RETURN OF THE GOLDEN GOOSE

by Some Sort of Dog
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 17:- A Cure For A Sore Throat


 
 
  "Come on, wake up, you idle little bitch. There's work to be done round here!"
Donna breezed into Lynda's bedroom, banging about and making plenty of noise. They had slept separately last night. Donna, for one, felt none the worse for the experience. She woke up feeling disgustingly fit, if a little fuller and heavier than before. Still, she resolved to ignore the pressure in her bra and smooth things over with Lynda.
A croaking noise came from Lynda's bed.
"What's the matter?"
"I feel lousy." Lynda managed to get some words out this time. "My ... throat. All sore. Hurts."
Donna pulled back the corner of the duvet and her friend screwed up her eyes as the sunlight flooded in. Lynda looked unhappy, and not very well at all. Her forehead was slightly warm, so she didn't have a raging fever or anything, but she was obviously not a well girl.
"Poor thing. I'm sorry. Can I get you anything? Hot drink? Sore throat sweets, a nice boy to cuddle up with? Lucy, perhaps?"
Lynda declined, although some of the suggestions might have held some appeal for her.
"Okay, just lie there and get better. I'll bring you something warm and comforting, and I'll try not to make too much noise."
In a strange way, it felt good to be looking after someone. Poor Lynnie! Donna tiptoed out into the kitchen and cooked breakfast for one. Well, actually, she forgot what she was doing and made enough for two, but Lynda refused hers, so Donna ate the lot. There was work to be done, as she had said, and it was a lovely morning for it. In an hour she would have a clothes-line full of billowing sheets and clothes sparkling in the sunshine. It felt good to be a woman on a morning like this, she exulted as she howled around the bungalow with the vacuum cleaner.
Lynda pulled the covers over her head and tried to feel sorry for herself.
"What's the matter, Rachel?"
The dog was standing at the doorway to the kitchen. She looked restless, somehow, like a table with two short legs at opposite corners, lifting two paws from the ground in turn. She whined in confusion. Donna switched off the vacuum cleaner and investigated.
"Oooh, SHIT! Look at it!"
The kitchen floor was awash with what looked like inches of soapy water. Waves were washing up and down. Rachel looked up at Donna as if to say, 'I told you ages ago, but would you listen ...?'
Donna splashed across and turned off the washing machine. The sound of gushing water continued. It was noticeably deeper. Rachel had ventured into the flood, plodding about the unfamiliar kitchen, waving her tail, a dog in need of reassurance. She wasn't getting any from Donna.
"Out the bloody way, dog," the girl stormed as she paddled out into the hall. A few more minutes and it would be past the doorway and soaking into the carpets. She grabbed the phone, wondering who to call. Emergency? Fire, Police, Ambulance? It was none of those. She found herself wishing it was. At last, despairingly, she dialled a number.
"Buckmaster the Handyman, Adrian Buckmaster speaking, good morning, how can I help you?" enquired a sincere, warm and wooden voice.
"Adie, it's me, Donna."
The voice instantly transformed itself into something more human. "Hi, Donna! Whaddya want?"
"Adie, is your dad in? I've got a flood in the kitchen."
"No, he's out. Up at Grainger's Farm. Can I help? You got a flood, you reckon?"
"I don't just reckon, I've got one. The washing machine. The whole kitchen floor's flooded and it's started to come into the hall ..."
"Tha's all right, Donna. What you wearin'?"
"T-shirt and jeans. My yellow T-shirt, you know the one. And a bra, of cour ... Adie, what are you on about? What does it matter what I'm wearing, for God's sake?"
"I was just going to say, look in the cupboard under the sink. Kneel down and you'll see a big brass stop-cock. It's behind that box of washing powder. Turn it to the right as far as it will go. If that don't stop it, come back and tell me."
The water was decidedly deeper now. She splashed her way to the cupboard and knelt down in the foaming tide. In this position, even with a bra on, she really dangled. Her breasts started to float away, one to each side. She had to gather them in with her arms before she could look in the cupboard. There it was, behind the washing powder box. Bless you, Adrian Buckmaster, claim your reward! She grabbed at the knob. It refused to move. She tried again. Sobbing with frustration, she got up and looked around for something to hit it with. The saucepan was too big, the kitchen knife was not heavy enough. The fire extinguisher...?
It was a handy size, and heavy, too. Donna snatched the blue cylinder from its bracket on the wall, flopped down in the water again, and bashed the extinguisher against the stop-cock. Did it move? She bashed it again. Yes!
A cloud of vapour filled the cupboard, and choking white powder surged out of the nozzle of the fire extinguisher, covering her head and shoulders. Gasping for breath, Donna flung the useless thing away from her. It landed with a mighty crash and a tinkle of breaking glass. She could barely see the stop-cock, but it turned easily now. Mockingly easily. Did Adie say left or right? Nothing happened when she turned it left, except that it only moved a few degrees then stopped. She turned it the other way, round and round, and — blessed relief — the rushing of the waters slowed and stopped.
She backed out of the cupboard and sat down in the water. Waves lapped around her thighs. Her T-shirt and bra were soaked through. White stuff was clinging to her hair. She got up and trudged out into the hall, her bare feet squelching over the carpet. The phone was squawking at her.
"Donna? You there?"
"Adie?" Her voice was cracking.
"Hello, Donna. I thought you'd forgotten I was 'ere. You found the stop-cock?"
"Yes, thanks," she said dully. "All I've got now is a thousand gallons of soapy water in the kitchen, and a ruined carpet in the hall. And I think I've just thrown the fire extinguisher through the poxy window."
"Bloody hell, Donna," Adrian said admiringly, "you don't mess around, do you?"
"I suppose not, no. Look, you couldn't come over and help, could you?"
"I would, Don, you know I would. But Dad's got the van, so I'm stuck here, like."
"But you'd do it, if I came over and fetched you?"
"Course I will. Anythin' for you, Don!"
"You're an angel, Adie. I'll give you a big hug. I'll come right over."
She clattered the phone down and poked her head back into the kitchen. Seagulls seemed to be gathering in the back garden already. She shuddered and picked up the car keys.
"Donna? Where you going?"
She had completely forgotten poor Lynda! The wretched croaky- voiced girl tucked up in bed.
"Just have to nip out for twenty minutes. A bit of an emergency in the kitchen."
"I've been calling you for ages and you wouldn't listen!"
"Sorry, Lynnie. I won't be long. See you soon, okay?"
The door slammed behind her. Outside, it was a lovely morning. The birds twittered, the warm breeze was scented of hedgerows and meadow blossoms. There was no hint of the appalling shambles she had left behind her in the kitchen. The sun was warm. Steam was already rising from her breasts as she opened the car door and slid her wet bottom on to the driver's seat.
Donna surged out into the lane, swinging left and away down the road to Buckmaster the Handyman's place. As she disappeared round the bend in the road, a small van came round the corner from the other direction, and turned into the drive of the bungalow. A small van with a ladder on the roof.
 
 
  Lynda was doing her best to feel sorry for herself, but it was a losing battle. She wished she'd had breakfast now. It had smelled really tasty when Donna had brought it into the bedroom. She was hungry. Perhaps it would still be in the kitchen, somewhere. Fat chance of that, though, Donna would have wolfed the lot. No wonder her tits were still getting bigger and bigger and bigger all the time. The girl ate like a pig.
It was a lovely day outside, too. Far too nice to lie in bed all day. Lynda got up and felt instantly better. The sun sparkled through the bedroom window. A young rabbit was sitting on the back lawn, looking around contentedly. Rachel arrived with a great rush and the rabbit shot off into the bushes. Rachel shrugged her shoulders, said c'est la vie and wandered back toward the house. She stopped and shook herself, sending out a shower of water droplets which twinkled briefly in the sunshine.
Water? It hadn't rained for days.
"I need a piss," Lynda thought. "Then something to eat." She plodded through into the hall, still in the outsize T-shirt which did service as her nightie, and had gone half a dozen paces toward the kitchen when she realised her footsteps were going 'squelch, squelch, squelch'. The kitchen door was closed. Her hand was on the handle when a great pounding came on the front door.
"Eeek!" Lynda jerked her head round to see who was calling at this time of day, just as the kitchen door opened and Rachel came bounding through to wish her a good morning. Struck smartly behind the knees by a substantial wet dog, Lynda clung to the door handle for support, but found it swinging away from her. Hello, she thought, this is a turn-up for the books — or words to that effect — as she descended face-first, and breasts even more first, on to the sopping kitchen floor.
Whoever was at the front door pounded again. Lynda lay on her front in two inches of cold soapy water and regretted her decision to get out of bed. Her breasts hurt. She had banged her elbow. Rachel kissed her better but somehow it was little comfort.
Another clattering of the door knocker, then the letter-box opened and a voice bellowed, "Come on, Laura, love! I knows yer in there. It's Trigger. Window-cleaner!"
She got to her knees, then stood up, feeling simply wretched. She splashed to the front door and opened it a few inches.
What a gorgeous little man!
He was grinning up at her, his smile as bright as the morning sunshine. "Sorry to shout through the letter-box, love, but I could see someone moving. I thought you was your mum." He stopped, leaving his mouth open in case he needed to use it again shortly, and looked Lynda up and down. "Bloody hell!" he said finally.
"I'm not my mum," she felt it necessary to mention. "And Mrs Fielding's not my mum either. I'm just staying here."
"Ah! Explains it. I thought you was a bit tall to be her daughter. You're all wet," he pointed out, in case Lynda hadn't noticed.
"I fell over," she said. "The kitchen's flooded."
He followed her into the kitchen and together they surveyed the scene. "Christ!" the little man said. "What a state!"
"Can you do anything about it?"
"No, I'm a window cleaner, not a plumber."
"I think my friend's gone out for the plumber."
"Your friend?"
"Girlfriend. Donna. She lives here."
"Oh."
"I was just going to make some coffee when you knocked. Would you...?"
"Yes, please!" he said immediately and with no hesitation whatsoever.
Lynda splashed across the floor and started busying herself with the unfamiliar operation. Suddenly, she realised what she looked like. "God, look at me," she said.
"I already was."
"I'd better go and get dressed."
"Make the coffee first, I don't mind."
Lynda realised that her T-shirt must be completely transparent, soaked through and with the sun streaming through the doorway behind her. Whatever there was to see, the window-cleaner had probably already seen it. She looked at him again, then did a double- take. Oh, my God, she thought. He'd seen it all right! Look at him!
"Here's your coffee..."
"Sorry? Oh, thanks!" he took the mug and immediately put it down, perched on a stool and crossed his legs.
Too bloody late to hide the bloody thing now, Lynda thought. Her eyes were drawn to his crotch. Surely that wasn't all him! Not right down there! The window-cleaner was obviously in some discomfort. He had picked up his mug and held it across in front of his lap. Lynda splashed a couple of paces to her left so her view was restored. He took a sip, and lowered the mug to hide his embarrassment again. Lynda waded across to the kitchen cabinet, and peered down at him. "Sugar?"
"No, thanks, love."
"Sweet enough already, huh?" she said faintly.
"That's right."
She turned to usher Rachel outside and close the kitchen door. When she turned back, he had stood up and was trying to adjust his trousers. He stood helpless, caught in the act.
"Are you all right?" she asked him.
"Yeah, it's okay." He tried to sit down again, but his erection was now in a position to prevent him. He perched one buttock on the stool and raised his left thigh to try and ease the discomfort. He had to hang on to his knee with one hand to hold it up there. It looked fairly ridiculous, sitting with his leg up in the air like that.
"You sure you're okay? You don't look very comfortable."
"It's fine!" he croaked desperately. "Funny thing," he went on in a frantic attempt at normal conversation, "I never seen you round 'ere before."
"No, I'm staying here for the school holidays."
"School? Bloody hell! How old are you, then?"
"Eighteen," she said quickly.
"God, I'd 'ave said about twenty-five." He seemed about to say some more, but stopped, still with his mouth open and his left leg extended.
"I'd better go and get dressed," Lynda said, edging past him into the hall. "I won't be a minute." She made her way to the bedroom, her mind whirling. She hadn't seen all that many, but that one was surely the biggest by a long way. It even left Slogger Hardgraves in the shade. A plan began to form. Maybe it was more of a fantasy, really. I can't leave him sitting in the kitchen, she thought, and made her way back.
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting in the front roo...? She stopped.
The window cleaner wasn't sitting any more. He was standing up. His jeans were around his knees, and he was evidently in the process of rearranging things in a more comfortable configuration. Seeing Lynda, he brought his knees and thighs together, and tried to cover himself with both hands.
Lynda blushed, but didn't look away. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean ..."
"I've got a problem with my jeans," he improvised. "They fell down."
"So I see. You'd better come through into the front room. It's a bit drier in there." She turned and led the way, allowing her broad hips to sway alluringly from side to side beneath the clinging T-shirt. Her unrestrained breasts got in on the act, too, and she went down the passageway with her boobs practically bouncing off both walls. The window-cleaner followed as well as he could, with his jeans around his knees, bent almost double, trying vainly to stuff his unruly manhood back into his shorts.
"Sit down," she told him, and watched as he sprawled on his back on the couch, legs crossed, still trying to pull his jeans up.
Lynda felt the situation was in need of some polite social chat."What did you say your name was?" she asked, perching herself on the arm of the couch. Then she had to move, as her breasts were preventing her from seeing his face. She swung them round the other way, maintaining her balance by a small miracle.
The man had stopped wriggling and gone deathly pale. "You're not going to report me for this?"
Lynda giggled. "Course not. It happens to everyone. Jeans fall down all the time. I just wanted to know your name, that's all. What was it? Trotter? Trapper?"
"Robbie."
"That's nice. Robbie. I'm Lynnie."
Robbie had things more or less sorted down in the engine room and was inching his jeans up again. His erection was now in the vertical position, which had solved one immediate problem, but another had raised its head, so to speak. Lynda watched with interest to see how he solved it.
"That's a nice name. Lynnie." He raised his bottom from the seat and wiggled his jeans up a little more. It took two or three little bunny hops, and they were now more or less at the right height, but there was still a great deal of Robbie sticking up out of the top of them, inadequately housed in his polka-dotted silk boxers.
"You've got a problem, Robbie," Lynda said boldly.
"Don't I know it!"
"I suppose it happens a lot?" she said hopefully.
"Not that often. But then, I don't often see anyone quite so ..."
"Quite so what?"
"With quite such..."
"Quite such what, Robbie?"
"Such huge tits!" he blurted. "They're the biggest I've ever seen in my life!"
"Are they?" Lynda studied them as if they were a new phenomenon. On mature reflection, Robbie was possibly not far off the mark.
"They're enormous, Lynnie!"
"I know," she grinned. "But they're not the only enormous thing round here!"
She was aware that she wasn't saying the most original things, but she was a bit confused by the whole situation. She was also aware that her breasts were only likely to remain the biggest Robbie had seen in his life for a short while. They would become very much the second biggest he had seen in his life as soon as Donna arrived home. And unless Robbie was a fan of taller women - much taller women - he was going to fall for Donna in a very big way indeed. It was time for immediate and decisive action.
"Robbie, these things may be the biggest you've ever seen in your life, but you haven't seen them yet. Not really seen them!"
She got up from the arm of the settee, feeling light-headed. Smiling down at Robbie, she held out her hand in invitation. He sat there and looked up at her, as if unable to believe what was happening. It was like one of those corny erotic stories you heard about. Like a low budget porn movie. Lynda nodded, and he took her hand. She pulled him to his feet. He only came up to just about the level of her shoulder, but that wouldn't matter once they were lying down. And now he was standing up, she could see the extent of the problem in his jeans. He had indeed managed to pull them up to their normal position, but part of him was sticking out of the top, so he would be unable to fasten the belt without doing himself a grave disservice.
Somehow, Lynda stopped herself from reaching out and touching it right there and then. She pulled him gently to her as if to give him a big hug, then stepped back and led the way to her bedroom. Her hips swayed so much from side to side, she was almost wiggling herself off her feet. Her breasts felt as if they were bursting, tingling, the nipples raw against the material of the cold, wet T-shirt. She was so wet she was sure he would be able to hear her squelching. He wasn't saying anything, he was walking with extreme care, clinging on to her hand like a scared child.
They reached the rumpled bed, and Lynda turned to face him. The brief walk from the front room had liberated the last of Robbie from his polka-dotted shorts. There was as much throbbing flesh sticking out of the top of his jeans than she had ever seen on one boy before, and there must still have been at least six inches more hidden from view. God, she was almost passing out from the excitement. Never mind the obscene length of him, he was so thick, too! As thick as her wrist. How would she ever be able to ... well, at least, she was going to try, or burst in the attempt.
 
 
  Donna came to a halt outside the Buckmaster residence, and saw the curtains twitch as if Adrian had been looking out for her. He appeared at the side door and waved.
"Back her up here beside the house, Donna, I'll load the bits and pieces in the back. I don't suppose your vacuum cleaner sucks up water?"
"I never tried," Donna shouted. "I suppose it would, but it might make a mess of the bag." Adrian seemed to find this amusing.
"Come on, I'll see you back." He walked slowly beside the driver's window as she reversed into the drive beside the house, then stopped when he banged on the roof. "What happened to your hair?" he asked, looking at her curiously.
"Oh, I forgot, fire extinguisher." She looked down at her shirt. She was an absolute state. All her clothes would need to go in the washing machine when she got home. That reminded her of why she was here. Great echoing lumps of industrial equipment were already landing in the back of the car. Adrian was bringing half the contents of the garage, by the sound of it. She watched him in the mirror. It had been a while, a year or two. He had always been far too tall to be a realistic dating prospect for her, but now, he seemed to have filled out. How old is he, she thought, just two years older than me?
He slammed the tailgate down and climbed in the passenger seat, ducking his head exaggeratedly to get in. "Cor, a car I can sit upright in. Makes a change. Wanna sell it?"
"No, it suits me!" Donna spun the wheel and turned out on to the road. "I can't get comfortable in many cars, either." She grinned sideways at him, and noticed he was staring at her with his mouth open.
"I hadn't seen you for two years, Don. Since I left school. You've grown up a bit!"
"Not a lot," she giggled. "You're still miles taller than me."
He laughed. It sounded husky and nice. "I ... I wasn't talking about up, so much. You're ... bigger!"
She risked a glance at him. His face was flushed, as if he thought he had said too much. Poor Adrian!
"Two years ago, was it?"
"Yeah, you were in Miss Watt's class. I always used to watch you. You were enormous then."
"I'm still enormous now. Just a bit more so, that's all. I'm still the same me."
"Good!"
Wow, she thought. What had she been missing? He fancied her! Two wasted years! She had better make up for lost time.
"Thanks for helping out for me at such short notice. I don't know what I'd have done."
"Your mum not at home?"
"No, she's away. Just me and my friend."
"Oh." He sounded disappointed.
"She's in bed with a sore throat. I doubt if she even knows we've had a flood yet." Another glance. He looked relieved. I could, I really could, she thought. It must be all the activity yesterday, she decided. Whatever it is, I feel as horny as all buggery. Surreptitously, she felt the crotch of her jeans with her right hand, out of his sight, beneath her breasts. It was soaked, but then, so were the rest of her clothes.
Both hands back on the wheel, she sped down the road to her house.
"How long you been drivin'?" He watched her more openly now.
"Since my seventeenth birthday. I passed the test first time. I think the examiner liked my boobs."
"I'm not surprised."
"What?"
"I'm not surprised you passed. You're good. Better than my dad."
They turned into the front driveway.
"Hey, that's Trigger's Wainthorp's van, in't it?"
"Who? It wasn't here when I left."
"Trigger. Robbie Wainthorp. The window cleaner?"
"I dunno," said Donna, pulling up. "I never saw him before. I thought mum cleaned the windows herself. She never mentioned a window cleaner."
"He probably always comes while you're at school."
"Probably. You called him what? Trigger, was it?"
"Just a nickname. He's always been Trigger. Dunno why." Adrian was flushed again. The great big sweetie.
"Come on, let's go and inspect the damage." Donna led the way into the house. "It's all right," she said, "Rachel won't hurt you. I'll just call Lynda, tell her I'm back." She made her way down the passage to Lynda's bedroom. "Funny, I thought I left the door open," she mused. She opened the door and stopped. Adrian was behind her and stopped, too, colliding with her softly. Not all that softly, though.
Donna peered inside, then closed the door hurriedly and turned round, causing Adrian to back off in a hurry to avoid her swaying breasts.
"Sorry," he said. "Is she in there?"
"Yeah. No problem." Donna could not believe what she had just seen. "I'll just take another look." She did, peeping round the edge of the door. There had been no mistake. Trigger, indeed. She grinned to herself, and marvelled that she could find the nickname so amusing while a the same time feeling so unbelievably horny herself. Reluctantly, she closed the door on the steamy scene.
"She seems comfortable," she said.
"Pity she's not awake," Adrian said. "I could have passed on one of my Granny's favourite cures for a sore throat."
"Oh, it's all right. In fact, I think she may already have found one, although I doubt if your old Granny would have heard of it."
"Well, you never know. Still, there you go, I might see her when she wakes up. Which way's the kitchen?" He set off, shambling away down the passage.
"Through there. Adie," Donna clutched at his arm. "Just a minute, before you take a look at the mess. Come here, would you? I feel a bit strange." She put a hand to her head and swayed realistically, then leaned back against the wall.
He looked down at her with concern. "What's the matter, Don?"
"I don't know. Feel a bit faint. I'd better lie down on the bed..." By a remarkable coincidence, they were right outside her bedroom. He followed her in, looking round at the books, the posters on the walls. He looked a little surprised when she closed the door behind them with her foot. Donna sat on the bed and smiled up at him wanly. She was conscious of how she looked, sopping wet jeans, stained and soaking T-shirt, absolutely stuffed with breasts so monumentally huge they overflowed her lap to rest on the bed beside her bottom. She held out a hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to shake it, but he clasped it in his big hard palm, and sat down next to her when she pulled hard enough to affect his balance.
"Oops, sorry!" he shuffled a foot or so further to one side so he was no longer squashing her breast.
"It's all right," she said.
"What is?"
"You can sit closer. You're allowed to touch me!"
"I am touching you."
"No, that's just my left tit, get closer!"
He moved his bottom closer to her.
"Closer, come on!"
Her breast was practically in his lap. She rested her head on his arm. His shoulder was too high to reach. "You okay, Don? Should I call the doc? You look a bit pale."
"Hold me, Adie. Cuddle me. Put your arm round me. Please!"
He did. She could feel him throbbing satisfyingly against the underside of her breast. Her nipples were so full. Her bra felt tighter than ever. Faint cries came to her from Lynda's room. She couldn't wait. She raised her voice slightly in case he could hear Lynda squealing.
"Adrian. I do want something." He started to get up, ready to fetch whatever it was she wanted. "Stay there, don't go away." She looked up into his eyes. "I ... I want you inside me!"
"Donna!" He reared back in shock and horror. But his arm crept round her back again and she snuggled closer.
"I know how it sounds. It's been two years since we even saw each other. Maybe all this time ... I don't know. But if you don't take that huge great thing I can feel thumping against the bottom of my tit and stick it in my sopping wet pussy, I will not be responsible for my actions, Adrian!"
Already, she was tugging the shirt up, revealing a pair of purple bra cups the size of potato sacks. He swallowed, looking round for escape. It was surely everyone's worst nightmare to be trapped in a bedroom with a raving nympho with gigantic breasts. Where was Trigger, he thought, irrelevantly. Trigger would rescue him.
He found his voice at last.
"Trigger! Help!"
 
 
  end Chapter 17