Fluffy Duffy and the Devonshire Affair

A fantasy in many parts by

A x o l o t l

© 2001 Axolotl

5

Shopping

Fluffy stood in the kitchen wondering why she was there as she waited for Mr Devonshire to come downstairs. He'd been up there for nearly twenty minutes, which seemed an awful long time to change his shorts for something a little less obscene. She'd already been back out into the garden and retrieved her more or less dry bra and T-shirt from the top of the umbrella. While she was out there she'd helped herself to another can of beer from the cool box, glancing round nervously in case he might be watching her as she gulped the nasty stuff down, ending with a nose-tingly burp.
    Back in the house, she'd slipped up to Danielle's room again to fetch her shorts, which were just as tight as they'd been an hour or so earlier. Her friend couldn't help her out: Danielle had dozens of pairs of shorts and jeans, but none of them would come anywhere near the womanly proportions of Fluffy's backside. One of her dressing table drawers did, however, contain a pack of absorbent pads to fit in her panties. Five of them did make rather a sizeable bulge in Fluffy's shorts, but that was better than walking around looking as if she'd pissed herself. Tugging at her overstuffed groin she made her way downstairs again. Mr Devonshire was still upstairs, presumably in the bathroom.
    She opened the fridge in search of another drink. There was plenty of beer in there, but it was another six-pack of cans that caught her eye. Cider. That was made from apples, so it might taste nicer than beer. It didn't taste much like apples, she thought as she took a lengthy drink. Or did it? She drank some more. Maybe it did: sour apples. She stared at the empty can before throwing it in the waste bin. The fridge door was still open so she helped herself to another can. The skin on her forehead felt tight, as if it had shrunk; an interesting feeling, and quite pleasant.
    "All ready then?" said Mr Devonshire, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He smelled of some kind of masculine fragrance and looked slightly red in the face. He was wearing a pair of orange wrap-around sunglasses, like a fly's eyes. "Help yourself to a drink," he told her, glancing at the can of cider in her hand. "None for me, thanks, I'm driving."
    It was warm in the car and her head buzzed. Her shorts felt horribly tight, stuffed as they were with a week's supply of absorbent pads. And after spending half an hour or more with her boobs hanging out of Danielle's ridiculously revealing bikini, her own bra and T-shirt felt almost Victorian. At least, it did until she leaned back in the passenger seat of Mr Devonshire's BMW and tried to make up her mind where the seatbelt was supposed to go.
    "It fits between them," he advised her with a sly glance as he accelerated up the road. She blushed as she adjusted her position. The belt passing between her breasts made them look as if they stuck out about a mile, and her bra did absolutely nothing to disguise the half grapefruit-sized swellings surrounding her aching nipples. She almost wished she could have sat in the back seat, but that would have been too much like riding in a taxi.
    "Where are we going? This isn't the way to town."
    "Somewhere special. You want the best, don't you?"
    "Do I?" Fluffy didn't even know what they were going out to buy. Food? More beer?
    Mr Devonshire drove fast, sitting back in a relaxed attitude at the wheel. He'd changed his shorts for a pair of baggy navy blue pants and a faded blue work shirt. At least, Fluffy didn't find herself having to stare at his bulging manhood any more, but that didn't stop her trying. And now she knew what was in there she could clearly see the length and the enormous thickness of it where it extended down the inside of his thigh. How on earth could he live with a thing like that in his pants? It must have made even walking difficult. She wriggled her shoulders and sat forward in her seat, uncomfortably aware that her nipples were hugely erect again. It was crisply cold in the car. Her dad's car didn't have air conditioning. It didn't even have a very good heater. Mr Devonshire looked across at her and grinned foxily.
    "You can make the seat recline a bit more if you like."
    She felt that if she were to lie back, that tight feeling in her head would get even worse. "No, it's fine. It's a lovely car, Mr Devonshire." No amount of adjustment of the seat, in any direction, would make any difference to the protrusion of her teats. Even if she were lying back almost horizontally, she felt as if they would be brushing against the ceiling. They were tingling and throbbing, too. They'd been doing a lot of that these last few weeks, and she'd assumed it was something to do with their growth. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation, especially when it spread by way of her tummy to between her legs. But now, it felt ten times as powerful as ever before, as if her boobs were swelling up. She wanted to squeeze them in both hands, just to feel if they were actually bigger, but she didn't really think it would be a good idea to let Mr Devonshire see her doing that.
    She tried hiding her nipples by leaning right forward and resting her chin in her hands, but the position only forced her boobs together in the middle and glancing down she could still see their tips protruding in front of her forearms. So she kicked off her shoes, leaned back and brought her heels up on to the seat, wrapping her arms round her knees. It didn't hide her breasts completely, but it made her feel a little less conspicuous.
    Mr Devonshire reached across and placed a hand briefly on her thigh. She melted. If he'd stopped the car at that point and carried her off into the fields, she'd have let him do anything to her.
    Luckily, he didn't.
    They were on the outskirts of a place Fluffy hadn't been to before, and swinging into an extensive car park adjacent to a group of new and identical buildings with red tiled roofs. A great big billboard declared that you were 'Welcome to Beanchester Retail Village'.
    "Haven't you been here before?" he asked. "They've got loads of gear you can't find anywhere else. Well, not all in the same place the way it is here. Clothes straight from the factory. Come on, out you get!"
    Fluffy had never been interested in clothes. All she'd ever needed were jeans and shorts and sweaters and T-shirts, so she could play with the boys without looking too obviously like a girl. Of course, that had now changed suddenly and dramatically. She was beginning to wonder about what she ought to be wearing, given her suddenly extravagantly-developed figure. It might be fun to look in all these exciting shops. She couldn't afford any of this stuff, but Christmas was only a few months away.
    "Are you buying something for Danielle, Mr Devonshire?"
    He looked at her strangely as he locked the car doors, bringing a whoop from the alarm. "For Danielle? Why should Danielle need any more new clothes? She could open a store of her own. We're shopping for you, Fluff!"
    "For me? But..."
    "Of course for you. Who did you think? But there's one thing. You'd better not call me Mr Devonshire."
    "I know. I keep forgetting. Sorry, Ray!"
    He shook his head, looking strangely embarrassed. There were a lot of people around, hurrying in the direction of the shopping centre or coming away clutching bulging carrier bags emblazoned with big designer names. Mr Devonshire looked around at all the faces. "Maybe that's not a good idea either. Just for now, while we're shopping, it might be better if you called me daddy."
    "Daddy?" She snorted and giggled, falling back a few paces until she realised he wasn't joking. She caught up with him again in a hurry. "Daddy?" she whispered daringly and a little too loud. "What for?"
    "Just a little game," he said, red-faced. "We don't want people to think I'm a dirty old man buying stuff for his beautiful, extremely well-developed young secretary, do we?"
    They had entered the shopping area now; a single broad, cobbled walkway between two rows of shop-fronts. Fluffy looked at the crowds moving up and down, as if seeing them for the first time. They were looking at her, too. The men were either staring openly or taking furtive peeks. Some of them were watching her reflection in the shop windows. The women and girls were looking at her too, with a bewildering range of expressions from admiration, to envy, to undisguised hatred. And their eyes were all riveted to her chest. Her inescapable, undeniable, huge-nippled, wobbling young chest. It was distinctly worrying and Fluffy felt suddenly insecure. What if she saw someone she knew? She reached out for Mr Devonshire's big hand and smiled up at him.
    "Okay ... daddy! Where are we going?"
    "Right along here to the end. Are you sure you've never been here before? I thought everybody came here."
    A lot of people did, Fluffy saw; expensively smartly casual people with loud voices and lots of money. Not like her mum and dad at all. All the way down the middle of the street she walked with her new daddy, with these strangers eyeing her up and nudging each other. "They're all looking at me," she whispered.
    Mr Devonshire seemed surprised. "Of course they are, what do you expect, with those huge whoppers you've got?" He gripped her hand harder and seemed to be steering her across the street. Not to the large store built at right-angles across the end of the street, but to a smaller place tucked right away in the corner. "Here we are. Our first port of call."
    "Discoveries?" Fluffy stared at the little boutique in growing confusion. "A bra shop? But I've already..."
    "It's not just a bra shop, they make bikinis as well. Now, remember, you've got to call me daddy, especially in here. In fact, I'll have to keep out of the way once we're inside. They don't like men in bra shops for some reason. In we go!"
    The bell tinkled behind them. Fluffy was poised for flight, hiding behind her new daddy. If it should happen to be Felicity Ballinger, she'd turn round and run before the woman recognised her. She'd been crazy, coming in here. Mr Devonshire was very kind, but her mother had been quite right; she shouldn't go with strange men. She certainly shouldn't be calling them daddy. The shop was almost identical to the one in the town, even down to the unpleasant little bell-push on the counter. She hoped Mr Devonshire didn't expect her to ring it...
    "I'm just coming!"
    A man's voice! Or was it? At least, it wasn't Felicity Ballinger. On the other hand, she wasn't altogether keen on the idea of a man fitting her for a bikini. The curtain twitched aside and the man was standing there looking at her. Fluffy felt relief flooding through her. Suddenly she wasn't feeling nearly so threatened at all.
    "Good morning, sir, miss. How may I help you?" He chanted his ritual greeting and stood poised, awaiting an answer, one hand on his hip, the other stroking his chin. He looked Mr Devonshire up and down, raising an eyebrow — then both eyebrows — before turning an undoubtedly professional eye on Fluffy. "Mmmmm," he said, pursing his lips. "We are a well-endowed couple, aren't we!"
    "My little girl ... my ... daughter would like to look at some swimsuits."
    "Oh, your daughter, of course. Perhaps a two-piece?"
    "I think so," Mr Devonshire asserted. "A nice bikini. Of course, as you can see, she's ... a bit ... well, she's quite a large size..."
    "Of course, sir. She certainly is! But this is Discoveries! Isn't that why you came here? What's the young lady's name?"
    "Fluff..."
    "Florence," said Fluffy.
    "Excellent. Come through into the back room, Florence. If sir wouldn't mind waiting...?"
    "We won't be long, daddy!" Fluffy waggled her fingers at him and followed the man through the curtain.
    "Find yourself something nice. Don't worry about how much it costs."
    The man raised his eyebrows again as he entered the cluttered fitting room. "What an understanding daddy you've got, Florence."
    "Fluffy. They call me Fluffy."
    "They call me Gerard," said the man, pronouncing it the French way. "Now then. The kettle's just boiled. Or would you rather have something cold?" He opened an unusually large fridge and rummaged around inside. "Coke? Diet Coke...?"
    "Have you got any cider?"
    "Cider?" Gerard stared and blinked. "I don't think so. I've got a beer, but are you old enough? I suppose you must be."
    "Beer's fine," she said firmly. "I need the loo first. Do you mind?"
    Gerard sighed heavily and showed her to the customers' toilet, a pink room containing at least a dozen vases of flowers. She sat down, her head spinning, and wondered if she might be slightly drunk. No, she decided, people who were drunk fell over all the time. She stood up and rearranged the order of the pads in her shorts, not quite falling over, then made her way out into the fitting room again.
    Gerard handed her a tall glass of fizzing beer, then made himself a mug of tea with a bag on a piece of string. Fluffy watched him closely, trying to focus. "Do all your shops serve tea?"
    Only one eyebrow this time. "You've been to other shops in the Discoveries empire?"
    "For my bras, yes."
    "That one you're wearing now?"
    "Yes."
    "Must have been some time ago."
    "No. Only last week."
    "Last week?" Gerard spluttered into his tea. "Let me see! It's most unusual for one of our fitters to make such a mistake as that."
    "Mistake? But..."
    "Take your T-shirt off, Fluffy, please." Gerard watched critically, then as the bra came into view he ran a hand over his eyes. "Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh..."
    "What's the matter?"
    Gerard darted round behind her, rather as Danielle had done a few days earlier. He inspected the tag. Then to Fluffy's surprise he guided her to the workbench where a computer sat, draped with scraps of satiny material. "Just a moment. This thing's a bit temperamental..." He was waving a thing like a little hair dryer. Finally he aimed it at the tag of her bra and the computer emitted a fierce beep. "Gosh, it worked!"
    The computer screen filled with numbers, then cleared, leaving a few lines of text.
    "Florence Duffy, 23 Laburnum Walk..."
    "That's me."
    "Of course it's you! Who else could it be? Let's see. A 36 Full G-cup. That's really an H," Gerard added, sotto voce. "In case you don't like the idea of being an H. Do you mind being an H?"
    "Me? Not really."
    "Good, because you're not. That bra is far too small. Look where your breasts are spilling out underneath."
    Fluffy blushed. The casual use of the word 'breasts' had that effect on her. But she looked in the mirror. "It wasn't like that when she measured me, honest!"
    Gerard shook his head sadly. "It's not good. Not good at all. Who measured you for this thing?"
    "Doesn't your fancy computer tell you?" said Fluffy, surprised. She took a swig of her beer.
    He narrowed his eyes as if debating whether this girl was being insolent. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't." But he consulted the screen nevertheless, scrolling down through a series of increasingly full pages of information. "Now, that's most strange! Our Brocklehurst branch?"
    "There's nothing strange about Brocklehurst."
    "But that's Miss Twizzell herself. She'd never produce anything as ill-fitting as this."
    "I just told you, it fitted okay when it was new. I'm bigger than that now. Besides, it wasn't Miss Twizzell. It was Felicity Ballinger."
    "Ballinger? Oh. I see. That might explain a thing or two. Although it wouldn't explain your ridiculous claim to have grown as much as this in less than a week."
    "I have. I grew from a B cup to an H in a fortnight. I'm a growing girl."
    Gerard studied the monitor again. "Is this right, your age?" He tapped a fingernail on the screen. Fluffy nodded dumbly, hoping he wasn't going to take her beer away. She quickly drank some more. "Hmm. That might explain it, although it's very unusual! Extremely unusual. I hope your daddy's brought plenty of money with him."
    "Is it going to make my bikini very expensive?"
    "Not especially. Bikinis are pretty forgiving, so I can probably do yours from stock. It's your bra that's the problem. Off with it!"
    Gerard didn't stand on ceremony. He removed it for her and bore it away in triumph to the workbench.
    "How old?" he asked accusingly, turning round.
    "Fourteen," Fluffy mumbled.
    "Not you, the bra! It can't only be less than a week, surely. It's all stretched..."
    "I can't help it..."
    "And stained!"
    "Umm, yeah. It got some beer spilled on it!" This conversation wasn't really going very well, Fluffy decided.
    Gerard looked at her with an odd expression, then sniffed the inside of one bra cup. "It's very funny looking beer," he said. "Beer doesn't usually go hard when it dries. And how did you come to spill beer inside the cups?"
    "I don't know; it must have soaked right through."
    "I was thinking we could perhaps offer a small discount on this bra as it obviously isn't the right size for you, but as it seems to have had fluids spilled inside it..."
    Fluffy didn't understand what he was talking about, but it made her feel uncomfortable all the same, as if she'd done something wrong.
    "Look at your breasts!"
    Now she knew she'd done something wrong! "What about them?"
    "Nothing at all. I'm sure your boyfriend loves them."
    "I haven't got a boyfriend."
    Gerard gave her another of his old-fashioned looks. He grabbed a chair and whirled it round to sit astride it in front of her. "See these bits?" He touched her with the tip of a not particularly threatening finger.
    "My nipples."
    "No, not your nipples. These are your nipples, Fluffy, aren't they?"
    Fluffy wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Her nipples were lengthening even as she looked at them. They'd never been as long as this. And that tingling was back, spreading down through her tummy on its way to...
    "And very nice nipples they are too. But what about these round things. These big brown puffy bits."
    "What about them?" They were getting bigger, too!
    "They're your areolae."
    "Orioles?"
    "No, an oriole is a bird. And they're not auroras or aureoles, aureolas or areolas. That's an areola, this is another, and the two of them are areolae. And yours, my little one, are enormous!"
    "Oh!"
    "You see, it's as big as my hand, isn't it?"
    "Yes."
    "Believe me, that's big. All my friends will tell you I have big hands. But the trouble is, Fluffy, having such enormous puffy areolae makes it extremely difficult to fit you properly with a bra. I doubt if your Felicity creature has ever seen a pair like yours. I haven't seen many myself. There was this one remarkable family at my last shop ... but I mustn't talk about them..." Gerard gave a shudder as if someone had just marched over his grave. He unlooped his tape measure from around his neck and took a deep breath as if girding his loins. "Let's get this show on the road. Hold your arms up!"

Mr Devonshire was still sitting in the shop when they came back out through the curtain. Fluffy was clutching a large pink plastic carrier bag with the name Discoveries superimposed across the silhouette of an extraordinarily top-heavy woman. Around the bottom of the bag ran the slogan, The Biggest Name in Foundations. "Hello, daddy!"
    "Hello, sweetheart. Did you find a nice bikini?"
    Fluffy held up her bag. "It's a bit bigger than Dani's."
    "That's a relief."
    "Gerard's making me a new bra as well. It will be ready in an hour."
    "What's wrong with the one you've got?"
    Gerard pursed his lips. "It was a very poor fit, Mr Duffy. I shall report it to our head office, of course. Sadly, because of its condition, I can't allow a discount. The cups were contaminated with fluids."
    "Fluids?" Mr Devonshire had gone a funny colour.
    "Your daughter insists it was beer. Now, Mr Duffy, that will be..." He slid the bill discreetly across the counter, and Mr Devonshire gave a gulp and reached for his wallet. He had a credit card in his hand when he realised it might not be a good idea, and he stuffed it back in its little pouch and started counting notes into the bra-maker's hand.
    "It will be ready in an hour, sir," said Gerard, holding a fifty-pound note up to the light. "It is expensive, I agree, but your young ... your daughter is an extremely well-endowed young woman and she needs maximal support for what are a pair of unusually heavy breasts. Despite their magnificent shape, they are nevertheless quite soft. You may find yourself paying for a number of new and larger bras in the next few months, but believe me, your little girl will thank you for it."
    To show her gratitude, Fluffy took her new benefactor's sweaty hand. "Where are we going now, daddy?"
    "Now? Oh, the bank. I need to draw some more cash."
    "See you later, Gerard," Fluffy called happily as the doorbell tinkled. "I really need a pee," she added confidentially to Mr Devonshire as they emerged into the sunshine.
    "I'll go to the bank while you pay a visit," he said. He looked at her closely before tearing his eyes away and staring around anxiously at the crowds of shoppers. "If your new bra isn't going to be ready for an hour, what are you wearing now?"
    "When you've finished in the bank, I'll show you if you like!" She hadn't intended it to come out quite like that, but the effect was gratifying. It gave her a feeling of power to see the instant twitch in Mr Devonshire's trousers. She smiled to herself as she headed for the Ladies Toilets across the street from the bank, and experimented with a little extra wiggle of the hips. It made her feel so womanly.
    She felt even more womanly when she came back outside ten minutes later. She wasn't wiggling her hips now, in fact she was walking with exaggerated care. Was this really such a good idea, she wondered, lowering her eyes as just about everyone stared at her with open mouths. "I am an extremely well-endowed young woman and I need maximal support for what are a pair of unusually heavy breasts," she muttered to herself. "Maximal? Is there such a word? Despite their magnificent shape, they are nevertheless quite soft. You can say that again, Mister Gerard," she said, pausing by a fountain to sit for a moment on a wall. Walking unobtrusively was impossible with a pair of breasts — she savoured the word — a pair of breasts that swayed and bounced and wobbled and jiggled right down there at waist level. "I am an extremely well-endowed young woman...!"
    "I've been looking for you!" he said, his shadow blocking out the sun. "What are you sitting over here for?"
    "I needed a rest. Sit down a minute, Mr Devonshire."
    "What's the matter?" He sat down next to her, a decent and fatherly six inches away.
    "I had to take my bra off," Fluffy whispered, placing a small hand on his thigh. "It was tons too small. But I can hardly walk without it and everybody keeps on staring at me."
    Mr Devonshire stared around him. "Of course they do. You can't walk around without a bra on, not a girl your size. You'll have to put it back on."
    "I can't, not out here! I took it off in the loo."
    "You'll have to go back in there, then."
    "But it's miles!"
    "It's only thirty yards."
    "That's miles when everybody's looking at you. Have you seen what I look like when I walk?"
    "Of course not. I can imagine it, though."
    "I bet you can't. I am an extremely well-endowed young woman."
    "What?"
    "That's what Gerard said. He's right. My breasts are huge, daddy!"
    Mr Devonshire looked around anxiously. "Don't use that word!"
    "But you told me to call you daddy."
    "I don't mean 'daddy', I mean that other word you used."
    "You mean breasts? You don't like me talking about my unusually heavy pair of breasts?"
    "Shhhh! Everybody's looking!"
    "Here's my old bra," she said, opening the top of the Discoveries bag. "I s'pose I could wear my bikini. That would be more decent than wobbling around with my nipples and my areolae sticking out like halved grapefruit..."
    "Fluffy! What's come over you? I'll take you home if you don't stop this."
    "Home? Yours or mine? Do you want to see my 'kini? I'll get it out so you can see it properly. There! What about the colour? Does it suit me?" She stood up and held the bra against herself, scooping up her unusually heavy pair of breasts in the cups and hoisting them, so that the straining T-shirt untucked itself from her shorts and revealed well-defined cricket-player's stomach muscles overlaid with a rather more than generous layer of puppy fat.
    Mr Devonshire stared around in rising panic. "Fluffy, put it away, please!"
    "I want to try it on. I tried it on in the back room but that's not the same as wearing it in public. The bottom half isn't very interesting; it doesn't go up my bum like Dani's does."
    "Fluffy! Put it away at once. We're leaving!" Mr Devonshire reached out and grabbed the bikini. Fluffy hung on tight, ready for a tug-of-war like a playful puppy. Perhaps he shouldn't have let go quite so readily, but he was embarrassed to be seen arguing publicly with this staggeringly endowed young girl. Too late, Fluffy realised that she wasn't going to get a tug-of-war after all, but by that time she was already moving briskly backwards. She met the wall of the fountain with the backs of her knees.
    A crowd gathered amazingly quickly. Perhaps they were all standing around hoping for something like this to happen. Even if they had been, they must have been enormously gratified. When Fluffy stood up, blowing out a mouthful of water, the crowd could never have seen a more magnificent sight. Her shorts and her T-shirt clung to her tighter than a second skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. A young teenage girl, well-built to the point of being hefty, with short fair hair and truly massive breasts crowned with the most monstrously swollen nipples imaginable, was slowly wading Aphrodite-like to the side of the fountain. She shook her head like a dog and a spray of water droplets sparkled in the sunshine.
    "Wow, Mr Devonshire! You pushed me in!"