Actually, I really didn�t want to get this big when I first started. My original plan was to become a C cup, like I was when I was nursing Sarah, or maybe even a D cup. In my wildest fantasies I could just barely imagine myself with DD boobs, but as soon as I thought about it I would change my mind. With my slender frame I knew they�d look gigantic, and all I really wanted was to get Randy�s attention, not everyone else�s. Seriously, that�s all I wanted.



You see, my boobs sagged awfully after I stopped nursing. I had grown from an A cup before to a fairly full C cup while nursing and then� Well, you should have seen the attention Randy gave me when I was nursing. If I had let him suck as much as he wanted, there wouldn�t have been any milk left for Sarah. Eventually I had to divide myself between them: my left tit was Sarah�s, while Randy got my right. Everything was great for awhile. But I weaned Sarah when she turned one and within a few months my milk stopped. My once firm C cups sagged into soft B cups and Randy�s attention seemed to become avoidance. I couldn�t blame him much; my tits dangled like empty balloons. It pissed me off, too. Not because of Randy, but because this was supposed to be something that only happened to big girls. You know, girls who finished puberty with D cup boobs and bigger. They got all the attention in school and college, it seemed only fair that later in life their tits would sag. But I had suffered through puberty, school, college and then after college with a flat chest. Oh sure, I got attention, but I was very aware of the difference between the attention I got and the attention my busty girlfriends got. I was angry that I had to suffer both being small and then sagging, with less than a two year period as a C. Not even a D cup!



Well, I began looking into ways to get bigger boobs again. Naturally, the first thing that occurred to me were implants. I did some research and then talked it over with Randy, but he objected. Not because we couldn�t afford it. Just one of Randy�s paychecks could pay for implants for three women. No, he objected because of the feel. He didn�t think that implants would feel natural. Funny, right? He didn�t want to touch my chest when my boobs were naturally saggy or artificially firm either. I didn�t think that there were any other options, so I stopped looking.



A few months passed before anything changed. At the time I was in for my biannual physical getting a mammogram. That was one blessing about having soft tits: squashing them wasn�t nearly as painful as before. I guess I must have said something to that effect, with a lot of emphasis on it being the only good thing because Carla, Dr. Jones, my gynecologist, started asking me about me boobs. You know, how did I feel about them and were they adversely affecting my self image, things like that. I was very honest with her. I told her about feeling cheated, nursing, Randy, the implants, everything. That was when she first told me about the treatment.



Dr. Jones was working with a biomedical company that was developing a non-invasive method of breast augmentation. It was genetic engineering of some kind and Carla had been selected to help with the final phases of the research. She was asked to offer treatment to five of her patients, preferably patients she had known several years. Well, I had been seeing her for over a decade at that point so that wasn�t a problem. I told her I needed to talk to Randy first, and he thought it was a great idea, so one week later I started the process.



First they took a sample of my blood and sent it to the parent company for analysis. That was apparently fine because one week later I was in for another blood sample. This time they took my blood, modified the genes controlling my breast size, synthesized several quarts, and then the last step in the treatment was a complete blood transfusion.



My chest seemed to grow pretty fast at first; at the end of the first month my saggy boobs had fleshed out to a nice pair of C cups, just like I�d wanted. They weren�t as firm as when I was nursing, but then again, when I was nursing my boobs had almost felt too tight. Looking in the mirror I was reminded of the big girls in the dorm showers. I could just get a pencil under each breast, and each came to a slight point at the nipple. My monthly checkup with Dr. Jones was okay, Randy�s attention was back and I was happy with my boobs for the first time in a long time. Things were good.



By the end of the second month, I had grown to a D cup. I remember being hesitant at first, but I quickly got over it when Randy bought me my first piece of lingerie since we were dating. It was a very revealing Merry Widow with half cups that must have been designed for a C cup woman. My boobs were clearly too big to fit in them: the areola were completely exposed. But I loved the look. Naked, my boobs looked a lot fuller, my once slightly pointed cones had descended into the rounded curves of a big girl on the edge of pendulous. For regular day to day wear I had started pulling the padding out of my maternity bras, but then I finally relented and bought new ones when Dr. Jones assured me that I shouldn�t grow too much bigger, if I grew any bigger at all.



At the end of three months, I had blossomed into a very full DD/E cup. I tried to fight it for awhile actually, denying that I had grown that large. I was still using my D cup bras and stuffing myself into shirts that barely fit me when I was a C cup. I was grateful that I was a housewife the day I broke my first bra. In retrospect, I must have looked pretty funny, my boobs pushing against my bra pushing against my shirt. Clearly nothing fit: the buttons of my shirt were pulled so tight you could see all of my cleavage. Anyway, I was cleaning in the bathroom reaching up to dust the lights over the mirror when I sneezed. My poor bra snapped right between the cups and so many buttons came off my shirt that my tits were exposed to the nipples. When I looked down from the light fixture I was surprised to see this enormous topless woman in the mirror looking back at me.



At my checkup that month I complained to Dr. Jones and she assured me that she thought I was done growing. I wanted to get a reduction as soon as possible, before my clothing started exploding in public. She said she understood, but we would have to wait a couple months until we were sure that my boobs had stopped their growth. In the meanwhile, she encouraged me to buy clothing that fit.



I was still in denial though, and I continued to force myself into my old clothes. I managed to make it another month without buying more clothing, but it wasn�t easy. I struggled each morning to pull my bras on; letting the straps out and using the last hooks didn�t help much. I had simply grown too busty for my clothes. I snapped the rest of my bras and ruined a dozen blouses within the first two weeks of the next month. I even had another exploding episode. My friend Kathy had come over for coffee one afternoon and, well, she and I started laughing about something and my clothing fell apart. It�s hard to say who was more shocked, me or Kathy. I went from covered to topless in a second, my bouncing boobs suddenly totally exposed. I could just barely pull the sides of my blouse over my areola as I let Kathy out. She wasn�t that affected after she had a moment, but I was completely embarrassed.



I started wearing Randy�s T-shirts around the house, though they were still a little tight on me and they did little to disguise my nipples. I was wearing one of them when I went into Carla�s office at the end of the fourth month. It was then I was informed that not only was I still growing, I had actually started to grow faster. According to the doctor�s measurements, I was now a full G cup, two cups bigger than the month before. I tell you, I nearly fainted when she told me.



The biochemical company stepped in at that point, offering full coverage in exchange for liability release, which Randy and I agreed to, provided they would agree in writing to cover all expenses associated with my boobs and the cost of a reduction when I finally stopped growing. They agreed, and so I finally went shopping.



In addition to a full wardrobe, I bought a Roman Chair exercise station so I could strengthen my back, a bunch of supplemental diet materials from GNC and a Yoga tape. But other than that, the next month was fairly uneventful. I began exercising in earnest, trying hard to prevent back problems and trying harder not to worry. I forcefully decided to accept that I had wanted bigger boobs, and that even though I had grown several sizes larger than I wanted to be, it had been my choice and I needed to accept it. At least for the time being.



Randy�s attention never stopped, in fact it seemed to increase. At first I was a little perturbed: I wasn�t exactly comfortable with the idea of my boobs taking nearly all of his attention. While I was still a person, I felt as though I was just there to tend to his pet boobs. But I warmed to the idea slowly, especially when I reminded myself that it would just be temporary. Then as I got larger and larger it even became fun. I was taken aback by how much power I seemed to have, provided he got to play with my boobs. I would greet him at the door in my bathrobe which he would immediately undo and lift one of my teats to his mouth. As I got bigger and bigger, he had to lean down less and less; more and more teat would show between his hands as I ballooned.



By the end of the fifth month, I had swollen to J cups. Standing naked before the mirror, my big breasts obscured my naval when I let them hang naturally. My once demure areola had stretched and grown to the size of coasters, and my once discreet nipples demanded attention, jutting out nearly an inch when erect. I was so pendulous, I didn�t even bother with the pencil test; besides I doubt if there were enough pencils in the house.



At the end of the sixth month I had just barely grown into N cups and my boobs were feeling pretty heavy. Each teat looked bigger than Sarah by then and even Randy was having difficulty lifting my jugs at the end of the day. I remember the last day he tried to do it without my help. I almost laughed, leaning back against the wall looking down as he struggled with my right. Each time it looked as though he had my tit under control, it slipped away from him.



As I became more and more comfortable with my increasing stature, I began spending more and more time topless. Since I was home most of the day, I was doing the chores with a robe hanging in the front hall in case someone came by. You might think that it would be more difficult to work with enormous breasts, especially giant unfettered breasts, but I rather enjoyed it. For instance, washing clothes was a new experience: hugging clothing fresh out of the dryer to my bosom as I carried them into the next room was heavenly. The heat was so intense!



At that time Sarah wasn�t quite three, and I didn�t have any problems with her seeing my bosom. In fact, while I still could we used my boobs in her playtime. I figured that since they were getting so big I could either let my boobs come between us or share. I would pretend to smother her, or she would lay on her back and I would sway my boobs in front of her, trying not to let her catch my nipples. As I got bigger and bigger I even let her draw silly faces on my areola with their Pinocheo nosed nipples, which I washed off before Randy got home. It was quite a game, trying to stay relaxed until she had finished her drawing so we could see how my nipple erections would change them.



At the end of the seventh month, I had only swollen two cup sizes, rounding out at a pair of Ps. Carla and I were encouraged by the change in growth rate, but it was just slowing down, not stopping. She was glad to hear about my progress in conditioning my back, which was still holding up perfectly, and I was finally comfortable admitting that I was� comfortable.



I grew and grew the next month, though not noticeably slower. Sarah and I played dress-up a lot. She took no small amount of pleasure in asking me to wear clothing that I had outgrown months before. I must admit that it was fun to see how huge I had grown by struggling into what I used to think were mammoth blouses. Sarah though it was funny watching me put a shirt on, but she really loved watching me snap the buttons off of it by inhaling. I tried the same thing for Randy the first night after playing that game with Sarah, and he loved it too.



By the end of the eighth month I had grown three cup sizes again. Carla was advising me to eat less, exercise more, try not to worry, etc., but I was feeling great! My back was somehow holding up, and I was having a lot of fun with my girls. At this point they were dangling right at my waist, and were inches wider than my hips at their widest. I had just started considering the idea of keeping them. Carla promised me back problems in the future, but I reminded her that I could have a reduction when I stopped growing.



The ninth month was pretty spectacular. The first week I had a noticeable spurt growing a full cup size, putting me at a pair of T cups. Both Randy and I were having trouble lifting one of my boobs to his mouth at the end of the day. In fact, one day Sarah came in and helped push from below and almost got smothered for her trouble. During the day Sarah and I would watch videos, I would lay on my stomach with my boobs to either side, and she would perch on one of them. During sex with Randy, if I was on top my jugs would pile up on either side of his head and we would grunt in the canyon of my cleavage; if he was on top he would time his rhythm with the motion of my mountains, making my nipples travel back and forth on giant waves of tit.



By the end of that month, I was sporting a wobbly pair of W cup boobs, bigger than anything I had ever heard of. Bigger than anything Carla had ever heard of. Sarah wanted to play dress-up with my boobs dressed as people too. We had tea with Sarah, me, my left breast as Ms. Watermelon and my right as Mrs. Pumpkin. Sitting cross legged on the floor, my boobs were piled two feet high in front of me. Randy had a van specially designed for me with a bench front seat that could slide back several feet from the dashboard and the steering wheel and controls in the middle. It even had two separate seat belts for my tits.



Two months later I saw Carla for the last time in her office. Even with the special van, I was just feeling a little uncomfortable in public. I had grown another seven cup sizes and I was really starting to feel it.



At the end of one year I was taking all of my baths in the hot tub and usually with Randy�s help. Standing naked my bosom hung down near my knees. I could no longer play as roughly with Sarah as before: I didn�t have as much control and as big as my boobs were, they could easily have smothered her. We still had tea, but by now Ms. Watermelon and Mrs. Pumpkin were shoulder height with me as we sat. My areola were bigger than my head, too wide for me to cover them with one hand, too wide for Randy to do it either. One month later, Carla told me she finally believed that I had stopped growing, which was good.



Now I am barely mobile, even with a bra. Without one, my bazooms are a little past my knees which makes walking a bit tough. I still do the housework and I still do it in the nude: it�s the best exercise I�ve got. And I doubt that I�ll get a reduction since I�ve gotten used to being big. I don�t think I would be as happy with a C or D or even a E cup chest; there are just too many fun things to do with a really pendulous bosom. I would want to be at least an M cup, and if I think about it, it�s better being bigger still, at least big enough to warrant wearing maternity clothes so as to avoid some of the unnecessary attention. My ZZZZZ pair make me look pregnant and then some, but being outside the house isn�t too bad.



Being at home is better though. Sarah spilled the beans about playing with my boobs and surprisingly Randy didn�t object. So now I can do everything at home topless, which is nice. For instance, it�s a lot easier to reach the table with my boobs to hanging to either side, or as Randy likes to say, sitting in my cleavage. And having a pair of three inch nipples can be useful too.



I found out last week that I�m pregnant again. This time not only will I let Randy have as much milk as he wants, I�ll probably have to have him milk me to keep me mobile.