RETURN OF THE GOLDEN GOOSE

by Some Sort of Dog
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 28:- The Race For Level Three


 
 
  "Lucy, come on, get yourself up. You can't lie there all day."
"Don't want to."
"I'm going to school. Mum's gone to work. You've got to get up: you're the only one here."
"Rachel's here."
"Rachel can't answer the phone. She can't do the washing, either. Come on!"
Donna shook the end of Lucy's bed, and grabbed the girl's foot, giving it a hearty waggle. Lucy pulled the covers over her head and went into denial. Donna closed the door with a bang. A few seconds later, Lucy flung the duvet off and swung her feet out of bed. "Ouch!" She held her breasts, which were painfully full and swung heavily against her stomach. Then she saw Donna. "You're still here!"
"Yes. I can see why you didn't want to get up now. No wonder you wanted to hide, with those things!"
"I can't help it." Lucy plonked herself down on the edge of the bed and held one breast in each hand. She couldn't even cover their ends."
"You've got to do something. I'll get Mum to call the doctor."
"No!"
"You must! I hadn't really seen them since you took all my old shirts, and that's three, four days ago. You've grown plenty since then. It's no good hiding yourself away in here, hoping they'll just stop."
"They will. They can't go on getting bigger. Can they?"
"They can. They are! I hate to think how big they are now. And what's Maggie going to say about them? Wasn't she doing a thing with three different size bras?"
"Yeah. Only I got too big for all three in three days."
"And they were three inches bigger than each other." Donna sat on the bed, close to the small girl's warm, bed-scented body. "That's much too fast to be growing, Luce. You're so slim everywhere else. Everything you eat must be going straight to your bust."
"I'll stop eating, then."
"You can't stop eating. You'll die. Anyway, how could you, of all people, stop eating. You eat more than me, even, and that's saying something! Promise me you'll see the doctor. I'll get Mum to call him. Okay?"
Lucy nodded reluctantly. Donna squeezed her damp little hand, then got up. "I'll miss the bus again. See you later, right?" This time, she closed the door more carefully, and Lucy heard the front door slam.
She stood up and looked at herself. Even bigger today. Even her puffies were fatter and bigger. Mrs Danby hadn't been for the best part of a week, and the black bra had been hopelessly overstuffed last time Lucy had tried it on, three mornings ago. She knew for a fact she was much bigger now than then.
Trigger had said so. Something was wrong with Trigger. He was going off her. He had called the other morning, and Lucy had taken a couple of that day's pills as a precaution, but after a few minutes of snogging and playing with her tits, he had made an excuse and gone off somewhere.
She pulled one of Donna's extra large T-shirts over her head and stretched it over the peaks of her breasts. They sat there, jutting proudly in front of her. When she let her arms hang by her sides, her breasts were even wider than her arms, by quite a lot. She dug her fingers into their undersides and lifted. They came up quite a long way, but her hands just sank into the heavy masses of flesh. It wobbled and tried to escape. Panting, she lowered them again. They were so bloody heavy!
And they wobbled and bounced whenever she walked. Not that they weren't terrifically firm and spherical, but they were just so enormously heavy. Rachel came to say good morning as Lucy slummocked into the kitchen, nuzzling the undersides of her breasts with her long nose.
This was no good. Surely, Donna wouldn't mind if she borrowed a bra. She was in pain without one. Donna's bedroom door was open. Her older bras were in the bottom drawer on the left. There they were, neatly folded. Why was she keeping them? She would never be able to wear them again.
"Just as well, Raich?" Lucy scratched the dog's ears, climbed out of the shirt and took a bra off the top of the pile. The label had 'Donna F' written on it in marker pen. Below that, it said 'Danby - 28'. Lucy turned the label over. Nothing more there to suggest the size. All she could do was to try it on.
The cups were long and bag-shaped, and far too big. She tossed it on the bed and took another. This one had underwires, great big C-shaped hoops under the cups. It was stiff, despite being lacy, and had a certain industrial quality about it. But it felt better than the first one, and she almost filled the cups. Almost. What about this yellow one?
"This is like Goldilocks trying the three bears' porridge. Oh, yes! Just right!" Even the back was a good fit, with its long row of hooks, one or two starting to pull out of the material of the body band. Obviously, Donna had got her money's-worth out of this particular bra. Lucy twisted it round so the hooks were at one side. She had to lift her breast out of the way and stretch to see what she was doing, but she got all eight hooks done up, swivelled it round again, and looked at herself in the mirror as she loaded her tits into the cups and hoisted the shoulder straps into place. They needed adjusting, they were far too long.
"Wow, that feels better!" She hefted their weight a few times. They felt massive, but at least they were under control now. She pulled the shirt on and went out, leaving two abandoned bras on the bed.
 
 
  Charlotte fforbes-Davenport was in a grumpy mood. She had been sick this morning again. Surely not! Not again! Daddy would kill her for sure this time. And the shame of it. At least, the twins had been the result of a quick tumble in a haystack with a bloke from the sticks. This time, if indeed she was pregnant again, it was certainly Maxwell's. There hadn't been anyone else.
Daddy would be deeply unimpressed if she had a baby by the chauffeur. If he threw them out of the house, she would have to go and live with Maxwell somewhere. Just her and Maxwell and Jacqui and the twins. It was a bleak prospect. The whole charm, the whole point of sleeping with Maxwell was the spicy element of danger. Take that away, and the chauffeur was a rat-faced little man with a harsh accent and arguably the smallest dick in five counties. No, she decided, it was not going to come to that, no way.
"It might be a false alarm. I'll see my doctor first. In fact, I'll invite him up for a house call." Even that didn't seem as inviting as it ought. She felt too nauseous. She was having a bad hair day. And her breasts — her absurdly huge breasts — felt fat and stodgy, like gigantic suet puddings. A bad hair day was ghastly enough: a bad suet pudding day was just about the end of the world. "That's all I need, for these buggers to start growing again!" She slouched into the bathroom and stared into the toilet bowl, a chilly sweat on her forehead and a taste of old pennies in her mouth.
"Oh, bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger! And fuck!"
It made her feel no better at all.
"Jacqueline! Jacqui, where are you?"
"Madame?" The nanny appeared at the bathroom door. She looked at Charlotte anxiously. "Are you unwell?"
"You know I'm not well. You can see what's wrong with me, can't you?"
"Oui, Madame. It is good news, non?"
"It is good news, NOT! God knows what Daddy is going to say about this one. Oh, God!" She leaned over the toilet again.
 
 
  Lucy sang a little song in the kitchen as she kneeled on a chair at the sink to do the washing up. The job was getting harder lately. It would be easier if she could see what she was doing, but her breasts were now far too mountainous for that. There were soapsuds on the ends of them and she could only just reach to wipe them off.
"We'll have to persuade Mrs Fielding to buy a dishwasher, won't we, Rachel?" The dog put her head on one side. She knew it made her look cute. "There, all done. They can dry themselves. My boobies are all wet at the ends." She clambered down and pushed the chair back under the table. Even a simple little thing like that hurt her breasts. They had bumped into the table and it was hard.
"I wonder how big they are," she asked the dog. "Shall we measure them? Come on, then!"
There was a tape measure in the kitchen drawer, but it was only five feet long. Despite knowing it would be too short, she still tried stretching it around her bust. It was strangely satisfying when it stopped short of each of her nipples.
"That's sixty inches, plus that much, from there to my nipple, then across to the other nipple, then back to the other end of the tape. Golly!" she said, considering this mathematical improbability. "I'm enormous!"
She swung them tentatively from side to side. They felt heavy and tight. She bounced up and down on her toes. It took a while for them to stop rebounding. She actually jumped in the air, but lost her balance when she landed. "Ouch! I'd better not do that again." At least, her breasts stayed in the bra and the bra still felt snug and as comfortable as any bra had felt on her for the last two weeks.
A lady of leisure now the washing up was done, she checked out the fridge, then wandered into the living room eating an enormous chunk of pie. The phone caught her eye. Who could she call? Not Trigger. He'd be out cleaning windows, anyway. How about Donna's Adrian?
A thought occurred to her. She went into her bedroom and gathered up an armful of shirts and soiled underwear. She had to balance the load on top of her breasts and make her way into the kitchen by feel. Then she loaded the dank clothes into the washing machine, poured in the detergent, and switched on. She found a bucket, tipped a generous sprinkle of detergent into it, took it out into the garden and filled it from the hose.
"See you in ten minutes, Adrian!" she trilled to herself, and to the astonishment of the dog, emptied the bucket all over the kitchen floor.
 
 
  "Kay Danby. That's right, Danby. Mrs. My appointment is for ten o' clock."
"Certainly, Mrs Dedby." The nurse, or was she just a receptionist, wore a striped pink overall and had a heavy cold. She had brought it to work to pass it on to all the patients. "Would you take a seat over dere. Dr Parkinsod will see you id a few bobets."
"A few moments," Kay muttered to herself. "What's that mean?" She chose a chair away from the other patients who stared at her with undisguised curiosity. A woman with a snuffling baby, a young man with a shaven head and a broken arm, a mother and a sluttish big breasted daughter. Kay stared back at them, and they all looked away instantly, except the daughter, who grinned. Kay smiled back.
She wished she had worn something a little less revealing than this shirt. It had seemed reasonably modest when she'd put it on, but the top two buttons had worked themselves undone and wouldn't stay fastened. She couldn't try to do them up now. To reach up and around her breasts would be to attract attention to herself. Kay couldn't see her nipples, but she had a feeling they were erect. That, she decided, was all she needed!
It didn't help that every time Kay went anywhere in public, she felt as if everyone was recognising and remembering her from the news broadcast a few weeks ago. There weren't too many women with a bust this size, after all. But nobody had recognised her, it seemed. The reason was simple enough: nobody ever noticed her face, they were far too occupied looking elsewhere.
"Theresa Donaghy." The nurse with a cold burbled from the hatchway. The mother and daughter got up. Busty, certainly, Kay observed, but extremely pregnant, too. Her mound was too big for her to fasten her jeans, so she had left them almost completely unzipped. Her T-shirt strained across her fat bouncing tits and wrapped itself round her belly like clingfilm round a pumpkin. She grinned again at Kay and waddled through a door with a light over the top of it that said 'Room 5'. Her mother followed her, sorrowing, all the cares of the world and her daughter on her round shoulders.
"Katy Dadbury," said the nurse. "Roob Three."
Kay looked around, nobody else seemed to be Katy Danbury.
"Yes, you! Who do you thigk?"
She got up from her chair, and the glances of the woman and the hairless man flickered instantly away from her breasts. The light over Room 3 was flashing insistently. 'Come ON! Doctors don't have all DAY, you know!'
"Miss D'Arblay?" The doctor was a severe woman with prematurely grey hair in a painful-looking bun. She looked over her glasses as if Kay was a bad smell.
"Danby. Kay Danby."
"It's this writing," accused the doctor. "It's almost illegible."
"I didn't write it. It was your receptionist."
"Nurse."
"What?"
"She's a nurse. What are you? Three months gone?" Dr Parkinson stared at Kay over her glasses, then took them off and looked again. She referred to her notes. "It doesn't say anything about your condition in here," she accused the patient.
"Condition?"
"Your breasts. They're far too big. How long has it taken for them to get this big?"
"It took about six months. Six or seven years ago."
Dr Parkinson looked about to forget her Hippocratic oath, if she had ever remembered it in the first place. She waved at a screen across the room. "Strip off," she commanded, and returned to her notes.
Kay wondered whether to storm out of the surgery and lodge a formal complaint somewhere. Where? With the nurse or receptionist? She went behind the screen instead and took her shirt off, then her skirt. "Ouch!" she said. Her bra was even more heavily over-full than usual. Her mother-in-law has measured her for a new one last week, but she seemed very busy these days, always driving around the country in her little van. Rick was worried about her. Dear Rick.
"Has anyone seen these?" Dr Parkinson touched the nearer breast with an icy hand. She must have enjoyed the feel of it: she did it again to the other one.
Kay toyed with the truth: only about half the population of the country on the national television news. Twice in a week.
"I saw a specialist when I was thirteen."
"He didn't recommend a reduction?" The doctor sounded outraged.
"Not at the time. My mother wasn't keen. Nor was I, really. He said I could have one later, when I was older. It sounded like a good idea."
"Sounded like? Why haven't you had it done? It would be much easier to find fashionable clothes and everything." She made it sound like a civic obligation.
"I've thought about it, of course. But I talked it over with my husband and we've decided we like them just the way they are."
"You discussed it with your partner?"
"No, I talked it over with my husband," said Kay, suddenly more at ease.
The doctor turned away. Without looking up from her notes, she jerked a thumb at the examination table. "Get up on there," she said over her shoulder. She wrote something on the notes and underlined it three times. Probably the dirty word 'husband', Kay thought. Ah, well. A quick examination. Then see mother-in-law and see if she can recommend anybody. It was one of those occasions when a second opinion was called for.
 
 
  "Is Adie there?"
"Who?" A strange, gruff voice.
"Adrian."
"Out. 'E works during the day. 'Oo wants him?"
"Oh." Lucy had to think who she was. "It's Mrs Fielding's house."
"Mrs...? You ain't Laura."
"No, I'm ..."
"Is that young Donna? What's wrong?"
"No, I'm not Donna. This is Lucy. I'm ... I'm the scullery maid."
"You're the what?" Bert Buckmaster laughed, a strange and unusual sound. "Business is lookin' up, then! Right, that's Donna in't it? I'd know your little girl voice anywhere. What's the problem, love?"
"It's not Donna. I keep telling you. It's Lucy. And it's the washing machine. It's flooded the kitchen."
"What, again? I only fixed that six months since. Do you know how to turn the water off?"
"No. I'm only a girl."
"Bugger. I suppose I can. Adrian's going to be out 'til eleven. All right, I'll come round. Where's Laura? Mrs Fielding, I mean."
"She's at work. I'm all on my own, Mr Buckmaster!"
"All right. What did you say your name was? Lucy? I'll be round in five minutes. Don't panic."
Lucy regarded the handset for a while, then put the phone down. Hmm, pity about Adie. Still, his dad would do, at a pinch. It would be interesting to try an older man for a change. She snorted. "I nearly called him Mr Fuckmaster just then, Raich!"
The dog sniffed at the water lapping around the kitchen floor, lowered her ears and tail and slunk out into the garden with a disapproving expression.
Lucy held her hands at the sides of her breasts and danced a cautious little jig.
 
 
  end Chapter 28