HEATHER HURTS HER HAND

by Downing Street

()

For Amy, my lost dark Muse, who provided such rich inspiration.

-- Downing Street

PART I

"Man oh man, that hurts!"

The woman was sitting in a plush red chair, bent over a little, cradling her right wrist in her left hand. Her right hand was completely swaddled in somebody's shirt. There was blood on the fabric.

"OK, OK, take it easy baby," said the woman beside her. "This clinic is really, like, efficient. They'll see you right away."

The woman with the injured hand, who detested being called "baby", glared daggers at her companion. If there was anything worse than a painful accident in the middle of a work day, she fumed, it was being taken to the hospital by the office sexpot. She would have said something sarcastic, but her hand hurt too much.

Funny thing was, until a couple of months ago, Carmen had been a perfectly ordinary assistant librarian. Serious, courteous, efficient if a bit drab, she had worked away diligently at whatever assignments she was given, and talked about gardening in the staff lunch room. Then, without warning and to the astonishment of everyone in the library, she had hopped aboard the express train to bimboville.

It started one afternoon when Carmen complained of not feeling well. It was probably a touch of flu, she said. She had taken a sick day to go see a doctor. When she returned to work a few days later, she was transformed.

Gone was the shy, mousy Carmen. In her place was a bouncy, sexy, giddy whirlwind whose energy seemed endless and whose smile seemed irrepressible. She flirted with all the men. She giggled constantly. She abandoned pants and loafers in favour of steadily shortening miniskirts and flamboyant high heels. Very soon it was a rare day when everyone in the library didn't know the colour of Carmen's panties before noon.

The staff speculated endlessly about what could have come over her. A hot new boyfriend was a popular theory. It didn't hold up well, though, considering how Carmen was carrying on with staff and library patrons alike. Nor did it explain why a previously quiet and serious woman was acting like a sex-crazy airhead.

Most of all, it didn't begin to explain the tits.

The woman with the injured hand took a covert look at Carmen, sitting cheerfully beside her. She had her knees crossed, bouncing one foot up and down lazily. She was wearing a low-cut, stretch- fit minidress, her apparel of choice these days, along with filmy stockings and impossibly high-heeled sandals. The curve-loving dress strained to cover a pair of over-inflated breasts that could only exist in an adult movie or a horny teenager's imagination. Carmen before had been neither small nor large, so well within the ordinary range that nobody was sure how big she was before the change.

Cosmetic surgery? That was another popular idea around the lunchroom, though it seemed completely out of character for Carmen. Yet Carmen's V-necked sweaters and low-scooped dresses made it abundantly clear that everything down her cleavage was real. When someone finally asked Carmen about it, she just giggled prettily and said she was a late bloomer. The conversation didn't get any further because a man nearby walked right into a bookshelf.

Carmen helped the man up. He sputtered something in gratitude, staring down her sweater. Carmen suggested coffee. The man accepted, breathless. Carmen didn't come back for almost three hours.

Carmen smiled her dazzling smile when she saw her superior looking at her. "You doing OK? I'm sure it will only be a few more minutes."

Sure enough, at that moment the blonde nurse at the desk called out: "Heather?"

"Oh, that's us," Carmen chirped unnecessarily.

She helped Heather to her feet, but her superior shrugged her off. "I haven't got a broken leg!" she snapped.

Still holding on to her right wrist, Heather approached the nurse's desk, Carmen in tow. The woman gave her a motherly look. "Does it hurt bad, honey?" she cooed. "Come with me, we'll have Doctor Hardrod take a look at that."

Heather glared at her. She hated being called "honey" as much as "baby". The nurse was a spectacularly built blonde who apparently hadn't earned her position by her knowledge of medicine. Her hair cascaded in golden tresses down past her shoulders. Her eyes were enormous and deep, deep blue. She wore a white nylon nurse's uniform that skimmed low across a pair of mammaries as heavy and swollen as Carmen's. Heather wondered briefly if she had stumbled into the Land of the Giant Boobs. Even the other young woman in the swank, feminine waiting room was heavy-chested.

It had hardly been Heather's idea to come here for treatment. She wanted to go to the emergency ward at the local hospital. Instead, Carmen insisted that she come to something called the NewYou Clinic. She was very enthusiastic about it. Heather's hand hurt too much for her to argue.

The nurse led Heather to a small examination room. "Have a seat there on the table," the nurse said. "The doctor will be right with you." She disappeared out the door, high heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Dr. Hardrod is like, a terrific doctor," enthused Carmen, who had followed Heather into the room.

A moment later the door opened again. The man standing there said: "Hello, I'm Dr. Nelson Hardrod. You must be Heather. Oh, hello Carmen. Nice to see you."

"Hiiii, Doctor," Carmen replied, in her new, sex-laden voice.

The doctor was a young man, certainly not yet forty. He wore a white lab coat and carried a stethoscope around his neck, as if he were portraying a doctor on a television soap opera. He had a slightly sleazy look to him, Heather thought, especially when he surveyed Carmen up and down with undisguised admiration.

Eventually he turned his attention to his patient. "Well now, what have we got here? You've hurt your hand?"

"Yes," Heather replied tersely. "It hurts like hell. I think something's broken."

The doctor approached Heather and gingerly began to unwrap her makeshift bandage. "Ouch!" Heather cried. "It really hurts!"

He backed off. "Hmmm, better let me give you something for the pain." He fussed around in a cupboard for a few moments. He returned with a small plastic cup filled with a thick, purple liquid. "Drink this," he urged, "it'll take the edge off."

Heather drank the liquid down. It tasted sweet. She handed the cup back.

Dr. Hardrod returned to unwrapping her hand. It didn't hurt nearly as much this time. In fact, after a few moments she hardly felt it at all. He finished unwrapping her hand and looked at it dubiously. "What happened?" he wanted to know.

Heather sighed. "It was an accident. I dropped something on my hand. A book. A heavy book." The doctor, she noticed absently, was rather cute.

The accident was embarrassing. It should never have happened. Carmen had wiggled into her office that morning and asked for help retrieving a book from an upper shelf. Heather had better things to do. She was Head Librarian. She told Carmen to find one of the shelvers to help her. She very nearly sent her home again to put on something less revealing.

Carmen had given her puppy-dog eyes and pouted that everyone else was on break and she needed this book like right away. Eventually Heather had relented just to shut her up. When she climbed the ladder to pull the book down (Carmen's heels and hemline both proscribing climbing ladders) another book had fallen from on top of it, to land edge first on Heather's hand. The burst of pain kept Heather from wondering why these two books were the only ones on the shelf that weren't dusty.

She wasn't wondering about it now either. The doctor's painkiller had her feeling a little thick. The pain in her hand had subsided to a faraway tingle.

"I think we'll need X-rays," Dr. Hardrod pronounced. He wheeled a ceiling-mounted camera into position. He spent a few minutes taking shots from different angles. "Now you just lie back and relax for a few minutes while I get these developed," he said to Heather.

Heather was content to do that. She was already feeling very relaxed. She lay back on the padded table and stared at the ceiling. She felt dopey, almost stoned. It was really very pleasant. What was in those painkillers?

She heard the handsome doctor chatting with Carmen. The voices sounded distant, like the murmur of waves on the beach at night. ". . . come on honey, why not . . . oh, yes, like that. . . yes, more, more . . . oh god yes, faster, faster! . . . almost there, don't stop, don't stop . . . Aaaaah!"

Heather wasn't sure how much time had elapsed before Dr. Hardrod's face re-appeared in front of her. His hair was mussed. "Heather," he said, "I've looked at the X-rays. You have a fractured carpel in the ring finger of your right hand. I've bandaged it up for you. I think we can get away without a cast."

"Now, ordinarily this sort of fracture could take up to a month to heal. I'm going to give you some pills. They'll stimulate your tissues to heal much faster."

He held up a pharmacy bottle full of small pills. They were the same purple as the painkiller Heather had downed earlier. The bottle bore a label from something called Volparnuit Pharmaceuticals, with an address in the Virgin Islands. "What, what is . . ." Heather managed.

"The drug is called N-HancDD," Dr. Hardrod replied. "It's new. With this course we can reduce your recovery time to less than two weeks. I want you to take one pill every evening before you go to bed. The N-HancDD will dull the pain too. Try not to move your hand too much for the first while."

Heather took the pills. She looked at her right hand. It was tightly wrapped in a soft bandage. The ends of her fingers were free. The bandage was warm pink. "I . . . can't straighten . . . hand," Heather demurred, puzzled.

The doctor said: "You strained a tendon during the break. I set the bone with the hand in a half-curled position so it will heal more naturally."

"Oh, OK."

"You're going to be a little woozy for a while. Carmen has agreed to take you home. Try to get some rest."

"All right. Thank you Doctor."

With Carmen's help she got to her feet. She wobbled a little on the way out the door. Carmen stayed behind a moment to kiss the doctor -- Heather could have sworn she kissed him -- then led her outside to Heather's car. Heather made it into her flat on her own and managed to get some of her clothes off. She fell asleep on her back with her bandaged hand outstretched.
Heather awoke the next morning feeling fine. It was only when she flexed her hand that she remembered the accident. She held up her bandaged hand. Who ever heard of hot pink bandages? At least it didn't hurt.

She set about getting ready for work. Dressing with one hand presented challenges. Clothing with zippers wasn't too bad, but buttons were difficult and laces were impossible. She decided on a simple pullover and slacks with some dressy loafers.

The matter of dressing was complicated by the need to wear a bra. Heather wasn't particularly full on top, but she was hardly going to go without. Fastening hooks one handedly turned out to be a major undertaking. Besides, her bra was too tight. She thought at first she might be retaining water. It was the wrong time of the month.

Heather took a taxi to work. She couldn't drive her car with one hand.

Having only one free hand at work slowed her down a lot. Nevertheless Heather was in a fey mood. She felt energized. She laughed at her colleagues' gentle ribbing about her accident. She even forgave Carmen when she came by her office to apologize.

By the next morning, Saturday, her ill-fitting bra had become as big an annoyance as the broken hand. It was increasingly uncomfortable. She squirmed all morning. By noon it was unbearable. She took a taxi downtown and bought a new brassiere. The sales lady had to help her undress.

"Why don't your try a sportsbra?" the woman suggested sensibly. "No hooks to fasten."

"OK, good idea," Heather replied. "but are you sure this is the right cup size?"

"We can measure you again, if you like."

Heather struggled into the sportsbra. "No, this one does seem to fit."

Heather returned home after shopping and cleaned her apartment one- handed. She stayed up late, too hyped-up to sleep. Eventually her hand began to hurt. She took one of the little purple pills and turned in. The pain had already vanished by the time she fell asleep.

Dressing in a sportsbra was far easier than trying to one-hand bra straps. Oddly though, the brassiere she had purchased on Saturday felt tight on Monday. Had she bought the wrong size? Heather looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. Her breasts did seem larger. This was more than water retention. She hefted one breast experimentally. It felt heavier. She brushed a finger across a nipple. The unexpected thrill that ran through her made her moan out loud.

"Meaghan, I'm going out for lunch," Heather said to her assistant, around noon that day. "I need to pick up a few things." In fact she was going to return the bra she had purchased two days before. It was definitely too small.

Meaghan said: "Hey, I like what you did with your hair. Looks cool."

Heather arched an eyebrow. "I haven't done anything with my hair."

"Oh. I'm sorry, it looks . . . really?"

"I'll be back by one."

It was closer to two when Heather finally got back to the library. She didn't like wasting so much time. As Head Librarian, she had many responsibilities. It had taken a while to find a sportsbra the right size. Heather had difficulty believing that she was so much larger. "I was only 34 inches yesterday," she told the sales woman.

"Well, you're over 35 today. Here, try this one. It will give you a bit of extra room."

A bit of extra room was welcome. Heather was feeling very sensitive. The press of her too-tight bra against her nipples was immensely distracting. It made it difficult to concentrate on her work.

Heather bought a new top that better accommodated her new size. Impulsively, she also bought a new pair of shoes. Her old flats were starting to pinch her toes. She picked out a pair of dressier slip-ons, with a bit of heel. It was a narrow style but she found they fit quite well.

After work Heather stopped at the gym, as she did regularly. Athletic by nature, she liked to keep trim. She couldn't lift weights with the broken hand, but the treadmill and stair-stepper were still available. One of the trainers tied her athletic shoes for her.

Today, Heather felt dynamic. She breezed through her normal workout, even adding a mile to her run. She found herself grinning.

That evening, as she puttered about the house in her favourite jade green dressing gown, Heather decided something had to be done. Her tits were driving her crazy. The slightest touch brought the nipples to attention. A gentle tweak was delicious. She had to shower carefully at the gym so the other women there wouldn't see how turned on she was.

Heather relaxed on the sofa, watching television. She gently teased a nipple with her good hand. Single, and with no serious fellow in her life, her sex life was pretty quiet. Normally that didn't bother her greatly. Tonight was a different story. If she was so sensitive upstairs, Heather reasoned, how it would feel if she touched herself down -- oh sweet Jesus! She really was in a state.

She switched her attention to her moistening pussy. She pleasured herself urgently with the fingers of her left hand. She slumped on the sofa, legs spread, dressing gown falling open. She forgot about the television. She came, quickly and intensely.

The orgasm was so pleasant Heather decided to try for another. Then one more. Finally sated, and smelling intensely female, she licked off her fingers and headed to bed. She remembered to take her little purple pill.

The next morning Heather bounced out of bed before the alarm clock even rang. She ate an enormous breakfast. Her pajama top had become uncomfortably tight, so she undid a few buttons to give herself some room. That helped a little. The friction of the soft fabric against her newly sensitive tits was very distracting.

Eventually she shrugged the top off completely and finished her second bowl of cereal semi-nude. The cool air of the morning stiffened her nipples immediately. When she was finished she decided there was nothing for it but to have a little fun in the shower. That turned out to be a great idea. Heather's shower was quite a bit longer than usual.

Wednesday morning found Heather standing in front of her bedroom mirror again, quite perplexed. She was wearing nothing but a towel around her hair. Something is wrong with me, she decided, and more than a broken finger. This was very odd.

Her pants didn't fit. She had tried on three pairs, only to find that all of them were too tight around her hips. It was a struggle to pull them on with one hand. When she did finally squeeze into them, she found they were unfashionably tight around her bum. Had the dry cleaners shrunk them somehow? That would be a sensible explanation except that dry cleaning didn't shrink things and her pants were also too loose around her waist. She yanked them off again, another one-handed wrestle, and looked at herself.

She looked different. Besides the swollen breasts, which appeared even bigger this morning than they had last night, there were other changes. Her hips had expanded. There was no question about it. At the same time her waist had shrunk. It was as if two inches of her form had migrated downward, filling out her thighs and rump, while drawing in her stomach. The net effect, she had to admit, was quite attractive. Very attractive. And her face . . .

Heather leaned forward to examine herself. She felt the weight of her newly engorged breasts. Heather had always considered herself rather plain. This morning she looked, well, pretty. Her cheekbones seemed more pronounced, her chin better defined. Her complexion glowed with health. The rubescent fullness of her lips couldn't be her imagination.

"Well, this is . . . interesting," Heather said out loud. Despite her perplexity she was pleased with the reflection. She winked at herself. She was tingling a little, in her breasts, and down below. She reached up with her good hand and pulled the towel from her hair. It tumbled down around her shoulders, already half-dry, and shiny. The locks were about six inches longer than the last time Heather had looked.

She turned her attention back to getting dressed. Slacks were clearly not an option. Her closet yielded a navy-blue pleated skirt that was easy to put on with one hand. The expansion of her hips pulled the knee-length hem up a few inches.

Knickers were another issue; she found a pair that sort of fit, but they pulled up so tight against her mons that the tingles quickly became unbearable. She decided to go without and rely on pantyhose. She would have to make another trip to the shops during coffee break.

Heather pulled her sportsbra on. It still fit, but she suspected it wouldn't for much longer. Pulling a sweater over her head was easier than doing up buttons on a blouse. The simple white pullover was not nearly as loose as when she bought it. More tingles.

Pantyhose proved to be the breaking point. She got them up her legs all right, but working the nylon around her hips accidentally brought her fingers too close to her eager pussy. Heather gasped at the pulse of sexual excitement that burst from her crotch. She tried another stroke. It felt even better. Her nipples were swollen again.

There was moisture on her fingers. She couldn't go to work this way. Already stroking with her good hand, the lithe librarian stumbled backward onto her rumpled bed. "Oh god I am so fucking horny, this morning" she muttered. "Just one (gasp) . . . one little cum . . . oh man that feels good . . . one cum . . . then (moan!) . . . I'll, I'll go to work. Oh yes!"

Heather was very late for work that morning.

Late Thursday evening, Heather sat in her kitchen, nursing a glass of wine. She contemplated the little bottle of pills sitting on the table in front of her. Could something so small have such big effects?

She took a deep breath. Her unconfined breasts jostled beneath the simple white T-shirt she was wearing. It was an extra-large size that she sometimes wore as a nightshirt. Everything else in her closet was too tight again. A pair of kitten-heeled mules dangled from her toes.

Heather's new brassiere didn't fit for two days. By the end of the work day she was squirming uncomfortably as the elastic straps began to dig into her shoulders. The moment she arrive home she had shrugged it off. The relief was immense.

So were her tits. Heather's measuring tape confirmed that she had gained almost four centimetres since her last fitting. Struggling one-handedly with the tape measure set off a wave of tittie tingles that very nearly drove her back onto the bed again.

She was starting to draw stares. When she arrived at work that morning she was already aroused from the attention of the cab driver, who kept checking her out in the rearview mirror. Her coworkers watched her keenly every time she stepped out of the office. She could see the effort the men were making not to stare at her chest when she spoke to them. A few of them were successful.

Between the inefficiency arising from her broken finger and the distraction of her increasingly curvaceous body, Heather wasn't getting a lot of work done. Using a keyboard with one hand was agonizingly slow. Notes written with her left hand were illegible.

Luckily, she discovered that her bandaged hand wasn't completely useless. It had healed enough now that it didn't hurt to touch, and the half-closed position meant she could lightly grip things, like a coffee cup, or even a banana for lunch. Even limited use of her right hand was a big improvement.

Still, there were a lot of obstacles. She had to get help carrying things, and opening files. It was frustrating. She still had her responsibilities as Head Librarian. Fortunately, there were plenty of men about the library who were eager to help.

To make matters worse, she was horny all the time. Handjobs in the shower and while she was getting dressed let her get through the morning, but by mid-day she almost always found herself seeking more relief in the ladies'. It got worse when she went out to buy new clothes, because the avid male attention she attracted turned her on like an aphrodisiac. She brought herself off again in the washroom of an office building, and again in the change room of an upscale boutique.

What was she doing in that boutique anyway? She had gone downtown to find some underwear that fit. She found some knickers that accommodated her womanly hips and bought several pairs. It wasn't really necessary to choose lace or silk, but Heather decided she liked feeling sexy.

She had intended to pick up some pants too, since none in her closet were wearable any more. She found herself gravitating to the dress racks instead. Dresses and skirts would be a little more forgiving about fit, she rationalized, especially if she got something a bit stretchy. Maybe she wanted to show off her legs.

Back in her flat, Heather got to her feet and clip-clopped into the bedroom. Her boobs bounced perkily. She looked down at the bags of fashion clothing lying on the bed. These things really weren't her style. Wearing them would only amplify the head-turning effect of her changing body. Fuzzily, she realized that she actually wanted more attention. The feeling of being sexy and attractive gave her a rush that was almost addictive.

Which brought her back to the question of the pills again. It didn't take a genius to see that the bewildering growth of her breasts had begun as soon as she started taking Dr. Hardrod's little happy pills. He said the pills accelerated tissue growth. Maybe they affected other areas besides her injured hand?

She held up her half-closed right hand, still swaddled in the pink bandages. She wiggled her fingers experimentally. It appeared to be healing well. Maybe she should stop taking the pills.

It would help if she knew more about them. One of the advantages of being a Head Librarian was that Heather knew how to find information. There was a computer in the second bedroom that she used as an office. She sat down, logged onto the internet, and began a search for N-HancDD. She brushed long hair out of her eyes.

An hour later, she had found nothing. That was surprising. The internet was crowded with medical websites catering to the insatiable public curiosity about drugs and treatments. Every drug imaginable was profiled somewhere. Yet every search engine she knew returned with nothing on N-HancDD. Nor could she find any mention of Volparnuit Pharmaceuticals. It was all very frustrating.

Heather felt tired. It had been a long day. She had blasted effortlessly through a souped-up workout at the gym. Other women looked on enviously as Heather bounced and stretched, her newly curvaceous body straining her shorts and top. The cute trainer who tied her shoelaces for her looked up at her with envy -- and perhaps something more.

Now the effort was catching up with her. She felt irritable and frustrated. Why couldn't she find anything on this stupid drug? Her hand was beginning to hurt. The broken finger ached dully.

Heather got to her feet. She half-stumbled on her flimsy slides. She looked down at her feet in annoyance. What had possessed her to buy these asinine slippers? They were decorative little trinkets, with a leopard-skin pattern and a single strap across the foot. Heather had rationalized that she couldn't wear her old cross-trainers at home for the duration. She needed something without laces. Of course at the time she had been horny and she secretly thought the little slides looked sexy. Now she thought they were simply foolish.

Scowling, she shuffled back into the kitchen. It's those damned pills, she thought sourly. They were messing up her metabolism. They were messing up her mind. She glared down at the bottle of pills still sitting on the kitchen table. She felt drained. Her hand hurt.

Abruptly she swooped down with her good hand, flipped open the bottle, spilled a pill into her other hand and popped it into her mouth. She swallowed quickly, before she had a chance to think about it.

Five minutes later the ache in her broken hand had disappeared. Ten minutes later Heather was dancing about the bedroom in her nightshirt and slides, gleefully unwrapping her new clothing while she rocked and rolled to the beat of a pop tune on the stereo. Two hours later Heather dropped off into contented sleep, one hand still inside her firm, wet pussy.

"Hey Sweetie, how's the busted hand?" a feminine voice said. It was late Friday afternoon. Heather was sitting in her office, working at her computer with one hand. She wasn't getting very far. Her attention kept wandering. At that moment she had been merely sitting in her executive chair, running her right hand through her long hair. Besides growing about a foot, it had started to curl, and fluffed thickly about her head.

"What?" she replied, startled. "Oh, Carmen, it's you. Oh, the hand is coming along great. Doesn't hurt at all."

"Wonderful. I toldya Dr. Hardrod would fix you up. The man is sooooo good." She giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. Her enormous tits bounced beneath her straining top. Heather giggled with her.

As usual these days, Carmen was dressed like a cover girl for a specialty skin magazine that catered to boob-lovers. Neither her baby-blue pullover nor her blue spandex miniskirt came close to covering her navel. The little skirt was so brief it threatened to confirm to all observers that her ass was as spectacularly perfect as her long legs. She was balanced precariously on soft blue platform sandals with clear acrylic heels.

Why can't she learn that this is no way to dress for work, Heather mused privately. I should send her home, again. I should send her home and tell her to take her clothes off. She contemplated the image of Carmen returning to work nude. That last confused thought set off another burst of giggles.

Heather herself was not dressed as conservatively as her typical style. Her new minidress was indigo, with white piping along the flaring hem and plunging cleavage that matched her white heels. It was one of the outfits she had purchased the day before. She was wearing stockings, to see what they felt like. Maybe she should have chosen a longer dress for the experiment.

"Listen, honey I have something for you," Carmen was saying. "I know that hand in a bandage must be a drag. Like, how do you co- ordinate with that?" She reached into a little bag she was carrying and retrieved two long strips of pink fabric.

"What are those?"

"Silly, they're armlets. See, they match your bandage. No, let me."

She took Heather's good hand and slid the shiny pink material over it. It slid neatly around her arm to above the elbow. A strap slipped between her fingers, keeping the fabric tight but leaving her hand free.

"Carmen, I'm not sure--"

Carmen was already lifting her right hand. "Don't worry honey, I'll be gentle," she cooed. She carefully guided the pink armlet over Heather's half-closed hand, then smoothed it gently up her arm.

"There, isn't that better," the big-titted vixen husked, still holding Heather's right hand in both of hers. "Now nobody will even notice that silly ol' bandage." Unexpectedly, she lifted Heather's hand to her lips and kissed her fingers delicately.

"Poor little Heather," she baby-talked, kissing each unbroken finger in turn, "she broke her l'il finger. I'll kiss it and make it better."

"Carmen! I--" Heather stuttered. Carmen's kisses were doing more than make her fingers feel better. She squirmed in her seat.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Carmen said. She let Heather's hand down, accidentally brushing it against her chest on the way. "A few more goodies."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a half dozen gaily coloured enamel bracelets. Before Heather could properly react she had slipped a couple onto her right wrist and four more onto her left. They clattered and shone with every movement.

"There now, don't those go great with the armlets! You wear colour so well, honey. Here, try these." Another dive into the bag produced flower-shaped enamel earrings in the same bright colours as her bracelets. A moment later they were dangling from Heather's ears. One final dip into the bag, a re-assuring "come on, hold still a moment," from Carmen, and now Heather was wearing a triple- loop necklace of candy-coloured spheres the size of golf balls.

"Carmen, come on," Heather protested, bewildered, "I, I can't wear --"

Carmen shushed her with two fingers. "You can do anything you want, baby. Just because you're Head Librarian doesn't mean you can't have a little fun."

"But --"

"Listen, petal, a few of us are heading out to Prancers for a while after work, maybe have a few drinks. Why don't you join us?"

"Prancers? That's the trendiest club in -- no, I don't think --" She stopped abruptly. There would be men in the club. Lots of men. Young men. Hot men. Men who were looking for action, who would appreciate a hot-looking woman with big tits and great legs and oh shit she was moistening again.

"Maybe one drink," Heather said.

Her subordinate grinned. "We'll go directly after work, 'K?" She picked up Heather's bad hand and slipped one finger into her red- lipped mouth. She drew it out slowly, sucking. "Don't let a little busted hand knock you out of your groove, baby," she cooed. She turned then and strutted out of the room in her six-inch heels, leaving Heather decorated, dazzled, and dripping.

Heather did join some of the others at the club that night. She stayed for one drink, like she said. That was how long it took her to line up a date with a stylish young fellow with gelled hair and blue-tinged glasses. She had her good hand on his crotch as she suggested they go straight back to her place.

Friday night was so much fun Heather decided to do it again on Saturday. She had three drinks that night, and the same number of buff young men. She gave the first one a secret hand-job on the dance floor. She went down on the second in the front seat of his BMW. The third chap came back to her flat, ogling her 38-inch chest the entire way, and kept Heather happy until the wee hours, when he fell blissfully asleep in the warm embrace of her pussy.

I really should stop taking those pills, Heather reflected, late Sunday afternoon. She was lounging about her flat, waiting for a delivery and admiring herself. There was lots to admire.

At the moment Heather had on nothing but her favourite silk dressing gown and a pair of sexy, jade green platform sandals. Her knickers were little wisps of lace she had bought on Saturday, during that brief interlude when there were no men in her apartment. On top she wore nothing at all.

Heather strolled over to the mirror in the hallway. She parted her thin robe and hefted her left breast with her good hand. I'm so big she thought proudly. All because of those hyper-hooter happy pills. She put her arm across her chest and hugged herself like a lover. Her nipples stood out temptingly, like ripe cherries waiting to be plucked.

It wasn't Heather's fault that she was wandering about braless. The bra she had bought on Thursday didn't fit any more. She had made an effort to replace it on Saturday. The awestruck young sales clerk told her that they didn't carry that size in a sportsbra.

"I'd be glad to order one for you," the girl said, staring at Heather's magnificent mammaries with open admiration. "It would be here in a few days." She was standing by the door of the changing room, where Heather had already tried the largest size in stock.

Heather smiled at her. "That's okay honey. I'll get by." She suspected the new bra might not fit by the time it arrived.

Oddly though, once she tried going without a brassiere, Heather discovered she hardly needed one, at least not for support. Despite their size, her newly perfect breasts thrust out from her chest like they were inflated with air, the nipples slightly upturned. They shimmied and bounced with every step she took. Her pullover tamed her buoyant breasts a little, but not enough to keep every male head from turning whenever Heather walked by. Two young taxi drivers actually got into an argument over who got to take her home.

The incident got Heather so worked up she had to lie down and relieve herself for a while. Her bandaged hand had regained enough flexibility that she could hold things with it -- like the slick black vibrator she pleasured herself with for the next hour. The interlude tided her over until it was time to go out clubbing.

Over the past few days Heather had made two more attempts to find out something about N-HancDD. Both times she lost interest before she got very far. Her attention span seemed to be dwindling as fast as her tits were expanding. Her chest danced with every carefree giggle. Men seemed to find that attractive.

She wondered again if she should stop taking the pills. They seemed to be making her kinda ditzy. Not to mention doing ridiculous things to her figure. She opened her robe and ran her good hand down one flank, revelling in the exaggerated hour-glass figure. How could her tits grow so big but her waist get so small? It had to be the pills.

Trouble was, those purple peppy pills weren't easy to quit. If she didn't take her daily dose, Heather found her energy waning. Her hand didn't hurt any more, but she became tired and morose. Maybe it was simply the contrast between normalcy and the happy buzz of the N-HancDD. Eventually she always relented and popped one more pill. She told herself she would quit tomorrow. Of course, twenty minutes later she was always too horny to care.

Heather strolled languidly from the hallway to her bedroom, where she could use the full-length mirror. Her sexy platforms sank into the carpet. It was silly wearing fancy shoes around the flat, but Heather loved what the heels did for her legs. Not to mention how they exaggerated the sway of her sculptured ass and thrust her heavy chest forward.

She stopped before the bedroom mirror. Her dressing gown was still open. Long hair tumbled loosely down over the tops of her tits. Heather's left hand crept toward her needful pussy, barely covered by the darling lace panties.

The pizza she had ordered would arrive at any moment. The delivery boy was a college kid with a friendly face. She fantasized about seducing him. She was sure she would succeed. Her hand slipped into her cunt, already moist and receptive. She caught her breath.

"Fuck, just look at me," the luscious librarian husked, still stroking keenly, "I'm beautiful!"

By the following morning, beautiful was moving rapidly toward spectacular.

Heather's arrival at work Monday morning was a sensation. She had added more than an inch to her bust size since she left the library on Friday afternoon. She was braless beneath a straining gold jersey. It hadn't been nearly so tight when she bought it on Saturday. A brief A-line skirt of red cotton flared out over her womanly hips. Her legs were bare, silky smooth and exquisitely shaped. A pair of her best black heels were on her feet.

She was still wearing Carmen's pink armlets beneath the short- sleeved jersey. She was wearing her bangles too, but she had impulsively decided to slip one around her right ankle. She felt the reassuring tug of her new thong against her pussy with every step.

Heather's arrival brought the library to a halt. She was very late, and the library was already open to the public. Everyone stopped what they were doing. The men stared. So did the women. Someone dropped a big stack of books.

Heather smiled and sang "Good morning!" as she made her way to her office in the back. Her bangles clattered when she waved. By the time she got to her office she was already moistening.

Getting through the day was a major challenge. She was too horny and hyper to do any work. Besides, she couldn't seem to take it seriously. She tittered a lot. She combed her hair. She accidentally deleted a pile of E-mails without reading them.

Perhaps it would have been best if she stayed in her office. Instead, she found excuses to be out and about. She stopped in at the check-out desks. She inspected the reshelving room. She dropped by the special acquisitions department.

Everywhere she went she was followed by horny, hungry, helpless men. It was as if her ripe body was exuding a trail of lust pheromones that permeated the air around her. Men couldn't seem to stop staring at her tits, even when they were talking to her.

When she couldn't stand it any longer, Heather retreated to her office to play with herself until a few hard cums calmed her down. Then she could work for another half-hour or so.

Somehow Carmen convinced her to take the afternoon off and go shopping. A little after lunch, Heather was sitting at her desk pretending to work on a spreadsheet. Really, she was marvelling at her reflection in the monitor. Looking back at her was the face of a movie starlet. Her lips had become red and puffy. Her eyes were hypnotically deep, overhung by long, thick lashes. Sensuality smouldered in every glance.

Carmen walked in without knocking, as she always did. She looked like a pin-up girl in a tight sweater and hot pants, coupled with black platform boots. She gushed that Heather looked awesome, which was actually true, and that she therefore needed to refresh her wardrobe with clothing more appropriate for a hot babe.

Heather tried to protest. "Carmen! I can't simply leave and go shopping. I have work . . . like, things to do . . . and whatever." She gestured vaguely at the staff work schedule she had been trying to work on.

Carmen captured Heather's hand in both of hers. "Dewdrop, don't you get it? You're the Head Librarian. You can do whatever you want."

"Yes, but --" Heather sputtered. She didn't finish. Carmen had begun kissing the ends of her fingers, slowly and deliberately.

"Baby you broke your hand. You deserve some time off to recuperate. Come on down to the high street. You'll enjoy it, I promise. Cross my heart." She pressed Heather's hand gently against her bosom. Heather gulped. Carmen's breasts were even larger than hers. They felt warm beneath her fingers.

Carmen got to her feet. She gently tugged her boss out of her chair. "Come on girl, time to hit the shops. Let's go, baby."

She led Heather out of her office, still protesting weakly. "Meaghan, I, I have to go out for, uhm, a little while," Heather sputtered as they passed her assistant's desk. "I'll be back in about an hour."

"She'll be back tomorrow," Carmen corrected over her shoulder. Still leading Heather by the hand, she headed purposefully for the door.

"Mmmmmmmm, oh yes, Darren, baby, you are soooo good," Heather exulted, late Wednesday morning. She was sitting up in her rumbled bed, slowly riding the well-hung son of the building manager. Her giant boobs bounced rhythmically with each rise and fall of her hips.

Darren had stopped by Heather's flat the previous evening in response to some fabricated complaint. When Heather met him at the door in a see-through silk negligee and five-inch "fuck me" heels, Darren forgot completely why he was there. It wasn't difficult for Heather to convince him to come in. And then to come in her.

She awoke him in the morning with a nice slow blowjob. When she saw his cock again, stiff and proud and wet with her saliva, Heather couldn't resist climbing on for one more go. Or maybe two.

Darren groaned as Heather's pussy squeezed his pecker lovingly. The little purple pills had improved her muscle tone everywhere. "Man you are so . . . beautiful!" Darren cried for the one- hundredth time. He reached up and grabbed greedy handfuls of her breasts, kneading and fondling avidly.

"Gonna cum again," Heather chanted, thrusting faster. Her long hair swished with her bouncing, tickling his face. Heather liked to fuck this way, where she could control the pace and her partners lasted longer. She tended to wear them out. "Yes, baby, yes, gonna cum, hold on, hold on. . . YEEESSSSS!" She froze, back arched, trembling, as yet another orgasm shot through her. She felt her pussy gush and spasm around his pecker, felt Darren stiffen too and then fire his load in a trio of spurts, each accompanied by a groan of release.

With her lover still inside her, Heather leaned back on her haunches, floating downward from her orgasm like a feather on the breeze. She glanced over at the bedside clock. She was already an hour late and she still had to decide what to wear. There probably wasn't time for another fuck. Pity.

It was another hour or more before Heather sauntered into work. The instant she walked through the door there was not a man or woman in the library who wasn't aware of the impossibly chesty woman in the stretchy minidress and platform heels. As she ambled toward her office, Heather noticed with approval that there were about twice as many men in the library as usual. Word was evidently spreading that in this library, more than the books were stacked.

Heather's saucy little dress no doubt contributed to the dropped jaws and wide eyes. It was lavender, with a delicate lace pattern, and daringly short. She had bought it on Monday, along with a lot of other things, during her work-day shopping spree with Carmen. Heather liked stretch fabrics because they had some hope of fitting her fluid figure from one day to the next. Nevertheless, she probably wouldn't have bought something quite so smashing were it not for Carmen's persuasion.

Carmen took her to upscale shops where Heather had never been before. She found herself in a changing room as big as the bathroom of her apartment, studying her reflection in the slinky dress. She was wearing nothing else but heels and a little red thong.

This wasn't her. The dress revealed everything. Even with her fantastic new body she couldn't wear this.

The door opened suddenly. "Well, what do you think?" Carmen asked. She stepped boldly into the changing room behind Heather.

"Carmen! What are you . . . get out of here!"

"Oh, but I want to see you in the pretty dress, baby," Carmen returned. "You look awesome!"

"I, I can't. This is too short. I can't wear . . . I can't!"

"Oh, sunlight, you're so shy," Carmen cooed, stepping up close behind her. "Why don't you try it. You'll look sooooo hot." She put her arms around her.

"But, but it's so short . . . and so tight."

"That's the style of it, baby. Look, see how it fits you here." She ran her hands down Heather's flanks. She stopped only when she encountered bare thighs.

Heather twitched. "Carmen, please, I . . ."

"Buy the pretty dress," Carmen whispered in her ear. Heather could feel her big breasts pressing warmly against her back. "You know you want it." She began to plant little kisses on her neck and shoulders.

"No, wait --"

"Come on, baby. Say yes. Buy the pretty dress."

"Please! Carmen I -- Ah!" One of her girlfriend's hand tweaked a nipple lovingly. The other was exploring beneath the hem of her dress. Heather writhed, moaning.

Carmen's fingers slipped past Heather's little thong and into her always-ready pussy. She fondled one giant boob maddeningly. "Say yes yes yes to the pretty pretty dress," she sang in her ear.

Twisting and twitching in the other woman's embrace, Heather surrendered. "OK!" she gasped. "Yes! I'll buy the dress. Yes. Yes! YES!" She doubled over in pleasure.

"Good decision, kitten," Carmen agreed, licking her fingers. "Let's go look at shoes."

Heather had stumbled into work hours late on Tuesday, still learning to walk in her sky-high heels, and immediately brought the library to a standstill. She was already turned-on. She still couldn't drive her car, but she no longer paid for taxi fares. The amazed young cabbie who brought her to work was still recovering from Heather's impromptu blowjob.

It didn't matter a lot when Heather got to work because she was hardly doing any work when she got there. It was simply impossible to concentrate with all those yummy men staring at her all the time. Her ever-growing tits had just passed the 40-inch mark that morning, so there was plenty to stare at. Without a bra, her boobs pressed eagerly against her low-cut purple pullover.

Heather decided the only way to get through the day was to concentrate on the needs of the library patrons. Her enormous tits and breathtaking figure tended to produce very specific needs in the male half. Heather spent a good part of the day on her knees in a back room, taking care of hard problems as they came up. The same technique proved successful at convincing a young employee to work weekend shifts despite his plans to visit his girlfriend.

Heather still visited the gym after work, but only to show off. On Tuesday she breezed through double her usual reps on the stair climber and rowing machines. Her luscious body in a bright spandex bodystocking captivated the entire gymnasium.

The gym had a women-only hour, but Heather wanted to exercise when there were men in the room. She lined up a half dozen dates. She finished her workout by seducing the pretty young trainer who helped lace up her shoes. Heather left the woman in a happy, exhausted heap in the shower, the warm spray washing Heather's juices from her lips.

Heather promised herself she would get some work done on Wednesday. It didn't seem likely. When she passed Meaghan's desk, the young secretary became visibly agitated.

"G'morning, honey," Heather chirped. "Hey, why the worried look?"

"Th-thank goodness you're finally here!" Meaghan said, trying not to stare at Heather's chest. "There's trouble. Mr. Milton is in your office. He wants to know why you haven't finished the budget."

"Oops! I guess I forgot." She shrugged indifferently. Meaghan's eyes followed the dance of her nipples beneath her tight minidress.

Heather touched Meaghan's cheek with her good hand. Her bracelets tinkled. She was wearing new armlets, rose with red stitching. "Don't you worry now, baby," she re-assured her assistant. "I'll go talk to Mr. Milton. I'm sure he will understand." Leaving the obviously enamoured secretary, she turned and headed for her office. She stopped to adjust a rose-tinted stocking where she knew several men could see her.

Mr. Milton was the chairman of the Board that ran the library. He was Heather's ultimate boss, though he seldom interfered in day to day operations. He was a tall, balding man who preferred three- piece suits like a banker. The moment Heather stepped through the door he lit into her.

"Heather! High time you got into work! What is going on in this library? What have you . . . have you . . . you . . ." His voice trailed off. Milton hadn't seen Heather since she broke her hand.

She paused for a moment, letting him drink in the sight. She brushed a lock of hair off her chest. Her hair was thick and lustrous, golden brown shading artfully to honey blonde around her face.

"I'm a little behind right now," the lustful librarian explained, stepping toward him. "I broke my hand last week. It slowed me down a lot." She held up her right hand in its pink bandage for his inspection. Gold bangles tinkled.

"I can only type with my left hand. There's a lot of stuff I can't really do. Like, I can't tie my shoelaces even!" She took another step toward him. Milton was staring, amazed.

"That's why I have to wear slip-ons and sandals, like these." Heather lifted one delicate foot. Her sandals had no buckles, but narrow, two-inch platforms and six-inch acrylic heels. They were lavender, to match the dress. Milton took advantage of the chance to memorize Heather's perfect legs.

"But it's getting better," she went on. "I can grab things now. Like zippers." To illustrate her point, Heather reached up and deliberately tugged down the hidden zipper that ran down the front of her dress. Her twin globes came into full view: round, perfect and enormous.

Milton made a little noise. "Heather, I, I don't think that, that .. . . uhm, that you should . . ."

"Don't you like my titties Mr. Milton?" Heather teased. She stepped up close to him. Her red nipples were brushing his chest. "They've kinda grown a bit lately."

"Geez, Heather how could . . . I mean . . . l-look at you, you're .. . . holy cow!"

Heather took his left hand in hers. "Why don't you touch them? Go ahead, I don't mind." She gently guided his hand to one engorged mammary. Milton didn't resist. "There now, doesn't that feel gooood? Do you like my big titties?"

"I . . . I like," Milton blurted. He was fondling with both hands now. He hardly noticed Heather opening his fly until her bandaged hand landed on his erection. He jumped.

"See," said Heather, stroking him gently, "I told you I was good at zippers."

Milton groaned. Heather licked her thick lips. "Oh your poor boy, you've got a big stiffy! I know exactly what you need, darling. Now you just relax and let Heather take care of you." She sank gracefully to her knees, dragging her big tits excruciatingly down Milton's body. She took him into her mouth at once, sucking deep and slow. When Milton's shaft was good and wet she slipped him out and proceeded with a slow, delightful titfuck. She dipped her head from time to time to lick the precum off his cockhead. Above her, Milton grunted and squirmed helplessly.

Man I love cock, Heather thought contentedly. She used her curled right hand to bring him back to her mouth for a moment. It was only fitting that she was so good at cocksucking. After all, she was the Head Librarian.

"The Doctor will see you now Heather," Misty the nurse announced musically. Heather was back at the NewYou Clinic, waiting patiently with two other women, both of whom were bursting out of their sweaters. It was Thursday afternoon, a day after a panting, sweating Mr. Milton promised Heather full control of the library budget. He was on the carpet by that time, and Heather was riding him to her third or fourth orgasm.

Heather was glad for the blank cheque; she had already subsidized much of her shopping extravaganza on Monday with the library acquisitions budget. The heavy gold jewellery she was wearing cost a bit.

Heather followed Misty's swaying backside into the same examination room as before. Doctor Hardrod was already waiting. "Ah, Heather, how good to see you again." He looked like he meant it. Heather tittered. Her giant boobs bounced.

"I see you have been taking the N-HancDD," the doctor said. "Let's take a look at that hand. Sit up here on the bench."

Heather hopped up on the high examination table. The doctor could probably see up under her miniskirt. She spread her legs a little to be sure.

Dr. Hardrod took her right hand and carefully peeled the bandage away. Underneath her hand looked fine. The skin was a little pale.

"The colour will come right back," he assured her. "How does it feel?"

Heather opened and closed her hand experimentally. She flexed her fingers. "It feels great!" she exclaimed. "As good as new."

She relaxed her hand. It curled up into the half-closed position from when it was bandaged. "Uhm, Doctor, is that like, normal?"

"The tendons may have healed up a bit tight," the doctor said easily. "It will pass eventually."

"OK!" The curl of her hand would make it easier to hold cocks. Heather loved holding cocks. And stroking them. And licking them; and sucking them, and fucking them and . . . what was the doctor saying?

". . . notice any side effects from the N-HancDD?"

Heather smiled brightly. "Course I did. It gave me big boobies!" She arched her back to thrust out her chest, which was hardly necessary.

Dr. Hardrod was staring in a rather unprofessional manner. "Yes, I see, it seems to have been quite successful -- I mean, a rather severe side effect. Do you, uhm, mind if I take a few measurements? For my files, of course."

"Of course, doctor. Here, let me get this off." Heather used both hands to flip off her straining yellow crop-top. It took a moment for her pneumatic breasts to stop wobbling. Dr. Hardrod circled her carefully with a measuring tape.

"Forty-two inches!" he announced with pride. "Why Heather you're one of my most successful patients -- that is, uhm, you have suffered some rather unusual breast growth."

Heather pouted. "Does that mean I can't take the li'l purple pills any more?" She was almost out.

Apparently he had anticipated the question. "Of course you can. But not at that strength. We'll put you on a maintenance dose, OK? So you don't suffer any, uhm, long-term trauma." He held up another bottle of pills. Heather's eyes lit up.

"Heather there is one more thing. I'm doing research on . . . alternative therapies such as N-HancDD, and I need subjects for my clinical trials. It's perfectly safe, as you can testify. I asked Carmen to see if she could find anyone suitable, and she suggested you. She got a little carried away; it wasn't really necessary to break your -- anyway, if you know of anyone who might be prepared to try a course of new medication, please direct them my way, won't you?"

Heather couldn't keep her eyes off the bottle of pills. "Meaghan!" she blurted.

The doctor smiled. "A friend? Co-worker?"

"My assistant. She's perfect. I'll do something to -- I'll convince her to come see you. I promise."

"Good girl," Dr. Hardrod said, handing her the pills.

Heather's right hand curled possessively around the bottle. "Thank you, Doctor," she said soulfully. "You have done sooo much for me. Isn't there some way I can show you my appreciation?" She hadn't put her top back on.

Again he seemed to have anticipated the question. "Perhaps there is," he said, grinning. "Why don't you come here and help me out." He was already unbuckling his belt.

Heather let out a little squeal. She hopped off the bench and knelt before the doctor's naked crotch. Her gold bracelets flashed as she reached out for his member. She stroked him gently until he was good and hard, then leaned forward and let him slip between her swollen red lips. She felt the re-assuring presence of the pill bottle in her free hand.

"Mmmmmm, I'm a big-titted triumph of modern medicine," Heather thought contentedly. Then she turned her full attention to the gorgeous wang in her mouth, and all other thoughts were forgotten.