This is a story of true love and sexual relationship between two young adults. It is a fantasy and a fabrication and simply could not happen at this late stage of the millenium. It includes all too graphic descriptions of very, very large breasts and other more or less private parts. If you are younger than the characters in this story, you should certainly not be reading this kind of thing. You mustn't even download it and save it to floppy to read when you are old enough.
� 1998 Axolotl

"They've seen us!" Paul came scrambling down the bank in a shower of twigs and pebbles and broke into a stumbling run along the sand, which was already drying after the squall. It was heavy going, and Paul's calves and thighs protested as he drove himself up the shelving beach. "Ginnie, they've seen us! It's a ship."
      Ginnie crawled out into the sunlight, shading her eyes. Simultaneously, a rocket soared into the distant sky and burst with a thump which echoed off the hills. "A ship? Where is it?"
      Paul arrived, shoulders drooping as he gasped for every breath. "Round the headland still. A few miles offshore, and it might take them hours before they can launch a boat and find a way into the lagoon. But they were flashing a light. I waved my pants at them. I think they were sending Morse, but I can't read that stuff. And I don't know semaphore, either." He stopped, panting, and turned to see if the ship had appeared yet.
      "If they've got a telescope, they'd have gotten the message," Ginnie laughed. "Where did you leave your pants?"
      "Up there on the hill. I was too desperate to get back and tell you. Come up and see. If they've got a telescope, they'll see you and get here before sunset instead of waiting for morning."
      "I'm trying to get out," Ginnie complained. "It's not so easy as it used to be."
      Paul leaned into the hut and offered a hand. Ginnie grasped it. His hand always felt so strong and reassuring. So leathery, so tough, so horny. Hers had remained soft and feminine even after all these months on the island. Their island.
      She let him help her to her feet, feeling the crunchy sand warm between her toes. Paul's head only came up to just above her shoulder. It must be hard for him, pulling her upright. She was so much heavier now.
      "Let's go, lover. Lead the way." He scampered ahead, tugging at her hand. "Hey, steady! I can't run, you know..." He was a couple of years older than her, but he was just like a kid in so many ways.
      It took them ten minutes to reach the top of Telegraph Hill. The ship was hove to, still several miles off, but obviously stopped. An off-white dribble of smoke rose straight up from her funnel.
      "What is it, a liner?"
      "Cruise ship, by the look of her." Paul squinted into the sun. "They still haven't put a boat down. Maybe they're worried about getting in before nightfall. I wish they could tell us what they're doing."
      "There's a light flashing," said Ginnie. "They must have been watching for us. With a telescope. Wave your trousers at them again."
      "They must be able to see us. Clearly enough to know we're back up here on the hill. Er, Ginnie..."
      "You think I ought to cover up?"
      "Wrap something around yourself, maybe. If they can see us with a telescope, they'll be fighting on the bridge to get a look at you."
      "I don't have any clothes with me. Not up here. In fact, I've got nothing that really fits me any more."
      Paul retrieved his pants and gave them a wave. He was rewarded by a flurry of code from the ship, and a few moments later, a prolonged blast from the fog siren.
      "They're pleased to see us," Ginnie interpreted freely.
      "Not as pleased as we are to see them. I suppose we need to get down and start making preparations to get off here. They'll be coming ashore at crack of dawn, probably." He turned to her and held his arms wide. Ginnie enveloped him in a hug. His face was lost in her stupendous bosom. She smelled of fresh sweat. He wasn't complaining.
      "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, lover, we'd better go somewhere less public! Ahh, you are thinking what I think you're thinking! You'll never be able to get your pants back on, not with that thing waving around like that. Come on, let's get back home!"
      Ginnie always referred to their little hut as 'home'. It was a modest enough dwelling, but it was all theirs. It had taken them three weeks to make it weatherproof, using the drifting wreckage, planks and wooden pallets. And the empty food boxes, of course. It wouldn't have been a proper shipwreck without all those convenient boxes of food.
      There had been fresh meat and vegetables, loads of dried stuff still in its wrappers and cartons, frozen food of all kinds. It had been a stroke of luck that the ship had broken in half and that the stern had drifted ashore and broken up on the same island as the two of them, as they clung to their life raft. What had happened to the rest of the crew and the few passengers, they had no idea. They were too busy being grateful for all these provisions.
      It was Ginnie, ever practical, who pointed out that the frozen stuff wouldn't keep, and she it was who had built the crude chilling room, diverting the constant trickle of fresh water from the spring so it could slowly evaporate and keep the frozen goods in almost usable condition as long as possible.
      "We'll still have to eat it all, though," she had said. "I've laid it out so we just have to gradually eat our way into the store. It's no good throwing anything away. We'll just have to binge until all the perishable stuff's gone, then start rationing ourselves. Whatever, we've got enough to last us for ages. And they're sure to find us before long. They've got satellites and things," she added with that delightful vagueness of hers.
      It was as well they liked each other, Ginnie had often thought. It wasn't as if there was anyone else. If it wasn't exactly paradise, there were certainly far worse ways of spending one's time. By day, they gorged themselves on a bewildering variety of foodstuffs. By night, being forced to share a confined space, they made love.
      Not immediately, of course. They were both virgins when they dragged themselves up the beach and sprawled exhausted in the sand. They remained pure for almost a week. They were working too hard building their shelter and securing the drifting flotsam from the wreck. In the end, it was the fire that did it. Paul had a box of matches in the pocket of his galley assistant's trousers. Even after laying them out on a rock in the hot sun, it took several days before they had dried out sufficiently to risk trying to strike one. As the first match flared into life and immediately spluttered out, they realised they were going to have to build a fire and keep it burning day and night, like the Olympic flame.
      That night, by the flickering glow, Ginnie took Paul into her arms and laid him gently on his back.
      "Have you ever done this before?" she had asked him softly.
      "No," he whispered. It could have been much worse, she realised. He might so easily have answered, 'done what?'
      And their first inexpert fumblings gradually became more practised, as Mother Nature took a hand, sighed resignedly, and taught them how it was done. Since then, with nothing else to do at nights, they had discovered a few ways of doing it that dear old Mother Nature herself probably hadn't thought of. Paul's wiry strength and Ginnie's wondrous inventiveness, staggering athleticism and incredible flexibility produced positions that must have made Mother Nature's eyes water.
      And all the time, as the weeks passed, they ate enough for a small army. They were working hard enough to burn up a tremendous amount of energy, but they were eating enough to put on a substantial amount of healthy flesh. The odd thing was that Paul remained more or less the same weight as when they arrived. Ginnie didn't. Never a small girl, she could carry the extra weight, and she piled on the pounds at an almost frightening rate.
      After three weeks, Paul had found her sitting in the doorway of the hut, with her few clothes spread out in front of her. "I can't get any of these things on any more," she wailed. They had only the clothes they stood up in when they arrived. Paul had been working when the ship struck, and Ginnie had just arrived back at her parents' stateroom after an exhausting game of volleyball. So Paul had his pants and white shirt, Ginnie wore only her shorts, a T-shirt and a bra. Their shoes had disappeared, kicked off when they clambered on to the raft. The clothes were practical enough, once they had been rinsed and dried out, but poor Ginnie's simply didn't fit her any more.
      "Put them away somewhere safe," Paul had advised her. "You're a little overweight at the moment, but maybe they'll fit you again if you get thinner."
      Ginnie had stuck her nose in the air and didn't speak to him for two days after that remark, although their lovemaking continued unabated at night. In fact, Ginnie had put him through such a strenuous couple of nights that Paul vowed to be nice to her from then on.
      Fortunately, it was warm enough for them not to need clothes, although Paul wore his pants, if only to stop things from flopping around too much as he worked. Ginnie realised there was no way to stop her things flopping around. Her belly rounded out, her thighs and hips broadened and her buttocks became more and more generous. But it was her breasts that became most spectacular. Clearly, Ginnie was a girl with a genetic predisposition towards large breasts. "My mother's are big, too," she pointed out. "You don't remember my mother?"
      "She never came down to inspect the kitchens," said Paul.
      "Hers were big. Huge, in fact. I used to get really embarrassed about them. You know how parents always pretend to be twenty years younger than they really are? That's how mine are. Or were. They used to try and dance! Ick! Can you imagine what Mom looked like, wobbling her chest about all over the place, trying to dance? I couldn't watch her, it was so embarrassing!"
      "Was she as big as you? Her ... chest, I mean?" Paul blushed as he spoke the terrible word.
      "She was a 40H-cup," sighed Ginnie, bafflingly. "Do you know what that means?"
      Paul shook his head. They were sitting by the fire as the sun went down one evening. Ginnie was finishing off a huge cake. He liked watching her eat. Like everything else she did, Ginnie ate with total dedication. Now, hearing Ginnie talking about her mother's chest, he felt aroused. Strange, as he didn't even know Ginnie's mother, so how could he be thinking of making love to her? It was so confusing.
      "It's a kind of way of describing a bra size." Ginnie finished her cake, searched for stray crumbs, and dabbed them up from her chest with a moistened finger. "You know my bra? The one I used to be able to wear?"
      Paul nodded. His throat felt constricted and his pants hurt. More than anything else, he wanted to slide his stiff thingie into Ginnie's amazingly tight yet slithery wet hole, but meanwhile he would be content to sit and listen to her talking about the size of her chest for as long as she wanted to. That was confusing, as well.
      Ginnie stroked his upper leg with her strangely small hand. "My bra was a 38DD. That's a double-D. As the cups get bigger, you go higher up the alphabet. I was a 34C a year ago, but I grew up suddenly. Up, and out! Anyways, Mom's was about four sizes bigger than mine. Of course, her chest was much bigger than mine. Not her bosoms, her chest." Ginnie indicated the difference with her hands. "But I'm a lot bigger now," she said modestly. "Bigger than I was, and my bosoms are much bigger than my mother's. I hate to think how big my bra would have to be if Mom took me to a store to buy one. Do you want to go to bed now?"
      Paul gulped. Did he ever!
      Ginnie talked to him for hours every night after that. As she tucked away piles of food, she described in intimate detail the way she was getting bigger, and softer, and more feminine. And how good it felt to be big, especially when she made love with Paul. And most of all, how good her breasts felt, as they grew and grew and grew all the time.
      "I wonder how big they'll get by the time we've eaten all the food," she sighed one day. "It's a pity we don't have a tape measure." Then she rolled over and grabbed his wrist. "Let's go to bed and make love again."
      "But it's not dark yet!"
      "We don't have to wait until it's dark!" And she had taken him by the hand and almost dragged him into the hut. From then on, they made love after lunch every day, and again after dinner. And logically, as Ginnie persuaded him, why not after breakfast as well?
      "In the morning?" Paul was horrified.
      "Of course! I bet it's good for the digestion."
      It was very good for Ginnie's digestion, and good for her everything else as well. As well as her richly blooming figure, her skin was clear and glowing, her eyes bright, her dark red hair, down to her waist at the time of the wreck, now swung heavily round her broad hips.

 "I think I'm going to have a baby," she announced one morning, shortly after sunrise. It was between breakfast and sex.
      "What for?"
      "What do you mean, what for? Why do people usually have babies? Because we love each other so much. And so often."
      "But what will it eat?"
      "All the usual things. Cake and stuff." Ginnie took another huge mouthful. "And milk, of course."
      "Milk? We don't have any milk. We haven't got a cow," Paul reminded her with a knowing grin.
      "I'll make the milk," said Ginnie. "I think they're big enough, don't you?"
      "Your bosoms?"
      "I think we'd better call them breasts, now, Paulie. That's their proper name. They're probably so big now, we can call them breasts. They're mammoth! They're at least twice as heavy as they used to be. And they're going to get miles bigger! Somehow, I don't think even two alphabets will be long enough for these puppies."
      Paul blushed deeply. Somehow, he had never even got used to thinking of them as breasts. Not his Ginnie's bosoms! But they were certainly big enough. Puppies? They were nearly as big as bull mastiffs. They were big enough to call them udders. The thought aroused him so much that he spent his load in his trousers and Ginnie refused to speak to him for almost an hour and three quarters, after which time she couldn't hold out any longer and dragged him down on the edge of the sand where the warm wet waves lapped over them as they made warm wet love and Ginnie came again and again. Several times, in fact. She lost count after fourteen.
      They ran out of cake after six months on the island, by which time Ginnie's body was showing signs of the new life growing in her belly. If she was starting to develop a baby-belly, it wasn't really showing yet, as her tummy was already more than generously heavy with good, honest fat. But her breasts, already magnificent when they had arrived, already gloriously massive by the time she became pregnant, were now spectacularly huge. They had always been crowned with extremely large areolae, in a delightfully pale shade of virginal pink. Now, the ends of her swollen breasts were completely capped by dark brown haloes, wider even than Paul's hands with fingers outspread. And right in the middle of these great circles were nipples which seemed to be getting longer and thicker and ruder with each passing day.
      "Suck them, Paulie," she begged. "I can't get them in my own mouth any more, now my breasts are so huge." Paul would never get used to that word. Ginnie flapped her hands in helpless frustration as his sperm pumped briefly three times then settled into a succession of useless dribbles into the crotch of his trousers.
      "Oh, shit!" he said.
      "What did you do that for?" she whined. "Well, the least you can do is suck my teats for me."
      He did, and within seconds, she was panting and gasping and dumping a vast quantity of juice on the sandy floor of the hut. All at the same time. She made him fetch a can of fresh water to stop her getting dehydrated.
      "I love you, Paulie!"
      "I love you, Ginnie," he said, startled. He hadn't really thought about it before.
      And now the ship was here, waiting to rescue them. The boat would come and take them away in the morning.
      "The nice food would all have been gone in a few more weeks," she pointed out. "We'd be down to crackers and coconuts and fish. Once you'd learned to catch fish. It will be a shame to have to go back to civilisation, but all good things come to an end, Paulie. I'll always love you, whatever happens to us."
      "Will they let us sleep together on the ship, do you think?"
      "I shouldn't think so. They'd think we're just a couple of kids. Anyway, we're shipwrecked sailors. They'll put us in the sick berth, won't they?"
      "What for? We're not sick."
      "I know I'm not," Ginnie said. "I've never been fitter and healthier in my life. Let's fuck again, Paulie. All night long. Let's break the record number of times."
      "Record? You mean you keep count?"
      "Of course. What else am I supposed to think about? It's nine times, by the way. That's nine for you, not counting the one after breakfast. And eighty-seven for me," she added modestly.
      "Wow!" he ejaculated.
      "That doesn't count as one. You have to do it inside me for it to count. I know, while you're recovering again, we'll get all our things ready to take with us when the boat comes into the lagoon. You've got your pants, we'll get your shirt out. I washed it in the spring a couple of months ago, so it should be nice and clean."
      "What about you? What are you going to wear?"
      "I've got the things I was wearing when we sank. My shorts and T-shirt. I don't think that 38DD-cup bra will fit me any more."
      "Nothing will fit you any more, Ginnie. You're gigantic now."
      "We have to try. I can't go on a ship with no clothes. They have strict dress codes on cruise ships." Ginnie was dragging her clothes out of the box they called their wardrobe. She tossed Paul his shirt, then sat down to pull on her shorts. After several useless attempts, she rolled on to her back,exhausted, with her beautifully meaty legs in the air. "Shit," she panted, and broke wind almost deafeningly. "They must have shrunk!"
      "No, you've got fatter."
      "They were ever so loose on me before. Mom always bought me things too big."
      "They're not loose now. Let me try. Get on your hands and knees. And don't fart again while I'm behind you." Paul began to struggle with Ginnie's shorts. He could only get them on to one buttock at a time.
      "It's no good. They're not big enough for you!" He was enormously erect now with the nearness of Ginnie's ripely fragrant intimate regions. The white shorts were far too small. "Roll on your back."
      She complied, then caught sight of his noble erection. "Hey, you're ready for me again and you didn't even tell me."
      "Let's try and get your shorts on. It will be dark soon." She obediently drew up her feet and raised her knees. The shorts slid on reluctantly and she lifted her wonderful bottom clear of the floor.
      "Keep going!" she urged him. The shorts were appallingly tight, but they suddenly rounded the bend of her bottom and as Paul followed through, they almost covered her buttocks. She parted her thighs in gratitude and a sopping wet patch appeared, spreading around her crotch.
      "We'd better take them off again. You're making them all wet."
      "I can't help it," she pouted, and closed her eyes in ecstasy as the wet patch quadrupled in size. "God, I'm so wet!" she announced.
      Paul wrenched them off with a sound like snapping rubber bands. Ginnie lay on her back with her legs about a mile apart. Her breasts had rolled down to lie one on each side of her body, her belly wobbled as her plump backside bounced furiously on the floor. Jets of juice were spurting spectacularly from her densely forested cunny. Her little pink friend was standing up like a soldier, twitching.
      "We'll never get this shirt on to you. Your bosoms are much too huge."
      "Breasts, Paulie, breasts!"
      "Breasts," he muttered, ashamed.
      "You don't need a shirt," she said. "I can wear yours!"
      "You'll never get into mine! You're three times as big as me. Each of your ... breasts is as big around as my chest."
      "It's loose on you. And it's got buttons. If I can't get my breasts completely inside it, I can leave some of the buttons undone, can't I? At least I'll be decent enough to eat at the captain's table. If I'm invited."
      "What can I wear?"
      "They'll find you a shirt. One of the smaller sailors will have one to fit you." She giggled playfully. "I've just thought of something." She rolled to her hands and knees and crawled over to the wardrobe box, her huge breasts swinging together like church bells, only bigger and heavier. And softer. Triumphantly, she came up with her bra in her hand. "Mother always bought me clothes too big so I'd grow into them," she crowed, kneeling upright, then hoisted the bra up and under her breasts and around her chest. Somehow, she snagged one of the hooks at the first attempt, and concentrating hard, she fastened the other three. Her eyes were practically out on stalks with the effort. "It's so tight," she squeaked. Her breasts still dangled massively outside the bra, without a hope of fitting into the tiny DD-cups. But Ginnie was already loosening the shoulder straps, and finally, with her tongue sticking out in concentration, she thrust first one arm, then the other, through the straps � and pulled her shoulders back.
      Just for a moment, she had a mighty cleavage two feet long and two feet deep. But only for a moment. There was a dangerous creaking noise, and everything happened at once. One shoulder strap tore loose from the top of its cup, and the hooks of the body band gave way in rapid succession like automatic gunfire. Down, down, down plunged Ginnie's bosoms, breasts or udders, not stopping until they had hit the floor and dragged her with them.
      "Oh, fuck!" she wailed, then slowly pushed herself upright again. The bra was totally destroyed. She held up the poor ruined thing. "It was my best bra," she sobbed. "Are you ready to make love now, Paulie?"
      "I was," he sighed uncomfortably. "But not any more."

 It was a wild night. Ginnie was at her most adventurous and inventive. She was also magnficently heavy and overwhelmingly strong. Paul gave up the struggle and let this gloriously fit girl do all the work. Outside the hut, the rain pelted, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. The wind tore at the crude little building, but their workmanship was sound and the shelter defied the storm.
      As dawn broke, the wind fell calm, the rain stopped, the sun peeked out. Fleecy clouds drifted lazily across a deepening blue sky and they made beautiful love for the last time. Ginnie's lips were ineffably soft on his cheek, her breath hot and moist. The air in the little hut was scented with tropical flowers, fresh sea air and � overwhelmingly � of Ginnie.
      Aching with love for each other, they dressed as well as they could; Paul in his trousers, Ginnie � almost � in her shorts and Paul's shirt, with two buttons successfully fastened and the rest nowhere. Acres of cleavage ballooned out, and at least half of each almost purple areola strained for freedom. Anxiously, Ginnie pushed her nipples out of sight. "Do I look decent?" she asked, fluffing up her hair. She was blissfully unaware of their combined juices coursing down the insides of her thighs.
      "You look good," said Paul. Let's go up on the hill and see if the boat's on its way.
      They brushed their way through the wet undergrowth and out on to the open hillside. She took his horny hand and accepted a friendly pull up to the summit of Telegraph Hill. The ship would be there, safely at anchor outside the reef, there would be a motor launch creaming into the lagoon, laden with hairy sailors.
      The horizon was empty.
      Frantically, they spun, searching the ocean in every direction. Nothing. They let their eyes fall toward the green-tinged lagoon.
      "Oh, no!"
      "It's been wrecked. The water outside the reef must be forty fathoms deep. It's been blown on to the reef, holed and sunk!"
      Ginnie sighed. "Well, it could be worse, I guess. What do you think is in all those boxes floating down there?"
      Paul shook his head sadly. "Food, I suppose. It was a cruise ship. They'd have loads of fancy food on board."
      "That's what I thought," Ginnie agreed gloomily. "It'll take us days to rescue all that lot and stash it away safely. And you'll have to get busy building the spare bedroom." She brightened. "But we've still got the last of the streaky bacon. Breakfast, then sex. Unless you fancy a change?"
      "A change? Yeah, why not? Since we're going to be here for another six months, let's try it with me on top for a change."