RETURN OF THE GOLDEN GOOSE

by Some Sort of Dog
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 36:- Are You My Mummy?


 
 
  "Come on, then, Lucy. Your turn. Stand up and show us what you've got."
"Don't want to. They hurt too much." Lucy thrust a thumb in her mouth and tried to hide behind Donna. There was far too much of Lucy to hide behind anything smaller than a double-decker bus. Mrs Danby approached her and crouched down as if she was talking to a small dog. "Come on, dear. You have to be measured now you've come all this way specially. You don't want to go back home with your boobs all floppy, do you?"
"They hurt," said the girl.
Now she was close to Lucy, Mrs Danby began to see the scale of the problem. "How long's she been this big, Donna?"
"About an hour and a half. She never stops growing. She's been going through one of my bras every day. At least, she was, until she started complaining they didn't fit her."
"I'm not surprised they didn't. It's not that she's bigger than you, although she probably is, she's an entirely different shape. I wish your mum had told me about this earlier."
"We arranged this on Monday. She must be another ten inches bigger now."
"In that case, I don't know what we can do. If I make her a bra, it will be too small by next week. Has she seen the doctor?"
"Yes. I think Mum said she'd put her on the pill." Donna lowered her voice. "Just as well, too. She fucks anything that moves."
Lucy glared at her friend disapprovingly. "I do not. I only shag my boyfriends."
"Come on, anyway, darling!" Mrs Danby offered Lucy a hand. "Let's measure you anyway. I might be able to make something that expands a bit."
"They're sore," Lucy said again, but she slid her bottom off the bench and went with the bra maker. She stood sullenly next to the Super Bertha.
"Take your things off, Lucy, there's a dear. Nobody's looking at you."
Instantly, Debbie and Geoff turned the other way and tried to look busy. Maggie's jaw was resting on the floor at her feet. She hadn't really seen Lucy standing up until now. It looked almost improbable that she could stand up.
"Can you help me get it off?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"I'll give you a hand!" Maggie arrived at a hundred miles an hour and began tugging impatiently at the hem of the sweater dress.
"Be careful," the girl warned her. "It's ever so tight!"
Maggie was careful.
"Ouch, me nipples!"
More careful still. She had to take the dress off one breast at a time, and even then it was almost impossible to stretch it far enough to release Lucy's nipples and areolae without the girl raising the roof in protest. Donna had to help. It came off eventually and they all stood back to take in the staggering sight.
"Jesus!"
"Bloody hell!"
"Gosh!"
Debbie and Geoff, consumed with curiosity, turned round as well.
"Wow!"
"Fucking hell!"
"Language, Geoffrey!"
"Sorry. She's fucking huge."
The kitchen door opened, and Lucy looked up fearfully in case it was Alison coming back. Charlotte and Kay stopped, open-mouthed.
"Gordon Bennett!"
Kay said nothing.
A small girl-child peered out from behind Charlotte, took in the spectacle of Lucy with a single comprehensive glance lasting about twenty-five seconds, and asked in a small voice.
"Are you my Mummy?"
Lucy looked at her in astonishment.
"Chunia?"
"Mummy!"
"Mummy? She's yours?" Maggie looked from one to the other. The resemblance was undeniable. In most ways, at least. The face, the hair...
Petunia spotted the difference between them almost at once.
"You've got enormous tits, Mummy! Bigger than anybody's!" She went closer, as if approaching an dangerous animal in the zoo. Daringly, she reached out a finger.
"Ouch! That's sore!"
"It's huge! Nearly as big as madam's."
"Nobody's that big," Charlotte observed. "She's pretty huge, though. Have you done her yet, Mrs Danby?"
"Done her?"
"Measured her. Put her on the Bertha. I want to see how big those bloody things are."
So, it appeared, did Petunia. She started out on a voyage of discovery, stroking Lucy's immensely bloated boobies with tiny hands. She touched the areolae with a probing finger, held her hand underneath and tried to lift the vast weight — she failed, although her hand disappeared into the fleshy mountain almost up to the wrist — and turned her attention to the other breast, which she found just as fascinating as the first. Finally, she completed her lap, ending up with a familiar pat of Lucy's plumply-taut buttocks. Standing next to Lucy, she gazed up into her eyes, not very far up, and took her hand.
"I hope you are my mummy. You're the biggest mummy in the whole world!"
Tears came to Lucy's eyes at these words of pure love. She put her arm around the child's narrow shoulders and hugged her closely.
"Mmmmfffll!" said Petunia, emerging red-faced from behind Lucy's left breast.
"Wow!" murmured Debbie. "I think I want a baby, Geoff!"
"You what?"
"Not straight away. But as soon as you can."
"Before you two start," said Mrs Danby shakily, "perhaps we ought to do something about this poor girl's bra. Before something terrible happens to her."
People began stirring themselves out of their positions in which they had become frozen like a tableau.
Kay took Petunia's hand. "Mummy's going to have a great big bra made for her nice boobies, darling. It's all boring grown-up stuff. You want to come over here and help me draw some pictures?" She found a piece of paper and a pencil and took Petunia over to the work bench.
Maggie waved to Geoff, who was snogging with Debbie. She was apparently intent on making that brand new baby without further delay.
"Camera, Geoff! We'd better get some shots of this."
Easier said than done. Geoff moved with some difficulty to pick up the camera, hampered by a raging stiffness in his groin and a suddenly more or less insatiably horny girlfriend-cum-assistant.
Donna helped Lucy, who couldn't see where she was putting her feet, guiding her to the Super Bertha. Of course, she wasn't tall enough: someone had to fetch Mrs Danby's measuring box to stand on.
"You're a big girl now, my dear," said Mrs Danby, plucking at the elastic of Lucy's generously-filled briefs and letting it thwack resoundingly against the soft flesh of her bum. "What have they been feeding you on?"
"Nothing!" Lucy wailed, suddenly remembering. "They wouldn't even let me have any breakfast this morning. I'm starving!" She stood there with her giant breasts supported horizontally in front of her like a pair of great pink zeppelins, clutching her empty tummy and whimpering piteously.
The camera went 'thunk-wheee' and the lights went 'pock'.
Mrs Danby looked on the model with compassion. "Bless her! Somebody bring her something from the kitchen, quick."
"What does she want?" Maggie looked at the girl. "What would you like, Lucy?"
"Anything!" A dreamy expression came into her face as she became more specific. "Apple and raspberry pie and whipped cream, chocolate cake, crunchy roast potatoes, double chocolate chip cookies, damson jam butties, cottage pie and mushy peas. Anything!"
Maggie set off with this menu. Lucy was obviously not one of those picky eaters.
Mrs Danby cracked her tape measure like a whip. All she needed was a top hat and tails and she could have been a circus ringmistress. "Here we go, then. Let's get this show on the road."
 
 
  "No, I am not going to reveal her measurements. I absolutely refuse. This is classified information." Mrs Danby held the notebook against her bosom. She looked slightly flushed.
So did Lucy, still installed in the Super Bertha, surrounded by dishes, some of them already empty. She watched Mrs Danby out of the corner of her eye, like a wild animal.
"You have to tell us," Maggie insisted. "It's for the magazine."
"I don't have to tell you anything."
"But we can't tell lies about our models' measurements."
"Why not? I'm sure you won't be the only ones who do."
"Not us. We have a reputation for honesty and fair dealing with our readers."
"Well, you'll just have to invent them this time. And it's no good asking Lucy: she doesn't know either."
Lucy shook her head in confirmation, scattering bits of pie crust from her chipmunk cheeks.
Maggie slouched away unhappily and leaned on the work bench.
"What's going on?" Kay looked up at her.
"Have they finished measuring my Mummy?" Petunia demanded.
"Yes, dear." Maggie shook her head. "But Mrs Danby won't say how big she is. She's written it down in her little black book, but she won't show us."
"I can find out," smirked Petunia.
Kay put an arm round the little girl's shoulders. "I don't think Mummy knows, darling, so she won't be able to tell you."
"She doesn't know," Maggie said. "She's too busy having her breakfast."
"Is that all her breakfast," said Petunia wonderingly. "No wonder she's got such huge boobies. Will I have boobies as big as Mummy if I eat as much as that?"
"No, I don't think so!"
Petunia looked crestfallen. "As big as yours, Auntie Kay?"
"No, sweetheart, not as big as mine."
"As big as hers, then?"
Maggie reddened.
"You mustn't call her her, Petunia. That's Auntie Maggie."
"Hers are only as big as my other Mummy's. I want to be bigger than her! My other Mummy says if you've got really huge boobies, you get lots of boyfriends. Have you got lots of boyfriends, Auntie Kay?"
"No, I've got a husband."
The child nodded, satisfied. "How 'bout you?" she asked Maggie.
"Not at the moment, no."
"See," said Petunia in quiet triumph. "I told you."
"This isn't getting us any closer to finding out about Lucy's measurements."
"I said I could find out."
"You? How?"
"Easy."
"Go on, then." Maggie thought she was beginning to sound like a child herself.
"What will you give me?"
"What?"
"I'm not finding out unless you give me something."
"What do you want?" Maggie was horrified.
"Some breakfast like Mummy's. Then I can grow enormous boobies, too."
"You won't grow enormous boobies just by eating breakfast, Petunia."
"Oh, go on, Mags. Get her some breakfast. If she suddenly grows enormous boobies, it won't matter. We're in the right place."
"What do you want?" Maggie sighed.
"Some of that apple and raspberry pie and ice cream," said Petunia firmly.
"Go on, then. Find out Mummy's measurements and I'll get your pie."
"No, pie first."
"Measurements first, or no pie."
"All right. No measurements, then."
"Good grief, you two. You're like a couple of kids!"
"It's her."
"It's not me, it's her."
"Shut up! For God's sake, I'll get the pie. You go and find out Mummy's measurements. Now!"
"All right." Petunia slid out of her chair, adjusted her underwear, and went over to Mrs Danby. She tugged at her skirt. Mrs Danby bent down and Petunia whispered something in her ear. Then the bra maker took her little book, ripped a page out of it and handed it to Petunia, who ran back to her place. "Right. Where's the pie?"
"It's here." Kay arrived with a piled-up dish, topped with whipped cream.
"I wanted ice cream with it."
"This is all there was."
"Oh, all right, then." Petunia took the bowl and began eating.
"Hang on, you!" Maggie tried to pull the dish away. Petunia resisted. Maggie pulled again. "What about those measurements?"
"They're on this paper." Petunia gave it to Maggie.
"There's nothing on it. It's blank."
"It's all right, look." Petunia pushed her pie well out of Maggie's reach and took the paper from her. "You can see the numbers, look. Hold it so the light's over there, then you can see the numbers. I can see them, anyway." She put the paper down. Maggie picked it up.
"I can't see anything."
"Oh, you're useless. Bring me a sharp knife."
"Get one yourself!"
"Maggie, really! The child can't be trusted with sharp knives."
Maggie stormed off and came back with a kitchen knife. Petunia took it and tested it on her thumb.
"Careful, dear," said Kay in a faint voice.
But Petunia was already sharpening her pencil, shaving the point so a fine drizzle of dust fell on to the sheet of paper. She carried on until the whole page was covered, then she studied the result with her head on one side. "Ready?" she said, and blew gently. She smiled beatifically. "There you go. I told you I'd find out."
Maggie reached out for the paper. Petunia held it at arms' length. "No! Can't have it!"
"Say please, Mags," Kay nagged.
"Please!" Maggie grated harshly. Petunia handed over the paper.
"Look," said Maggie, pointing at the blurred numbers. "She did it! The kid did it!"
"I'll take that, thank you," said Mrs Danby, grabbing the paper and screwing it into a ball.
 
 
  "For the last time, Margaret, I am not telling you. Just tell your ridiculous readers that she's bigger than last time."
"They can see that for themselves. They want to know how much bigger."
"They can see how much bigger she is for themselves. What difference do the numbers make?"
"I'm going to stay here and watch you to see what size body band you use. Then I'll measure the cups, and..."
"You can sit there until you're blue in the face, girl. She's not going to get away with a standard body band of any size. I'm going to have to design something for Lucy from the bottom up. Literally!"
"Literally what?"
"Literally her bottom. She's so big, she's going to need a bra based on a pair of pants."
"Like that thing of Charlotte's?"
"A nicer design than that. More petite and feminine. Still Level Three, though."
"Level Three? On the Shaw Level Bra System? Lucy's a Level Three?"
"I'd have thought even you could see that."
"But that means she's ... how tall is she? She's more than a hundred inch bust?" Mrs Danby made no comment. "A hundred and five inches!"
"At least. You've wormed that much out of me. I'm not telling you any more. That's it. Now leave me alone. I have to make this bra before she outgrows it."
Maggie wandered away in a daze. Kay and Petunia watched her go.
"I think your Mummy's finished her breakfast, love. Shall we go and talk to her?"
"Will she take me home with her?"
"I don't know. Mummy lives with Auntie Donna and her Mummy. Let's go and see Auntie Donna, shall we?"
Donna curled up in the over-stuffed armchair and watched them come over. "Hi, you two."
"What's up, Donna? Not happy?"
"All this fuss over Lucy. Mrs Danby's forgotten I came for a bra as well."
"Have you got huge boobies, too, Auntie Donna?"
"Yeah."
"Bigger than Auntie Kay's?"
"Yeah."
"Bigger than my Mummy's?"
Donna flushed slightly. "No, mine are smaller than your Mummy's."
"But you've got lots of boyfriends, though, haven't you?" The child seemed genuinely concerned for Donna's welfare.
"One or two. And girlfriends, too."
"My other Mummy didn't mention girlfriends, but I suppose they're all right. See, Auntie Kay. My other Mummy knows."
"What's she on about?"
"She's discovered a connection between huge tits and boyfriends. She wants some herself."
"Which?"
"Both."
"Grief! Be careful what you wish for, kiddo. Trust me, you do not want a pair like mine. And certainly not like your Mummy's."
Petunia considered this for a while. "My name's Chunia," she introduced herself at last. "Can I come and live with you?"
"What?"
"Me and my Mummy. I'd be ever so good, Auntie Donna. I go to school, and I don't eat much. Not too much, anyway. Can I? Please?"
She put a thumb in her mouth and twisted the upper half of her body from side to side. Donna couldn't remember when she'd been able to do that without destroying half the furniture.
"It's not my house. We'd have to ask my Mum."
"Oh, good. That's settled. I'll tell Mummy."
And she roared off to break the good news.
"What did I say?" said Donna.
Kay sighed heavily. "It's not what you said, dear, it's the way you didn't say it."
 
 
  "How are we going to break this piece of news to my Mum?" Donna guided the car round a roundabout and turned up the radio so Petunia, in the back seat, couldn't hear the conversation.
"No problem. I'll look after Chunia. I earn enough to pay for her food and stuff. I was saving up for a car, but the way I'm growing, I'll be miles too big to get behind the wheel."
"You'd pay for your child's food out of your immoral earnings?"
"Immoral...? You mean my shagging money?"
"Of course."
"It won't take all my money. I get hundreds in a good week. Ouch! Although I may need to cut out the tit sex and concentrate on straight shags."
"You won't even be able to do those when you get your new bra pants."
"Yes I will. Mrs Danby's going to put a special slot in the front so I can do a wee without taking my bra off. I can shag through the same hole." She was silent for a while. "Do you think she'll remember another hole at the back, for...?"
"I'm sure she will, Luce. Mrs Danby's a woman of the world."
"I hope so. I eat so much, I need to go quite often..."
"Yes, Lucy!"
"I mean, not just every day. Two or three times..."
"Yes, Lucy."
"...in the morning and again in the afternoons, I have to..."
"Lucy!"
"...and again before I go to bed. What?"
"Shut up!"
Lucy shut up for five miles or so.
"Donna?"
"What?"
"My tits are sore."
 
 
  "Donna! You cannot be serious!"
"She won't be any trouble, Mum. And she'll be company for Lucy."
"But Lucy eats enough for a regiment as it is. What are we going to do with another mouth to feed."
They both looked at Lucy and her daughter, on their knees in front of the open fridge, making a selection for their supper.
"Lucy can pay. She says she's got some good money coming in now."
"I dread to think how she earns it."
"You're probably right. In fact, you are right."
"Immoral earnings! What would your Dad say if he knew we were keeping a house of ill-repute?"
"It's not as if Lucy has her clients coming to the house."
"Meaning that I do, of course!"
Donna blushed. "I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"My boobs are sore," Lucy complained, getting up from the floor and lumbering away to the toilet. Petunia made her decision and started bringing out various items, arranging them in a circle on the kitchen floor.
"Another thing."
"Another thing?"
"If Lucy carries on growing like this, she won't be able to get down on her knees in front of the fridge. She'll need Petunia to do it for her. I'm certainly not!"
Laura considered the point. It made some sense: as much as anything else round here.
"How much?"
"How much what?"
"How much does she earn in a week?"
"Hundreds, she says."
"The little slut."
"She knows. Not so little, either. She's reached Level Three, Mrs Danby said."
"Darling! That's terrible! What's it mean again?"
Donna sighed. "Her bust is at least twice as big as her height, Mother."
"So she's bigger than you?"
"It doesn't necessarily mean that, with her being so short."
"Oh, good!"
"But she is bigger than me anyway. When we finally got around to Mrs Danby measuring me — finally, even though I was Cunis's first model under this scheme — I was a hundred and nine inches."
"A hundred and nine? Oooh, darling, you've earned another thirty pounds a month!"
"You ought to have arranged for Lucy to earn money for you as well. She's a hundred and ten! 110-25-33. She's been piling it on all over. No wonder she looks like a little roly-poly pudding. Mrs Danby made us promise not to tell anybody. And certainly not Maggie."
"But they always put the measurements of the girls in HUMUNGOUS! That's why the men buy it."
"Mrs Danby doesn't agree. She thinks there are some things that should always be a secret between a girl and her corsetiθre. So Maggie is going to have to guess."
Lucy returned. "Well, that's made a bit of room...!"
Petunia closed the fridge door and piled Lucy's and her supper on the table. Laura went pale.
"Are they going to eat all that?"
"Only if we don't join them, Mother."
"You've got a point there. Move over, you two, you're not the only growing girls in this house."
 
 
 
 
 

Epilogue


 
 
  Maggie turned off the ignition and looked at the unlit windows of her flat without enthusiasm. All the other windows had lights on although it was still only just after four o' clock. Christmas trees flashed, tinsel and imitation snow glittered around the window frames. She sighed heavily, got out and locked the doors. Her back ached. It seemed to ache so much these days.
"You're getting old, Margaret," she told herself as she unlocked the door. She felt herself creak as she picked up the mail from the mat. Three cards, five bills.
One card was from Laura. It was signed 'With Love — from Laura, Donna, Lucy, Petunia and Rachel.'
Laura had mentioned earlier that she had posted a card. That was when Maggie had handed her two envelopes: a big fancy one from HUMUNGOUS! and a smaller one from Maggie herself.
"Sorry you've missed the kids. They've gone to do their last minute Christmas shopping." Laura had made coffee. And although Maggie had sat around trying desperately to make conversation, she had to leave without getting a glimpse of Donna and Young Lucy. "They'll be sorry to have missed you," Laura had smiled, leaning through the car window. "They're still growing. But now I've got a growth clause on both of them, they can grow as big as they like!" She had waved the stapled wad of paperwork in mild triumph as Maggie drove away.
Laura had been nagging Wilma for a growth clause for Lucy for months. If nothing else, she insisted, it would help pay for some of the extra food. While they were at it, they might as well include Petunia in the arrangement as well. You never know.
Wilma had finally cracked under the pressure.
"Get out there and sign her up for the girls. Same arrangement as Donna. You can stick young whats'name on it, too. Petunia. And take a company cheque with you, pay them for the last two months as well. Call it a Christmas bonus."
"Right, Chief!"
"You can drop her card off while you're there. And this one's Charlotte's. Why not go round that way and drop hers off, too. By the time you've done that, it won't be worth coming back into the office." Smiling, Wilma had opened the desk drawer and took out an envelope. "BJ loved your layout, by the way. Something extra for you. Happy Christmas. See you in the New Year!"
 
 
  Maggie had driven away from the office with a lump in her throat. It had been there again as she threaded through the frosty lanes to Charlotte's place. And if Laura's house had been unusually quiet, the Davenports' mansion was like bedlam.
"Come on up!" Charlotte had bellowed from the bowels of the house as soon as Mrs Grummit had opened the front door and told Maggie to be sure and wipe her feet before she came in. The place was awash with babies, it seemed. At least two were yelling their heads off at any one time. The nanny, Alison, resplendent in her burstingly tight uniform, bustled to and fro between the drawing room and the nursery. The buxom nanny was noticeably and gloriously pregnant again.
Maggie hadn't seen Charlotte for at least a month. The change was staggering. If she had been phenomenally huge when she had been four months pregnant with the twins, she looked twice as big now at nearly six months with one baby. Her belly was mountainous, yet it was overshadowed by her stupendous breasts. "Excuse the state of undress, Mags," Charlotte had giggled, seeing Maggie's stunned expression. "It takes me so long to get this bra on, I'm too exhausted to put clothes on as well. Anyway, there's no harm in showing off Mrs Danby's handiwork, is there?"
The bra had a huge aperture at the front to let Charlotte's mound stick out. It made the most of the opportunity. As she sat on the edge of the couch, her belly protruded beyond her knees and her breasts beyond even that, despite their being restrained by the gargantuan cups.
Conversation was impossible. Even Charlotte's foghorn voice failed to penetrate the din of thirsty babies. Finally, hoarse from shouting, Maggie stood up, flapped the Christmas card envelopes at Charlotte and wished her the compliments of the season in sign language.
 
 
  Now, waiting for the kettle to boil and the central heating to defrost the bedroom on emergency full boost, Maggie stepped out of her crumpled business suit and sensible shoes. "I suppose I'm going to have to wait until after Christmas for a new bra. At least, I won't be over- indulging this year." She sighed. "Not in anything."
The bra was tight again. The third one she had outgrown since September. The weight she was adding to her waist, thighs and bottom was negligible compared to what was going on to her bust. Easily sixty inches now! Laura had remarked on it, making a flippant comment that she ought to be thinking of a growth clause for herself. Quickly, she unhooked the bra and lowered her breasts carefully and painfully to her stomach. She selected a T-shirt dress from the wardrobe. It was stretchy-tight but comfortable, and it held her in to a certain extent.
Thinking about the growth clause reminded her of the brown envelope: her Christmas bonus from BJ Cunis. She tore it open, and gasped. It contained a small wad of fifty pound notes. Five hundred pounds! "For me? Happy Christmas, Mags!"
And without knowing why, she slumped on to the bed and burst into tears.
 
 
  How long had the knocking been going on? She heard it on the second time, or maybe the third. Whoever it was knocking on the door, they weren't going away. Not carol singers, then. Mags rolled upright, rubbed at her reddened eyes and made her way to the front door. A small figure was dimly visible through the patterned glass. No light, not with me looking like this!
"Who is it?"
"Miss Wallace? Parcel for you. It's Desmond, from downstairs."
"Hang on!" Desmond? So that was his name. She had only seen him a handful of times. The door opened, revealing a small man, like an overweight jockey. The streetlighting back-lit his hair, swept forward into a fringe. If elves had hair-styles, that would be how they looked. He thrust a large box at her.
"Delivered this mornin'." The voice was high and piping. An Irish accent. He probably was a jockey until he became too heavy. "Gent an' a lady brought it. The lady was expectin' a baby, beggin' your pardon."
Kay and Rick. "Thanks ... Desmond. It was good of you to bring it round. Sorry there's no light in the porch. The bulb's gone..."
"It's all roight, so t'is. Glad to have caught you. There was a letter, too." He pulled the envelope from his back pocket and handed it over." Maggie backed into the hallway and put the box down. It was heavy. She glanced at the envelope in the dim light. Just at that moment, someone walked down the path to the house next door. Instantly, the security lighting came on: two kilowatts of tungsten halogen bathing them in a stark blue glare.
Kay's writing, Maggie registered, before becoming aware of Desmond staring at her. As well he might. The T-shirt dress was okay for slummocking around the house, but for answering the door on a chilly night, without a bra, it was eminently unsuitable. Maggie blushed scarlet. She tried to cover her thrusting nipples with the envelope. She ended up covering the other one with her hand.
"Thank you so much. Thank you!" She edged her way indoors. At least, she realised, little Desmond was blushing almost as much as she was.
 
Dear Mags,
 
Sorry we missed you today. Wilma said you might have been back by three but you weren't. So I'm scribbling this note in the car and we'll leave your pressie with a neighbour. There's a little man downstairs with funny hair who looks like a jockey. We hope you like it. It's a bit unusual, but we think it will give you pleasure. Rick says you're sure to find a use for it around the flat. It took ages to get hold of it, and quite a lot of ingenious explaining. Anyway, it's all yours. Sadira doesn't want it back - she says she's outgrown it...
 
love and kisses, and Happy Christmas
 
Kay and Rick
 
PS: Hey I nearly forgot. If you're not doing anything too important on Xmas Day, Mum wondered if you'd care to come round for dinner? Nothing too boisterous, just the four of us. Give us a bell if it's OK!
 
Luv ya!

  "Kay!" Maggie hardly dared to think about it. She bolted the door and snatched up the parcel. It was heavy, surely too heavy to be...
She dropped it on the bed, tearing at the fancy paper and ribbons. "Why do they have to wrap the bloody thing like Fort Bloody Knox... ah! Ah!" She was in, ripping back the sticky tape and thrusting a hand inside, feeling around — Yes! — before bursting the flaps of the lid open and plunging in with both hands, feeling the satiny softness, the stretchy elastic, the bone-hard reinforcement. She lifted it out with reverence and held it to her face, buried her nose in it, seeking the fragrance she imagined must still cling to it. Yes, it did!
It lay on the bed, face upwards, the outrageously huge cups uppermost. Maggie was vaguely familiar with the design, although it differed from the bra-pants Mrs Danby had made for Charlotte and Lucy. An embroidered flash was sewn on to the side of the pants, down the left leg. 'Shaw Support Systems International' it said. Pretentious or what!
Maggie knew she had to put it on. Somehow! She would learn how. She almost tore the T-shirt dress off and stepped into the pants, before pulling the stiffly supportive material up her legs. The bra slid tight up into her crotch like a pair of cycling shorts. The material was similar, too, shiny and stretchy, and coming down almost to her knees. Heedless of her now soaking wetness, she pulled them up and fumbled behind her for the hooks at the back. No time for all of them! The two bottom ones and a couple at the very top. No shoulder straps, just a kind of singlet top like a leotard. A bit like Lucy's.
She had to stop and catch her breath, then cried out hoarsely as she lost control — no point in even trying — and flooded the pants with a positive gush of juices. As well Sadira didn't want the thing back! Aaaah! Again!
The cups were so gigantic, and their scent so light and fragrant, so subtle, yet Maggie couldn't get enough of it, even though she rolled on her back on the bed, burying her face in the cups, her head spinning, her scalp tingling. Drunkenly, she sat upright. Then she grabbed the pillows from the bed and began stuffing them one at a time into the cups, left, then right.
And the hot tears sprang to her eyes again as it dawned on her. Not enough pillows!
Frantically, she stripped the sheets from the bed, flung open the wardrobe and began unloading clothes on to the bedroom floor until she found what she was after: four more spare pillows...
 
 
  Hours must have passed. Maggie sneaked a last look at her outrageous shape and sagged back on the bed, arms stretched out behind her to support her weight. The gigantic cups, crammed with pillows, rested on her splayed knees, her hot thighs, and on the bed covers to each side of her legs. Even stuffed with nothing heavier than lightweight foam, they felt immensely heavy.
Every one of her fantasies now centred on growing breasts. First, it had been Donna's, then Lynnie's, then Charlotte's. And when it wasn't Charlotte, it was Young Lucy. And if none of them was available, there were her own breasts, growing steadily larger with every passing month. But they would never remotely begin to approach the colossal size of the bra she now wore. Sadira! In vain, she had tried to measure her bust, but had flung the tape measure away in frustration. It was a 108-inch dressmaker's tape, but it was far too short to encircle her.
For the thousandth time, she reached beneath the bra cup with her right hand, slithering her way through the drenched material to her gushing sex. She had never been so sopping wet in her life, and still it poured out of her. Where was it all coming from? Then she was rolling on her back, her knees coming up yet again.
 
 
  The phone trilled. The clock said eight, or just after. Had she really been asleep a couple of hours? Stiffly, she rolled over and felt for the floor. "All right, I'm coming!" Progress was slow and ponderous in the pillow-stuffed bra.
"Morning, Mags!"
"Kay?"
"Course it's Kay! Who were you expecting? You got your pressie?"
"Yeah, I'm wear... I mean, the man from the basement brought it round a couple of hours ... what?" Maggie's eyes opened wide and she crept over to the window with the phone. She edged back the curtain. Sunshine streamed in.
"Mags? You still there?"
"It's morning," said Maggie wonderingly. She looked down at herself as if for the first time, remembering. "Oh, my God!"
"You all right? Maggie? Hey, I was wondering about Christmas dinner. At Mum's? The little man did give you the letter?"
"The letter? Oh, yeah. And thanks for the present. It was ... it's amazing! Look, I just woke up. Can I call you back in ten minutes. I need to sort something out first. I won't be long."
She put the phone down and wandered through into the bedroom again. Bed covers littered the floor. Sadira's picture, in its frame, lay on the ruined bed, its glass smeared with sticky fingerprints. The dressing table mirror showed her a tousled, somewhat blurred figure. A young woman wearing a most unusual garment. A not unattractive woman. Quite stunning without her glasses, really. With — she had to admit — a really superbly well-developed bust. Even without Sadira's bra and all the pillows she owned. She could feel her nipples almost throbbing, somewhere beneath all those pillows. Bending over, she released herself from the bondage devices and straps of Sadira's cast-off bra. The fragrance, real or imagined, still clung to the cups. There was a clinging dampness around the crotch area which made poor Maggie blush bright red. The bed too, stripped of its sheets, was soaked: a huge wet patch in the middle.
Feeling half a ton lighter, Maggie walked through into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She gathered an armful of fleecy towels and her favourite shampoo, dumping them in a seductive heap on the bathroom floor. As she straightened up, she could feel the delicious freedom around her thighs and back now the outlandish bra had gone. And the feeling was replaced by the swaying heaviness of her own breasts. She rubbed at the mirror, already clouded with steam, and watched her nipples become satisfyingly erect.
In the top drawer of her dressing table was the last of her brand- new Danby bras, a clean pair of pants, fresh clothes for a brand new day. Christmas Eve. The bra would be too snug by at least a couple of inches, but it would see her through until she could have a new one made. After all, they were free now. She would have something really lacy and sexy. Something to impress the men.
Meanwhile, there was some last-minute Christmas shopping to do.
 
 
 

The End