Fluffy Duffy and the Devonshire Affair
A fantasy in many parts by
A x o l o t l
© 2001 Axolotl
6
Mr Devonshire Opens his Wallet
Everyone was so nice and helpful. There was the nice photographer who took lots of pictures of Fluffy as she climbed out of the pool, asked her name — I'm Fluffy — and her bust measurement — forty-four and a bit, I think — and handed her a card, which she couldn't put anywhere safe as she was all wet. He didn't ask her age, of course. No one with tits and an arse that size could possibly be under-age for girlie magazine photographs, except perhaps in some backward countries. He gave her three more cards, just to be certain, and watched as she tucked one into her moist cleavage and held another between her teeth.
Then there was the nice helpful security guard who asked Mr Devonshire if he realised that swimming in the fountains was unhealthy and forbidden by the government and what was his name and address — Fred Smith, 99 London Road, London — and was that his girlfriend he'd just thrown into the fountain and didn't he know it was dangerous, throwing girlfriends in fountains?
Nicest and most helpful of all was the lady with the deep voice from the shop just across the way who came and wrapped Fluffy in a great big blanket and led her away to her shop where she took her into the private office and rubbed her all over with huge chunky towels. Well, not quite all over, as she couldn't quite believe the size of Fluffy's breasts so she just patted them gently for at least ten minutes until they were dry, especially underneath, although she rubbed her quite vigorously everywhere else — absolutely everywhere. Fluffy was surprised but delighted. It felt terribly rude but nice at the same time, and it must be all right because this was a grown-up lady.
Now she sat on a stool sipping hot chocolate and wearing her new bikini while the nice lady whose name was Charlie and nearly had a moustache ran an occasional finger across the swelling upper curves of her chest and asked her if she was sure she was perfectly dry. She was, at least on the outside.
"Your father's waiting for you outside," Charlie said.
"But he's at work! How did he get here so quickly?"
Charlie seemed confused at that but let Mr Devonshire in, and Fluffy shouted, "Daddy!" and got up and wrapped herself around him in an enormous friendly hug, until she felt something huge and tremendously hard digging into her tummy and thought she'd better stop.
"Fluffy's going to need some more clothes before she can go outside, Mr Duffy," said Charlie with a sniff of disapproval.
"Clothes?"
"Her little T-shirt seems to have shrunk and her shorts will take ages to dry. Besides, the sun's gone in and you don't want your little girl catching a chill. Jeans or pants would be most suitable. And perhaps a shirt and a sweater. She's told me how old she is, but somehow I don't think you'll be able to get away with children's clothes..."
"Oh, right." Mr Devonshire patted his wallet. "What size...?" He looked at Fluffy and turned quickly away to walk stiffly across to the office desk under the pretext of finding a piece of paper.
"Waist thirty-one," said Fluffy. "Isn't that terrible! I keep telling you I'm shamefully fat. My bum's big, too. You'd better get forty-two inch hips, unless you get me a nice pair of those stretchy pants. Shiny purple would be nice if they make them in my size, but if you get me those they've got to be really tight! They probably will be," she added sadly.
Mr Devonshire scribbled away furiously. "What about your ... your top?"
"Up here? Well, when I had my last bra, less than a week ago, I was forty-four, but Gerard measured me just now and he said I was much bigger than that, 'cos of the size of my nipples and my ar-ee-oh-lee. That's these things." She pulled one cup of her bikini bra down a couple of inches and her audience gasped at the sight of a swelling brown semicircle. "So you'd better allow a little more than forty-four. Say forty-eight or fifty to be on the safe side. Or we could give Gerard a call on your mobile phone and find out for certain. Tell you what, I know I haven't finished growing yet, so you'd better see if you can find something in a fifty-two."
"F-Fifty-two? But that's..."
"Enormous, yeah. But I am enormous, right? I mean, I can show you them later, in the car, but you could see how big I was when that nice man with the camera took all those pictures and I pulled up my shirt just before Charlie came and wrapped me in this lovely blanket."
"You'll have to pay for the blanket, too," said Charlie. "It's been in very intimate contact with your little girl so I can't put it back into stock. It's twenty-four ninety-nine, but you can take it away and get it dry-cleaned. The towels are okay, they can go in the wash, but there are four of them at thirteen pounds each."
"Gee, thanks. I'd better call at the bank again."
"Oh, we accept all the usual cards, Mr Duffy," said Charlie.
But Mr Devonshire insisted on paying with real money, then he went off to buy all these exciting new clothes. At least, Fluffy noticed, he didn't seem to have such uncomfortable trousers any more, which was nice for him.
Charlie was ever so kind, and when Fluffy had finished her hot chocolate she showed her the way to the bathroom and suggested that it might be a good idea to make sure she was perfectly dry absolutely everywhere, and maybe she ought to rub some special oil all over her because fountain water made sensitive young skin go wrinkly. Which was even nicer, and felt ever so relaxing, although the effort seemed to make Charlie breathe rather heavily and make lots of little whimpering noises.
And when Mr Devonshire came back with loads of carrier bags, Charlie made him wait out in the front of the shop while she helped Fluffy try everything on. The silly man hadn't brought any panties, so they had to send him away again, and by that time it was at least an hour since Gerard had started making her new bra, so off went Mr Devonshire again to collect it.
Charlie dried Fluffy carefully again while he was away, then when he came back she insisted on helping to make sure the bra fitted her properly. It did, although the fitting took about twenty minutes, at the end of which Charlie flung her arms round Fluffy's neck to kiss her goodbye, then she placed one foot on the table, took the young girl's hand and thrust it up beneath her mini-skirt, where Fluffy discovered to her surprise that Charlie was completely bald. So it wasn't really a pussy at all. The woman's whatever-it-was-she-called-it was also soaking wet, and as Fluffy cupped an exploring hand beneath it, there was a final squeak and considerably more than a handful of juice gushed out — which Fluffy thought would be rude to just tip away so she rubbed it well in to Charlie's nice bottom and wiped the rest on the inside of her skirt because she didn't seem to be wearing any underwear.
Then it was time to leave.
"I'm ever so sorry I fell in the fountain, daddy!" cooed Fluffy, when they had piled all her smart designer carrier bags in the luggage compartment and she was trying to fasten her seat belt between her throbbing, tingling breasts, which felt so comfortable and snug and gigantic in her new bra.
"You don't need to call me daddy any more," said Mr Devonshire huffily.
"But it was fun, having you for a daddy," she pouted, leaning across and running a finger along his thigh. The car surged forward with a powerful roar. "Mr Devonshire?"
Silence.
"Mr Devonshire?"
"I'm driving, Fluffy. The road's busy."
"Would you like me to show you my breasts when we get home, Mr Devonshire? I mean, really show you them? You haven't really seen them properly, have you? And I know men like looking at girls' breasts, 'cos of the way everyone was looking at mine when you pushed me in the fountain." She rested her little hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. "And I think some ladies like looking at them too. Charlie did, but then, Charlie's a boy's name really, so that probably explains it. But I can show you. They're ever so big. Do you like ever-so-big ones? Gerard said he'd never seen such a nice pair as mine. He'd seen much bigger ones, but mine were nicest. If they carry on growing, they'll be the biggest and the nicest, won't they? How long before we get home, Mr Devonshire? I can make your tea if you like. Would you like Fluffy to make beans on toast? Then you can see my great big breasts, afterwards. Mr Devonshire?"
"What?"
"Why aren't you answering? Don't you like me any more?" She withdrew her hand and placed a finger in her mouth.
"Of course I do. I'm just busy driving, dear, that's all."
"Good!" The hand went back on to his thigh where it belonged and the car purred along in not entirely relaxed silence for several minutes. Finally: "Mr Devonshire? You know your trousers? Do you always wear your willie down this same side?"
"Fluffy, please!"
Fluffy retrieved her hand and sniffed at her fingers. "Wow! My hand stinks of Charlie-juice!"
Fluffy carefully put down the tray and allowed her tongue back into her mouth. "Baked beans on toast," she announced like a TV celebrity chef. Then she curled up at the end of the couch, feeling her tight stretchy purple trousers and her naughty panties creep between the lips of her pussy and not really caring that Mr Devonshire could see. Just to make sure, she parted her knees at something more than right angles. On the TV, there was a cricket match in progress.
"Thank you, Fluffy! Where's yours?"
"I had some toast in the kitchen while I was making yours. Not too many beans, though, they make me do really poo-ey far..."
"Fluffy! That's not very nice."
"I can't help it, they just do."
"I mean it's not nice to talk about it. Especially while I'm eating."
"Sorry." She looked crestfallen. It seemed to be one of those days when she couldn't do anything right. She watched the game for a couple of minutes, during which time another England batsman completed his innings and trudged back to the pavilion. "We're crap, aren't we?" she said mournfully. "We must be the most pants team in the whole world." Idly she stroked the side of her breast with relatively small fingers.
Mr Devonshire missed his mouth with a forkful of beans. "Come here!" he said. She brightened instantly, and squirmed her large rounded bottom along the couch. These new stretchy purple pants were even more gloriously tight than she'd anticipated. He put his arm round her shoulder. "You're a little sweetie. Well, not so little. You're a very big sweetie."
"And I'm getting much bigger, too," she enthused. "Do you know, I've been getting this funny tingle in my ... up here? ... my breasts? And every time I've noticed it, they've grown some more in the next day or so. They've been doing it all day today. Worse than ever. Well, better than ever, actually."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and you should feel them now!"
"Feel them?"
She giggled. "Well, you know what I mean. You can't feel the tingle, 'cos they're not yours. At least, you might be able to, I don't know. Would you like to try?"
"Feel your breasts, you mean? Fluffy, it wouldn't really be right..."
"I know what you mean; it wouldn't be very good manners while you're eating. Finish your beans on toast first. Then you can have a good long feel. God, they feel so big!"
"Fluffy, we mustn't!"
"It's all right. You're my friend. Gerard had a good feel and he's not even a friend of mine."
"Gerard touched them?"
"Gosh, yes! He held them up in both hands, one at a time. And he gave them a squeeze and he stroked them all over. And he held the areolae in his hands. He even twisted the nipples!"
"The filthy pervert! Interfering with a young girl like that. He ought to be struck off the register!"
"He wasn't interfering, Mr Devonshire. He was making sure my new bra fit properly. And it does."
"Good." Mr Devonshire wiped up the bean juice with a corner of soggy toast. "It should do, it cost enough," he muttered.
Fluffy removed the tray and placed it on the floor, then curled up comfortably and leaned her head on his shoulder. "What do bra sizes mean? The numbers and letters and things?"
"I don't know. I'm a man."
Her fingers began walking across her thigh, then they jumped the gap and landed on his. "Gerard's a man, but he knows."
"Gerard's different. Fluffy, no!"
The fingers stopped, poised. "No what? They're only going for a walk. See?" She walked down to his knee and started back up again. "Is Gerard different just because he knows about bra sizes?"
"No, it's the other way around. He knows about bra sizes because he's different. Fluffy!"
"This is just like balancing on a log! If I fall off, I'll fall right down between your legs. Look out! It's a great big log. It's like a tree trunk. It's nearly as thick as your leg! Only I was wondering how much bigger an L was than an H."
"You mean your new bra is an L?"
"I don't know. You'd have to look at the label. Only if neither of us know what the letters mean, it's not much help, is it? Why is your tree trunk moving up and down, Mr Devonshire? Shall I try and hold it still for you?"
"Fluffy!"
"Oh, all right, then, I'll let it carry on moving. Like this. Up and down and up and down. Can't you make it go up when I tell it to go up and down when I tell it to go down? It's just moving all on its own. It isn't a very well-behaved thing, is it! Will it get bigger if I tell it to?"
"Fluffy, please!"
"Sorry." With a certain reluctance, she slid her hand away from the immense throbbing shaft. "Maybe it will lie still if we both ignore it. Let's look at my breasts instead! Oh, shit!"
"What's the matter?"
She pointed accusingly at the TV screen. "That's another one out. They're not even going to get to a hundred at this rate. We're getting slaughtered. Now, then..." She pulled up her new sweater in a matter-of-fact kind of way and started to take it off. "Would you like to do this for me?" she asked. "Or are you watching the cricket?"
"Do what?"
"This, silly! Take my sweater off. Only I thought that if you don't know much about bra sizes and nor do I, we could sort of get a tape measure and play around and try and work out the difference between an H and an L. Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Want to measure me? Just my breasts, the rest of me is too fat and horrible and I'd blush. 'Cos if you do, you could go and find us a tape measure. I wouldn't know where to find one."
"Measure your breasts? I mean your bust? Fluffy, I..."
"It's all right. I'll stay here and watch the game while you fetch it, and I can tell you if we lose any more wickets. Oh, we just did! Look, we've only got two more batsmen left. You could wait a minute until we're all out or go now and I'll describe them getting out when you get back. Seventy-three for eight! It'll be over in three days again..."
"All right, then." Looking as if it was the last thing on his mind, Mr Devonshire stood up stiffly and made a surreptitious adjustment to his trousers. Fluffy watched, fascinated. It looked so uncomfortable, having one of those things. "If you'd hand the tray up here I'll take it to the kitchen."
"Okay. Wow, what are you trying to do with it?" she asked, coming up with the tray before he had completed his latest redispositions. "Are you allowed to have it pointing straight upwards like that?"
Apparently he was. Mr Devonshire hobbled away to the kitchen while Fluffy made herself comfortable on the couch, pulling her sweater down to cover her bust. She felt amazingly big, and it wasn't just this new bra. The tingle had become almost an ache, but such a pleasant ache, spreading from her nipples right through her breasts, down to her tummy and beyond, where her willie would be if she had one.
She had to admit, her hastily hatched plan to keep Mr Devonshire company today had succeeded beyond her most far-fetched expectations. So far, she'd touched his willie — okay, through his pants, but still — and there was the huge bonus of a brand new bra, a new bikini, two shirts and a sweater, a pair of stretchy, slinky slacks that hugged her bottom like cling-film, and six pairs of panties that were so disgracefully sexy that she blushed every time she even thought about them. Added to that the fact that she was in a state of almost permanent tingliness and that her nipples seemed to be nearly poking holes in her new sweater the whole time, and that in five minutes Mr Devonshire was going to be measuring her breasts...
The ninth England wicket had fallen and the last man was walking out to bat to tremendous popular acclaim from a crowd so embarrassed that they could scarcely bear to look at one another.
"Useless bastards," she groaned as the bowler loped in to the wicket. Then it was all over, and the players were walking off the field. There was still hope for the nation; rain was forecast.
"I can't find the tape measure," Mr Devonshire said uselessly from the doorway. He had adjusted his willie back down his trouser leg, although he was still moving with less than complete freedom.
"Oh, hurry up, Mr Devonshire! There's one in Danielle's dressing table; top drawer, left hand side. We were all out for seventy-three, by the way."
"I'll stand up? Does that make it easier?" She parted her lips with a fingernail and tilted her head to one side like a dog trying to look cute. It worked. Mr Devonshire's willie wasn't uncontrollable at all; she could make it grow in ten seconds just by putting a little-girlie face on. Let's see what else she could make it do. She backed away and placed her hands behind her back, turning her toes inwards. "You don't want to see them," she pouted, and felt the tears spring to her eyes. "I've never shown them to anyone else."
All she knew was that if he didn't get his arse in gear and take her sweater off, something was going to explode inside her. There was one gleam of hope; he wasn't dead yet. She could tell that by the fact that his willie was bigger than ever. He had pulled his legs up on to the couch, but wasn't able to relieve the pressure.
She crept a little closer, then got down on her knees so she could peer up at him with big eyes. She had a good idea that from his angle, looking down at her, her breasts must appear enormous. From this position, she could easily reach out and touch it again. She did, and he groaned as it reared up helplessly.
"Fluffy!"
"Take my sweater off. Please, Mr Devonshire!" She raised her arms above her head and smirked at him. "Just my sweater, then my shirt, then my bra. Then we can learn about bra sizes together. Did you know, Danielle's bra is a 30D-cup?"
Mistake! Big mistake! Hu... Mr Devonshire seemed to undergo almost instant detumescence, although Fluffy wasn't familiar with the word. She hurried ahead.
"Of course, I'm so much bigger than her now. I'm bigger all over, of course, but the way my breasts have grown in the last three weeks, and my areolae, just think how big I'll be in another three weeks. You'll nearly be able to sit there and watch me growing!"
Mr Devonshire babbled something incoherently.
"Except you're not going to! You're not going to sit there and watch, you're going to stand up and undress me, now! Come on!" She grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers and stood up, pulling hard. Taken by surprise by the girl's strength, he rose to his feet, while Fluffy urged him on. "Come on, take my sweater off, quick!"
She had to let go of his belt while he did it, but it didn't matter; she'd already undone the button at the top of his pants with a deft flick of the wrist, and she could come back to continue the job later. Meanwhile, under protest, he had seized the bottom of the sweater and heaved upwards, desperately avoiding touching her vast young breasts in the process.
"See, that was easy, wasn't it?" she jubilated, tossing the sweater away and plucking at her shirt buttons, up and down, with a feverish hand. Meanwhile, she made a grab at his belt again with the other hand, then fooled him by tickling his lower ribs and untucking the end of his shirt. "Now my shirt, Mr Devonshire. You'll have to be quick; my breasts feel like they're growing so fast they're going to explode right out of it!"
Another groan and he set to with both hands, scrabbling at her buttons. This time there could be no avoiding touching her bosom, even though he did his best, acting as if her shirt was full of red-hot coals. She made absolutely certain he burned his fingers by leaning backwards and forwards and occasionally giggling and wobbling her massive chest from side to side. At the same time, she jerked his shirt out of his pants all the way round, and slid the zipper down as far as it would go.
"Don't stop! Take it off, now!" She wanted it off. She wanted to be naked with his hands all over her. But not too quickly, so she occasionally darted back a foot or so just to make life more difficult for him to get at the buttons.
Then they were all undone, right down the front, and Mr Devonshire was breathing heavily, trying to get at her. He seemed unaware that she had unzipped him, revealing a pair of purple silk boxer shorts. Purple silk boxers with a great deal of live action going on inside them. There was so much happening in there! Of course, an item of Fluffy's underwear was revealed, too, and to Mr Devonshire it was probably more intriguing than his own shorts. He could see those any time he liked. A bra like this was something he certainly didn't see every day. She glided back out of reach, licked her lips and stuck out one hip like a showgirl. Then she leaned forward from the waist and held the two halves of her shirt closed with just a finger and thumb.
"Do you want to see?"
"Fluffy!"
She shook her shoulders. "Do you?"
"Yes!"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, please!"
"Okay! I was only waiting for you to ask nicely. Off with it! Wheeeee!" The shirt was off in five seconds; she waved it around in a big circle and tossed it over the back of an armchair. "Now, my bra!" she whispered.
Mr Devonshire swallowed. He stood with his knees clamped together and his trousers trying to fall down. But they were never going to fall down on their own, not with that great big thing in there, sticking out sideways and upwards. Fluffy took pity on him.
"It's not fair, is it?" she pouted. "Lickoo Fwuffy's got her shirt off and poor Mr Devonshire's still wearing his nasty tight uncomfy-bubble twousers. Take them off!"
"No!" he gasped.
"It will feel much nicer. Tell you what! Fwuffy can take her tight trousers off, too! Mine aren't nasty and uncomfortable, they're the nicest pair of pants I ever had, but I'll take them off to keep you company. Then you'll have your purple shorts on and Fwuffy will have her new rude knickers, and we'll both be able to move around much easier, won't we? And even when you've taken my great big new bra off for me so you can measure my breasts every which way, you'll still have your shirt on, so you'll have more clothes on than me. Come on, then, we'll do it together. One. Two. Three!"
Closing his eyes, Mr Devonshire almost tore his trousers down, kicking savagely at them as they clung to his shoes, shucking his shoes off, almost falling over, regaining his balance and finally standing upright with his bare hairy legs protruding from his purple shorts, inside which all hell was almost breaking loose. And he looked at Fluffy, who still had her pants on and her back to him.
"Shit," she said. "Look at the scoreboard. The other lot have only been batting three overs and they're up to thirty-eight already. And there's another six! God, why are we so useless? We can't do anything!" She turned round. "Gosh, I was so busy watching the cricket I forgot we were supposed to be taking our pants off! Do you still want me to? I suppose I'd better. I'd look really silly still wearing tight purple stretch pants and no bra, wouldn't I?"
"Silly?" He cleared his throat, but the words still came out in a squeak. "Not really."
She plucked at the waistband contemplatively for a while, then began easing her pants down. It took a great deal of hip-wiggling and heavy sighing before she stepped out of them and began an extended procedure of folding them neatly which looked like going on for ever. At long last she was satisfied with the result and tossed them in a heap on the chair.
"Right, I'm ready. Got the tape?"
Mr Devonshire held it up.
"Okay. I've got to keep my bra on for this."
If anything, Mr Devonshire appeared slightly relieved.
"Don't you want to know why?"
"Why? Yes, why?"
"I don't know. But bra people always measure you with a bra on first. Funny, they do that even if your bra's the wrong size, like mine was when we went into Mr Gerard's shop. It was way too small but he still measured me with it on first. Go on, then, what are you waiting for?" She raised her arms above her head and beamed at him. Then she looked worried and lowered her arms again. "You don't mind my hairy armpits, do you?"
"Of course not," he grated.
"Oh, good. 'Cos there was woman in the paper and she had hairy armpits and it was on the front page and everyone said it was a disgrace. Of course, I'm lots hairier than she was, although my hair isn't as dark so it doesn't show." She grabbed a fist-full and showed him.
"I don't mind you being hairy," he insisted, refusing to look at her armpits. He fumbled with the tape and ended up with it round her waist.
"Not down there, silly! Up here, where it's biggest. Unless ... you mean you want to measure me down there as well? I told you, I'm ever so fat. You can find out for yourself if you like, although it will make me go all red..."
Mr Devonshire quickly pulled the tape tight, looked at it then whisked it away. "Thirty-one,"he announced.
"Are you sure? You're not just saying that to make me feel good?"
"No, it was thirty-one. Well, maybe thirty-two."
"I feel good anyway. I feel all wiggly inside, like I'm full of worms. While you're doing it, do you want to do my hips as well? Right round the biggest part of my bum?"
She gave a soft little giggle as one of his trembling hands brushed against her plump buttocks, then fell silent as he accidentally touched the front of her panties. God, would he feel how wet she was down there? He hadn't shown any reaction, so maybe she'd got away with it.
"Forty-one," he said. "And three quarters."
"Oh no, that's nearly forty-two!"
"It is forty-two, actually. I lied."
"I told you I'm colossal! I shouldn't have let you do it." She started to back away, and turned to watch the television screen again to hide her blushing confusion. The batsman hammered a blazing square cut to the boundary, the umpire signalled a four with unnecessary relish and the scoreboard whirled up to fifty-three to a burst of half-stunned applause. "This is supposed to be a Test Match," she complained. "Hasn't anyone told them they're supposed to score slowly?" She turned round again. "Sorry. You can do my bust now."
With a gulp, he strung the tape round her back, then tried to make it sit neatly on the twin crests of her bosom. It wouldn't stay there, even after half a dozen attempts. It didn't help matters that he had to stand so far away from her to stop his heavy semi-erection throbbing against her buttocks.
"I'm not allowed to help you," she whined. "Why don't you come round the front and hold it there?"
"I don't want to touch you..."
"Part of you's touching me already," she said softly. "A great big part of you! Please come round the front. I don't think you can do it without touching me. Do you mean just touching me, or touching my breasts? You have to touch my breasts, or the tape will keep falling down, won't it? It won't stay there on its own. And I'm not holding it," she added quickly before he could suggest it.
So she stood patiently, feeling the pressure of the backs of his knuckles against the hot swollen softness of her aching teats. His hands trembled like jellies, and her breasts, even more like jellies, trembled twice as much.
"Forty ... about forty-nine!"
"Wow! Thank God I've stopped growing! That's not much bigger than Mr Gerard said I was. It's quite big, isn't it? Especially considering I was only about a thirty-five before you went away to the seaside! That's fourteen inches in three weeks! That's two inches every three days! Imagine if I keep going like that until Christmas!"
There was silence while they both imagined Fluffy reaching one hundred and thirty inches.
"I'm glad I've stopped! Although I'm still tingling inside, so maybe I haven't stopped after all. We'll see in a couple of days, won't we? That's why it's a good thing you're doing me now. Measuring me, I mean." Fluffy was blushing again.
"Is that it, then?" Mr Devonshire asked, beginning to roll the tape round his finger.
"Of course not! We've only just started! You've got to take my bra off now. Although it might be easier if you measure under here first. That's for my bra size. You can do that best from behind."
He stepped behind her and placed the tape where she indicated, round the chest in the shadow of her enormous jutting globes.
"Stand closer!" She took a deliberate step backwards and ground her backside against him.
"Fluffy, you mustn't!"
"Why not? It feels nice poking in the crack of my bum. Doesn't it feel nice for you, too?"
"Yes, but..."
"Well, then!"
"Just over thirty-two."
"Thirty-eight, then," she said.
"No, just over thirty-two."
"That's right, bigger than a thirty-six, and nearly a thirty-eight. You have to add five."
"Why?"
"Because. You just do, that's all. It's the law."
"They don't have laws covering bra measuring, Fluffy! The police don't come round enforcing it. I hope," he added under his breath.
"Why do they always do it the same way, then? Look at the label of this bra."
"Where is it?"
"Where it always is, inside the strap at the side."
Despite not knowing where to find it, Mr Devonshire located it instantly. "It's too tight, I can't pull it out to read it."
"It has to be tight, Gerard says, so it provides maximal support for my unusually heavy breasts and doesn't just slip down. If you can't read the label in that one, have a look at my old one. It's in that Discoveries bag."
"Your old one's a 36 Full G," he blurted without thinking.
"Mr Devonshire, you remembered my size!" Fluffy cried delightedly. "How did you know what it said?"
"You told me."
"No, I told you I was an H-cup. I never mentioned a 36 Full G. Gerard says that's for silly women who don't like the idea of being as big as an H, but I don't mind. In fact, I don't mind being an L-cup or whatever I am now. And if I get bigger next week I won't mind that, either. You're touching my bum again, Mr Devonshire," she reminded him, and reversed into him with such determination that he was backed against the television screen. He throbbed massively against her broad, hot bottom. Fluffy decided it was time to step up the pace a bit. At this rate, he'd still be measuring her boobs this time tomorrow, a pleasant enough thought in itself, but there were so many more exciting things she wanted to try. She stepped forward and turned to face him.
"Mr Devonshire?" She laced her fingers behind his neck and squirmed her hips and breasts from side to side against him. "You remember when we were in the garden and the beer went all over me?"
"Yes."
"And you made me take my T-shirt and bra off?"
"Yes."
"And I went up to Dan's room to find a bikini?"
"Yes?" His face was getting to be a most satisfyingly bright red.
"And you sniffed the inside of my bra to see if was really beer in there?"
"What? Oh, yes. I did give it a little sniff, now I come to think of it."
"You certainly did. Just after you looked at the label. What did it smell like?"
"Just ... sort of ... well, beer. Why?"
"Gerard said it wasn't beer in there. He said it was 'fluid'. I think he thought it was milk or something."
"Milk? You don't give milk! Do you?"
"It looked like milk. Or maybe cream. If I have started giving milk, there'll be more, won't there? I mean, you don't just give milk once, then not again, do you?"
Mr Devonshire's experience of lactating teens was minimal. "N-no," he ventured.
"Good! If I've started giving milk, I'll get even bigger, won't I? I've seen women feeding babies and they get huge. Not as big as me, but still huge. You can take it off now."
"What?"
"My bra. Let's stop pansying around. Take my bra off and let's see how big my unusually heavy breasts are. Despite their magnificent shape, they are nevertheless quite soft." A mighty cheer came from the television, and Fluffy immediately dropped to her knees to peer between Mr Devonshire's legs. "Look!" she yelled, causing him to clutch at his manhood in panic and clamp his knees together. Fluffy crawled to one side and looked round him. "Shit, one of their openers has got to eighty already. A hundred and forty-six for no wicket, and they've only been batting fifteen overs! They're going to get a thousand! Take it off, Mr Devonshire!"
Mr Devonshire was used to obeying a woman's orders without question, both at his place of work and in his own home. Fluffy was on her hands and knees beneath him, intent on the game, and he had only to bend forward to release the hooks of her bra. There were six of them, great big shiny silver ones, and it took both hands to loosen them. She looked up at him with a cheeky grin.
"You naughty boy! You've undone my bra." But at least she stopped staring gloomily at the television and rose sinuously to her feet while he still held the two halves of the bra strap in his hands. "You can let go now," she whispered.
And out they came.
She'd had all of three weeks to get used to having unusually heavy breasts, but they still took her by surprise whenever she saw them unveiled like this. They were almost frighteningly big, and extremely heavy, too, sagging more than six inches as Mr Devonshire eased the cups out from under their ponderous bulk. But it wasn't the size and weight that was so impressive, it was the shape; what even the sexually unambiguous Gerard had referred to as magnificent. The great, only slightly flattened globes supported a pair of areolae (as she now knew they were called) which were so swollen they looked almost painful. Fluffy could swear they were bigger every time she saw them. And at the peaks of those young mountains, a pair of nipples that seemed to be the size of corks from wine bottles.
"Oh, my God!" said Mr Devonshire. "You are incredible!"
"Touch them, please! Hold them. Tight!"
An order is an order.
"Tighter! Pull the nipples! Stretch them! It doesn't hurt, fuck it, pull! Pull like this!" And Fluffy reached down, not very far down, ripped the naughty purple silken boxers aside and pulled. Thinking about it later, she might have acknowledged that it would have been better to have looked at what she was doing. That said, the outcome, for all its unexpectedness, was quite exhilarating.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!"
"Mr Devonshire! I'm sorry! What have I done to it?"
"No, don't touch it again!" He was hopping around in a circle, his injured manhood sinking faster than the Titanic. He stopped with his back to Fluffy and inspected the damage. "Ooooooh!" he groaned again.
"What's the matter with it? It must have been my fingernail. Is it bleeding? Do cocks bleed?" Gently and caringly she turned him round, then lowered her face to its eye-level.
What an absolute monster! She'd seen one before, but it hadn't been a quarter the size of this. Just by looking at it she could tell it was far too fat to get her fist round it, which was apparently what girls were supposed to do with these things. And she would certainly never get it in her mouth! Not that she wanted to particularly, but boys were commonly supposed to enjoy it. Mr Devonshire was frozen, immobile, not daring to move in case she savaged it with her claws again. Gazing up at him, she wet her index finger with her tongue, and softly applied it to the huge rounded bit at the end. It was as big as her fist.
The thing showed signs of life. She nodded encouragingly at it and tried again, this time cradling the length of it in her other hand. To her astonishment it was getting even longer and thicker. And to think, boys were supposed to stick their things into girls' pussies! Yes, logically, a pussy could open up to the size of a baby's head, but Mr Devonshire's purple head was bigger than a baby's. Another wet finger, this time tracing a little squiggle along the ridged, veined shaft. So soft on the surface, so hard inside, and getting harder all the time. It gave a leap then thudded back into her palm again, and she giggled up at Mr Devonshire, who laughed nervously down at her. Encouraged further, she stuck out her pointed little pink tongue ... and touched the tip. There was a hole in it just there, no doubt for stuff to come out. She wiggled the tip of her tongue into the hole — it had a salty taste — and the thing jumped again. This time she caught it on the way down, held it firmly in both hands and began to lick it all over.
"Fluffy!"
"Is that nice?"
"Is it nice? Oh, my God, Fluffy!"
"I wish I could get it in my mouth," she said. "But it won't open wide enough even to get just the end in. I bet even Danielle couldn't get it in her mouth, and they call her the Blow-Job Queen at school!"
Oh, dear, she thought, wishing she hadn't said that. Poor Danielle! Mr Devonshire seemed to wish she hadn't said it, too. After those nice few minutes when his willie had been growing bigger and bigger and bigger, it was suddenly on its way down again. It was such a moody old thing! How could she cheer it up?
How about this for a plan...?
"I know where it will fit," she declared, spreading her legs wide and sliding forward so that he was kneeling on the floor between her knees.
"No, Fluffy, we can't do that!"
"Can't do what? Of course we can!" And she scooped up her breasts, one in each hand, and bounced them massively up and down. It felt like ... Wow! They were now so big that her plump areolae weren't touching her hands at all, they stuck independently out the front like halved cricket balls, only bigger if anything. And her nipples! So long and so thick! When her breasts had first started to really grow, only a few short weeks ago, it had been her nipples and areolae which had led the way — in every sense. Now, they were almost certainly growing even bigger, which could only mean that her mum (and Mr Devonshire) hadn't finished buying her new bras for a while. The thought wasn't too disturbing; the size of her breasts was already enough to prevent her joining in with boys' games, so there was no point in idly wishing she could still run around the way she used to. And her breasts felt so good when she touched them, wobbled them and played with them! The pleasure had increased along with their size: how much more pleasant would it be if they grew to twice or three times as big!
Mr Devonshire was staring at them, transfixed. It gave her a wonderful sensation of power, holding her massive young chest out like an offering to the gods, and watching her admirer's enormous manhood throbbing out of control. She leaned forward, parted her breasts, and ensnared it between them. She wriggled closer.
"Oooh, Fluffy! Yes, do that. Keep doing that!"
She did. She squeezed him between those vast tits of hers, then slowly began to slide them up and down, so the giant purple knob played peek-a-boo with her. It was stiffer than ever, and the end now glistened with moisture.
"Don't stop, Fluffy. Keep going!"
The moisture spread, coating the whole of the shiny tip with slime, spreading down to lubricate the walls of the bottomless tunnel of her cleavage.
"Do it, do it, Fluffy! Fuck, fuck, fucking hell!"
Whoosh!
The sheer volume of it stunned her, hitting her full in the face on the first spurt, then as she squeezed him tighter, trapping him in there, she felt jet after gushing jet of it flooding between her tits, until his chest stopped heaving and his panting gave way to hysterical giggles and he dragged her down to pour kisses all over her cream-smeared face, eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth.
They clung to each other, toppling sideways with joint cries of relief at being able to stretch their legs again, then lay chest to chest, side by side.
"Thank you, Fluffy!"
"Thank you, Ray!"
It was a while before they could get up, Mr Devonshire somewhat shamefaced as he wiped the juice from his thoroughly softened but still mammoth cock, Fluffy separating her breasts with a sticky sound and peering down into the messy chasm between them.
"It's freezing!" she said, touching the stuff with a tentative finger and trying a little taste.
"Rub it in."
"It will make them grow," she said happily. "Would you like them to get even bigger?"
"We mustn't be greedy, Fluff!"
"Bigger or not?"
"Bigger."
"Good!" She scooped up finger-fulls of his juices and splurged it all over the taut blunt cones of her aching breasts, massaging it in until it was absorbed. "This will make them three times as big as they are, there's so much of it."
"I'd been saving it up just for you."
"Thanks."
"It's all over your pretty face."
"I'm not going to wash it off. I want it all over me, in my hair, my eyebrows..."
"It will smell. Everyone will know what you've been doing."
"I don't care! There, all gone. All rubbed in. How soon will it start working?"
"It's started already."
"We'll take the tape measure to bed and you can measure me as soon as we wake up in the morning. Then I'll go and cook your breakfast..."
"Fluffy, hang on...!"
"My mum knows I'm here for the night. She doesn't know Danielle's away, of course."
"But..."
"But what? How many times can you do that in a night?"
"I don't know. With you, perhaps, fifty or sixty...!"
She gasped, then spluttered and poked him in the chest and they clung on tight. "I'm counting! That's one. If you don't perform, I'm taking you back to the shop." She hugged him for a while, then pulled away. "Oh, shit, look, they've finished!" Fluffy pointed at the television screen, where the players were walking off the field and disappearing into the pavilion. The picture cut to a shiny-faced presenter with a most inappropriately fixed grin.
'Another disastrous day for England's cricketers; possibly the blackest day in the two-hundred-year history of the game,' chirped the presenter brightly. 'We'll be back after the break to find out just what went wrong this time!'
"We shouldn't be doing this, Fluffy."
"I know. Isn't it fun?"
"It's ... not..."
"Not fun? Ooh, it is! What do you want for breakfast?" Fluffy ran a finger down Mr Devonshire's chest. It snagged in the hair, so she grabbed a tuft and pulled gently.
"No, not that!"
"Not what?" She twisted the hair and pulled harder. "Come to bed!"
"We mustn't sleep together."
"Okay, then. I'll keep you awake instead. Come on. It's late."
"It's not even nine o'clock yet!"
"Lickoo Fwuffy's bedtime. Fwuffy tired. Had a long day getting lots of new clothes and bras for Fwuffy's huge breasts..."
"I'll sleep down here on the couch..."
She dragged him to his feet, still using the tuft of chest hair. "No. Upstairs."
"You can have Danielle's bed, then. Our ... my bedroom's out the front."
"Wanna come in your bed! I'll only come and find you anyway, so we may as well start the way we mean to carry on."
Mr Devonshire ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm wearing pyjamas, then. You'll have to wear a nightdress. Haven't you brought one?" Fluffy shook her head innocently. "You can borrow one of Danielle's."
"Danielle's?" she snorted and giggled. "Danielle may wear a D-cup bra, but her bust is only thirty-four inches. Mine's fifteen inches bigger than hers! Forty-five per cent bigger! Can you imagine what I'd do to one of Danielle's nighties? I'd destroy it! I could if you'd like. Would you like to watch me try?"
Mr Devonshire's expression betrayed a flicker of interest before he appeared to realise that it might be difficult to explain to his daughter how her favourite nightie had become shredded. Fortunately, Fluffy had a better idea.
"You've got a pair of pyjamas. We could share them!"
"Share?"
Fluffy licked her finger and touched him on the end of the nose. "You wear the tops and I'll wear the bottoms."
"But that's terrible! You'd be able to see..."
"All right, then," Fluffy agreed happily at the success of her ruse. "The other way round. You can wear the bottoms. I just thought, my bust might be a bit too big even for a pair of big men's jim-jams like yours. And I'll still be able to get at your willie through the hole in the front, won't I? As long as you don't stare at my front bottom!"
Mr Devonshire promised not to, and received in return a soft little wet open-mouthed kiss on the cheek. "Shall we have a shower first, or afterwards?" she asked.
"After what?"
"After you've fucked me, of course."
"Fluffy, we're not..."
"All right. Afterwards. Maybe in the morning. Come on upstairs now."
He followed her up the stairs, until she stopped abruptly halfway up and refused to go any further. "Fwuffy tired. Cawwy Fwuffy!" So he carried her to the top, into the master bedroom and dumped her on the bed where she lay back, her breasts wobbling like twin party-sized blancmanges. "Jim-jams now," she demanded, and he had to rummage through the chest of drawers until he found a pair of stripy blue and white ones.
"Here you are." He handed her the top half. "I'll just go to the bathroom..."
She smiled to herself as she undressed and admired her naked body in the mirror. Her reflection grinned slightly nervously back at her; a powerfully built, pretty rather than classically beautiful, undeniably plump but massively top-heavy young girl.
She'd been right about the size of the pyjama top. High up, near the top, it buttoned around her without any difficulty, but her wondrously-nippled breasts thrust out at the soft material, right down at the level of her waist. The garment still decently covered her bottom, but at the front it was pulled so far upwards by the insistent pressure of her bust that her girlhood was all-too-blatantly revealed, the fair golden curls shining in the bedside light. "Oh, gosh!" she gasped, rubbing her hand across the crinkly fur, further disturbed to find several dewy drops of her intimate moisture transferred to her fingers.
She tried leaning forward, but it didn't help hide things much. All that happened was that the undersides of her breasts made an unscheduled appearance, and when she leaned over any further, her nipples plopped out into view, followed instantly by the rest of her. It took a surprising amount of pushing and pulling to get them put away out of sight again; in fact, the only way to do it was to undo all the buttons and start from the beginning. She succeeded in making herself only partly decent when Mr Devonshire cleared his throat outside the bedroom door before coming in, looking even more nervous than she was.
"Fluffy, we shouldn't..."
"Bathroom!" she blurted, wobbling out, and when she came back a few minutes later she brought a towel with her, casually draped across her pudenda. Fortunately, Mr Devonshire was in bed with the sheet pulled right up to his chin, and the only light was the dim one on her side. Gratefully she slipped beneath the covers and turned off the light. What was she doing in here, she thought.
"Goodnight, Fluffy."
"G'night, Mr Devonshire!"
End of Chapter 6