File:Fixing

Masha, meanwhile, had reassembled her babushka into a makeshift brassiere for her humongous, visibly pulsating breasts. If she had looked 45 yesterday, today she looked like a voluptuous 35. Rather than a dress, she was wearing a pair of bloomers that her elongating, thickening legs were clearly about to outgrow. I heard a soft rip as the center of her babushka bra began to give way. “Oops. Looks like it’s time for breakfast, babies,” she trilled in a rich, clear voice. All the blood drained from my head. I was about to respond when Evgeny piped up: “Can… can we see how Maya is doing in the church?” “Not yet, bitch!” shouted Oksana. She stamped her mighty foot, and the ground trembled a bit. “We’ll tell you when it’s time.” In a reaction that was, in retrospect, somewhat unmanly, Evgeny and I fled to the abandoned hut in which we now sat. “Come out,” we heard Oksana call from far away. “I was just teasin’. We’ll let you see your girlfriend soon, okay?”