RETURN OF THE GOLDEN GOOSE

by Some Sort of Dog
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 32:- In It For The Money


 
 
  Dr Waterman pushed his glasses down to the end of his nose and peered over the top.
"Well, Laura. This is a surprise. Where have you been hiding that one?"
"Hiding?"
"Donna's little sister. Not so little sister."
"She's not. I'd have said if she was. Surely you didn't..." Laura lowered her voice. "That's why I had to be so mysterious on the phone." She looked nervously at the door marked 'Private'.
"It's all right, she can't hear us. I turned on the fan in there to stop her hearing anything. So who is she if she's not Donna's sister?"
"I don't know! Her name's Lucy. She's twenty years old." Dr Waterman's eyebrows shot up, and his glasses slid off. He caught them. It looked as if it must have happened fifty times a day. "She came to us from Charlotte fforbes-Davenport. You know her?"
"I know of her. We humble GP's don't aspire to move in such elevated circles. So Lucy worked for Lord Davenport?"
"Scullery maid."
"They'll have her details then. What's her surname?"
"I don't know." Laura felt stupid and helpless. "All I know is that she is eating us out of house and home and her breasts are growing like crazy."
Dr Waterman sat back in his chair. "Must be something in the water at your place. You ought to bottle it. You'll make a fortune. How much?"
"How much? There's nothing in our water."
"How much is she growing? She looked pretty big, but that T-shirt would even make my wife look big."
"Her bras are specially made by the same woman who does Donna's. You know about bust measurements? I'm just over forty inches." With an effort, Dr Waterman adjusted his expression to one more suited to his profession. "Lucy's bust was about fifty-four inches when she arrived. That was just a couple of weeks ago. You can see how big she is now. She's got one of Donna's old bras on. Donna said it's about seventy-seven inches. It's not too tight, just snug. But I bet it will be too small by tomorrow. Look, I know it's irregular, Alec, but you've got to examine her. Please!"
Dr Waterman cleared his throat. His shirt collar felt too tight. "Just this once, then, since it's you. But if I find anything wrong with her and she needs treatment or hospitalisation, we'll have to go through official channels. Understand?"
Laura nodded.
"Come on, then. Let's have a look at the girl."
 
 
  "You're awake. How did you sleep?"
"So-so." Charlotte struggled upright in the middle of the double bed. "Where did you sleep last night?"
Maggie blushed. "In the spare bedroom. There wasn't room for two of us in here. Now. I have to go to work in an hour. What can I do for you? You can use the phone to see if there's any news. Do you want the twins with you? Shall I tell anyone you're here?"
Charlotte clutched at her head with both hands. "Mags! Calm down, please. I'll stay here another night if you don't mind, then I'll have to see about going home. Perhaps they'll be back by then anyway." She looked up hopefully at Maggie.
"Will your dad have Maxwell back?"
"I don't know. If there's one thing Daddy's dead keen on, it's loyalty in his servants. Maxwell may have blown his chances..." Her voice started cracking.
"Were you...?"
"Yes!"
"You didn't suspect they were...?"
"No."
"Poor Char. Do you want some breakfast? Toast and coffee? Eggs and bacon?"
"Oh, don't put yourself out for me, Mags." Charlotte snuggled down in the bed. Her breasts stayed where they were, so she peered out from between them. "Yes please."
"Yes please what?"
"Toast and coffee. Eggs and bacon. Scramble the eggs. Four ought to be enough. Toms and mushies. Lightly grilled. A bit of fried bread. Fried both sides, nice and crisp. Some sauté potatoes. A banger. Only one, unless they're those skinny ones. No beans, they make me fart..."
Maggie sighed in resignation. "It's as well I had a chance to get to the shops last night. Sit tight, piglet. I'll fix you something."
"Thanks! I suppose there's no chance of some cornflakes while I'm waiting? With a couple of halved fresh strawberries on top, sprinkled with caster sugar and a dob of fresh whipped cream?"
"No!"
Charlotte sighed and wiggled her toes beneath the bed covers. "Never mind, just plain sugar and milk will do, then."
So this was what it was like to be in the service of the Ruling Classes. Maggie turned to go. "Will that be all, ma'am?"
Charlotte gave a little whoop of excitement. "What's in the envelope, Mags?"
"Env ... oh, this?" Maggie hid it behind her back again. "Just some papers for work. Nothing!"
"It says 'Do Not Bend'. It's pictures, isn't it? Come on, let's see them. It's pictures for HUMUNGOUS!, isn't it? It's girls with huge tits. Open it up and let's have a look at them!" Charlotte was relentless.
Maggie backed away. "I told you. They're not pictures." She blushed deeply. Ever since the postman had dropped the stiffened envelope through the door, and she had recognised Kay's writing, Maggie had been practically frothing with excitement. She refused to let go of the envelope. Somehow, she had avoided tearing open the flap. She would do that in the car. Meanwhile, there was Charlotte's breakfast to be done. Her voice came out as a squeak. "Breakfast will be twenty minutes. Then I really have to go."
 
 
  "Well, now, Lucy!" Dr Waterman boomed like Santa Claus. "How are we this morning?"
"We? I'm okay. I don't know about you."
Lucy was sitting on the examination table with her feet on the edge. She had pulled her T-shirt down to cover her knees. Despite the fact that it was a T-shirt of considerable size, it was on the point of exploding. Squashed between her knees and her chest, Lucy's breasts had been forced out to the sides, making her look about four feet wide. She rocked backwards and forwards and grinned at the doctor.
He cleared his throat in a professional manner and waggled his stethoscope at her. "I thought we were going to take all our clothes off. You were, I mean," he added hastily as Lucy opened her mouth.
"It was too cold. You put the fan on. Look at the size of my nipples." Lucy let go of her knees and dropped her feet off the bed. Her breasts sprang determinedly back into their rightful place. She pointed to roughly where her nipples ought to be, but she had to be guessing at their size: she could surely never see them. "I took my pants off, and my bra. I put my shirt back on, though. Shall I take it off now?" Lucy sat back, thrust out her chest, then whipped the shirt off over her head, holding the pose briefly for the doctor's benefit.
He gulped. Laura had seen it all before. She tried not to snigger.
"Lie back, then, Lucy."
"Like this?" She rolled on to her back like a sheep.
"Yes. It's all right, no need to bring your knee up. Just relax. I'll have a look at your breasts, shall I?"
"Yes, please!"
Dr Waterman leaned forward, reached out a hand, then closed his eyes in a silent prayer.
"Ouch! Your fingers are cold."
"Sorry. They'll soon warm up. How does that feel?"
"Mmmm! Dreamy. Keep doing that, doc!"
"This?"
"Mm-hmmm."
"How about here? Does it hurt?"
"Feels great. God, doc, do that again!"
His fingers traced the plumpness of the areola, then compared it to the other breast, then back to the first.
"They feel normal enough, apart from the size. They feel as if they're growing."
"You can feel them growing?" Laura's eyes were like saucers.
"Not exactly, but they feel tight."
"They feel all tingly," added Lucy helpfully.
"They're extremely firm for their size."
"I can see my nipple! Look, on the wall," Lucy suddenly squealed, and pointed at a huge shadow dancing in crisp relief on the white painted wall. The other two spun round, gasping. The shadow of the nipple and its areola were something like ten times life size. Lucy grasped the fat brown appendage and suddenly pulled it out, stretching it hugely. She let go and studied the shadow of the nipple again, then wiggled it around between finger and thumb. She seemed content to play for hours.
Dr Waterman tore his attention from the shadow play and forced himself to look at the girl again.
"It's most unusual," he said at length.
"You don't say," muttered Laura.
Dr Waterman seemed to having an internal battle with himself, wondering if he dare touch Lucy's breasts again. One side won the battle and he turned his attention lower down. "Legs apart, Lucy, please. That's wide enough, thanks. Now, then. I won't hurt you."
"That's all right, doc." She lay contentedly for a moment. "Do you want a hand?" she asked considerately. "I'll pull my lips apart for you..."
"No, it's all..."
"...There!"
"Oh, my goodness me!"
Lucy revealed all. Sensing from her posing experience that men liked to see a girl apparently open and accessible, she grasped her labia between two fingers and a thumb of each hand and, parting her legs wider than ever, treated the doctor to what she understood was known in the trade as a shot of pink. He stepped back a few paces from the glistening wetness before him.
"Sorry, doc." Lucy drew the curtains once more. "Haven't you seen one before?"
Not like that.
"Let me just take a little look inside."
"Sure!" Lucy obliged again, then looked round for somewhere to wipe her fingers. She decided the doctor's white coat was as good a place as any.
He sighed heavily, then bent to his task. Seconds later, he straightened up with a chastened expression. "She's not a virgin," he summarised.
"Er, no," said Laura. "I know she's not."
"Sexually active?" The doctor flushed at Laura's expression, before compounding his own confusion. "Lucy, I mean. Is she sexually active, to your knowledge."
"Oh, yes. All the time."
"I see. Is she on the pill?"
They both looked at Lucy, who lay there, eyes closed, mouth half open, fondling an areola.
"I don't think so."
"I'll write a new prescription for her. I assume she takes other precautions...?"
They both looked at Lucy again.
"What do you think?"
"Probably only when she remembers."
"Not at all, then, in that case. Look at her."
Lucy chose that moment to emit a keening moan, and allowed one hand to seek her womanhood. Laura and the doctor overcame their desire to lend the girl a helping hand.
"You may get dressed now, Lucy, thank you," Dr Waterman said after some protracted throat clearing. He went to the wash basin and washed his fingers up as far as his elbows.
Lucy returned to the present, regarding him with half-lidded eyes. Her lips looked puffy and moist. Her tongue came out and licked them. She sat up and swung her legs off the table. Her nipples were painfully erect and an extensive gleaming wet patch on the sheet marked the epicentre of her recent activity.
"Was that it?" she asked.
"Yes, it's all over."
"You're not going to stay behind and do rude things with the doctor, Auntie Laura?"
"Lucy! Certainly not!"
"You're not? I wouldn't mind! I thought you fancied him."
Laura blushed. "Nobody fancies anybody. We're going home now."
"Good, I'm starving."
 
 
  "I am going to call Madame."
"You can't! We've run away. You can't keep phoning home." Maxwell sat bolt upright in bed and clutched his back. "Ouch. This mattress. I've done me back in. Scottish beds aren't made for shagging. Not with the woman on top, anyway." He gazed round the room with its nineteen shades of tartan: wallpaper, carpet, rug, bedspread and the little gift-wrapped packets of shortcake supplied with the compliments of the management for dunking in your coffee made with rancid loch water from the tartan kettle. "Welcome to effing Scotland," he muttered.
"I just want to see if the babies are all right. I left them with Mrs Grummit. I am sure she will give them cow's milk. She is 'orrible."
"The babies will be all right. The mistress will look after them. She'll have to, she won't be able to go out anywhere without the car. They'll really be missing us. It's been best part of a week now. Serve them right, the tight-fisted bastards."
"Money is not everything, darling Short'ouse. It cannot buy you 'appiness."
"A penis? There's nothing wrong with the one I've got," Maxwell was instantly on the defensive.
"What?" Jacqui stopped stroking his cheek and looked at him blankly.
"Never mind."
"You must 'elp me with my English," she pouted, hugging her knees with her arms and rocking from side to side. The bed creaked rhythmically. It had been creaking rhythmically all night and much of the day. Maxwell imagined the entire hotel staff gathered in the kitchen beneath, watching the lampshade swaying, hearing the rattle of the hanging utensils. "And I will teach you to speak French."
"Me? French?" Maxwell was horrified.
Jacqui picked up the phone. "I will call 'ome."
"It's not home." Maxwell realised they didn't have a home. No job, either. Whose stupid idea was this? He watched Jacqui glumly as she waited for a reply, holding one arm above her head and scratching her hairy armpit. Her fingers disappeared into the forest.
'Allo? Is zat Mrs Grummit? Non? Oh. Zen 'oo is it?" Jacqui listened, her eyes getting wider and wider. She seemed about to say something else, then she changed her mind and slammed the phone down. "Merde!"
"What's up?" She had flounced up from the bed and was staring out of the window. There was nothing out there but driving rain and a vista of damp sheep. "Jacqui?"
"What do you want?" she asked dully.
"What did Mrs Grummit say?"
"It wasn't Mrs Grummit. It was someone called Alison."
"Who? Who's she?"
Jacqui spun round. "She's ze effing nanny. We 'ave not been gone since but only not six days, and they already 'ave a new nanny. A girl!"
"All nannies are girls," Maxwell pointed out. "Where's she from?" He narrowly avoided asking how big her tits were.
"I don't know anyzing about 'er. She is looking after my babies. 'Ow dare she?"
"They had to get somebody in, love. Mrs Grummit couldn't look after the twins." He was silent, listening to the rain lashing the window. "Did she say anything else? Did she say if they've got a new chauffeur, by any chance?"
"Of course not! Why should she?"
"You should have asked her."
"You didn't even want me to phone."
"Once you did, you could have asked if they've got a new chauffeur. If I'd rung, I'd have asked if they had a new nanny."
"Yes, so you could go to bed wiz 'er!"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"She's got huge teets, zis Alison."
"She's got...? How do you know that?"
"She told me. She said the old nanny had run away, and Mrs Grummit had come to the caravan and asked if she would like to look after the twins."
"The caravan?" Maxwell stared at Jacqui, his mouth open. "You mean, Mrs Grummit found her at a caravan? She's not ... she's not, is she?"
"Not what?"
"Not Lucy's sister?"
"'Ow would I know? Lucy's sister? She did not say."
"No, she wouldn't. You have to ask if you want to know anything. Lucy was the same. I bet Mrs Grummit went and got Lucy's uncle Gabriel to be the new chauffeur."
"Uncle Gabriel? He drives a Mercedes?"
"I don't even know if she's got an Uncle Gabriel. I bet she has now. Shit, what a bloody mess. What am I doing, sitting on a fucking tartan bed in a God-forsaken country in the pissing rain? No job, nowhere to live. Nothing..."
Jacqui's fingers went to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. "Short'ouse?" She hurried to the bed and tried to cling to her lover. He shrugged her off crossly. "Short'ouse?" Her voice was cracking. Jacqui got up numbly and slouched off into the tiny bathroom. Maxwell heard her sit down on the tartan-covered toilet seat. He stared into the distance for a long moment, then turned over on his face. It had been a long time since he had cried, but now his shoulders began to shake in despair and desolation.
 
 
  Charlotte looked in the looking glass and turned her head this way and that. "What do you think, Mags?"
"A bit more eyeshadow. You look staggering! The effect, as they say, is devastating. Nobody else in the world could show five feet of cleavage."
"That's why I'm not sure about the eye make-up. Who's going to be looking at my face?"
"Everyone. They'll look at your tits first, then they'll look at your face to see who you are."
"Then back at my tits again."
"Yes, probably. Still, what's it matter? It's only a pub."
"I don't go in pubs much. Do we all have to sing?"
"Sing? What for?"
"Don't London pubs have knees-ups, and pearly kings and queens, and everybody singing rude songs?"
"I don't think it's been like that for about seventy-five years, dear. Especially on Monday nights. We just sit and drink, mostly."
"Then we come home?"
"That's right."
"Oh. Why can't we just go straight to bed now?"
"I thought you wanted a change. We've been in bed for the best part of a week."
"I suppose so. We can come home early, though, can't we?"
"If you like. What time are you going back home tomorrow?"
"The chauffeur's coming for me at eleven in the morning, after he's dropped Daddy off at Westminster. It will feel funny, being driven by someone else who isn't Maxwell."
"I'm sure he'll be really dishy. What did Mrs Grummit say his name was?"
"Bert something. We have to call him Gabriel. God alone knows what Daddy will make of that. I don't know where Mrs Grummit found him. She's got his niece as well, she's looking after the twins."
"Just like that? How do you know if she's any good? Did she come with any references?"
"Mrs Grummit says she knows the family. The girl's got kids of her own. She's moved them into her room. Apparently she's a little treasure, really helpful around the kitchen. But as long as she can change a nappy and give the twins a bottle, that's all that really matters."
A horn sounded outside.
"There's the minicab. We're off. Come on." Maggie pulled Charlotte to the door.
 
 
  "That's it, Mum. I'm not giving her any more of my clothes. She's had a different bra every day for a week. The one she's doing her best to split tonight is only a couple of months old. And that was my favourite sweater she's got on. What is going to happen when she catches me up?"
"Come here, love!" Donna went to her mother and hugged her.
"Ouch!"
"All right. How long have you had this bra? The one you're wearing now?"
"About a month. Just before you got back from your two weeks away."
"Looks as if you're both going to need to see Mrs Danby again, doesn't it? I won't pretend the bonus won't come in handy, though." Laura held her daughter at arms' length, so the girl's breasts squooshed lightly against her body. "Lucy's catching you up, but you're still growing. Your old bras are no good to you, are they?"
Donna shook her head.
"And they're certainly no use to anyone else, apart from Lucy? Then let her have them. The poor girl can't be enjoying all this growing. Her boobs must feel enormously heavy. Take it easy on her."
"Okay." Donna nodded glumly.
"We'd better ask Maggie to make sure Cunis buys Lucy some more clothes. You can share them. It will be like having an older sister, won't it?"
"It won't feel right, wearing Lucy's hand-me-downs. I thought the doctor was going to do something about her, anyway."
"He did. He put her on a different pill and told her she had to take one a day at the right time of the month. I'm sure she understood. He said it was to stop her breasts getting too big. She'll understand. She's a bright girl. It will take a little while before we start noticing the difference.
 
 
  Lucy swallowed another Monday and followed the boy into the cricket pavilion. It was a warm old wooden building and it smelled full of interesting things: leather, cricket bat oil, socks and mildew. It was already almost dark outside but they didn't turn the lights on. He led the way into an inner room, lined with benches round the outside, with just enough room to walk round a creaky-looking table in the middle.
He stopped and reached for her.
"Ouch, that was my tit."
"Sorry!" The boy sounded chastened and awestruck. "It was closer than I thought."
"That's because its so big," Lucy explained. "You have to be extra careful with them. They get in the way."
"They're the biggest I've ever seen."
"Not as big as Donna's."
"They're a lot nicer than Donna's. Rounder, like real tits."
"Hers are real."
"Yours are nice. Anyway, she doesn't let boys feel hers."
"I haven't let you feel mine yet, either."
The boy fumbled in his pocket and came out with a pound coin. "Thanks," she said, inspecting it by feel before thrusting it into her jeans pocket.
"Come on then! I've paid."
"You can only look. You can't feel them. They're too sore."
"But it's dark! I can't see anything. Come on, Luce. Just a little squeeze!"
Lucy shuddered at the very thought. "You can look at them, that's all. It's not quite dark. You can nearly see." She reached for the hem of Donna's favourite sweater and carefully worked it out and over her breasts. It was getting almost impossible to do it without hurting. They were so big now, taking off a sweater squashed them right out of shape. Her arms weren't long enough to pull the sweater clear of her ultra- sensitive nipples. "Can you help take this sweater off for me? I won't charge you any extra."
Eagerly, the boy seized the hem of the sweater and tugged it upwards.
"Oowwww! No! Gently. Please?"
He pulled it clear of the absurdly huge mounds and let go when it was bunched up above her breasts. Donna's bra cups gleamed in the dim light. They didn't feel right. They were the wrong shape for Lucy. She had noticed this problem these last few days. It seemed to be because of her extra fullness and roundness. Donna had the bulk, but her breasts hung so much lower. And it was worst around the nipples. Lucy's were far fatter and her areolae much bigger and puffier than Donna's, and the lightest touch made them tingle and throb almost sickeningly. She was beginning to think she would have to see Mrs Danby. Donna's bras were not up to the job any more. On the other hand, a new bra from Mrs Danby would be too small in a few days. She sighed heavily and pulled the sweater up and over her head.
"Be ever so gentle with them." She tried to remember the boy's name. Too late to ask him now. He couldn't keep his hands still, and Lucy giggled at his fumbling attempts with the hooks. "Haven't you done this before?"
"Only with girls. Not with a woman!"
"I'm just the same, only bigger. Oooh. Gently now. Mind the nipples, they're ... ouch!"
"Sorry! Christ, Luce! They're even bigger than Simon said."
"Simon?" Lucy thought back. Five days ago? She giggled. "Yes, they probably are bigger now than when he saw them." About time the price went up. She had held her prices for two weeks. It was time to pass on the benefits of her growth to her customers and reap the rewards in boosted profits.
"Luce."
"Yeah?"
"Can I just touch them. I won't hurt you."
"Go on. Don't touch the ends."
Too late. The boy went straight for the searing hot nipples. Lucy almost went through the roof of the pavilion. "Aaargh!"
He tore his hands away as if he had been shot. Together, they listened. Had anyone heard?
"No more touching. Please. They're really hurting tonight." She could almost feel the boy's disappointment. And her own. "Wait a minute." She worked for a moment beneath the ponderous weight of her breasts, then released the belt of her jeans and wriggled them down over her ripe buttocks, down her muscled thighs, dropping them in a heap round her ankles. She turned her back to the bewildered youth, rested her hands on the rickety table and spread her legs.
Even a totally inexperienced boy could hardly miss an invitation and a target like that. He slid into her after no more than five attempts, bucked furiously for a few seconds, and emptied the boiling contents of his sac into her. "Thanks, Luce," he croaked. He was already pulling up his pants.
"Was that it?" Poor Lucy had hardly had time to get comfortable. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, which felt cool and reassuring as it supported her twin monsters fully three feet in front of her. "Was that it?"
A five pound note had appeared in the boy's hand. She was on the verge of telling him where he could stuff it, but her business sense prevailed and she took it. The boy was gone, no doubt to tell the fable of his conquest of the wondrous Lucy.
She tied the arms of Donna's sweater round her neck, twisted it round so it hung down the front, hung the bra on top of it and let herself out into the grass-scented night.
 
 
  end Chapter 32