Government Tit

The black Ford Galaxy pulled to the curb and stopped. As he turned the engine off, the cigarette commercial on the radio reminded young Agent William Hudson that he needed to pick up a carton before he went home. Looking at his narrow-brimmed black hat lying on the seat beside him, he pondered whether to wear it or not. Hudson liked the way it went with his black suit and thin tie, giving him that nifty Federal Agent look, but hats for men were on their way out. After all, Kennedy never wore a hat, even at his inauguration on that cold day last January. Well, one more time wouldn't hurt. He put it on and checked himself in the rear view mirror.
    He stepped out of the car and entered the high-rise apartment building without putting a coin in the parking meter. After taking the elevator to the fifth floor, he walked down the hall searching for apartment 503. Upon finding it, he straightened his tie and knocked on the door.
    An extremely pretty young woman answered. According to the information he had on her, she was 22 years old and unmarried. She was wearing a Jackie Kennedy style 'sack dress', and had her hair fixed like Jackie's too, as did over half the ladies in America. The woman peered around the partially opened door, self-consciously pulling her large pink sweater over her basketball-size breasts, as if that would conceal them.
    He was careful not to stare at her enormous bust, even though he had never seen one so wonderfully big in all his life. He didn't know if he could ever get used to this.
    "Yes?" she asked.
    "Good afternoon, ma'am. Are you Miss Frances McLendon?" he asked, though he knew by her figure that she certainly was.
    "Yes."
    "I'm Agent William Hudson with the federal government," he said, showing her his badge. "I'd like to speak with you a moment about a matter of great importance. May I come in?"
    "The government? Uh, sure." She opened the door all the way and stepped aside, motioning him in. "What's this about?"
    He took off his hat as he entered, trying not to brush against her protrusive bust as he passed, and said, "I'm here to ask you if you're willing to serve your country."
    "Serve my country? In what way?"
    "May I sit?"
    "Please." They took places on her modest furniture, facing one another.
    Hudson noticed that when she sat down, the weight of her huge bosom rested on her lap. He averted his eyes and kept his mind on the matter at hand. "I'm here to offer you a very exciting and lucrative job with the federal government, Miss McLendon."
    "A job? What kind of job?"
    Hudson pursed his lips; this wasn't going to be easy. "Miss McLendon, I'm about to address some rather delicate subject matter with you, and I want you to understand that I mean no disrespect, and that I'm completely sincere."
    "Okay..." she said tentatively.
    "In fact, it would be much better if a lady agent were to bring this before you, but unfortunately that's not possible. You see, the President just commissioned me to set up a new federal agency to do certain top-secret field work, and at this point I'm the only operative there is."
    "You know President Kennedy?" she asked in a hushed tone with her eyes opened wide in reverence.
    "Yes, ma'am, I certainly do," he replied, feeling for the first time that he had his foot in the door.
    "Well, what can I do for my country?"
    Hudson cleared his throat. "A certain rising Soviet official has come to the attention of the American intelligence community. He's currently assigned to their embassy here in Washington, and is in a position that would give the United States a definite advantage if we could gain a certain amount of control over him. We have learned that this young man has a certain personal weakness, and we'd like to exploit it. This weakness of his is centered around, uh, unusually well-developed women. There are other men we will target for this sort of compromise in the future; and there will also be other lady agents who'll be brought on board, but our initial objective is this particular Soviet, and we'd like our first operative to be you." He paused to see what effect the bombshell would have.
    "You know, I've been approached by a whole lot of men because of the size of my bust, but never so elaborately as this. You'd better be on the level with me, mister."
    "I assure you I am, Miss McLendon."
    "How did you find me?"
    "Good old-fashioned detective work. We're in contact with every brassiere manufacturer in the western world, and according to our information, Miss McLendon, at 82 inches you have one of the largest bust measurements on record."
    "Of women who buy bras, you mean. Some big women may make their own. Or even not wear one at all."
    "Well, right." Smart gal. "We are aware of a number of larger women around the world. One in Alaska has a 121-inch bust, but she's 67 years old. We could have used her in her prime, though; she was quite a looker. And there's a girl in Brazil with a 112-inch bust, but the President isn't permitting us to recruit foreign nationals. The Soviets are unofficially claiming to have five women in the Eastern Bloc whose bosoms are much bigger than anything we've come across, but the Russians have no idea how to tell the truth."
    "Listen, bud – just cause I happen to be built this big up top doesn't mean I'm some kind of cheap slut."
    "No ma'am," he affirmed. "I'm not implying anything of the kind."
    "And I would never let somebody screw me just so I could get or keep a job."
    "Miss McLendon, we're talking about a top level federal agency here. Would the United States government screw one of its citizens?" he asked with a trace of indignation.
    She remained silent a moment, but unmoved. "So you want me to work for you and manipulate this man. Wouldn't that necessarily involve some sexual contact?"
    This one is definitely no dummy, Hudson thought. "The President's policy for this new agency is that during undercover operations, the final decision of whether or not to engage in any level of sexual activity is left up to the discretion of the agent involved."
    "The final decision."
    Agent Hudson squirmed just slightly. "Well, yes. Suggestions might be made from time to time..."
"If I accept your offer, do I get to meet JFK?"
    Agent Hudson paused for a second. "I'm sure the President will want to meet you."
    "Wow! So who is this Russian guy you want me to seduce?"
    The aroma of success teased Hudson. "His name is Mikhail Gorbachev."

It was one of those hot summer afternoons in DC, and nobody felt like working. Of course, there's little danger of much work occurring in the nation's capital, regardless of weather conditions. An attractive young woman in a conservative suit trotted up the front steps of a huge stone Greek-revival building and entered its refreshingly cool lobby.
    After consulting the directory, she got on an elevator and pushed the button for the 4th floor. When the doors opened again, she stepped out to find herself confronted by a security checkpoint, through which she passed with the help of her FBI identification. She signed in, feeling somewhat disappointed that the handsome young security guard hardly gave her a second look. She was accustomed to men giving her buxom figure a thorough once-over (which was welcome in some instances), but the guard merely thanked her and buzzed her through the smoked glass door.
    She noticed a shield-like logo emblazoned upon the door, and she did a double-take when she read the words "Federal Bureau of Gigantic Bosoms". She stopped and double-checked the number on the door against the address she'd been given, and then wondered if someone was playing an elaborate joke on her, ribbing her about the unusual size of her bust. The only way to find out what was going on was to play along.
    Stepping inside, she saw a fairly typical office scene, but was startled when she noticed that every one of the women working there had amazingly enormous breasts! As she stood gazing at this unusual phenomenon, a woman at a nearby desk looked up and asked if she could be of any assistance.
    She quickly composed herself and answered, "I'm Michelle Myers; I have a two o'clock appointment with Mr William Hudson."
    "Alright; please have a seat over there and he'll be with you as soon as possible."
    She sat on one of the unoccupied chairs against a wall. Picking up a day-old copy of the Washington Post which was lying on the seat next to hers, she scanned the room while pretending to read. She watched as the lavishly proportioned women worked at computers, attended fax machines, answered telephones, and did the myriad of routine things that are done in any office. The woman who had just spoken to her had a bosom so big she had to swivel to one side in order to see the keyboard while she typed. A woman who had just poured herself a fresh cup of coffee had even bigger breasts. They wobbled heavily as she made her way across the floor and back to her desk. Michelle watched in wonder and awe as these women performed their various duties, encumbered by the extraordinary size of their boobs. The sight of them stirred feelings of inadequacy and envy within her. With Michelle's figure, having the smallest breasts in the room was a new sensation for her, and she didn't like it.
    She glanced at a picture of the President that was hanging on the wall: the same smiling portrait she saw every day near her desk at the FBI. But here, his grin seemed comical, as if he were leering at the extraordinary tonnage of bouncing pulchritude he was gazing out upon.
    After several minutes, a door to one of the offices opened, and a middle aged man in a coat and tie appeared, ushering out a woman whose blouse was tightly stretched across her huge bust. As the lady walked past on her way out, Michelle watched her great breasts heave and bounce ponderously. Her enormous brassiere showed through the yawning gaps where the buttons of her blouse strained to fasten its front.
    The man retreated back into his office and closed the door behind him. The receptionist picked up her telephone.
    "Mr Hudson, there's a Michelle Myers here to see you."
    He checked his calendar and found her name: Special Agent Michelle Myers, 2:00 PM – recruitment. "Thanks, Rita, send her in."
    Rita hung up the phone and announced, "The Director will see you now."
Michelle got up and walked to the door at which Rita was pointing, and knocked.
    "Come!" came his voice from inside.
    She opened the door and introduced herself. "Mr Hudson? I'm Special Agent Michelle Myers of the FBI. You asked to see me?"
    "Yes. Thank you for coming, Agent Myers," he said, standing to shake her hand. "Please have a seat." Hudson sat and opened a file folder that lay before him and got right to the point. "How long have you been with the FBI?"
    "I began training at Quantico right out of college."
    "Graduated cum laude I see. Quite an impressive record with the bureau as well. Now, you probably have a few questions you'd like to ask me about our organization, so let's get that out of the way first."
    Michelle suppressed a grin. "Well, yes." Hudson sat silently waiting for her to continue. "Um, I hardly know where to begin."
    "Why don't I start by telling you who we are and what we do."
    "Thank you."
    "The FBGB is a small agency which was instituted during the early sixties. Very few people even know we exist. Basically, we are a resource pool of specially trained and equipped female operatives. In addition to our own in-house assignments, our people are also loaned out to other agencies for certain clandestine duties. We've also been conducting intensive research into breast enlargement technology over the years, which has led to various diet and exercise programs, as well as special surgical techniques. Modern implant technology is a direct result of our work, though we don't take credit for it, of course. We stopped employing that procedure long ago when we found something better, so the old technology was leaked to the public domain." He paused and looked at his hands. "I guess 'leaked' is an unfortunate choice of terms."
    "But I fail to understand why you need female agents with such incredibly big breasts."
    "President Kennedy authorized formation of this bureau to work closely with the FBI, CIA, NSA, and other agencies that I can't name. Our mission is to place special operatives in select positions around the world to gather information and compromise the security of nations and agencies that are hostile toward the United States. Research indicates that a small but significant percentage of heterosexual men have intense fixations on women with extremely large breasts. Though this segment of the general population is a minority, the fixation is very powerful, and experience has proven that such men can be easily manipulated by a woman with a radically oversize bosom. The degree of influence over the individual is commensurate with the size of the agent's breasts; so the bigger her bust, the tighter her control will be."
    "I see."
    "Which brings us to why I asked you here today. You have a stellar record with the FBI. In addition to that, we've determined from DNA screens that you're genetically an ideal candidate for our program."
    "You're offering me a position?"
    "Yes, ma'am. At the risk of seeming ill-mannered, may I ask what your measurements are?"
    With just a slight smirk, she thought, only the federal government. "My measurements are 41-23-36. Which I thought was pretty busty until I walked in here!"
    Hudson smiled. "Would you consider having your breasts enlarged for professional purposes?"
    She waited a few beats so she wouldn't appear too anxious, and asked, "How much bigger?"
    "That would be up to you," he replied, knowing full well that the unofficial policy was to 'accidentally' add a couple extra inches to whatever enlargement a developing agent requested.
    "If I accept this position, would I have to decide how much bigger I want to be before the enlargement process begins?"
    "That's normally how we do it. We like to have some sort of goal to go for. Could you give us a ball park idea? Say, an increase along the lines of the women in this office?"
    "Maybe not quite so big. I still want to be able to drive a car. You mentioned a moment ago that this agency has found something better than implants. Can you elaborate on that?"
    He quickly consulted Michelle's file to see if she had the proper clearance. "Alright. Be advised that this information is not to be repeated outside this office. Simply put, it's a technique that uses controlled cell mitosis. A small volume of a special liquid protein is injected into the center of each breast, and as soon as this liquid reaches body temperature – less than a minute – the stuff foams up and gels into a soft sponge-like mass. Then it releases a synthetic hormone which encourages fat cells in the breast to multiply and invade the spongy mass. The cells take over, and in a few days the sponge dissolves into the bloodstream; but the cell division continues, causing more and more breast tissue to form naturally."
    "No incisions?"
    "None."
    "Impressive. What about a clothing allowance?"
    "Pardon me?"
    "With such a drastic increase in bust size, I'll have to replace about all the clothes I wear above the waist."
    "Ah, yes. We'll take care of all that. We have our own in-house apparel division. We employ a top-notch seamstress who can take just about any design for any item of clothing and adapt it for an oversize bust. We also have a woman on retainer who makes custom brassieres for our people. The Bureau picks up the tab on all this."
    "Really? You're saying I'd get all my tops and bras custom made for free?"
    That single perk had been the deciding factor in bringing many an operative into the fold of the FBGB. "Bras, blouses, dress coats, winter coats, swimsuits, even tee-shirts – anything you want, all on Uncle Sam."
    "You're saying custom tee-shirts?"
    "We have a special computer-operated machine that weaves tee-shirts with a specially enlarged upper front, so the shirts it produces will fit a very large bust but still be nice and snug at the waist. The machine was designed and built by us."
    "Outstanding! But – if I may, sir – the woman I saw coming out of your office just now was wearing a blouse a couple sizes too small for her. To be honest, it didn't fit her very well."
    "You're correct. Agent Bordan's bust is in expansion. She's been on assignment in Europe and just got back in the country. Hasn't had a chance to update her wardrobe yet."
    "You're telling me her boobs are getting bigger?!"
    "Yes, at her request. Don't worry, Agent Myers; we'll make you look sharp. We don't want sloppy-looking people representing us."
    "I see."
    "Do you have any other questions?"
    "What about salary?"
    Hudson wrote a number on a sticky note and handed it to her. It was double what she was making at the FBI. Though her face remained unchanged, he could tell by her body language that she was pleased. "Anything else?" he asked.
   "Not really. How soon would you like my decision?"
    He tapped his pen on the desk top and knitted his brow. "I'd like to know one way or the other by – how's the end of the month sound?"
    "That's plenty of time. I'm sure I'll be able to tell you something by then."
    "Good." Of course, he'd bias her thought process by pulling a few strings to ensure she'd draw nothing but shit assignments at the FBI in the meantime. "If there's nothing else I can tell you, I'll let you get back to your duties," Hudson said as he stood.
    "Thank you, sir." She rose to shake his hand, and then left.
    He admired her sumptuously rounded fanny as she walked out the door, thinking what a nice package she was. Gorgeous face, great legs, and a real sweet ass. Not to mention a nice big set of natural tits to build on. In addition to all that, she was one of the sharpest fibbies to come down the pike in a long time. He wasn't going to let this one get away.

Michelle sat relaxing in her new apartment, admiring the wonderful view of the city below through her picture window, pondering the strange but exciting events of the past few weeks. Sipping her iced tea, she reveled in the elegance of her new surroundings. With her sizable increase in pay, she'd planned to move into a nicer place anyway, but Hudson had made the move mandatory. He didn't want neighbors asking nosy questions when they noticed her radically expanded bust. Furthermore, to start her new job he had given her a three week paid leave, telling her to stay inside and let as few people as possible see her until her breasts had become about as large as she wanted them to be. Then when she had reached that point, she would be given one more shot, which would cause her development to stop.
    The procedure had been quick and relatively painless. That had been almost two weeks ago, and her bosom was already substantially larger. She had outgrown her brassieres by the third day, but that presented no immediate inconvenience since she rarely wore a bra anyway. She pulled up the front of her tank top and looked down at her deliciously enlarged breasts. She cupped them in her hands and hefted them, enjoying the sense of their increased weight and size.
     The bureau required her to keep a journal of her growth, recording her bust measurement as well as her waist and hip measurements on a daily basis. That morning her bustline had been 54 inches. They had told her to expect about an inch of growth per day, which was about what she was seeing.
    The tightness of the skin of her breasts witnessed to the expansion of the flesh within, reminding her to apply the special cream that would prevent stretch marks. The plain white tube lay on the small table next to her, and she picked it up and squeezed a dollop into her palm. It smelled like coconut. The sensual pleasure of rubbing it into her large bare boobs caused her nipples to begin distending. The bureau's doctor had admonished her to be sure to rub in the cream thoroughly, and she enjoyed complying.
    When she had finished, she stood up and walked to a mirror on the living room wall. She turned to look at her profile, appraising the current state of her enlargement process, and liked what she saw. She studied her reflection, first with her shirt hiked up to expose her voluptuous breasts, and then with her shirt down to see how they'd look clothed. Her new, bigger boobs were very nice – easily big enough to draw attention and admiration from any tit-man – but they were not as big as they needed to be for her new job.
    She'd been given extensive briefing, including a session by a seasoned FBGB field agent whose bosom was extraordinarily huge. Since the bureau had agreed to let Michelle decide when her boobs had grown to the maximum size she was willing to accept, the agent explained to her that they needed to become so big that any man she was targeting would believe they were the biggest in the world. This would help reinforce her control of him. The woman had gone so far as to remove her own clothing from the waist up to show Michelle the kinds of things one could do with an enormous pair of boobs – things that would drive a tit-man crazy with desire.
    Michelle had been stunned by the sight of the agent's bare breasts. They were bigger than anything she had yet seen at the bureau, each one being about 18 inches in diameter at the fullest part, and hanging down below her hips! Her huge nipples were as big around as a bratwurst, and stuck out a good three inches. The woman was very proud of her massive bosom.
    A knock at the door startled Michelle out of her reverie. Pulling her shirt down over her big breasts, she walked over to her stereo to turn Haydn down before answering the door. She looked through the peep hole and saw a nice looking man about her own age whom she didn't recognize. She opened the door as far as the chain would allow and peered out.
    "Agent Myers? I'm Agent Louis Kerpalscheiker, FBGB," he said, showing her his I.D.
    Michelle nearly snorted a laugh at his name. "Hi. What can I do for you?"
    "I know you're on leave, but Director Hudson wanted me to stop by to introduce myself and see how you're doing. He also wanted me to ask if you'd like to come along with me on a little errand."
    "What kind of errand?"
    "Can't talk about it out here."
    "Ah." She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and opened it wide for him. "Come on in, Agent, uh–"
    "Kerpalscheiker. Thanks for not laughing. Call me Kerp."
    "Nice to meet you, Kerp. Call me Mich. I didn't know the bureau had any male field agents."
    "Not many. But every governmental body needs a few gophers."
    "So Hudson sent you to check up on me, huh?" she asked, leading him further into her apartment.
    "Well, yeah, I'm supposed to make sure you're getting along okay. He's assigned us to work together."
    "Oh, okay. Great! Uh – yes, I'm doing very well, thanks. It's been good to slow down my pace for a while. It's given me a chance to get moved in and settled here. Have a seat"
    "I see you had your shots, what – a couple weeks ago?" Kerp asked, easing into a chair.
    "Yeah, that's about right."
    "Lookin' good," trying to sound as objectively detached as possible.
    "Thanks. You mentioned an errand?"
    "Uh-huh. It's just a chance to get out of the house if you want to."
    "Well, I do have a bad case of cabin fever, and I really could use a little fresh air. What's up?"
    "We may have located a possible recruitment candidate," Kerp began as he fetched a small note pad from his shirt pocket. "I dug up some custom bra records that begin in 1979, but they disappear in 1987. The last order was for a Z plus 71 cup."
    "A what?"
    "Uh, that'd be a Z-cup plus an additional 71 inches."
    "What?! That's impossible! A bust that size would be incredibly huge!"
    "Yes indeed. But it's not impossible. It happens more often than people realize. Some women's breasts just never quit developing, and they keep right on growing all their lives. Nothing they can do to stop it. Reduction surgery is expensive, risky, and often it only makes 'em grow even faster. These women typically become obsessively reclusive. They don't get jobs and they rarely allow themselves even to be seen in public. Add to that the fact that the family won't talk about it, and you can see why nobody ever sees or hears about these women. That makes for one very difficult person to locate, too."
    "So how'd you find her?"
    "I'm not sure that I have. All I've got is a pretty flimsy lead. I overheard two boys talking at a magazine stand. They were sneaking peeks at girlie magazines and one kid started bragging about his cousin who has breasts so big they were, quote, unbelievably awesome."
    "That's your lead?"
    "I struck up a conversation with the kid and asked him about his cousin. After he made me buy him a couple dirty magazines in exchange, he told me she lives just north of Baltimore – about an hour from here. I got a name and address. He compared the size of his cousin's mammaries to that of weather balloons, which of course is complete horse shit, but if you compensate for juvenile exaggeration, we still might be looking at a bust in the range of a Z plus 71 cup."
    "Good grief! Why is the bureau even interested in recruiting a woman whose tits are too big to even carry around? When I was with the FBI, I used to worry about being too conspicuous with a 41-inch bust! So tell me, Kerp: how does a girl with a 150 inch chest blend into a crowd?"
    "I'm sure Hudson wants her for something other than field work."
    "He does? For what? Filing?"
    Kerpalscheiker chuckled. "Nope. Genetics."
    "Genetics?"
    "Rumor has it that they've been doing clandestine research for years, trying to duplicate the mechanism in the female human body that makes a girl blossom into a woman. Enough genetic samples of such extreme hypertrophy could put them years ahead of the game."
    "Why would they go to all that trouble when they already have the technology to do this?" she wondered, gesturing at her extreme frontage.
    "Beats me. But that's the rumor. You sound interested, at least. You wanna come along and check this out?"
    She pulled down on the bottom of her tank top and gazed at her extraordinarily large boobs jutting out against the thin material. "Yeah, I would like to get away from here for a while, but I just don't have anything to wear. A top, I mean. Nothing fits since... the shots."
    "Mich, just go to your closet, look at each top one at a time, and ask yourself if there's some way you can make it fit. I bet you'll find something you can squeeze into. Be creative!"
    She consented to give it a try, and came out of her bedroom several minutes later looking very professional, wearing a short skirt and a solid beige blouse with a casual dark jacket over it. She could never have actually buttoned the jacket, but it served to camouflage her oversize bosom somewhat. She held out her arms to present herself, asking, "How'd I do?"
    "Very tasteful! That jacket may be a little warm, though."
    "Yeah I know, but I have to wear it. This top is unzipped in the back to make room up front for the extra baggage."
    "Clever! So – are you ready?"
    "Let's go," she answered, motioning for him to precede her out the door.
    They stopped for fast food on the drive down to Baltimore, and ate it on the way. Michelle could tell from the disheveled state of the interior of Kerp's car that he had done a lot of surveillance work in it. There were enough empty coffee cups strewn about to accommodate several gallons, and the floor and seats were littered with a wide variety of used reading material.
    Michelle removed her jacket for the car trip, revealing the wide gap at the back of her blouse. As they engaged in small talk, her large braless tits wobbled freely with the vehicle's motion. She picked Kerp's brain for details about the inner workings of the FBGB: politics, personnel policies, where to find the best resources, who to ask for various kinds of information.
    Michelle picked up a file folder from among the flotsam covering the seat, and saw the name Janet DiGiovanni written on the tab.
    "That's our girl. Janet DiGiovanni is 27 years old, last known bra size, as I mentioned, was a Z plus 71. That was in 1987. More than likely, her breasts have continued to grow since then, maybe even accelerating in rate. In any case, if this woman turns out to be the one we're looking for, it's safe to say her bust is incredibly huge. Possibly the biggest in the world."
    "Pretty girl, too. Where'd you get this picture?"
    "Yearbook company. So it's about ten years old."
    "It looks like she was already extremely busty when this was taken. The way her dress is wrinkled – here and here," she observed, pointing to the bottom of the photo where it cut her off at the armpits.
    "Most likely she was."
    "I think this is our exit coming up."
    They pulled off I-95 and followed a route Kerp had highlighted on a map of Baltimore County. They eventually found themselves in a well-kept residential area of older homes that had probably been built during the 1950s post-war boom. They rolled up to the curb beside a mailbox, upon which was the house number they were looking for.
    "This is her parents' house. Father is deceased; Mother's name is Constance. You do the talking," Kerp said as he turned the engine off and opened the door.
    "Me?" she called after him. His door shut, and Michelle got out her side. "Why me? I'm just along for the ride! This is your case!"
    "In another week it'll be our case. Besides, if you were this girl's mother, wouldn't you feel more comfortable talking to a female agent about your daughter's huge boobs?"
    She acquiesced. "Of course. So what questions do you want me to ask?"
    As they climbed the steep concrete stairs of the front walk, he gave her a brief outline of the kinds of information he was looking for. He continued rattling along right up until an older woman answered the doorbell.
    "Yes?"
    "Mrs Constance DiGiovanni?" Michelle asked.
    "Yes–"
    "I'm Agent Michelle Myers with the – the federal government. This is Kerp, uh–"
    "Louis Kerpalscheiker, FBGB."
    "The woman peered through her Ben Franklin style reading glasses at Michelle's new official I.D., which she was flashing for the first time. She didn't feel it carried exactly the same impact as an FBI badge.
    "The Federal Bureau of Gigantic Bosoms? Who are you people? Is this some sort of joke?"
    Michelle opened her jacket just slightly and responded, "Does this look like a joke to you, ma'am?" The woman looked at the agent's formidable bosom for a long moment, and was visibly impressed. "I assure you, Mrs DiGiovanni, we are a legitimate law enforcement agency of the federal government. The reason you've never heard of us is, well–," she leaned forward and continued in a confidential tone, "it's really a very private thing among families, isn't it?"
    The woman gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "Then you know!"
    "Yes, ma'am. We're here to help." Kerp admired new his partner's savvy and ingenuity.
    "Oh, thank goodness! Come in, please!" She ushered them through the threshold and into a living room that looked as if it were rarely used.
    "We'd like to speak with your daughter Janet. Can you tell us where she is?" Michelle asked.
    "She's upstairs," the woman answered, near the point of tears. "Can you help her?"
    "I can't make any promises, ma'am, but we'll do everything we can. May we please speak with Janet?"
    "Of course. She's in her room. Follow me."
    She led them up a narrow stairway that ended at an equally narrow hall. Turning toward them, she excused herself as she slipped through the door to see if her daughter was awake and dressed. Kerp leaned against the wall by the door and craned his neck until his ear was close enough to hear parts of the muffled conversation within. He heard Mrs DiGiovanni fussing about something, and then heard another voice say, "What difference does it make, Mother? If I don't care, why should you?" After some further debate, the door opened and the woman reappeared, looking somewhat ill at ease.
    She whispered to Michelle, "I have to warn you that my daughter's condition is severe. I have no way to make her decent. I didn't want him to come in," she said, indicating Kerp, "but Janet insisted. You make sure he behaves! Janet is a nice girl."
    "Kerp has always been a gentleman as long as I've known him," Michelle assured her.
    "Okay, Curt. You just be on your best behavior! Leave the door open." She watched the agents enter the room.
    Never in his most daring boyhood fantasies had Kerpalscheiker ever imagined a pair of breasts so insanely huge. They swelled out prodigiously from the woman's chest and rested on the floor, mounding up to about eye level! Their fleshy mass was solid and firm, and each colossal tit was six or seven feet in diameter. Her nipples were the size of a child's fist, though he could only see one of them: the other was hidden beyond the horizon line of her far breast. He felt himself grow cold from the shock of actually seeing such gigantic naked tits right there in front of him.
    Michelle gasped out loud in a momentary lapse of professionalism when she realized what she was seeing.     "Please excuse me," Michelle apologized, still unable to take her eyes away from girl's gargantuan boobs.
    Janet lay on a bed positioned against the middle of a long wall. She was a very pretty young woman. Wearing only a pair of jeans, her feet and chest were as bare as the day she was born. Her breasts, however, had changed some since then. They were so staggeringly immense that they seemed to be independent of the woman who lay passively between them. It boggled the mind to think they were still growing!
    "Don't worry about it," Janet said with a wave of dismissal. "It's not every day you see something like this. I hope you people don't mind me being bare chested, but all this flesh makes me overheated in hot weather if I keep myself covered. Besides, there's not much in the way of bras or tops in my size," she said with a slight grin. "I'm sorry I'm still in bed, but I need a little help to fold up the hide-a-bed," she said with an edge that was directed at her mother.
    Mrs DiGiovanni muttered an apology and shuffled forward as her daughter scooted toward the end of the bed. The main bulk of her gigantic tits remained stationary as she stood up. Her mother then folded the bed up into a couch and helped Janet step backwards and sit down. "Thanks, Mom. I'll be fine." The older woman begrudgingly left the room without shutting the door.
    "Hi, I'm Janet DiGiovanni," she said, extending her hand.
    Michelle took it and introduced herself. "Agent Michelle Myers with the FBGB."
    Kerp stepped in to save her from trying to pronounce his name again. "Louis Kerpalscheiker," he said, smiling pleasantly while holding up his I.D. for her to see.
    "Now, Mom said you guys work for – what is it? The Department of Big Tits or something?" The agents smiled.
    "The Federal Bureau of Gigantic Bosoms," explained Michelle, trying not to sound embarrassed.
    "Well, you've come to the right place. When I was a little girl I always wanted big boobs. Guess I got my wish, huh? You didn't do too bad yourself," Janet observed with a nod at Michelle's fleshy bust.
    She thanked her for the compliment, even though she felt uncomfortably flat chested at that point.
    "We'd like to talk to you for a few minutes. May we sit?" Kerp asked.
    "Sure! I hardly ever get company," Janet replied enthusiastically. "Pull those chairs up close. So why is the Department of Giant Boobs interested in little old me? Aside from the obvious, that is."
    Michelle gave Kerp a look that asked him to field that question.
    "Ms DiGiovanni, no other organization in the world possesses as much knowledge concerning breast hypertrophy and breast giantism as the FBGB. We use this knowledge in special ways in the interest of our nation's security."
    "What – big tits for peace?"
    "Something like that," he replied with a grin. "I actually can't go into it in much detail."
    "Of course."
    "But I can offer you this. If you're interested, the FBGB might be able to stop the growth of your breasts."
    Janet was silent for a moment, and then said, "Really?"
    "Possibly. We have a treatment that works on some hypertrophy patients, but not all of them."
    "I'd like to at least try it. What do I have to do?" she asked.
    "Well, that's tricky. We'd have to bring you to our clinic in DC."
    "Shit. That's just great. Has it occurred to you that I'll never be able to leave this room? Do you see any 12-foot wide shipping doors here? Hell, I'm surprised Agent Knockers here was able to get through that little stairwell. How do you expect me to?"
    "We've handled this kind of situation before. We can cut an opening in an outside wall and take you out through it. We'll bring a special truck with a box bed that can be raised to second-story height. Inside it's fixed up with all the creature comforts: carpet, sofa, TV, air conditioning: everything. We take you to our facility and a crew stays behind to repair the house. They'll have it closed up before dark, and you won't even be able to tell there's been a hole there."
    "You wouldn't shit me."
    "No. I've seen it done."
    "With another hypertrophy patient?"
    "A few of them, in fact."
    "Were any as big as me?"
    Kerp smiled. "No, none quite your size, but all of them were too big to get out the door."
    Janet seemed pleased. "Who pays for all this? We don't have any money. I obviously can't work, and my Mom–"
    "It's all on us, Ms DiGiovanni. Your tax dollars at work."
    "Oh. I see."
    "Does this sound like something you'd be interested in, Ma'am?" asked Michelle.
    "Yeah, maybe. I'll have to think about it, though. I've been inside this room for ten years. Leaving it is a little scary."
    "Take some time and give it some thought, then. I'll check back with you in a couple days and we can take it from there. Before we leave, though, we'd like to get some background on your case, if you don't mind."
    "My case?"
    "The events of your life that brought you to this point."
    "Oh. Like my life story?"
    Good grief, thought Michelle. We'll be here all day!
    "Not everything. Kerp explained. "Just outline the things that would be pertinent to your physical condition."
    "Okay."
    "May I record this?" he asked, producing a microcassette recorder and showing it to her.
    "That's fine." He clicked the recorder on and held it up as she spoke. "Well," she began, "my life was pretty normal until I was about ten years old. I'd started developing at nine – that's not extremely unusual – but within a year my boobs had grown pretty big. Especially for a ten year old. From then on, I was always the girl with the biggest tits in school, wherever I went. I was always popular with the boys, of course. They all seem to like nice big boobies," she said with a wink at Kerp.
    "They just kept getting bigger and bigger, and never stopped growing. You should have seen me at my Senior Prom. My tits were twice the size of my head, and I was wearing a dress with a super low neckline. I kept the jacket on until my date picked me up. I had to laugh out loud at the expression on his face when I took my jacket off. I was the belle of the fuckin' ball!
    "After I graduated, I tried to settle into a normal life, but my breasts just kept growing bigger and bigger. I went to a bunch of doctors, but there was nothing they could do for me. When I walked, I had to pace myself to the rhythm of my giant bouncing boobs or I'd lose my balance.
    "I had to wear specially made bras, of course, but eventually my tits grew so big that even the best reinforced brassiere I could buy wouldn't hold them. Talk about life's most embarrassing moments! I was in a crowded mall once when the clasps of my bra broke and the shoulder straps completely gave way – my tits were just bouncin' and bumpin' all around under my blouse. They were so big and heavy that they started popping my buttons off one by one. Before I knew it, my big ol' breasts came flopping out naked for all the world to see. Everybody stopped and stared at me. I'm sure none of them had ever seen a pair of boobs anywhere near that big. One woman fainted and a couple people screamed. I came home in tears.
    "My tits were each almost two feet in diameter then. They were too big for me to manage any more. I started spending more and more time hiding in my room. I eventually lost my job because my huge breasts kept getting in the way. Guys were no longer interested in me: I was a freak. I got real depressed and started staying in my room all the time.
    "One day when I tried to go down the hall to the bathroom, I was horrified to find I couldn't squeeze my boobs through the door anymore. I've been using a bedpan ever since. Two years ago we had to knock out a wall to make enough room for them. This used to be two bedrooms until we converted it into one.
    "And that's about it. Here I am. Anything else you'd like to know about me?"
    "Um – oh, your bust measurement. Any idea what it is?"
    "Not at the moment. The last time my bust was measured, it was 374 inches. But that was several months ago."
    Kerp wrote the figure down on a scrap of paper. "Okay, this is all we need for right now, Ms DiGiovanni," Kerp said, clicking off his recorder and slipping it back into his pocket. "But you think about our offer. I believe we could improve the future quality of your life."
    "I'll definitely consider it. Do you have a business card?'
    "Sure, here." Both agents handed her their cards.
    "Thanks for coming out to see me. I like having company. You've been very kind." She shook hands with them, momentarily lingering as she clasped Kerp's, and they left her room.
    They found Janet's mother standing out in the hall with her finger to her lips, motioning for them to follow her down the stairs. When they reached the ground floor, she led them into the kitchen and turned to speak. "My poor Janet gets bigger every day." Pointing to the ceiling, she asked, "Look at that!"
    Lifting their eyes upward, Michelle and Kerp saw a broad network of cracks radiating from a hole where the plaster had broken away. The ceiling was beginning to sag noticeably. "This is right under her room. It's the same in the den, too. Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I needed to know. You see, this house isn't going to take her weight much longer. Please do what you said!"
    "You mean you want us to remove your daughter from here?"
    "I beg you! Take her to your clinic or whatever. Even if she doesn't fall through the floor, I don't know how much longer I can take care of her. I'm not getting any younger."
    "I sincerely hope we can do that for her, Mrs DiGiovanni, but she's an adult. The decision is hers, and we can't take her away against her will."
    "But I'm her mother! Doesn't that mean anything?"
    "It has to be her decision. I'm sorry. Talk to her. Encourage her to agree."
    "She won't listen to me. She never listens to her mother."

After they had gotten back in the car and were buckling their seat belts, Michelle commented, "Miss DiGiovanni sure was flirting with you, buddy boy!"
    "Must be that Kerpalscheiker animal magnetism. Never fails with women who haven't seen a man in several years."
    As soon as they had merged with the traffic on I-95, Kerp pulled his microcassette recorder out of his pocket and tossed it on the seat next to Michelle. "There's a laptop under the seat – would you mind getting it out and plugging the recorder into it?"
    "Do what with it?" she asked as she leaned over and felt under her seat. She'd taken off her coat after getting in the car, and as her large, heavy breasts hung down and pushed against the material of her top, the gap widened in back where it was unzipped. "How do you plug a tape recorder into a computer?"
    "There's a cable already plugged into the laptop. Right there," he said as she set it on her lap and flipped it open.
    "Okay. Where does the other end go?"
    "Pick up the cassette recorder and hit the eject button. Alright. Now: look at the tape."
    "Wait. There isn't any tape."
    "Right. It's a dummy. Open it all the way and you'll see a little interface port."
    "Plug it in there?"
    "Uh-huh. Then turn the laptop on."
    As the computer beeped to life, Michelle demanded, "Alright, what the hell is the deal with this?"
    "It's actually a digital camera."
    She laughed out loud. When she had caught her breath, she teased, "Next you're going to tell me I'm sitting in an ejector seat!" He smiled at her mirth. "So you go in for this James Bond crap. Taking sneaky pictures of helpless undressed women – shame on you!"
    Kerp chuckled. "All in the line of duty, Agent Myers. Typically, these hypertrophes are camera shy to an extreme. Hudson wants documentation on this woman."
    "Oh? You mean you're not going to take these pictures home and jack off to them?"
    "Not before Hudson does."
    That mental picture made her laugh again. "Where'd you get this little gadget? From 'Q'?" she teased.     "Is there some secret FBGB underground facility where they hand these out?"
    "No, I bought it out of a mail-order catalog. With my own money."
    "Your own money? My, my. What is the intelligence community coming to?"
    Grinning, he said, "Very funny. Now whenever you feel up to it, you can double-click that blue icon to see the pictures."
    "Alrighty. It's too bad, though. I was thinking it was such a good idea of yours to record her statement. But you were just snowing her."
    "No, this thing records audio too. It's compressed low-frequency digital. So it actually is an audio recorder. Those little fake microcassette reels even turn while it's recording."
    "Well, it's certainly a clever gizmo. Ooo! Good pictures, too."
    "There should be about five images stored in there. Highlight all five and download them to the laptop. Then e-mail them to Hudson along with a brief synopsis of our interview, if you will."
    "Sure." As she tapped on the little keyboard, she commented, "I didn't know the bureau had a clinic."
    Kerp was silent a moment. "What clinic is that?"
    "The clinic you promised to take Janet DiGiovanni to at government expense! Don't tell me you were bullshitting her about that!"
    "Oh! No, no; Hudson authorized me to make the offer, and it's genuine. I know I referred to it as a clinic, but she'll actually have the entire resources of the bureau at her disposal. They'll fix up a nice apartment for her and provide round-the-clock care. She'll be treated for the hypertrophy too, just like I promised her."
    "Good. I hope she agrees to it."
    "I'll give her a call in a day or two. I'll let you know what she says."

End of Part 1

Part 2