cooking for you, and if you want, we can make this a regular thing!"

"I would love that," I said. "Better than the dining hall, any day!"

Kat rarely wore a bra, a very distracting habit that came to my attention over the next few days. Gravity had yet to grab her pert little titties, and she probably assumed they were too small to ever be grabbed. In fact, they were the perfect size for grabbing. Sure, to the casual observer it might look during puberty, two weeks after her breasts began sprouting, they just stopped growing, but I had grown a newfound appreciation for such fine beauty.