Carrie White was dripping wet and she hadn't even taken a shower.
She had to wait for the other girls to finish theirs. This was the rule after the infamous "period" incident. Carrie had experienced her first period in complete ignorance. She had seen the blood running down her legs and thought she was dying. Her mother didn't prepare her for this event--God's fated return to this dreaded planet, yes; but nothing about the fact that Carrie may one day start bleeding, without warning. And her classmates--they laughed at her. They treated her fear as a joke. A joke with a visual gag--they pelted her with tampons and yelled as if it was the school's new cheer, "Blot it! Blot it! Blot it!"
Carrie learned later that, by their standards, she had overreacted. But how could she have known she wasn't dying? Mama didn't tell her. And Carrie was further ostracized by her classmates.
She was used to it, she told herself. She didn't fit in. She couldn't fit in. God and her mother made sure of that. God for cursing her with this ugly duckling body. And her mother for everything else that was wrong with her.
She knew she was ugly. Her mother had told her that numerous times. She had told Carrie that it was God's will that her daughter's skin reeked of acne. It was God's will that Carrie's hair was a lifeless mass begging for baldness to end its existence. It was God's will that Carrie be her mother's punishment. For Carrie's mother had sinned.
Her mother had given birth to Carrie out of wedlock. At the time, Carrie's mom was of the world and didn't care about His laws. She had fallen victim to the sins of the flesh, enjoying that night of wanton sex with Carrie's father. Enjoying him caressing and sucking her dirty pillows. Entering her deeply and slowly. She had enjoyed all that night had to offer and paid the price. Seventeen years of raising the result of their sin -- Carrie. Seventeen years of loneliness, since Carrie's dad disappeared. It was God's will, her mother would say. It was ALL God's will.
Carrie, unlike her mother, questioned God's will. She loved her mama and wanted to believe what her mother believed; but she often didn't. She questioned whether she was ugly because God willed it or because her mother wouldn't let her wear makeup. She questioned whether she was unpopular because God willed it or because most people in town thought her mother insane. And she questioned whether it was God's will that had her standing in a puddle caused by her rain drenched clothes or her mom not cluing her in on the fact that women bleed.
But Carrie would have to ponder these theological questions later -- the other girls were through with their showers.
Carrie gave them a wide berth. She tried her best to just disappear from their field of vision. But she failed.
Chris Hargenson, the girls' acknowledged leader, noticed the dripping Carrie. She turned to her girls, stopping them, and pointed to Carrie's cowering form and said, "Carrie, Carrie, Carrie. Don't you know that you're supposed to shower sans clothes?"
This sparked a round of laughter from the other girls.
"Don't you know the wet look is out?" Chris continued. Again, generating laughter from her female posse. Chris continued this impromptu roasting of Carrie for a good ten minutes. It would have been longer but Sue Snell had interrupted Chris to remind her that they were meeting the guys. This had caused Chris to shoot Sue a nasty look. She, often, questioned if Sue was really one of their group. The brunette was developing the annoying habit of disagreeing with Chris, who felt that Sue, unlike the other girls, may actually have a mind of her own. But Sue *was* right--the guys were waiting for them. Carrie could always be talked about tomorrow.
Carrie secretly shot a look of thanks to Sue Snell. She wanted so much to talk to this sometime ally, but the rules of high school prevented this. If Sue was seen talking to Carrie, she would become an outcast, herself. Carrie knew this and would never endanger Sue's place in the school's caste system. But she sometimes wondered if the rules of high school could be changed. Could being associated with Sue help Carrie become one of the beautiful people? Or was it all, as her mother would say, God's will.
Sue had caught the look that Carrie had shot her way. She knew that the ugly girl wanted her friendship. No, she knew that Carrie White NEEDED her friendship. But Sue wasn't sure that her friendship was something she could offer. It wasn't that Sue needed the mass adulation of her peers like Chris Hargenson did, but she was a high school student. And no high schooler wanted to be an unpopular outcast like Carrie. She watched the girl entering the shower area. She was trying to be both quick and invisible. And, of course, was neither. Carrie slipped on the wet tiles, her fall causing another laughfest. Poor Carrie, Sue thought, as she reluctantly joined in the laughter of her clique.
Carrie, picking herself up from her fall, was generally unhurt. God's will? She discarded her wet clothes as quickly as she could and scampered to the farthest corner of the shower. She had study hall after P.E. and could luxuriate herself in the *cold* waters of the showers as long as she wanted.
She turned on the jets and tried to blank out her existence. The cold streams of water like a baptism made Carrie feel reborn. She could, in this moment, forget about her mama, classmates and God. She could be in peace. And was.
The other girls, dressing, had put Carrie White out of their mind. That is until she started screaming.
Carrie was enjoying her cold shower. It had taken some time but she was quite used to there not being any hot water when it was her time to shower. In the cold of winter, she often feared the onset of pneumonia, but she survived. She now took nothing but cold showers.
But why was this shower running hot?
She felt the heat on her chest. It started off pleasurable. So this was what she had been missing, she thought. Her nipples had gone erect and Carrie let out a moan of ecstasy. Dirty pillows, indeed, she thought, as she rubbed soap on her small mounds. But then the pleasure stopped and the pain began.
The pain drove Carrie to the floor as her chest felt like it was on fire. She held back her initial screams -- pain was a part of life, we must all endure, her mother had taught her. She tried to get away from the burning streams of water. She scooted on the shower floor, but found the going slow. And the pain increased.
Carrie, reflexively, drove her hands to her chest since that was where the pain was the greatest. She cupped what should have been A-cups, breasts big enough for the smallest of training bras, but found more. A whole lot more.
Her breasts were growing. And Carrie screamed.
This drew the other girls to the shower.
When they got to the shower area, they couldn't believe their eyes. The ugly duckling was undergoing a swan-like transformation -- at least on her chest. The former A-cup was approaching the other end of the alphabet, as each second seemingly added another inch to her bustline. One of the girls had run to get the female P.E. teacher, Miss Collins, leaving the other girls to compare Carrie's newly grown endowments to their own, comparatively speaking, non-existent ones.
Chris Hargenson looked down at her own D-cups and grimaced. Until this moment, she was the chest to beat. She was the girl that all the others envied. But looking at Carrie and the reactions of the other girls, she knew those days were over. She knew that her place as "top dog" was in jeopardy and started formulating a plan that Machiavelli would envy.
Miss Collins arrived on the scene. She scattered the girls blocking the entrance to the shower and almost fainted. Carrie White had TITS! There was no other way to say it. "TITS!" in capital letters. They were somewhat pendulous, covering everything from Carrie's neck to her pubic area. The nipples looked like miniature thumbs encircled by aureoles the size of hubcaps. Carrie was lying beneath these great mounds, unconscious. The coach could understand. If she went from flat to unbelievable, as fast as Carrie did, she'd probably pass out as well.
But she was still the teacher around here, so Miss Collins exerted some authority and sent the other girls away. She told them under penalty of death not to breathe a word about the new Carrie, but she knew she was kidding herself--these were high school girls, after all. She expected news about Carrie to spread around the school in an hour or two, so she acted fast.
She woke the girl in the most direct way possible: she grabbed one of Carrie's nipples and squeezed. Carrie woke as if she had been electro-shocked. She looked at the coach grabbing the nipple of the biggest breast she had ever seen and screamed. She was hysterical and the coach slapped her. "We don't have time for that," the coach said, pulling Carrie to her feet. It wasn't easy. How much do those things weigh? wondered the coach.
Carrie was in a daze. She dressed herself, as the coach commanded, but everything was just too unreal for her. She sat on one of the locker room benches trying to button a top that couldn't encircle one of her gigantic tits, let alone both of them.
The coach, returning with the largest football jersey at her disposal, laughed at the sight of Carrie wrestling with the too-small top. She came up behind the girl and ripped the top from her arms. "Here, White," she said, handing the startled girl the jersey, "this might fit you."
And it did. Barely.
The jersey clearly outlined the enormity of Carrie's breasts. Her nipples looked like they were going to rip through the front of the jersey at any moment. The sides were losing the battle of containment as large handfuls of breast flesh was visible through the armholes of the jersey. The coach seeing the stress placed on the jersey doubted it would last an hour.
She grabbed Carrie and led her out the school's back way to her car. Fortunately, no one was present, as getting Carrie in the front seat of the coach's car proved to be a challenge. They had pushed the car seat as far back as it would go, but Carrie's bust was filling the available space. The coach, with a slight running start, had shoved Carrie into the car and now watched as the student's tits blocked most of the windshield. What had she gotten herself into, Miss Collins wondered.
Miss Collins drove her car like she did when she first got her license--slow and precise. She did it for two principal reasons--the first was, simply, because she couldn't see the road. Carrie's breasts made visibility of the road almost nonexistent. The second reason was the coach didn't want to risk getting the attention of any police officers. She didn't know how she would've explained the sight of Carrie's enormous tits. She was having enough trouble explaining the sight to herself.
The ride was short and uneventful. Thank God, thought the coach, as she parked in front of the White residence. She looked at the exterior of the house and shuddered. The house had the look of death. The paint, a mildewy yellow, was peeling, showing the dry rot underneath. Spider webs and the spiders that made them were clearly visible in every corner. And the smell that infested Miss Collins' nose as she opened her car door was a pungent sour odor that caused her eyes to water. How could anyone live here?
She went to the passenger door and tugged on Carrie's arm. No good. She tried again by grabbing Carrie's waist and wrenching the girl free of the car seat. It was a battle; to say the least. The coach could feel the weight of Carrie's breasts on her arms, causing the extremities to go numb. Panicking, adrenaline gave the coach the strength to wrest Carrie from her car. I thought I was going to lose the use of my arms, the coach said to herself, as she shook her arms, trying to get the blood to circulate properly.
Carrie, as if waking from a dream, noticed she was standing in front of her home. What was going on? Why was she home? Her mother would kill her for skipping school, thought Carrie, as she started walking back to school.
What's with this damn kid, thought coach Collins, as she grabbed Carrie by the arm. Unfortunately, the coach hadn't taken into account the difficulty of balancing enormous tits. And so, by grabbing Carrie, she caused the student to hit the ground, falling backwards. Another tug-of-war between the coach and Carrie's breasts resulted in Carrie standing on her feet.
Dripping with sweat the coach, determined not to engage in another battle with Carrie's tits, carefully but forcefully dragged Carrie to the White's front porch. She was about to knock on the door when she thought of Carrie's mother. She, like most people in town, questioned the sanity of the woman. Not enough to take Carrie away from her, of course, but enough to wonder what type of effect seeing the newly-endowed Carrie would have on her. The coach thought it best to prepare Mrs. White, so she tried to hide Carrie, by standing in front of her. What a joke! Carrie's projection was such that on each side of the coach were visible handfuls of breast flesh. The coach improvised. She turned Carrie around, aiming her chest towards the street, and made the girl take a step forward. Not perfect, thought the coach, but the best that can be done in the situation. Still holding Carrie's hand(can't afford her running off again), the coach knocked loudly on the door. The door snapped open with surprising speed. "What do you want?" snapped Carrie's mom.
"Mrs. White?" the coach asked nervously.
"I said, 'What do you want?' Tell me or I'm closing the door on you!"
"Mrs. White, it's Carrie," the coach managed to get out.
"What about Carrie?" Mrs. White demanded, invading coach Collins' personal space. "What has that child of mine done now?"
The coach, not liking the way this conversation was going, swung Carrie by her arm. She angled the girl towards her mother and shoved. Mrs. White suddenly confronted Carrie's new endowments head on.
Shoving Carrie was too much for the football jersey. It tore in the front, causing Carrie's breasts to spill out, engulfing her mom.
"Dirty Pillows! Dirty Pillows! Dirty Pillows!" the hysterical woman yelled, trying to disentangle herself from Carrie's massive tits.
Coach Collins, hopping in her car and driving away, said to herself: That's what I like to see, a mother and a daughter bonding together.
Carrie, meanwhile, was trying to embrace her mother. She was trying to convince her mama that nothing was really different. But her mother avoided her like a plague.
Carrie, after a while, resigned herself to the fact that her mother hated her. She went to her bedroom, locked the door and cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, she went to unlock her door, only to find out the door was locked from the outside. Panicked, Carrie began beating on the door, screaming for her mama to let her out. "Mama, Mama, Mama!" she yelled, slamming against the door.
"I have trapped you, Spawn of Satan," her mother's voice said outside the door. "Release my daughter. Spawn of Satan, I say, release her."
"But Mama, I'm not a demon, " Carrie cried, still slamming against the door. "I'm your daughter, Carrie."
"The prince of darkness can assume many disguises," her mother replied with cool logic and rationale. "But I see through your--"
Suddenly Mrs. White's speech was interrupted. The sounds coming from Carrie's room behind the door were different. More forceful. She looked at the door and could see something smashing through the hard wood. It was Carrie's tits.
They had firmed up, solidifying, becoming heavier. They were like iron spheres destroying the door battering-ram style. Carrie, so intent on becoming free, didn't even notice the change her tits made. But her mother did.
"Heavenly Father, protect me," she screamed, running from Carrie's door. In the few moments of her mother's departure, Carrie's iron globes had completely decimated the door, allowing the high-schooler to exit her former cell without any trouble.
She looked down at her chest and was surprised that her former pendulous gourds were now firm spheres. They jutted out at an almost 90 degree angle and they were so heavy. Carrie could feel the tremendous weight on her back. It was painful, almost driving her to tears. I wish the pain would stop, Carrie pleaded to herself, and instantly the pain stopped.
Her tits, somehow, became lighter. They didn't lose any firmness; they just, somehow, became lighter. Carrie, overjoyed, was going to run and tell her mother, but then thought better of the idea. Her mother thought she was a demon. And who knows, thought Carrie seriously, maybe I am.
But demon or not, she didn't think it a good idea to stay home. Her Mama was in one of her moods, Carrie thought, rationalizing her mother's behavior. I probably should go to school, as if nothing was different, she thought. But then looked down at her dirty pil -- tits (they're called tits) -- and just laughed. Something was definitely different. She had the biggest tits she had ever seen. They were bigger -- MUCH bigger -- than Chris Hargenson, who had the best chest in school.
That makes me the most popular girl in school, Carrie said to herself, articulating what little she knew about high school politics. She began working on her new outfit. She was going to make something that really showed them off. Then laughed again, knowing that there was no way to NOT show them off.
Making her own clothes was a natural part of Carrie's life. Her mother wasn't one for buying the latest fashions. So Carrie, at a young age, had taught herself how to make her own clothes. She wasn't aware of measurements, however, so had a tendency to make her clothes too big. But, in this case, what used to be too big would probably fit perfectly.
Carrie worked quickly. She gathered her material, threaded the antiquated Singer sewing machine she used, and began making an enormous top. The sewing machine noisily drew the attention of Carrie's mother. The middle-aged woman couldn't believe her eyes -- her daughter's breasts were so large that they almost prevented Carrie from reaching the machine. "Father, protect me," Carrie's mother said under her breath. "Give me the strength to do your will." And with that whispered prayer, Carrie's mother left her daughter's doorway, the makings of a plan for the demon's eradication already forming.
Carrie, engrossed in her sewing, didn't even notice her mother. She was too excited about other things, popularity chief among them. Carrie White -- the most popular girl in school, she thought to herself, futurizing the rest of her high school years in fairy tale-like terms. She saw the "happily ever after" of everyone who ever mistreated her -- begging for her apology. Suddenly loving her for the princess she was revealed to be. She saw her big tits opening up a new life for her. A life where everyone loved her and treated her special. A life so much better than the previous seventeen years of her existence that for the first time in her life, Carrie couldn't wait to get to school.
She completed the top in record time. Pink and low cut, it displayed Carrie's bra-less wonders to maximum effect. A breast man seeing her wouldn't know where to look. Would he try to explore the depths of her bottomless cleavage, compare and contrast the measurements of her dartlike nipples or just try to comprehend how a girl as thin as Carrie could be supporting breasts that probably weighed more than the rest of her body? She had wondered some of these things herself, when she modeled her new top. She couldn't believe her mirrored reflection and pinched herself -- Ow! She wasn't dreaming, she thought with a smile.
She gathered up her school supplies, grabbed some pieces of fruit and exited the house. Surprisingly, she didn't encounter her mother, and smiled. The fairy tale was coming true, she thought as she walked to school.
Carrie had walked about a block from her house when she noticed the bicycle. Oh, no, she thought to herself, not little Becka Taylor. Becka was an adorable eight year old, who just happened to have a big mouth that just loved to talk about people. She didn't care who they were, whether they were in front of her or not; if she felt like talking about them -- she did. Her mother, along with some mild corporal punishment, finally convinced her that maybe she should rethink this attitudinal trait of hers and Becka agreed. But she knew that there must be someone in their neighborhood it was okay to talk about. She just knew it. Sure, her mother told her, you can talk about the Whites. And so Becka did.
"Carrie White has lice. Carrie White has lice," the little girl chanted, riding her bike like a human vulture about to feast on Carrie's carcass. Becka wasn't saying anything new about Carrie -- new material wasn't one of the eight year old's strengths -- but then she noticed Carrie's tits.
"Ohmigod," Becka said stunned, "where did you get such big tits?"
"None of your business," Carrie replied, annoyed, "you little brat. Why don't you go home and leave me alone?"
But the little girl, ignoring Carrie, had launched into a new chant: "Big Tits! Big Tits! Carrie White has Big Tits!"
"Oh, fuck off," Carrie exclaimed, turning away from the eight year old and continuing on her way.
A slight clanking sound and a scream from Becka suddenly stopped Carrie in her path.
Carrie turned in the direction of the sound and couldn't believe her eyes. Little Becka had fallen off her bike sideways. Her bike was on top of the child and was supported by breasts that rivaled Carrie's. They had busted through the tank top of the prepubescent Becka and supported her bike like skin colored airbags.
Carrie was heading towards the child to help her when Becka started screaming. It was a blood-curdling type of scream that made the high-schooler panic. Carrie, reliving her own screaming when she had suddenly sprouted, ran as quickly as her massively endowed body would let her. She saw some of her neighbors exit their home and rationalized the thought that one of them would play "Good Samaritan" and help Becka. Carrie was too scared. She couldn't escape the feeling that somehow she was responsible for giving an eight year old a pair of the largest breasts on the planet.
She got to school without incident and had calmed down. She had put Becka and the "growing" incident out of her mind. It was foolish, she thought, to think that I may have done something to Becka. Obviously, Becka, like Carrie herself, had been the recipient of a growth spurt. A quick and powerful growth spurt, obviously, but a growth spurt nonetheless. It was just a normal part of growing up, Carrie thought. God's will.
She had gotten to school early, as was her custom, and was slightly disappointed that no one was around to see the new her. But they'll be here before you know it, she thought, getting her morning's school supplies out of her locker. She headed to her homeroom and waited. This would be a day she would never forget.
Mr. Rodriguez, her homeroom teacher, was the next person to arrive.
He had entered the classroom, throwing his jacket on the stand next to the door and dropping his briefcase on his desk as was his habit, when he saw Carrie. Instantly, his mind went numb. He misjudged his chair and hit the floor. He tried to steady himself and fell again. Mr. Rodriguez had turned into Chevy Chase from early Saturday Night Live -- tripping and falling in rapid, staccato fashion. Finally, for control's sake, Carrie's teacher had to run out of the room and put some distance between him and the monstrously endowed Carrie.
This is going to be fun, thought a laughing Carrie, imagining her breasts having a similar effect on the rest of the school population.
And her imagined vision proved true.
Carrie was the star attraction of her high school. The guys were paralyzed by the enormity of her bosom as a brain fog seemed to strike every guy within visual range of Carrie. Every female who saw Carrie's tits was made to feel inadequate as she made every girl (even the D-cups and above) seem flat-chested in comparison. The faculty members were powerless to maintain authority in her midst as even they were affected by Carrie's tits. Carrie noticed all this and with a smile proclaimed out loud: "Thank you Lord, I'm the most popular girl in school!"
Unfortunately for Carrie, Chris Hargenson was around when she made her pronouncement. And the former most popular girl and best chest of the school vowed to make Carrie eat every last one of those words.
Chris began acting on her plan. She contacted Sue Snell and Tommy Ross, the school's most desirable male student. And told them their parts.
"Why should we help you?" Tommy asked, disgust apparent in his voice. He didn't like Chris, thinking that beneath her beautiful veneer lied an evil, petty, thoughtless bitch, who cared about no one but herself.
"Because, if you don't," began Chris, a smug look of satisfaction on her face, "I'll be forced to tell everyone that you're a crack addict."
"But I'm drug-free," Tommy said, wondering where in the world Chris got the gall to say something like that to him.
"That's not what these pictures say, " Chris replied, fanning several pictures in front of Tommy like a magician doing a card trick.
Tommy looked at the pictures and gasped. The pictures were of him and Billy Nolan, the local drug-dealing, highschool dropout. Tommy had, at the time, been considering buying steroids to help his athletic performance. He had actually bought the steroids but ultimately decided the risks were far greater than the rewards and threw the drugs away. Billy Nolan knew that Tommy had never came back to him again for any illegal substances; but Billy Nolan also was rumored to be Chris' "fuck buddy" and combined with the pictures, that meant to the world at large that Tommy was a "crack addict".
"Bitch," Tommy said, knowing that Chris had him by the balls.
"Now, Tommy, let's not make this a personal issue." Chris said with a smile. "You and Sue just do what I tell you and everything will be fine."
Sue was about to open her mouth in protest, but decided to just give up. Chris was too great a manipulator, operating on levels that most people wouldn't--couldn't?-- even conceive of. Tommy and Sue were not exempted. They knew that if Chris wanted their help in her plan against Carrie, they would be helping, whether they wanted to or not.
"Whatever you say, Chris," Sue said in defeated tones.
"What else is new?" Chris, the ungracious winner, said with a smile.
And the plan was set in motion.
Sue had decided to hook up with Carrie in the school's lunchroom. She was sitting near Carrie's usual table but didn't see the highschooler. Suddenly, Sue sensed the change in the cafeteria. A quiet suddenly enveloped the room; quickly followed by the sounds of dishes and silverware hitting the floor. Carrie had entered the room.
Sue looked at the massively endowed Carrie, who seemed oblivious to the carnage she was now causing. Boyfriends, unable to take their eyes off Carrie's stretched to capacity top, acted like victims of amnesia, completely ignoring their girlfriends. Many eaters, unable to eat without staining their outfits, would help drycleaners experience an increase in revenue. Jocks, who didn't even know the flatchested version of Carrie even existed, were willing to trade blows just for the honor of carrying the newly-endowed version's food to her table.
Sue watched Carrie about to take her seat. Carrie had set her tray of food a good distance from the edge of the table and began lowering herself into her chair. But Carrie hadn't placed the tray far enough away and her enormous tits sent the plastic food container flying. For a moment, embarrassed, it seemed like the old Carrie had returned. Sue could almost see the low self-esteem taking over. But suddenly, as if by magic, Carrie's mess was cleaned up. Her table, once empty, suddenly looked like an all you can eat buffet, as countless trays of food covered it. Sue had seen the guys (Carrie's fan club, perhaps?) clean up the mess and deliver the food, but it was done so quickly, so efficiently that she couldn't believe her eyes.
This isn't going to work, thought Sue, rethinking her part of Chris' plan. She had risen from her table and was going to discard the remaining food on her tray; when Carrie called out to her.
"Sue," Carrie said in a voice that seemed to echo in the cafeteria. "How about joining me for lunch?"
Sue, stunned, walked over to Carrie's table. What a difference a day makes, she thought; realizing that yesterday in the high school's caste system, Carrie's table was the equivalent of a leper's colony. Today, however, Carrie was royalty and Sue made her way through Carrie's subjects -- some of the best looking guys in school. They didn't even notice Sue, as she physically cleared a path to the table, shoving the guys out of her way.
"Boys. Boys," Carrie said to the guys, "could you do me a little favor?"
The guys all answered in the affirmative. For the overly-endowed Carrie, they would do anything and their voices conveyed their eagerness.
Carrie noticed their eagerness and smiled. "Guys..." she began, the neighboring guys hanging on her every word. "Take a hike!"
Sue and the guys looked at Carrie; not believing their ears. Some of the guys were about to speak, but Carrie cut them off with a look.
"I said," Carrie repeated. "'Take a hike!'"
And the guys did.
Sue, once her mind reminded her that she was sitting with Carrie White and not Chris Hargenson, began scolding the massively endowed girl. "Carrie, what's gotten into you? You treated those guys like dirt."
"I know," Carrie said, completely exhilarated by her newfound bitchiness. "Wasn't it wonderful?"
"No, it wasn't," Sue said, her voice snapping Carrie out of her reverie.
"But, I'm popular, now," a dumbfounded Carrie replied. "Popular people can do whatever they want."
"Who told you that?" Sue asked, not believing the words coming from Carrie's mouth.
"But, I see Chris..." Carrie began, her ignorance of popularity and the high school caste system confusing her.
"You're NOT Chris!" Sue exclaimed.
"No," Carrie said, shoving her enormous tits in Sue's face. "I'm better than Chris. My dirt -- my tits are a hundred times bigger than hers."
"And...?"
"That makes me the most popular girl in school," Carrie announced proudly.
"How do you figure?" Sue asked, trying hard to understand Carrie's thought processes.
"Everyone knows," Carrie began,"that the girl with the biggest tits is the most popular."
Sue was about to debate Carrie's response, but found she couldn't. Carrie was right. In the world of high school, the girl with the biggest chest WAS the most popular. Sue looked at Carrie's chest and mentally compared it to all the females on the high school campus. Including the female faculty members, Sue couldn't think of a single female who even came close to Carrie's size. Carrie, based solely on the size of her breasts, WAS the most popular girl in school. But Sue wasn't going to tell her that. Sue COULDN'T tell her that.
"Well..." Carrie said, waiting for Sue to acknowledge her "most popular" status.
Sue was thinking quickly. She knew that her next response would determine Carrie's future behavior. If she said the wrong thing, Carrie could be more of a monster than Chris Hargenson. What's the best way to play this, Sue wondered. And then it hit her -- she would prey on Carrie's low self-esteem; using guilt and Carrie's religious beliefs as her chief weapons. Sue's conscience troubled her for a moment. She didn't like the idea of what she was about to do to Carrie. She knew that if she was in Carrie's position, she would probably be acting the same way. But then Sue thought of Chris Hargenson. Shuddering, Sue made her decision. There was NO WAY she was going to let Carrie become another Chris. No way in hell.
"Are you acting the way God would want you to act?" Sue asked seriously.
"What do you mean?" Carrie replied taken aback. For a moment, she thought she was listening to her mother's voice.
"Well, the way you treated those guys was very Chris Hargenson-like."
"And...?" Carrie asked.
"Well, it seems to me," Sue began, looking Carrie directly in the eye," that if Chris was acting in a way befitting God then He would have given her the biggest tits in school. Wouldn't you agree?"
Carrie thought about what Sue had just said. She thought about Chris Hargenson and how the girl mistreated everyone she had contact with. Was that God's will? Carrie thought about her prayers of just being accepted by the other girls and how those prayers had been answered beyond her wildest dreams. She thought about her former life as a high school outcast and began crying. Sue was right. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Carrie began blubbering.
Sue stared at Carrie, fighting back her own tears. She had crushed Carrie's spirit, draining the girl of any confidence and self-esteem. She had stopped Carrie from becoming a Chris Hargenson-like monster but at what cost? The new Carrie was gone. She was replaced now by the former outcast and everyone in the cafeteria noticed the change. The big tits were still present; but without the arrogant confidence Carrie had so unthinkingly displayed, they might have well been invisible.
Girls who earlier had tried to avoid being in Carrie's shadow, lest their modest endowments be compared to her more Goddess-like ones, raised their voices in condemnation. Laughter rang out in the cafeteria as the normal order of things was returned. Carrie was in pain and they were loving every minute of it.
One girl in particular wanted to jump for joy. Chris Hargenson. Chris had wanted Sue merely to befriend Carrie, but watching the big-titted girl go from having a superiority complex to one of inferiority, she knew that she had gotten so much more. Carrie was beaten with one stroke. Chris, if she wanted, could terminate her plan. But what fun would that be, she thought.
"On with phase two," she said under her breath, as she exited the cafeteria.
Sue saw Chris leave the cafeteria and she felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to undo the damage she had done to Carrie, but she didn't. She couldn't. She wanted to blame everything on Chris Hargenson. She wanted to absolve herself of all guilt, as if she was a total innocent. But looking at Carrie and the massive mounds jutting from the skinny girl's chest; Sue knew the jealousy she shared with the other females of the school. She knew that on some level she hated Carrie for growing what could potentially be the biggest breasts on the planet; and knowing that, Sue not only was able to go along with Chris' plan, but enjoyed it. Fuck Carrie, she thought.
Carrie had eventually stopped crying. She knew that the popularity she had dreamed of was gone. And so were her subjects. She was alone, and as her mother would say: "It was God's will." Back to reality, thought Carrie. And then she saw Sue.
"What's up?" Sue said smiling at Carrie, who was wiping her eyes as if seeing a mirage.
"Why -- why are you here?" Carrie asked dumbfounded.
"Because you are," Sue replied, as she slowly began the process of convincing Carrie that her bestest friend in the whole world was named Sue Snell.
Carrie was skeptical. Her returned low self-esteem made her feel unworthy of friendship. But by day's end, Carrie actually believed she had a friend. Sue had stuck with her throughout the day. And, wonder of wonders, said they would get together the next day. Carrie was so happy.
That is until she got home. Her mother was waiting for her. As soon as Carrie entered her home; her mother started her attack. Bible in one hand, crucifix in the other, she yelled for the demon to leave her daughter. A whirling dervish of righteousness, Mrs. White seemed to multiply in front of Carrie, becoming an angry mob. Relentless. Unstoppable in force. The mob was too much for Carrie.
"Mama! Mama! Stop it! Stop it!" Carrie yelled, running towards her room, unaware of the change affecting her mother.
Mrs. White was about to pursue her demon-daughter when she felt the burning on her chest. It was painful yet sensual at the same time and took her back to those times when she allowed herself to engage in the sins of the flesh. So good, Mrs. White heard a voice in her head say. No, she heard another voice say, it is a sin. And a debate had begun. Mrs. White listened to the debate in her head unaware of the changes taking place on her chest.
Her B-cup sized breasts were growing. Not wild like Carrie's and little Becka Taylor, but slow and steady. Each bit of growth was like a pulse of sensuality giving credence to the "feel good" voice in Mrs. White's head. Without thinking, she found her hands snaking down to the nether part of her anatomy. She began fingering herself -- slow and deep, slow and deep. Her breasts had stopped growing at a D-cup, a mere two inches of growth, but the pulses bombarding her body continued, magnifying on an unbelievable scale. Mrs. White was suddenly having more orgasms in minutes than she had had in years.
And not once did she think of Carrie or the demon who she swore existed in her daughter.
Carrie, however, was unaware of what was happening to her mother. She had run into her room and turned to the only friend who could help her in situations like this -- sleep. Carrie slept all night, skipping dinner. The next morning her hunger drove her to the kitchen for breakfast, but her mother was nowhere to be seen.
Carrie thought numerous times throughout breakfast she had heard her mother approach; but it seemed like whenever her mother got within earshot of Carrie, she would start moaning and retreat back to her room. Must be sick, thought Carrie, still unaware of the effect she was having on her mother.
Mrs. White was feeling like a human pendulum. Every time she approached the kitchen to complete her "talk" with her demon-daughter, she found herself driven back to her bedroom by waves of sensuality that rocked her body. The first few steps to the kitchen would start without incident, but then Mrs. White would feel a burning within her chest. She found her hands, like magnets of flesh, being drawn to her dirty pillows--caressing them, kneading them, cupping their growth. Growth? Mrs. White, in her brief moments of clarity couldn't help but think that her breasts had grown a couple of cup sizes. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?
And then the prelude to an orgasm would begin and an embarrassed Mrs. White would retreat back to her bedroom. And normalcy would return. The burning sensation would recede, the growth (imagined?) would disappear and the prelude to orgasms would vanish. And then she would start the cycle all over again. Back and forth. Back and forth. It wasn't until she heard Carrie yell out as she exited the house: "Bye, Mama. I hope you feel better," that she finally was able to enter the kitchen.
An impromptu prayer session followed as Mrs. White knelt on her kitchen floor and prayed to God for deliverance.
Carrie, meanwhile, was on the lookout for Becka Taylor. She expected the eight year old to appear ninja-like and torment her, but it didn't happen. Carrie continued her walk to school when she noticed the Taylor home and its front yard. It was surrounded -- by some, if not all, of the boys in the neighborhood. Carrie, curiosity getting the best of her, walked toward the Taylor home. She saw in addition to the aforementioned boys there were also some of the neighborhood men, both old and young. Once in earshot, she overheard some of the males talking about breasts and she couldn't help look down at her own endowments as if they were talking about her gargantuan pair. But they were talking about another gargantuan pair -- Becka's.
"And you said she grew them yesterday?"
"Bigger than Pandora Peaks?"
"Shit! And she's only eight year old."
And so forth.
Suddenly without warning, Becka's mom exited the house. "Would you perverts please leave my daughter alone. Get the fuck off our land or I'm calling the cops. I said --"
But Mrs. Taylor was yanked in the house by her husband and the conversation continued.
"Well, we know she didn't get her tits from her mom."
"Yeah, talk about flat."
"Wait till the BEArchive hears about this."
And so forth.
Carrie felt a wave of nausea. She was taken back to yesterday when the eight year old grew breasts rivaling her own. Becka's breasts? Her breasts? Could there be some connection?
Carrie's thoughts were interrupted as one of Becka's admirers was able to turn away from the shrine of Becka also known as the Taylor home and notice Carrie. Carrie and him locked eyes as she noticed him trying to regain control of his mouth. Carrie used this moment as a head start and began making her way as fast as she could to school. But seeing the largest breasts in the world (even bigger than Becka's) about to get away, the admirer was able to yell out the words: look, tits, big, Carrie White. The magic combination of the words "big" and "tits" to a breast man is more potent than yelling fire in a movie theater. Just mumbling them would have caused a reaction, but to yell them caused a virtual stampede.
The men turned away from the Taylor's home and spied Carrie White trying to run. With her endowments in the way, she could barely walk fast, let alone run. The men seeing handfuls of breast flesh protruding from the sides of Carrie's waif-like frame experienced a Pavlovian response in the core of their being. They had to be near Carrie -- to see the biggest tits on the planet. As if one mind, they began running away from the Taylor home like bloodhounds tracking their master's prey.
And the chase was on.
Carrie heard the sound of the males approaching her. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as she wondered how she would escape. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the males gaining on her. She was trapped.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a car engine gunning, the smell of burned rubber thick in her nostrils. Disoriented, she tried to focus on something. Anything. Beep--beep!
A car horn.
"Carrie, get in the car," exclaimed a voice familiar to Carrie.
She looked in the direction of the voice and saw the handsome face of Tommy Ross, his curly blonde hair framing his head like a lion's mane. He had come to rescue Carrie like a knight in shining armor and she entered his steel stallion: appropriately enough, a Ford Mustang.
He had been coming to give Carrie a ride to school as Chris Hargenson had ordered him to do. The plan was for him to offer her a ride, nicely avoiding Carrie's mother, and get to know the shy, buxom misfit. But fate had entered the picture and cast Tommy in the role of Carrie's knight-errant.
He had seen the crowd turn away from the Taylor home and, being a breast man himself, knew exactly what the men intended to do. Reflexes took over Tommy as he drove towards Carrie, his Mustang cutting off the breast-crazed mob chasing Carrie. He drove his car like a man possessed, trying to reach Carrie without hitting any of the males. His car's exhaust fumes combined with the menacing sounds coming from his engine helped him accomplish this goal. He had Carrie in his car.
She was in the backseat kneeling down. Tommy thanked God for that because, in any other position, Carrie's breasts would have made rescuing her almost impossible. If she was sitting up front, her tits would've blocked the windshield, forcing Tommy to drive so slow that the mob would've caught up with them on the next block. If she was sitting on the back seat, Tommy being a breast man would have been continually tempted to look at Carrie's breasts through the rearview mirror. No, thought Tommy with assurance, kneeling on the backseat floor was the only sensible place for Carrie until they arrived at school.
Which they did in record time.
Tommy, like the prince Carrie thought him to be, helped the buxom girl out of his car. Gone was the confident showoff from yesterday and in her place stood an emotional wreck. Carrie was feeling emotion on top of emotion. Loneliness became fear. Fear became longing. Longing became repressed desire. Which became embarrassment. She was staring at her fairy prince, Tommy Ross. The golden boy of their high school, the most likely to succeed, the most desired... the MOST! And he was with Carrie "the loser" White. And all this was apparent to Tommy.
He knew that Carrie had a crush on him. Even before her transformation to owner of the biggest tits on the planet, he had known. But standing before the girl, he saw how deep her feelings for him went and like Sue the day before, he felt sick to his stomach. Damn Chris Hargenson, he thought. Damn Billy Nolan. Damn... himself. Tommy, like Sue, wanted to blame his part in Chris' plan on other things; but he knew that when all was said and done he was responsible for his own actions. He, like the Biblical Judas, would willingly betray an innocent who just happened to piss off the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Damn.
Carrie continued to stare at Tommy. Time and life as she knew it had coalesced into a single moment. Her and Tommy. Tommy and her. She hoped this moment would never end.
"Carrie."
She heard her name, but refused to answer. Answering would end the moment.
"Carrie, " Tommy said louder.
She ignored him. Over and over. He shook her a little, but she refused to respond. Was she in shock, he wondered, but knew the answer to his question. Carrie White wasn't in shock; Carrie White was in love. And he knew exactly how to handle the girl.
"Want to skip school today," he asked with the biggest smile he could muster. "Together."
"Yes," Carrie said, exchanging one life moment for an even better one. "A thousand times yes, my prince."
And Tommy, stifling a laugh at Carrie's romantic outburst; led her back into his metallic stallion, carrying her off to the closest thing to a date that Carrie White had ever experienced.
And to Carrie it was all wonderful. No matter how mundane. No matter how routine. As long as she was with Tommy, she was living her fantasy. At the end of their day together, Tommy escorted Carrie to her front door. He gently lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said as Carrie luxuriated in the sensations of her first kiss with a boy. Watching her prince depart, her mind replayed the last words from his lips. Did he say he would see Carrie tomorrow?
As if he had read her mind, Tommy turned around; looking Carrie in the eyes and mouthed the word: "tomorrow", while blowing her a kiss.
Carrie blew him a kiss back and entered her home. What a wonderful day, she thought, a big smile on her face. Then she realized where she was and the smile left her face. She expected her mother to appear, continuing with her previous night's exorcism, but she didn't see her mother. She thought that she heard her mother approach, start moaning and retreat back to her room. "Poor Mama," she said, shaming herself slightly for how good she felt while her mother was at home suffering.
She put up her school supplies and changed into her newly designed, muu muu styled sleepwear. She went to the door of her mother's bedroom and knocked softly. "Mama," Carrie began, "Are you okay?"
"Is that you Spawn of Satan?"
"Mama?" Carrie replied sheepishly. She hated when her mother referred to her as a demon.
"Leave me alone," her mother replied. The words not so much spoken as moaned. It seemed like Margaret White was trying to say more to her daughter but all that was heard was moan after increasing moan.
Carrie, not knowing how she could help her mother, left her mother's doorway. She went back to her bedroom and prayed. She prayed that her Mama would get better. She prayed for the usual things her mother had taught her to pray for, in the usual way, changing her prayer ever so slightly. She began by thanking the Lord for her new friend, Sue Snell and her Prince Charming, Tommy Ross. She prayed for both these additions to her life to never leave, never hurt her. And up to the Senior Prom, it seemed like her prayers were answered and granted.
Her home life had improved dramatically. For weeks, Carrie and her mother actually had pleasant conversations. It seemed like many times, Margaret White wanted to say something in condemnation of her daughter but she always backed off. Carrie had told her mother about Tommy and Sue fearing the worst but her mother said that it was about time her daughter made some friends instead of always being around her old Ma. Carrie couldn't believe her ears.
She no longer was bothered by little Becka Taylor since she became BIG Becka Taylor. It was, in fact, rumored that because of the attention caused by the eight year old that the Taylors would be moving soon.
Carrie didn't have to fear a reprisal of the breast-induced mob chasing her because she now rode to school in Tommy's car.
She no longer felt the misfit at school since she befriended Sue Snell. One good friend was all she ever wanted and Sue more than fit the bill thought Carrie. Add the facts of Tommy agreeing to take her to the Senior Prom and Sue buying her a custom designed prom dress and Carrie's life went beyond perfect. It was a never-ending dream that she hoped would never end.
Margaret White and Chris Hargenson's thoughts, however, were totally different from Carrie's.
Mrs. White still thought her daughter a demon. She believed that to confront her daughter head on was just asking for an onslaught of orgasms to befall her. No, the direct way was not an option for Carrie's mother. She had to bide her time. Wait until she was strong enough to do His will. Wait until the night of Carrie's prom when either her or the demon would be no more.
Chris Hargenson had also decided that the night of the prom would be the climax of her plan. Not being able to attend the prom herself because of a run-in with coach Collins, Chris felt that if she wasn't able to enjoy the prom neither should Carrie White. She also found that the prom offered the most dramatic and most visible place in which to take down her nemesis. Prom night, thought Chris Hargenson, where Carrie White will be dealt with once and for all.
Carrie, however, had more immediate concerns. Sue had taken her to be fitted for her custom made dress. She had tried to tell her bestest friend that buying her a dress was unnecessary since she had always made her own clothes but Sue insisted. She had told Carrie how important an event the prom was and how one of Carrie's homemade dresses was unacceptable. She also told Carrie that since she was the one buying the outfit she wouldn't hear anything else on the subject.
Carrie didn't say another word.
Sue had introduced her to the owner of the store, Mrs. Berthrong, a middle aged woman who almost fainted when she saw how big Carrie's breasts were. But being the professional she was, Mrs. Berthrong quickly regained her composure and began taking Carrie's measurements.
Mrs. Berthrong's professional eye quickly determined that Carrie's hips, waist and the like were completely normal for a girl of Carrie's slight build. Using her five foot measuring tape merely confirmed her professional guesstimates. But when it came to Carrie's bust, the store owner knew she was in alien territory.
She had measured Carrie's ribcage, so glad that Sue was there to serve as an extra pair of hands. It wasn't easy but she determined that Carrie had a bandsize of 32. Then she and Sue wrestled the tape around the fullest part of Carrie's bust and was shocked to see that the measuring tape was not big enough.
"Your--your bust," stuttered Mrs. Berthrong,"is more than SIXTY INCHES. I--I have to go get my other measuring tape."
Sue just stared at Carrie's naked tits while the shopowner was rummaging in the back of the store. She knew that Carrie was BIG, but bigger than FIVE FEET around!?! And what kind of bra would that be, she thought, remembering when she thought a D-cup was big.
Mrs. Berthrong returned with her special ten foot measuring tape. She had won it as a door prize at a convention, never imagining that she would need it to measure a highschool girl's bust measurement. This would be a story she would tell over and over at the next convention, she thought, knowing that none of her peers would believe her.
She was doing the actual measuring and she was having trouble believing. But with Sue's help, Mrs. Berthrong had again got the measuring tape around the fullest part of Carrie's bust. She looked at the number and gasped. She looked again. Impossible. The tape was showing the number 62.
"How big am I," Carrie asked in a matter of fact tone, not really understanding cup sizes and bust measurements.
"You're a 32 bandsize with a 62 inch bust. If you wanted me to make you a bra, using the traditional sizing charts of department stores you would wear--you would wear a 32 QUINTUPLE Z-cup!" "Is that big?" Carrie asked in complete ignorance, causing Sue and Mrs. Berthrong to look at her like an alien. With tits that could fill out a 32ZZZZZ bra, she probably was one.
Later on prom night, when Carrie wore her bra for the first time, she realized how stupid her question was. She had stood in front of her mirror just staring at the white, hammock-like brassiere designed by Mrs. Berthrong. It was immense. The seamstress, not wanting Carrie's first bra to be ugly, gave the bra a nice floral print. Flowers bigger than most women's breasts hypnotized Carrie, who like a descendant of the mythological Narcissus couldn't take her eyes off her own reflection.
"Looking at your dirty pillows, are you?" said her mother stepping into her room, crucifix and Bible in hand.
"Wha--" said a startled Carrie. Her mother had suddenly dropped the cross and Bible. Moaning, Carrie's mother began caressing her breasts. Breasts that began growing right before Carrie's eyes.
"Carrie," screamed her mother between moans, "you must resist the dark lord. Stop torturing your Mama."
"But Mama. I'm not doing anything," Carrie said, confused by her mother's words and actions.
"My breasts. You're causing this. Stop torturing me child. Stop torturing--"
"But I'm not doing anything, Mama. I'm not doing anything."
But Mrs. White was now being bombarded by orgasms and could no longer tell her child anything.
Carrie couldn't understand what was going on. Her mother had accused her of making her breasts grow. Of making her a victim of uncontrollable and relentless orgasms. She couldn't see how that was possible, but figured for her mother's sake, she might as well try something.
"Stop," she commanded, pointing her index finger at her mother. And instantly, the orgasms stopped.
"Normal," she said and her mother's breasts like a rubber band snapped back to their former B-cup size.
Her mother looked at her daughter. She saw the prom dress. She saw the confused look on Carrie's face and knew an intervention was needed. She had to keep her daughter home, lest the dark lord claim Carrie and her power for his own evil agenda. Margaret White ran to her daughter, embracing her, Carrie's breasts filling all available space between her and her mother. She began praying for Carrie.
Carrie listened to her mother's words and was at first happy that her and her mother seemed to be bonding. But then she understood that her mother wanted her to stay home tonight. An idea that didn't sit too well with Carrie.
Carrie thought about Sue and the clothes her new friend bought her. She thought about Tommy and how much she loved him. She thought about her virginity and how if Tommy wanted to, she was going to let him go all the way with her. She thought about the prom and so much more and began crying. She was going to disobey her mother. It was a fait accompli. Carrie was going to the prom.
"Mama, I'm going to the prom," she said, looking her mother dead in the eyes.
Her mother stared at Carrie. "Spawn of Satan," she yelled, smacking Carrie open-handed on the cheek.
"Mama, don't--" exclaimed Carrie, shocked by the slap and the madness her mother was displaying.
Carrie's mother had gone berserk. She was striking out at the nearest and most accessible target--Carrie's breasts.
"Look at you," she screamed. "You're nothing but a cow. They'll laugh at you, you hear. They'll going to laugh at you. Stay home, I beg you. Stay home."
Carrie was frightened. Confused. Her mother's actions, the words she was yelling. It was too much and Carrie lashed out with her power.
Her mother was knocked to the ground as her breasts instantly took on the properties of cannonballs weighing her to the floor. She tried pleading with Carrie, who started up the orgasms cutting her mother off.
"Mama," said Carrie putting on her dress,"I'm going to the prom and you can't stop me. I'm going to have fun tonight. I may even lose my virginity to the boy of my dreams. And it's not a sin. It's not a sin to enjoy life, Mama. It's not a sin."
Carrie left her mom in her bedroom while she waited for Tommy to pick her up. When he arrived and drove her away from her house, she returned her mother to normal. She loved her mom but she wasn't about to let her ruin this night.
That honor would go to Chris Hargenson. Tommy and Carrie arrived at the prom and instantly all eyes were on them. The most popular guy in school combined with the biggest tits on the planet was a combination that couldn't be denied. Sue and her date had greeted them, but Carrie only had eyes for Tommy. Her world consisted of nothing else.
That is until Tommy told her that they had just been nominated prom couple. She had asked him their chances and he had responded as good as anyone else's. But Carrie wanted to win. In her mind, no couple was as perfect, as made for each other as Tommy and herself. They would win prom couple, she had told him. She was sure of it.
Chris Hargenson was sure of it, too. She had, with the help of Billy Nolan and some called in favors and threats, pretty much guaranteed it. Tommy and Carrie would win. Just as she planned.
And they did.
Walking towards the podium, receiving the congratulations of all in attendance, Carrie enjoyed this level of popularity even more than the popularity she had garnered by having the biggest tits in school. This popularity was better because she was sharing it with Tommy. Mama was wrong, she thought. How could anything this good be wrong.
The couple standing together reveled in the non-stop applause. This was their moment. And nothing could ruin it for them.
Carrie had just received a bouquet of roses and a tiara. She was the queen of the prom. She felt the need to touch the tiara, as if touching it would make this magical night more real to her. As her hand reached above her head, she felt the droplet. She looked up at the ceiling and the droplet became a downpour.
Buttermilk rained down on Carrie like the falls of Niagara, the sour stench making her stomach dry heave. And the laughter soon followed.
Tommy, unknown to Carrie, had been knocked unconscious by the bucket that had been filled with buttermilk. But she wouldn't have cared. Compassion had left Carrie replaced by the power and the echoing words of her mother--they'll going to laugh at you, they'll going to laugh at you, they'll going to laugh at you.
Let's see who's laughing when I get through, the power said in Carrie's head and she silently gave her permission. The power had asserted itself and had carte blanche to do whatever the fuck it wanted.
It started off by sealing the exits. As Carrie looked at every available means of escape within her field of sight, the power took hold of the nearest female present blowing her breasts up to gigantic proportions. Solidifying the masses of flesh, the giant sized breasts became immovable blockades, trapping all present in the school's auditorium. The fact that the owners of said breasts asphyxiated, smothered by their own breasts, was just an unfortunate side effect, laughed the power.
Panic quickly ensued. People tried running headlong into the "breast blockades", as if momentum would give them the necessary strength to budge the sandbag sized breasts, not realizing the breasts had the consistency of the hardest steel. Most who tried earned themselves concussions; a few brain damage.
Others tried a more exploratory tactic feeling the breasts trying to find a hand hold and maybe climb their way out. The power just willed the veins inside the breasts to grow, to mutate, transforming them into electro-conductive tissues that channeled lethal volts of electricity into the breasts. Those unaware of the transformed breasts jerked spastically as their bodies, smelling of burnt flesh, died on contact.
Others died an even quicker death as the power treating them like ducks in a shooting gallery caused their breasts to balloon and POP! Instant hemorrhaging. Blood doused those nearby the same way the buttermilk doused Carrie. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think? the power quoted.
Guys playing the heroes to their dates were impaled by pendulous breasts with steel hard, dartlike nipples. Some got it in the heart. Others got it in the brain as the nipples penetrated the gray matter via the eyes. Some died with their dates as the one breast took out the guy while the other took out the gal.
Wherever you looked, someone was falling victim to the power. Overhead, fat Helen Houston's breasts had become balloons carrying her up to the huge ceiling fan. She thought for a moment she had figured out a way to steer herself clear of the fan; her decapitated head landing in the punch bowl proved she thought wrong.
Other girls were literally going through the floor, as the power made their breasts weigh tons.
The power caused many of the girls to lactate, but on a scale where the milk flow rivaled that of fire hoses. Pressured milk decimated hordes of students and faculty. Skin was scraped off; bones were broken. Inevitably the milk would encounter something electrical and a fire was started.
This was Carrie and the power's cue to leave.
Carrie walked among the dead and the soon to be dead without so much as a look. She was untouchable. Unstoppable. The power saw to that. Anyone crossing her path died instantly. No exceptions. Sue Snell stepped in front of Carrie. She was apologizing, begging for forgiveness. The power made her C-cups fall off her chest as if a machete had been used. The blood that rained down Sue's chest would ultimately kill her. But after seeing her young, supple breasts disengage from her chest; Sue Snell, psychologically, was already dead.
Carrie walked towards one of the "breast blockades" and she heard the power say, Open Sesame. The blockade instantly exploded, covering the neighboring walls with blood.
Carrie walked away from the auditorium. She felt no remorse for the deaths. It was the power, not her that had killed the prom goers. She walked, feeling the power drain from her. It was over, she thought, putting the prom and all associated out of her mind.
The screeching car changed that.
Chris Hargenson and Billy Nolan had been at the prom. Uninvited guests, they had hid behind the scenes, watching Carrie and Tommy take their places at the podium. They laughed over who would get the honor of dumping the buttermilk on Carrie. They laughed when the rancid liquid soaked Carrie to the bone. They even laughed when Tommy Ross was knocked unconscious by the bucket.
They laughed no more.
Moments after the bucket hit Tommy, they witnessed their first death. Followed by others. The two teenagers, gripped by fear, both soiled their pants. They were witnessing things that should have been impossible to make happen, but were happening nonetheless. And they both knew that Carrie White had something to do with it. They had stood transfixed by the horror of watching one classmate after another die a horrible death. As the death count increased their survival instincts finally took over and they ran to Billy's car with every intention of escaping.
But then they saw Carrie and knew what they had to do.
"I'm going to kill that bitch," Billy said as he floored his car in Carrie's direction.
Carrie, noticing the car, altered neither her stride nor her direction. She noticed who was in the car and laughed. Chris Hargenson and Billy Nolan, she thought to herself and the power. I believe they deserve the personal touch.
Go for it, kid, the power said, allowing Carrie to handle Chris and Billy anyway she saw fit.
Carrie standing in the direct path of Billy's car locked eyes with Chris. She willed Chris' breasts to grow to the size of airbags instantly smothering the two teenagers and causing Billy's car to swerve out of control. A deafening explosion soon followed.
Not too bad, kid, said the power. Not too bad. Thank you, thought Carrie, as she began her walk home.
The walk was uneventful, giving Carrie time to reflect on all that had happened at the prom. By the time she had arrived home, she was beginning to feel remorse for her actions. She had regretted using the power and was vowing to never do so again.
The power tried to argue but Carrie wasn't listening. She was thinking about her mother and how she said they would laugh at her and they did. She thought how her mother was always calling her a demon or Spawn of Satan. Carrie didn't believe herself to be a demon or a Spawn of Satan but tonight's actions were certainly not those of a saint. She would talk to her Mama and do whatever she said. If she wanted her to stay under house arrest, for the rest of her life, then so be it. It would be God's will.
Carrie, entering her home, called for her Mama, but Margaret White didn't respond. Carrie wanted to seek out her mom but felt that maybe she should clean herself up. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. And besides, the stickiness and sour smell of the dried buttermilk was starting to get to her.
She took a long bath. The warm water washing away her cares with the buttermilk. When she exited the bathroom, she felt reborn; feeling that with her mother's guidance she would be able to start her life anew. Putting on a giant sized nightshirt, she went downstairs in search of her mother.
Her mother was kneeling in front of a homemade altar praying.
When Carrie saw her, she knelt down on the ground to join her. This was a regular thing for the Whites, a ritual with its own rules and procedures. Carrie extended her hand towards her mom, a gesture uniting mother and daughter as one. Her Mama grasped Carrie's hand giving it a firm squeeze. And Carrie began crying tears of joy because that squeeze signified her mother's love. Carrie didn't know what the butcher knife her mom was brandishing symbolized.
Margaret White was willing to sacrifice her only child; to free her only child. She swung the butcher knife in Carrie's direction aiming for her child's heart. She expected her child to die a quick and relative painless death. She certainly didn't expect the knife to collide with Carrie's breasts and not even break the skin.
But that's exactly what happened.
The power had struck again. Reacting at the speed of thought, it had transformed Carrie's breasts making them as hard as diamonds. The butcher knife, being no more than low-grade steel, didn't have a chance. And neither did Margaret White.
The power took control of the middle-aged woman's breasts snapping them like rubber bands and propelling the woman into the air. Just as she was about to collide with the wall, the power elongated Mrs. White's nipples to the size of the butcher knife. Spike-like the nipples then impaled themselves into the woman's torso nailing her dying carcass to the wall. Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth, baby, said the power.
Carrie looking at her mother's dying form hanging on the wall couldn't cry. She wanted to. She felt she should, but she couldn't get the idea of her mother trying to kill her out of her mind.
And just remember who saved your sweet ass, said the power.
Carrie did remember. She remembered how she had vowed never to use the power again. But then if she would've kept her promise, she would've been dead. How can I repay you? Carrie thought to the power.
By living. There's a whole world out there of guys just dying to see a natural pair of 32ZZZZZ. There's also a whole world of women who would love to have bigger tits but don't have the wherewithal or the desire to pay for expensive surgery. Stick with me, Carrie, and you'll have the whole world at your feet.
Carrie thought about what the power had just said. She thought about the fact that there was nothing left in this town for her. She thought about a life of adventure, money and power, and agreed. Besides, she thought looking at her mother's corpse, it's God's will.