CHOCOHOLIC

BY SIR CRAZY WOLF

Sex or chocolate?

In a perfect world, Melissa thought, there would be no choice to make. She could have both of the things she loved most, in limitless supply.

Too bad this was not a perfect world.

Further down the mall, a pair of girls with perfect faces and rail-thin bodies were coming out of a lingerie boutique, clutching parcels, laughing and chattering. Melissa stared at them in frank envy, and at the mannequins flaunting lace bras and G-strings in the storefront display behind them. Then she heaved a sigh and turned back to the business at hand: the irresistible scent of chocolate-chocolate-chip cookies, fresh from the oven, still hot and chewy.

“Hi, Mel,” said the girl behind the counter. “Six of the usual?”

“Make it a dozen,” said Melissa. Some days, she thought,  you have the strength to fight the craving; some days you just want to bury yourself in it. She handed a bill across the counter and got back a huge bag of oversized cookies and a small pile of change. Clutching the cookies greedily to her chest, leaving the change behind, she made her way through the food court and found a seat by herself. At the next table, four teenage girls were shrieking and giggling wickedly, exchanging notes on their boyfriends.

Sex or chocolate, Melissa thought sadly. The word or is the saddest sound in the universe.

It had been a long battle through her teens and early twenties before chocolate finally got the upper hand. Except for sessions with her collection of battery-powered boyfriends, sex had receded right out of her life, though she still saw it all around her: an unattainable mirage. But chocolate was ever faithful, always available. And after all, chocolate was her first love, before puberty awakened her to the urgent presence of its rival.

She had gone rather wild with that rival as a high-school senior, horny as a cat in heat, screwing everything she could lure into her clutches. Never one of the official Popular Girls, Melissa never made the cheerleading squad or made it with football players; but she worked her way through a wide variety of freaks, geeks, punks, goths, all the odds and ends of a typical suburban high school. She looked like a cheerleader then, with dark blond hair, well-muscled legs, her ass ripe and rounded yet hard as a rock. No fat on her anywhere; not even her breasts, unfortunately. It took years of swilling milkshakes and rubbing her chest with phony herbal remedies before she gave in to the ugly truth: she was done developing, and barely a B cup. That was when she started saving for a boob job.

Long before she had saved enough, chocolate won the war. She started gaining weight in her freshman year in college, slowly at first, then with alarming speed. The parties, the dates, in time the whole social life of the school, all slipped away. The struggle to keep up her grades left her shackled to her books with only cookies and candy bars for company. When the needle on her bathroom scale inched past 160, she took it out in the street and ran over it with her roommate’s car.

Melissa was twenty-four now. The dark blond hair was still there, the pale gray eyes, the full, kissable lips; but the rest of her adolescent beauty had been engulfed in layers of fat. She didn’t need the boob job anymore, she thought sardonically, looking sideways at the flat-chested redhead at the next table, who was bragging to her bimbo friends, holding her hands an improbable distance apart. At least when Melissa got fat, her bust had received its share, and now she had the D cups she had longed for in her teens.

Skinny or busty, she thought, getting up with a groan. Use it or lose it. But what if you haven’t got it to use until you’ve lost everything else? The saddest sound.

She peeked inside her paper bag before moving on: only eight cookies left. Surely she hadn’t eaten four already! No wonder she felt like a walrus. Imaginary stormclouds brooded over her as she plodded through the mall to the plus-size shop where she was an increasingly regular, and reluctant, customer. Wandering through the aisles, she shuddered at some of the horrors that the sadists of fashion offered to women her size. Acres of chintz, floral-print peasant skirts, shapeless fluorescent muumuus, and all the hideous things that human ingenuity could do with spandex.

Looking up from a rack of sensible white blouses, she saw an incongruous figure heading for the lingerie section. Just a glimpse of fluffy platinum hair, a tiny waist, a perfect ass almost peeking out of low-cut jeans, broadcasting “Fuck me!” to everything with a Y chromosome. Buying a birthday present for her sister, Melissa thought sourly. Or for the fat friend who helped her with all the little jobs that a brainless bimbette couldn’t handle by herself­—like remembering to breathe. In her wild and skinny days, Melissa had made out with girls like that. Hell, she had been a girl like that, except for the stupid hair. And if she was trailing after the little slut like a calf chasing its mother, it wasn’t envy or even lust, she wasn’t nursing her self-pity; she just needed a new bra.

So Melissa told herself. She didn’t believe a word of it.

As she rounded the corner into the aisle where the bras stood row on row in their gleaming sexless wrappers, Melissa caught a glimpse of something that helped her understand. The platinum blonde’s back was turned, but as she reached for the top shelf with both hands, Melissa could see the ripe, pillowy curves of her breasts sticking out two or three inches on either side of her torso. There are plus sizes, and then there are plus sizes. Where else would a girl go to buy an H-cup bra off the rack?

The huge-breasted bimbo teetered on four-inch heels while she made a grab for a sports bra just out of her reach. She didn’t connect, but two or three oversized packages spilled to the floor, and she leaned heavily over to pick them up. When she straightened up, her eyes met Melissa’s, just for a moment, then widened in recognition.

“Melissa White?” said a familiar voice.

“Traci?” Melissa answered doubtfully.

The platinum blonde gave a conventional squeal of delight and dropped the bras again. “Melissa! Oh, my God! Is it really you?”

“Bigger than life.”

The laws of physics firmly state that a woman cannot run on stiletto heels with a pair of prize honeydews strapped to her chest. Traci managed it all the same, wrapping Melissa in a gleeful bearhug, squashing her overgrown boobs until they spilled over her skimpy top and surged right up into Melissa’s face.

“How long has it been, ’Liss? Three years?”

“About that. You’ve . . . changed.”

Traci answered with a high, silvery laugh. “You mean these.”

“And I used to envy you when you were a D cup. Aren’t they a bit . . . much?”

Traci cupped her hands under her breasts and gave them a playful boost. “Remember when we were kids, how we’d make up wild stories about the bodies we’d have when we grew up?”

“Before we found out that boobs are heavy,” Melissa agreed. “I remember. You wanted yours to be as big as your head.”

“And now they are,” said Traci. “You used to say I was crazy.”

“Only to make you shut up. Every time you started talking about them, I got so horny I could hardly keep still.”

“Really?” Traci beamed. Her teeth were whiter and straighter than Melissa remembered, her lips fuller. “Do they have that effect on you now?” she asked archly.

“They’re a bit overwhelming. When did you get them done?”

For a moment, Traci looked as blank as the Barbie doll she so closely resembled. “Oh! I didn’t get them done. These are 100%, all natural, USDA choice girl meat.” She squeezed them together with her arms, producing a hypnotic canyon of cleavage. Melissa fought hard not to stare at her old friend’s chest, or to think about the increasing wetness in her panties. “You don’t believe me,” Traci pouted. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She gathered up her bras in one hand, grabbed Melissa’s wrist with the other, and dragged her into one of the change rooms. Except for the clerk tapping lazily at her touch screen behind the checkout counter, the store was deserted. Traci didn’t worry about keeping quiet as she stripped to the waist. When she unhooked her bra, her massive globes, lightly tanned, jumped out at Melissa like hounds slipping their leash. Deep pink creases showed where Traci’s too-small bra had dug into the tender flesh.

They stood as high and proud as they had when she was sixteen and they were only D cups. Melissa laughed. “Now I know they’re fake,” she said. “What are they made of, foam rubber?”

Traci took her friend’s hand and put it to her chest. “Feeling is believing,” she said with a wink.

There didn’t seem to be any or lying in ambush. With a mental shrug, Melissa gave Traci’s breasts a methodical feeling-up, hefting them in her hands, squeezing them, pushing them together, playing with her erect nipples. As she gave them a light pinch, Traci closed her eyes and shuddered from heels to apex.

Melissa swallowed hard. “Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Uh huh,” Traci murmured. After taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and explained. “The bigger they grow, the more sensitive they get. Just wearing a silk blouse without a bra is enough to set me off. I don’t even need to play with myself anymore.”

“I bet that doesn’t stop you,” Melissa said drily.

“You know me too well. So aren’t you going to ask me how I got them?”

“It looks like you got a makeover from the Slut Fairy. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d say you looked pathetic.”

Traci laughed as she put on one of her new bras. “You know, back when you used to envy my boobs, I envied you, too. Now it’s my turn to have fun.”

Melissa frowned, stiffened. “Meaning that it isn’t mine.”

Traci’s hand went out to touch her friend’s face. “Oh, ’Liss, I didn’t mean it that way! I mean, sure, you’ve put on a few pounds—”

“Like about eighty.”

“—But it looks good on you, it really does,” Traci lied valiantly. “I know what it’s like when that happens. Last time you saw me, I was getting a bit chunky myself—”

“We’ve sure gone opposite directions since then,” Melissa said bitterly.

“Two years ago, I was really going to seed. Then I found out about—Have you ever heard of Gynescence?”

“Gy-what-ence?”

Traci licked her lips and gave Melissa a cool, appraising look. “Have you got anything urgent to do in the next two hours?”

“Not really. I—”

“Then you’re coming up to my place. Trust me, ’Liss. You need this.”

Traci’s apartment was smallish and oldish, but neatly kept, apart from the piles of paperwork on the kitchen table. Among the subtly feminine furniture, one object stuck out like a tuxedo at a NASCAR rally: a gray metal cabinet, six feet high, two feet wide, with a heavy padlock on the door. “Beer fridge?” Melissa asked with a smirk.

“Secret formula,” Traci answered with a mysterious smile. “Coffee?”

They each took a cup of coffee and sat at the table. Traci leaned forward until her breasts were almost resting on the heaps of papers. Her face looked so earnest that Melissa could barely keep herself from laughing. “Two years ago,” said Traci, pausing to blow on her steaming mug, “I was up to 170, totally out of shape, and hating myself for it. It felt like my life was over. Do you remember Sarah Kinsley? She’s married now and living in Vermont. But she wasn’t then. She told me about something that could give me my life back. Gynescence.”

Melissa had the sinking feeling that she was listening to a snake-oil pitch, but she forced herself to be patient. “The secret formula?” she suggested, glancing at the cabinet.

“Right first time. Remember how you used to pig out in high school, hoping some of it would go to your boobs? But you never gained an ounce. Teenage metabolism. Well, Gynescence gives you that back again.”

“What is it, some kind of hormone cocktail?”

“Not exactly. It stimulates your body to produce its own hormones — HGH, estrogen, progesterone, a couple of others — the way it did when you were about fourteen. And the enzymes to activate them. Puberty in a bottle, really. There are some pretty stiff warnings about giving it to kids under twelve.”

“I’ll bet. Especially boys.”

Traci shook her head. “It doesn’t work on males, though I’ve met one or two trannies who wished it did. Anyway, it boosts your metabolism, improves your muscle and skin tone, your immune response—you name it. It also converts fat to muscle—”

“Yes, you look like you’ve been working out.”

“Working out? Me?” Traci put a hand to her ample bosom and laughed until she was red in the face. “’Liss, honey, the only exercise I’ve had in two years was a little bit of dancing and the horizontal rhumba. I’d rather die than set foot in a gym.

“The other thing it does with body fat is—relocate it. After a few doses of Gynescence, your body is stimulated to store any extra fat in your breasts, instead of your thighs and ass and belly. Remember I was beginning to grow a set of thunder thighs?” She gave her bosom a teasing caress. “You’re staring right at them.”

“I weigh quite a bit more than 170,” Melissa thought aloud.

“Then it will work quite a bit faster. Wouldn’t you like a pair of these for your very own?” Traci winked.

“Don’t they get heavy after a while? They must be hell on your back.”

“I haven’t had a moment of back pain yet. The abs and lats and what have you get strong enough. And as you’ve noticed, they don’t sag, either. The tendons and things grow thicker instead of stretching.”

“And how long did it take you to produce this . . . miracle?”

“Six months. Ever since then, I’ve been on a maintenance dose. Otherwise the effects start to wear off. I’d still have these, but they’d head south along with the rest of me.”

So far, Melissa had to admit to herself, the story hung together. Something had changed Traci from a worried, increasingly chubby college senior into a bubbly sex kitten in her second adolescence. Well, after all, what did she have to lose? “All right, you’ve sold me. How do I get my hands on this miracle cure?”

“As it happens, I’m a distributor.” Aha, Melissa thought. One of these MLM deals. “The stuff sells itself, and I’m my own best advertisement. But I don’t want you getting involved in that,” Traci said, defusing Melissa’s suspicions and throwing her into mild confusion. “If you want to try some, a one-liter bottle is $99.95 plus tax. And for an old friend like you—I’ll eat the tax.”

“How generous,” said Melissa drily, but she could feel herself weakening. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will, cross my heart.” Traci made the appropriate gesture over the billowing expanse of her bosom. Her mouth bent into a crafty smile. “I suppose you’re still bi?”

“In theory.”

“You were the best,” said Traci, smacking her lips with lascivious nostalgia. “You know, it’s been ages since we made out.”

Melissa’s throat was suddenly dry, and her hand was reaching out across the table almost of its own accord. Traci straightened up in her chair, putting her breasts out of reach. “I’ll tell you what, ’Liss. Try it for a few weeks, and if you make the kind of progress I think you will, I’ll be happy to have you over for the night. And I know a couple of guys that are just dying to join us the time after that.”

How, Melissa thought, could you resist a bribe like that? Once again her hand went out of its own volition, but this time it held a fan of twenty-dollar bills. Traci folded them and tucked them away in the deep, delicious hollow of her cleavage. Then she produced a small key and went over to the gray cabinet.

Five minutes later, Melissa was on her way home with the print of Traci’s lipstick on her cheek and what looked like a shampoo bottle in her hand.

By the time she got home, Melissa felt sure she’d been had. She wanted to throw the bottle out the window and cry in frustration. But something had changed Traci, and it wasn’t silicone or saline. She took the bottle into the kitchen and glanced at the instructions. It seemed simple enough: eight ounces twice a day.

Eight ounces? At that rate, she would use up a bottle every two days.

There had better be one hell of a volume discount. Either that, or—

Melissa had a sudden shrewd idea why Traci had taken up selling the stuff.

Well, that didn’t matter. She took a glass from the cupboard and poured herself a dose. A thick, dark-brown syrup gurgled out of the bottle. It looked, smelled, and poured exactly like chocolate syrup. A hundred bucks for chocolate syrup! Traci really had swindled her. And though they hadn’t met for years, Melissa had still thought of her as a friend—

Oh, well. Sex or chocolate; at least it was a consolation prize. And it would teach her to listen to wild stories, even if the one telling them had the physical evidence to make the story plausible. She shrugged and picked up the glass to taste the most expensive chocolate she ever had.

It was also the best chocolate she ever had. Swiss, Dutch, Belgian—it was richer than any of them; as sweet as American chocolate, but with a subtle honey flavor, not the straight sugar blast of Hershey’s. And it wasn’t syrupy going down; just the consistency of a spectacularly thick and creamy milkshake. The stuff was simply an orgasm in drinkable form. And though she tried to savor it slowly, Melissa couldn’t stop herself from guzzling. When it was gone, she scraped out the glass with her finger and carefully licked it clean. At twenty-five dollars a glass, Gynescence was far too good to waste.

The drink was cool going down, but seemed to heat up in her stomach. Half an hour later, the warm glow of it had spread through her whole body. In fact, it was a little too warm. A cool shower would help, she decided. As she shucked off her clothes, her face in the bathroom mirror was bright pink and trickling sweat, and the flush spread down her chest as far as her nipples. They were engorged and sensitive, giving her a thrill of pleasure when the water touched them. She spent a long time soaping her breasts and rinsing them. And though the water was cool, when she thought of Traci’s incredible figure, the heat in her belly grew stronger and she flushed deeper. She stayed in the shower for almost an hour, playing with herself, imagining all the things she would do if she had a body like Traci’s.

By the time she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, it was nearly bedtime. The aftertaste of that amazing chocolate had finally dissolved, but the craving for it was still fresh in her mind. Well, the instructions did say twice a day. She poured herself another glass, and it was even better than the first. But the heat kept building inside her, almost unbearably. She slept in the nude that night, with only a sheet to cover her. Somehow the touch of the sheet was achingly arousing. Long after midnight she was still awake, touching herself, caressing, squirming, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm, till the flush faded and her body dropped away into a deep and instant sleep.

That night she dreamed of making love to Traci, inch by inch, exploring her incredible body until she learned the secret of it and knew how to make it her own. She felt the pounds melt away from her waist, her hips, her thighs, and her breasts grew and grew, bigger than Traci’s, bigger than basketballs, bigger than beach balls, until she was pinned helplessly beneath them, and a succession of men—where had they come from?—had their way with her, fucking her cleavage and her mouth and her hot, dripping pussy. She came again and again, wildly, convulsively, and the feeling of her own sexual power kept her trembling on the pitch of ecstasy for hour after hour. Melissa had never wanted anything so badly in her life—

When she woke, the sheets were soaked through, and she was sobbing like a little girl who has just been dumped by her first crush. Only a dream­—

She wandered around in a haze of loss and sorrow, putting herself through her morning routine like a stiff-jointed marionette. The pain of waking stayed with her until she banished it with her morning cup of Gynescence.

Melissa smiled at everyone that day. It was years since she had so much energy. For the first time, she actually felt enthusiastic about her work. She was the receptionist in an office that didn’t quite need one, and they saddled her with all kinds of busywork to justify her pay. Most days she managed to greet clients and visitors with a pasted-on smile like an airline stewardess’s. Today she didn’t need it even once. Instead, she glowed. The pink flush of Gynescence had begun to fade by the time she got to work, but people kept asking her if she had sunburn and how she got it. She tried nibbling at the box of chocolates she always kept in her bottom desk drawer, but without any real appetite; the memory of  Traci’s brown elixir spoiled the taste for her.

And she kept on smiling: that was the strange thing. She had a smile for Larry, the accountant, and one for Gina in payables, and even one for Cam, the silent, wraithy creature who made the computers work. She managed to smile at the strict and crabbed face of Ms. Kirchfeld, her immediate superior, who according to company legend hadn’t smiled since Nixon was President. She had a smile and a wink for Neil, the cute but harried guy who kept the databases fed. It seemed to stun him at first, but when he recovered he was wearing a silly grin that lasted for more than an hour. Melissa hadn’t felt so desirable since her junior year in college.

Her smile lasted out the day, but there were odd little aches and pains nagging at her just below the surface. Her clothes seemed to fit badly; she was always having to adjust them. Her bra straps kept digging into her shoulders, a small annoyance that got worse every hour. Her lips tingled as if they were going numb; so did her breasts. And she could not stop thinking about her next dose of Gynescence. Her mouth was watering all the way home that afternoon. As soon as she burst through the front door, she drained the bottle, then cut it open and cleaned out every drop of clinging syrup with a teaspoon. Then she ripped off her top and let herself out of the constricting cage of her bra. Her breasts felt unnaturally full and tender, and she was ravenously hungry. A huge dinner of chicken and pasta seemed barely enough to keep her going. Whatever Traci’s chocolate orgy in a bottle did for her, it certainly wasn’t going to help her lose weight.

But it had given her energy, and smiles, and she hadn’t even noticed the usual frets and frictions of the day. Melissa went back to Traci’s apartment after dinner. “All right, I’m sold,” she said. “Is there any discount if I take a case?”

Traci sold her six bottles for four hundred dollars. “It’s wonderful stuff, isn’t it?” she gushed. “I bet you haven’t felt so good for years. Just wait till the other effects kick in.”

Before Melissa left with her sixpack of Gynescence, Traci asked her for a favor. “I like to keep a record of the changes in my clients,” she explained. “So I’d like to weigh you—”

“I don’t do scales,” Melissa said harshly.

“So don’t look. And I want to take your picture and some measurements.”

Melissa relented. “All right. Just don’t tell me the bad news.”

“Cross my heart,” said Traci, crossing her heart.

“You just do that in case someone isn’t staring at your tits, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” said Traci with a wicked grin. “Don’t knock it; it works.”

The next day wasn’t quite so easy. Melissa found herself getting through her work a lot faster, and volunteered for several extra duties. Ms. Kirchfeld’s scowl actually seemed to soften a little. Someone left a vase of flowers on her desk, and from the goofy look on Neil’s face whenever she spoke to him, she had a shrewd idea who it was. But part of her mind counted the minutes until she could get home for her next dose of Gynescence and paradise. Finally she gave in and left half an hour early for lunch, telling Ms. Kirchfeld she had a doctor’s appointment. Well, it was half true. She needed her medicine.

An hour and a quarter was just time enough for Melissa to dash home, grab a fresh bottle of Gynescence, dash back to the office and hide it in her desk. She didn’t take a full dose—no telling what effect that might have—but stole a quick swig now and then when her craving for chocolate was strongest. All afternoon the warm pressure seemed to build up inside her. She began to feel short of breath, constricted, as if her chest wasn’t big enough for her lungs. Her breasts felt almost painfully engorged, and she kept rubbing them through her blouse to soothe them whenever no one was looking.

There was a meeting at three, and though Melissa was not actually involved, her boss tagged her to serve coffee and doughnuts. She gave Neil a wink as she poured his coffee; he grinned at her knowingly. For a moment, Melissa was tempted to spike Ms. Kirchfeld’s coffee with Gynescence, and see if that made her smile for once in her life; but the old bat took hers black, and there was no way to mask the taste. She looked slightly less sour as she took the first scalding sip and munched on a stickybun. Then a tiny crisis intervened to rescue her from the threat of a good mood. The ceiling-mounted LCD projector wouldn’t work for her presentation. Ms. Kirchfeld cursed under her breath as she plugged and unplugged cables from her laptop.

“I think it’s turned off,” said Neil, looking at the ceiling.

“Of course it’s turned off, stupid,” said Ms. Kirchfeld, glaring daggers at him. “I can’t reach it from here. Why don’t you make yourself useful for a change?”

“I’ll get it,” Melissa offered cheerfully. She stood on her toes and reached for the projector. By leaning against the conference table and arching her back slightly, she could just get her finger on the switch—

The strain was too much. Her overburdened bra had been giving her warnings for two days now, and she had ignored them. This added pressure was too much for it. The clasps held, but it burst open in front with an explosive rip that took her blouse out with it. Buttons sprayed everywhere. Melissa lost her balance and fell backwards on the table. There she lay, too stunned to cover herself. The wreckage of her clothes had parted in the middle to show off a good eight inches of the finest cleavage anyone present had ever seen.

“Nice going,” said a fat guy from marketing. “Now the table’s busted.” The others started to laugh, but a furious glare from Ms. Kirchfeld made them fall silent. Neil took Melissa’s hand and helped her to her feet. He hadn’t been laughing, but somehow his smile embarrassed her more than anything else. Folding her arms over her exposed breasts, she fled to the ladies’ room and locked herself in a stall to cry.

Half an hour later, she was back at the reception desk. The fragments of her traitorous  bra were gone, her blouse pinned together in front, and a styrofoam coffee cup of Gynescence had steadied her nerves. Gina came over to pat her on the shoulder. “Go home and change, Mel,” she said kindly. “I’ll cover for you.”

“What about Ms. Kirchfeld?”

“She won’t mind,” said Gina. “But if she sees you like this, she might fire you. Now shoo!”

If there was any doubt still in Melissa’s mind, a trip to the mall banished it for good. Nothing in her size quite fit anymore. Her waist and hips were noticeably smaller, her bust definitely larger. No more 40D bras for her! She bought a sports bra with a DD cup, and as an afterthought, an F just to be safe. It was working! The Gynescence was actually working! Despite the embarrassment of the day, she left the plus-size shop with a smile on her face and a saucy swing in her walk, throwing her shoulders back to show off her new endowments. Men looked her over with frank admiration, and teenage boys stared at her chest. It felt good.

Better than chocolate.

But not good enough to keep her from hurrying home for her next dose.

She was back at the mall Saturday morning: even the F-cup didn’t fit anymore. The girl at the plus-size shop—Jen, her nametag said—stared openly at her swelling boobs, open-mouthed with admiration or shock. On an impulse, Melissa decided to find out which one it was.

“I’m afraid I didn’t measure myself quite right the other day,” she said coyly. “Could you help me find some support bras in my size?”

Five minutes later, they were in the change room, the shop girl on her knees, burying her face in Melissa’s proudly billowing breasts, kissing and nibbling and sucking until Melissa felt herself catching fire, bursting into orgasm. She clutched Jen’s head in a half-nelson, shoving it hard into her canteloupe-sized breast as if trying to smother her with a pillow. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Oh, God, keep going, make me come. . . .” Her nipples had always been sensitive, but now, just as Traci had said, they delivered a sexual stimulus powerful enough to make her come all by itself. She made the shop girl switch from one nipple to the other, back and forth until both were red and swollen from overuse. She lost count of her orgasms somewhere around five. Then, partly out of gratitude but mostly from a lust that still refused to be satisfied, she ate out Jen’s dripping pussy until the shop girl had a writhing, screaming orgasm of her own.

“Thanks, Jen,” said Melissa, kissing Jen’s juices back into her mouth. “I needed that. Do you give all your regular customers that kind of service?”

Jen blushed brightly. “I wish. Mostly I just get to look. Do you want those bras now? You need a 38G.”

“Make it an H.” Melissa winked. “I feel lucky today.”

After that, Melissa wandered through the mall, buying clothes and flirting with guys. By the time she left, she was wearing a new tank top, already too small for her—she loved the way it stretched to emphasize the urgent pressure of her breasts—and a denim miniskirt so short that she could finger herself without turning up the hem. Which she did in the car all the way home, then slugged back a quick mouthful of Gynescence before going to see Traci.

“You’re looking hot!” her friend exclaimed as soon as she opened her door. “Come in, come in. I told you it would work faster on you, but . . . holy shit, ’Liss!”

Melissa’s skimpy outfit didn’t interfere with taking her measurements, but she stripped anyway and stood proudly in Traci’s living room, showing off her new body. “You’ve lost inches everywhere, except your bust of course. . . . I can see those muscles firming up already. . . . You should see your ass, babe! Another couple of weeks and I’ll have to start calling you Sweet Cheeks.”

Melissa stepped on the bathroom scale with a dutiful sigh. She had been eating like a pig all week, and while her enhanced metabolism burned calories like crazy, it couldn’t possibly have burned them all. “Brace yourself, ’Liss,” said Traci. “You’ve lost 15 pounds in under a week. You must have been retaining fluid or something.”

“Yes, that must be it,” said Melissa doubtfully.

“I need to check this out,” said Traci, wandering back to the kitchen table and leafing through a stack of papers. “Here it is. Gynescence: Product monograph. Directions, inactive ingredients, blah blah blah. Right, this is what I wanted. ‘May operate faster in proportion to available adipose tissue. As body fat content reverts to normal, effects will tend to return to the indicated range.’ ”

“Meaning?”

“For one thing, you’re not going to melt away. For another—you must have the most cooperative fat cells I’ve ever seen. They’re just dying to follow orders.”

Thinking of the extra doses she had taken, Melissa asked uneasily: “What happens if I take too much?”

Traci gave her a crafty smile. “Been sneaking the odd spoonful, have we? Don’t worry. I took double the recommended dose for a while, and I’ve had clients who took as much as triple. It didn’t do them any harm. I don’t think there is such a thing as an overdose—unless it makes you too horny to live.” Melissa felt herself flush; Traci laughed. “Noticed that, did you? Don’t worry. It’s all part of the wonderful new you. Enjoy!”

It wasn’t that Melissa wanted a pair of gallon jugs sprouting from her chest; not really. But Traci’s chocolate potion tasted so good, and made her feel so alive. Vibrant. Her skin was improving, her legs were regaining the tone she had loved to show off years ago, and wonder of wonders, she had an honest-to-God waistline again. She was prepared to put up with enormous breasts as a side effect. Sure, they were heavy, but nothing like as heavy as the rolls of flab she was no longer carrying around her middle. Not a bad trade at all.

So Melissa told herself, but when she got to work Monday morning she had to face the facts. She liked having the kind of bust that made everyone stare. Even Ms. Kirchfeld stared. Even Kenny, the flamboyantly gay HR guy. Half the male employees in the office kept making excuses to visit the reception area, where they hung around endlessly, trying to pretend they weren’t staring. And since Melissa was wearing a low-cut burgundy sweater, she gave them plenty to stare at. Before long, she began to have trouble concentrating on her work. That steady procession of men, ogling and lusting, was making her too horny to think.

At first, Neil was conspicuous by his absence, but just before 10:30 he finally gave in to temptation and made an appearance. Melissa greeted him with the smoldering look she had been practicing all morning. “Hi, sexy,” she purred.

His eyes met hers for a moment—the first time in days, as far as she could remember, that anyone had actually looked at her face. “Uh, uh, hi!” he stammered, blushing to the roots of his short brown hair. He dropped his gaze bashfully, seeming not to realize that he was now staring directly at Melissa’s plentiful cleavage. Then it kicked in. He tore his eyes away from her with a violent twitch of his head, swallowed hard, tugged at his collar. “Gotta go,” he croaked, and hurried away toward his cubicle.

Melissa went after him. “Neil, wait!” She caught up with him, put her hand on his forearm. He stopped. “I just wanted to thank you for helping me out the other day . . . you know . . . at the meeting.”

“That? Don’t mention it.”

“No, really. You were a real gentleman. The only one on this whole damn floor.” Melissa hesitated, licked her lips. Her throat was suddenly dry. Leaning in as close as her overabundant bust would allow, she whispered up to him: “I want you.”

His blush turned from pink to red. “We, uh, we could do coffee sometime.”

“Not sometime. I want you right now.”

“Mel, uh, this isn’t the—”

“Now. Where can we go?”

Neil took a deep breath and tried to stop trembling. “I have the key to the server closet.”

“Meet me there in five minutes.”

She returned to her desk at a half run, downed half a dose of Gynescence, then stopped by Gina’s cubicle. “Gina, I’m going on my break now. Could you cover for me? Thanks!” The familiar heat was building up in her belly, the tingling in her breasts and loins. Melissa took a deep breath, hearing the subliminal creak of her bra as it struggled to contain her. She felt so good, so alive, and desperately horny.

She met Neil outside the tiny room where the servers were kept. The keys jingled loudly in his shaking hand as he unlocked the door. “I’ve never been in here before,” Melissa said, following him inside.

“Hardly anyone has. Mostly just me and Cam.”

Looking around, Melissa saw that it was perfect for her purpose. A rack of servers stood against one wall, their fans making enough noise to cover nearly anything. Against the other wall was a small desk, strewn with papers and technical manuals. Neil swept them onto the floor, then put his hands around Melissa’s waist and lifted her onto the desktop. Before he could let go, she locked her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily, grinding her breasts against his chest. Sharp stabs of pleasure lanced through her from her diamond-hard nipples.

It took all of half a minute for them to wrestle each other’s clothes off. Neil stood back, naked and erect, to take a long, admiring look at Melissa’s transformed body. “You’ve . . . changed,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you like it?”

“I like you, Mel. Always did.”

“What about my boobies?” she asked in a high, little-girl voice, shooting a sultry glance at him through her eyelashes. “Do you think they’re too big?”

“Too what? They’re fantastic, don’t be silly. I only wish—” He lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful again. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Try me.”

“I think you might just be the hottest girl I ever set eyes on—”

Melissa smiled. “Why wouldn’t I like that?”

“—if you weren’t so flat-chested.”

He was embarrassed into silence; she was just stunned. Her heart tried beating in her throat two or three times before settling down in its proper place. “Really?” she asked in a small voice.

“Really. I’ve always had this fantasy of making love to really busty girls.”

“Bigger than me?” she asked archly, throwing back her shoulders to show off her breasts. Her nipples were red and swollen, sticking out almost literally like sore thumbs. The heat inside her seemed to be building with her excitement.

“Much bigger. I once saw a stripper with a 60-inch bust—real inches, not bullshit show-biz inches. And I wished she was bigger.”

“Greedy boy. Mine are still growing, you know that?”

Neil’s breathing was an urgent rasp, and he seemed to have lost his voice. He nodded violently instead. “Maybe they’re not big enough for you now—”

“Please,” he managed to whisper. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Don’t you want to play with them? Don’t you want to stick that fat cock of yours between my titties and fuck them till you explode?” Suddenly Melissa felt that she was seventeen again, cock-teasing the class nerd. But Neil was no nerd, and while he might be shy around the women in the office, he was no virgin either. Before she quite knew what was happening, she was flat on her back on the desk, and he was all over her, caressing. massaging, kissing, licking, exploring every inch of her body. Her skin seemed to have become one giant erogenous zone. He kissed all the way around her overstretched areolae, petting her pussy with one hand while the other played with her hair. By the time he started sucking her nipples, she was writhing with lust, desperate for release. Instead of blood, her heart was pumping a witch’s brew of Gynescence and sex, flushing her whole body with hormones till they oozed from every pore in chocolate-scented sweat. She came wildly, convulsively, locking her arms around him, forcing him to keep sucking and sucking until she had screeched out her passion in a titanic, shuddering orgasm.

“My turn,” he told her in a sexy growl. His cock was bigger than average—nothing to complain about there—hard and throbbing, as if it were ready to burst; but it seemed like a tiny thing when she engulfed it in the deep hollow between her breasts. They felt as hard as overinflated basketballs as she clamped them together around his organ, rubbing them up and down against him. Melissa felt an unstoppable urge to test the sexual power of her new endowments. While his hips bucked and thrust, tit-fucking her with wild abandon, she bowed her head until her chin touched her chest, licking and teasing the head of his cock every time it peeked out of her cleavage. Meanwhile her hand wormed its way between his legs, lightly squeezing his balls, fingers kneading the base of his penis in time with his thrusts. No, Neil wasn’t the class nerd; he had staying power. But even he couldn’t resist that treatment for long. He groaned wordlessly and erupted, squirting sticky white cum all over Melissa’s breasts. She licked it off, every drop, as greedily as if it were her lunchtime dose of Gynescence. Then she gave her attention to his cock again, teasing it with her tongue until it was huge and stiff in her hands, sucking hungrily until he came again.

To her delight, even that didn’t finish him. He was growing hard a third time, seven inches of urgent maleness that she wanted inside her this time. “Fuck me, Neil,” she panted, spreading her legs and preparing to guide him in. “Fuck me right now, and—”

Someone knocked on the door. “Neil? Are you in there?” It was Cam’s voice. “Kirchfeld is looking for you, but if she doesn’t find you in five minutes, she’ll settle for your scalp.”

Neil slipped out of Melissa’s grasp and dove at the pile of clothes on the floor. “Stall her for me!” he shouted as he stuffed his shrinking member into his pants. Shaking with frustration, Melissa slipped back into her skirt and panties, then put on her bra.

It didn’t fit. She couldn’t do up the clasp.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed. “Don’t just stand there, Neil! Help me!”

“What happened?”

“I’m taking this—” The breath whooshed out of her lungs as he yanked her bra tight in back. “This hormone treatment,” she gasped. “I think we just added some extra hormones to the mix.”

“There’s a lot of erectile tissue in a breast,” Neil pointed out. “They can swell quite a bit when you’re turned on. In this case—”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious! Just do up the damn clasp, will you?”

It took a heroic effort and almost enough brute force to crack her ribs, but in the end he managed it. They kissed once, hungrily, then flung themselves out of the server room in opposite directions, Neil to beard the boss in her den, Melissa to take her reception desk back from Gina. And to drown her frustration in a cup of Gynescence.

A modern office building is seldom well equipped with places to make love, but Melissa took every chance she could find. She was insatiable now, constantly horny; her pussy never stopped dripping. She would play with herself under her desk even while she was answering the phone, and started teaching herself to type with one hand. She had sex with Neil in the stairwell that afternoon, and in the empty conference room early the next morning. They fucked in the men’s room, the ladies’ room, the supply room, the freight elevator, even, one time when the old harpy was away at a meeting, in Ms. Kirchfeld’s office.

That was enough to keep Melissa’s lust within bounds during working hours, but she had sixteen more hours to get through in a day. She started hanging out in singles bars every night, grabbing the first attractive guy that made eye contact with her breasts, and often returning for seconds later in the evening. She had quickies with shoe salesmen and UPS men and pizza delivery guys. Still, it was never enough. She found herself masturbating incessantly, staring at her body in her full-length bedroom mirror, watching herself change as her breasts sucked up every ounce of surplus fat to make themselves bigger and rounder and more achingly desirable.  Her skin was improving, too, growing denser, milkier, with a sheen of glowing health that made her look as if she were pregnant but hadn’t begun to show yet. Her hair was growing faster, and seemed to be coming in lighter and glossier, a rich golden blonde with honey-coloured highlights, tumbling over her shoulders in soft natural curls. Even her nails were stronger, thicker, though keeping them cut was beginning to be a nuisance.

Wednesday morning, she gave up wearing bras. She didn’t seem to need them anyway; the bigger her breasts grew, the firmer they got, and they didn’t sag at all. Her nipples had a disconcerting habit of poking through the tight-stretched fabric of even her baggiest tops, the ones she used to wear on bad days when she wanted to hide her fat body under acres of heavy cloth. There wasn’t much fat on her anymore, though; it had all migrated to her bustline, or been burnt up by the inferno of her metabolism.

The only thing stronger than her sex drive was her craving for Gynescence. Traci had said it did no harm to take a double or even a triple dose. Knowing that, Melissa gave in and let herself have as much as she wanted. Soon she was going through a bottle a day. It cost her most of her take-home pay, but she made up her mind to worry about that later. It tasted so good, felt so good, and she loved the way it was changing her. She could always quit later. She told herself she could give it up any time, when she couldn’t afford it anymore, or when she got sick of the taste, or when her breasts got big enough to give her back pains. They should have done that already, but her back and belly muscles were getting stronger and better-toned every day. Every day she had butterflies in her stomach until she drowned them in her morning dose, wondering if this would be the day her expanding bust would be too heavy to carry without hurting. And every day she was relieved to find she could do it with no discomfort at all, except for cramming herself into tank tops and sweaters that never seemed to be quite big enough.

Friday night, Melissa used up the last of her six bottles. Panicking, she cut the empty bottle apart with a kitchen knife, licked every drop from the inside of the plastic. That soothed her craving enough to last her until she got to Traci’s apartment.

“Oh, my God, ’Liss!” Traci gushed when she saw how her client had grown. “You look gorgeous! Come on, let’s measure you while you’re here.” Melissa weighed in at 155, at least fifteen pounds of which represented her burgeoning breasts. The measuring tape reported a 48-26-38 goddess. And she seemed to have grown about half an inch taller. “Though that’s probably just your posture improving,” Traci suggested. “You were developing quite a slouch when I saw you the other day. Now you’re just—developing.”

They both laughed. “It’s an absolute miracle,” Melissa said. “I can’t thank you enough. Can you let me have another sixpack?”

Traci raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Already?”

Melissa felt herself blush. “Well, I’ve been taking a little extra. You said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“A little extra! ’Liss, that was a six-month supply I sold you!”

“Six months? It can’t be. Eight ounces, twice a day—”

“Oh, my God.” Traci’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, my fucking God.” She ran to the gray cabinet, unlocked it, held a bottle under Melissa’s nose. “Look again, ’Liss. One tablespoon in eight ounces of milk, twice a day. Don’t tell me you’ve been taking it straight!”

“I’ve been taking it straight,” Melissa confessed.

“I told you not to tell me that,” Traci sighed. “No wonder it’s working so fast.”

“Please, Traci. Let me have some more. I need it.”

“I shouldn’t. I could lose my distributorship. If anyone found out—”

“I won’t tell. Cross my heart.” Melissa drew an X in the air over the huge expanse of her bosom. “Please. I’m almost up to a bottle a day now. I can’t just stop like that.”

“No, ’Liss. No way. You’re addicted to the stuff, and it’s my fault. I did this to you, and I’m going to help you get over it.”

“But I don’t want to get over it!” Melissa wailed. “Do you have any idea how wonderful it feels? How wonderful these feel?” She caressed her breasts with one hand, looking down proudly to see how small the span of her fingers was compared to the massive swell of her still-growing bosom. Almost unconsciously she let her other hand drop to her crotch and start massaging her pussy through the fabric of her jeans.

“Stop it, ’Liss! Just stop it. Oh, dear God, I’ve created a monster.”

Melissa licked her hot, dry lips. “You know, you said something the other day that I can’t get off my mind. It has been ages since we made out.”

“Melissa—”

“So maybe you have created a monster. Don’t you want to find out what I can do? Don’t you want these?” Melissa tore off her distended tank top and let her breasts hang free, bouncing and jiggling whenever she moved. They made Traci look downright flat by comparison. Traci’s hand drifted forward, as if against her will, to caress the soft curve of Melissa’s left breast. Then she mastered herself and pulled it away again.

“I need a drink,” she muttered. “And so do you. And not Gynescence.”

Traci made a pitcher of vodka martinis and poured each of them a double. They drank and argued, taking turns lecturing, pleading, weeping, for what seemed like hours. But Traci remained adamant: she would not sell Melissa any more Gynescence. And Melissa was equally firm: she wasn’t leaving without at least another dozen bottles.

After the first pitcher ran out, Melissa’s memory got rather hazy. Afterwards, she seemed to remember trying different drinks, and settling on chocolate martinis. Of course, there was no chocolate liqueur in Traci’s apartment, but there was a ready substitute available, and she had unlocked the cabinet where it was kept. After two or three more drinks, they both got rather clumsy, and Melissa spilled her drink down Traci’s own impressive cleavage. It seemed only right and natural to clean up the mess with her tongue; no sense wasting it. Somehow that led to them both being naked, squirting sweet brown syrup all over each other’s bodies, licking it off. Melissa had the distinct impression that she had tried to turn Traci’s pubic mound into a chocolate sundae, and wasted quite a long time pawing through the fridge looking for a cherry. And she seemed to remember Traci sucking back swigs from a tall plastic bottle, even after the vodka ran out. . . .

Melissa woke up with fur on her tongue, a head full of cotton wool, and no clear idea which way was up. She soon figured out that she was lying on the deep pile carpet in Traci’s living room, naked, in the fetal position, wrapped around a large pillow as if it could keep her warm. She heard the sound of Traci’s breathing coming from the couch across the room. But when she tried to get up and wake her, Melissa found herself unable to move. She seemed to be anchored to that pillow somehow.

It was some time before she realized that the “pillow” was her own breasts. They spilled across the carpet beside her, two huge, heavy mounds projecting at least a foot beyond her torso. Her arms were wrapped tightly around them, but couldn’t cover more than a fraction of their pale pink flesh. The rest was crawling with more goosebumps than she had ever seen in her life, and her nipples stuck out at least two inches further still.

After various attempts to lever herself into a sitting position, Melissa rolled over on her breasts and pushed herself up off the floor. A mane of wavy golden hair fell across her eyes, blinding her until she brushed it away with her hand. It had not only grown longer overnight, but thicker and glossier as well. Somehow she got her legs under her and managed to stand up, wobbling a bit until she got used to her new center of gravity—higher than before, and a lot further forward. Then she found her way to the bathroom and spent a long time brushing her hair and staring at herself in the mirror. Her lips were fuller, poutier, her skin smoother and creamier, and as hugely distended as they were, her breasts didn’t show the least sign of sagging. She could have passed for an unusually healthy sixteen-year-old, but with tits like those, nobody was likely to make that mistake.

Melissa was still admiring herself in the mirror, striking sexy poses that emphasized her incredible new endowments, when Traci came into the bathroom, gaping and stretching. Seeing her in the mirror, Melissa froze. “What’s the matter?” Traci yawned.

“You’re . . . bigger.”

Traci blinked hard and looked down at her own bust. “Oh, my God.”

“In fact, I think you’re as big as I was last night.”

Traci hefted her breasts in both hands to measure the accuracy of that guess. Her fingertips brushed her areolae; she gave an involuntary moan and a shiver of delight. “I think you’re right. Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Starving,” Melissa confessed. “These babies really take some feeding, don’t they?”

“Uh huh. You know, I don’t feel like cooking. Let’s go out for breakfast.”

It seemed like a good idea, but it wasn’t quite that easy. Melissa could no longer cram herself into the outfit she had worn the night before, and nothing in Traci’s closet was big enough for either of them. Desperation led to inspiration. “Put these on,” said Melissa, handing her clothes to Traci. “There’s some money in my purse. Go out and get me something I can wear home. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

“I’d better measure you first.”

This time, Melissa’s figure came in at an astoundingly curvaceous 52-24-37. All the effects of Gynescence seemed to scale with the dosage; her skin was even more sensitive than it had been, especially the taut skin of her magnificent breasts. Traci’s hands brushed against them as she wrapped the tape around Melissa’s bust, and that alone was enough to bring her to a brief but intense climax. “Stop that,” she said when she caught her breath.

“Stop what?”

“You’re meant to be measuring, not groping.”

“’Liss, I barely touched you.”

“It didn’t feel like it. Now get going before I change my mind.”

Traci was gone for nearly an hour. Melissa rummaged in the refrigerator for something to eat, settled on several slices of toast and jam and a hunk of cheese, washed down with orange juice. It wasn’t enough. Her hunger pangs didn’t subside until she opened a fresh bottle of Gynescence and drank almost half of it. There were, she noticed, four empty bottles strewn on the floor. She didn’t remember having that much, but it certainly explained why both she and Traci were so much better endowed this morning.

The bottle was almost empty by the time Traci got back with a shopping bag full of clothes. The first thing she took out of the bag was an oversized Got milk? T-shirt. “Very funny,” Melissa said sourly, but she put it on anyway, tying it tight across her midriff so it wouldn’t hang down to her hips like a circus tent. Her jeans still fit reasonably well, if a little loose around the waist. But by the time they were done eating an enormous breakfast at the nearest pancake house, those jeans felt uncomfortably tight. As soon as they got back into Traci’s elderly Honda Civic, Melissa unbuttoned her pants, sighing heavily as her full belly took grateful advantage of the extra room.

When they got back to Traci’s apartment, Melissa flatly demanded all the Gynescence in the cabinet. “Every drop of it,” she insisted, taking her checkbook out of her purse. “Just name your price.”

“I can’t sell you all of it,” Traci objected. “I still need my maintenance dose, and samples for new clients.”

“For now, I’m all the clients you need. You can always order more. I’ll let you keep one bottle.”

They filled the trunk of Melissa’s car with cases of the growth formula, and she drove away two thousand dollars poorer and thirty-eight bottles of Gynescence richer. A thrill of perverse joy ran through her as she unloaded the car at home. Thirty-eight bottles! And everything that had happened so far was the result of only ten. It wasn’t just the attention she was getting that excited Melissa now, or even the feeling of sexual power. She loved being incessantly horny, loved looking younger and sexier every day. And most of all, she loved the constant warm tingle in her breasts, not quite a burning, not quite an ache, and the thrill of feeling them grow bigger and riper and more sensitive by the hour. It couldn’t go on forever, she knew. That was only common sense. Sooner or later her back would start to protest under the load, and then she would stop. She would. She promised herself that.

I can stop anytime I want, Melissa told herself defiantly. But not yet. Not yet.

She went shopping for clothes again, laying in a supply of blouses and jackets in progressively larger sizes for the week ahead. As soon as she got home from that trip, she gave Neil a call, ordering him to come over right away. His cock almost burst out of his pants at the sight of her, and they spent the rest of the weekend in an orgy of sex and chocolate and Chinese take-out. Monday morning, Melissa woke up with Neil’s head nestled comfortably between her breasts. When she shook him awake, he just burrowed deeper into her cleavage, kissing her fleshy pillows. “Mmm,” he said. “If this is a dream, baby, please don’t wake me up.”

Melissa drank half a bottle with her breakfast, and took the rest to work. She had given up even trying to find bras, and her nipples tented the front of her blouse provocatively. It was large enough when she put it on, but before the morning was over, it was stretched tight across her chest, buttons straining. She had a constant urge to play with herself. Every half hour or so she disappeared into the ladies’ room and gave herself a quickie orgasm, relieving the sexual pressure just enough to let her work frantically until the next craving hit. Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult work, and when not interrupted by pangs of lust, her concentration seemed to have improved along with everything else.

But nobody else in the office was getting much done. Everyone on that floor, male or female, kept trooping past the reception desk for no particular reason, frankly staring at Melissa’s chest, speculating to each other in whispers about how long it would be before her blouse exploded. There seemed to be some kind of impromptu betting pool. Ms. Kirchfeld kept coming out of her office to glare murderously at them all, and each time she did, everyone looked very busy and virtuous as they scattered to their cubicles.

Just before noon, the inevitable happened. First one button popped, then another and another, ricocheting off the walls with a series of sharp pings. Freed from its flimsy stays, Melissa’s braless bosom erupted out of her blouse, eliciting a round of cheers from the half-dozen coworkers who had found excuses to be there at the time. She was flushed with embarrassment, but even so, she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

“What time is it?” someone asked.

“Eleven fifty-five.”

“Shit. I had 11:50. OK, who’s the lucky son of a bitch?”

“I think Cam had twelve sharp—”

“All right, people!” Ms. Kirchfeld’s sharp, nasal voice cut through the chatter like a jackhammer in an orchestra pit. “That’s quite enough of that. Anyone not back at their work within thirty seconds can start looking for a new job.” The crowd dissipated at once, still whispering to each other about pool numbers.

Melissa’s boss turned on her next, livid with rage. “As for you, you slut—I want you out. Clean out your desk this minute.”

“What for?” Melissa demanded coldly. “Is there some problem with my work?”

“You know perfectly well what the problem is. You’ve been disrupting this office for the last two weeks—dressing unprofessionally, fraternizing with coworkers, exposing yourself and your disgusting . . . condition.”

Melissa laughed harshly. “Condition? You mean these?”

“I’m through with you, Miss White.”

“You’re jealous, Ms. Kirchfeld. That’s the real problem, isn’t it? You’re envious as hell because you haven’t got anything here.” Melissa folded her arms under her breasts and hefted them like flour sacks.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Ms. Kirchfeld crossed her arms protectively over her own flat chest. Tears of rage were leaking from the corners of her eyes. “I won’t tolerate this behavior any longer . . . this—this shameless display of—” The words caught in her throat; she swallowed hard. “You’re fired, Miss White. Now get out of my sight, and don’t you ever dare come back. If you show your anatomy on these premises again, I’ll have you arrested.”

Still in shock from her sudden dismissal, Melissa went to see a lawyer that afternoon, one of Gina’s exes whom she recommended in a whisper while saying goodbye. He was a grim-faced little man in his forties, wearing a three-piece suit, his vest stretched almost as tight over his round belly as Melissa’s jacket was over her breasts. He listened impassively as she described the scene at the office that day. Somehow he managed not to stare at her chest. Instead, his eyes seemed to bore straight into her chin, as if to strike a compromise between making eye contact and looking at what he really wanted to see. “Let me get this straight,” he said in a clipped, emotionless voice. “Your superior, Ms., uh, Kirchfeld—she fired you because you lost some buttons on your clothes?”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Melissa admitted sheepishly.

“Immaterial. Your work was satisfactory? You were dismissed merely because she disapproved of one of your physical features?”

She couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “Well, two.”

“Yes, of course. You haven’t cashed your severance check, have you?”

“I didn’t get one.”

The lawyer raised a thin gray eyebrow and started scribbling on a yellow notepad. “You were working at this firm for some time, were you not?”

“More than two years.”

“And dismissed without cause.”

“Not really. My . . . well, my boobs were the cause.”

“‘Boobs’ is not a legal term, Miss White,” he said with a wintry smile. “According to the law, that doesn’t constitute a cause. We could make a very good case that you were terminated because of a physical disability. I see the possibility of a substantial settlement in your future.”

“So you’ll take the case?”

“Unquestionably. However, there is the question of my retainer. I don’t work on a contingency basis, you see.”

Melissa’s heart sank. After blowing two thousand dollars on Gynescence, she didn’t have much ready cash left. “How much is your fee?”

“Four hundred dollars per billable hour,” he said flatly. “If your employers settle out of court, as I anticipate they will, I’ll only need to bill you for three or four hours. If they fight—well, then my price goes up. But I don’t think they’ll risk the publicity. Never mind the nightly news; this story could end up as fodder for the supermarket tabloids. Yes, I think they’ll settle.”

Melissa nodded grimly. “OK, how much do you need in advance?”

The lawyer licked his thin lips and tugged lightly at his tie. “Pardon me if this makes you uncomfortable, Miss—may I call you Melissa? I think it would be helpful if I had a look at the corpus delicti, so to speak. You don’t mind, do you?”

She smiled and opened her jacket. The remains of her exploded blouse were still on underneath, not quite covering her breasts. “Is there anything else you want to see?”

The lawyer stood up and walked slowly out from behind his desk. There was a clearly visible bulge in his trousers. “I think I’d better examine all the evidence, don’t you? And I’m sure we can work out some arrangement about the fee.”

The next three days were pure nervous hell. Melissa stayed at home the whole time, waiting by the phone for the lawyer to call, swilling Gynescence by the pint. She missed the bustle of the office, missed being busy, even being stared at. She missed Neil terribly, but he didn’t call. And she was far too upset to find anything productive to do. Instead, she sat in her living room, distracting herself with TV and alcohol and endless sessions with her vibrators. She could only really forget her problems in the throes of a toe-curling orgasm, but there was nothing to stop her from having as many of those as she wanted.

The lawyer called on Thursday with good news. “Your employers have offered one year’s severance pay, plus twenty-five thousand dollars in compensation for emotional distress. No admission of fault on either side. I recommend that you accept.”

“Of course I accept! Oh, thank you, Jerry. How did you get it done so fast?”

“I knew whom to speak to at the top, that’s all. Oh, and one other thing. Would you consider having dinner with me tonight?”

A year’s pay was nice, but it wouldn’t keep her in Gynescence forever. Melissa was up to two bottles a day now, and loving every drop, as well as the spectacular effects it continued to have on her body. The same day Jerry called, she retired her 60-inch measuring tape and bought a ten-foot one from the plus-size shop. “62-22-36,” Jen told her in an awestruck tone. “I’m afraid you won’t be doing much business with us now. You’ll have to get everything custom made.”

“That’s all right, honey. You’ve been a big help.”

“I. . . .” Jen bit her lip and looked embarrassed. “I do a bit of sewing, you know. In fact, I make most of my own clothes.”

Melissa smiled. “They look great on you. Do you think you could come over to my place after work for a fitting?”

That solved the problem of putting clothes on her back (and front), but money was going to be a worry soon. A girl with a 62-inch bust couldn’t get a job just anywhere, no matter what the law said. Melissa toyed with the idea of being a stripper, but the thought made her terribly self-conscious. It wasn’t so much the idea of being nude in front of a room full of horny men; that rather turned her on. No, what she was afraid of was having to dance in front of them, when her weight was so unbalanced she could barely walk.

At least her back wasn’t hurting yet. She didn’t have to think about giving up her favorite habit.

After a lot of thought and daydreaming, Melissa set up a webcam in her bedroom and another in the bathroom, pointing at the shower. She signed up on several live porn sites, billing herself as Melissa Mountains—“fastest-growing chest on the Net!” Then she bought a corset, some garter belts and stockings, and splurged on a few pairs of stiletto-heeled shoes and some deliciously slutty makeup. For several hours each day, she played with herself on camera, dressing and undressing, making out with Jen or Traci, or having sex with the occasional guy that she brought home from the clubs.

Her breasts were growing slower now, much to her disappointment. There just wasn’t any surplus fat left for them to feed on. The only raw material they had to work with was the Gynescence itself, plus the endless supply of pizzas and pasta, Chinese and Mexican, delivered to her door three or four times a day. Melissa was constantly ravenous now, and not only for sex. She found that she liked eating in front of her webcam, being deliberately sloppy, dropping spring rolls or spaghetti sauce on her titanic tits and very thoroughly licking it off. In between meals, she spent endless hours sucking her own nipples when there was no one else to do it, feeling wave after wave of electric pleasure crashing through her body. And after a few days, her tip jar began to fill. She wasn’t the only one enjoying the show.

Twice a day, morning and evening, she went through the elaborate ritual of doing a striptease for the camera and measuring her naked body. She still managed to put on almost an inch a day, though every inch added more pounds to her breasts than the one before. V=⁴/₃πr³, she thought. What a hassle. She kept up her growth rate only by guzzling three bottles of Gynescence a day, then four.

Traci flatly refused to sell her any more of the formula. “I’d lose my distributorship,” she whined. “They keep track of my customers, you know. I can’t sell you two dozen bottles a week; they’d think you were reselling the stuff on the black market.”

“You’re just jealous because I’ve outgrown you,” Melissa shot back.

“Jealous! Your ego is growing faster than your tits.”

A really ugly argument followed, and though they ended by making up and making love, it definitely fractured their relationship, both business and personal. Traci rarely came over after that, and never permitted herself to be caught on camera. Good riddance, Melissa thought, and started buying her fix from suppliers online. To deflect suspicion, she bought a dozen bottles at a time from four or five different distributors, placing each order under a different name. She insisted on paying extra for overnight delivery. Luckily the FedEx guy was a breast man, and asked no questions about these strangely frequent shipments in exchange for a good tit-fuck on each visit.

On the day that her bust broke the 75-inch mark, Melissa’s back began to feel quite definitely sore. She felt perversely proud of herself, partly because it had taken so long to happen, partly because she had kept pushing her growth until it finally did. She had the muscles of an Olympic gymnast now, and needed every fiber of them. Her tits weighed in at forty pounds apiece. So she curled up in her favorite easy chair, opened the Yellow Pages across her chest, and dialed numbers until she found a massage therapist who made house calls. His name was Derek, fully qualified in Swedish massage and shiatsu, and, as she found to her infinite pleasure, eminently equipped to massage her from the inside out as well. His visits became a daily ritual, paid for with bouts of mind-blowing sex, like nearly everything else these days. Except for food, rent, and Gynescence, Melissa hardly found it necessary to use money for anything anymore.

But even his expert treatment, backed up with aromatherapy and even acupuncture, could only keep the pains off for so long. At 90 inches, Melissa’s breasts weighed nearly as much as the rest of her body combined. Just standing upright was beginning to hurt, never mind walking. But what did that matter? She hadn’t been out of her apartment in weeks; where did she need to walk to? Every horny guy and hot bi babe in town was dying to bring her everything she needed. She still told herself she could give up Gynescence whenever she wanted. She just didn’t want to. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

She would quit cold turkey, she decided, while she was still able to walk.

Actually, she quit sooner than she expected, and quite involuntarily. She measured 96-22-35 that morning, and weighed in at 120 pounds of girl and 132 pounds of tits. They hung from her chest like medicine balls with nipples. She could no longer carry them around except by holding them up with both hands, but that didn’t much matter, as she couldn’t keep her hands off them anyway. And except for the pains in her back, and the nuisance of having those immense jiggling globes get in the way of everything, she absolutely loved it. The attention, the sex, the incredible feeling they gave her as they grew still bigger and more sensitive. It seemed like everything made her come these days. A shower was one long crescendo of orgasms, jets of hot water pulsing and splashing against her hyper-sensitized nerve endings while she came and came and came. She would have stayed in the shower for hours on end, but the weight of her tits was too much for her now, and after a little while she always had to lie down and rest.

But on this particular morning, her shipment didn’t arrive. She checked her tracking number with FedEx. It hadn’t been shipped at all. She checked with the seller. Your order has been cancelled, her computer informed her. New You Beauty Warehouse thanks you for your business. We are unable to fulfill your request for this product, but we look forward to satisfying your beauty needs in the future.

Melissa tried routing the order through different suppliers, but everywhere it was the same story. She could order anything she liked—except the one thing she wanted. Nobody would ship Gynescence to her address anymore, no matter what name she gave them. A cold sweat of panic dripped from her brow, puddling in the deep canyon of her cleavage, as she fought to escape the trap. Cut off! She had been cut off! How could this happen to her?

Finally she went to the manufacturer’s own website. There was nothing useful there—no information on ordering, unless you wanted to become a distributor, and you could only do that by a referral that no one would give her. But there was a phone number for customer service. She dialed it frantically, hardly daring to breathe while the phone rang and rang.

“Thank you for calling Gynescence Labs. For sales, press 1. For customer service, press 2. For—”

Melissa jabbed at the 2 on the keypad. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Come on!”

“All of our customer service representatives are currently serving other customers. Your call will be answered—”

“Oh, fuck you!” she shouted at the recorded voice. Her whole body was trembling with rage or withdrawal. “Fuck you all and the horse you rode in on! Where is my fucking order?”

Fortunately, she had worked off her outburst by the time a live person came on the line. It was a woman’s voice, politely but firmly unhelpful. Ah, yes, Miss White. So sorry, but we’ve detected an anomaly in the pattern of shipments to your address. Like all pharmaceuticals, our product can be hazardous if abused. No, we can’t rescind the quarantine on your shipping address.

“Isn’t there anything you can do? I need that shipment. I need it!”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Finally, the woman’s voice came back on. “There is one thing we can do. We’ll send out a company representative to discuss it with you. Will you be available tomorrow afternoon?”

“Tomorrow afternoon? Sure.” A chasm yawned in the pit of Melissa’s stomach. How would she last until then? It is one thing to give up a drug voluntarily, but to be deprived of it by force when one doesn’t even want to quit—that can be unendurable.

But Melissa endured it anyway. She had one escape, at any rate: into oblivion. She sent out for a bottle of sleeping pills and took enough to put her to sleep for eight hours. After that she took another dose, and a third. By the time she awoke from that last sleep, she felt dull and joyless, caught in a gray blur of reality, but she only had a few more hours to wait. And while she could take no pleasure in it at the moment, she still had a beautiful face, a spectacular body, and an eight-foot bust. No one could take that away from her, and one day, after this ordeal was over, she would enjoy these things again. She clung to that thought until the buzzer rang to announce that the woman from Gynescence had come.

It was a woman, of course. She had the body of a strikingly healthy and voluptuous eighteen-year-old, but something in the planes of her face and the style of her hair suggested that she was not far short of forty. “Brenda Maclean, Gynescence Labs,” she said when Melissa opened the door for her. “You must be Melissa White.” They shook hands. Then Melissa dragged herself back to her favorite chair and sat down with a groan. Her breasts had never seemed like so much dead weight before, but they did now.

Brenda sat in the chair opposite hers. “According to our records, you’ve ordered a total of 112 bottles of our product in the last two months. And I see you used them all. While we are, of course, pleased to have enthusiastic customers, you have to understand that Gynescence was never meant to be taken in such quantities. How much were you taking before you ran out?”

“Four bottles a day,” said Melissa dully.

Brenda tsk-tsked and shook her head. “It looks like I arrived just in time. You must have developed a rather serious addiction. But that’s strange; Gynescence doesn’t contain any ingredients that are physiologically addictive to normal women.”

“Oh, yes, it does,” Melissa answered with a mirthless laugh. “Sex and chocolate.”

“There is that. And one tremendous side effect, of course. Miss White, we’re prepared to take full responsibility for everything that’s happened to you. We’ll pay for your stay in any addiction treatment center in the country, for as long as it takes you to get this dependency out of your system. And we’ll also pay for breast reduction sur—”

Melissa tried to cover her breasts with her arms. It was about as effective as hiding a Volkswagen behind a parking meter. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “I earned these tits, and nobody is taking them away from me.”

Brenda raised a heavily penciled eyebrow. “Suit yourself, Miss White. But if you change your mind, the option is always there. Those breasts look fairly debilitating.”

“Maybe. But they feel absolutely wonderful. And the feeling inside them when they were growing was even better. You have no idea unless you’ve tried it yourself.” As she spoke, Melissa stroked her breasts in a slow, absent-minded rhythm. Her nipples rose to attention, poking sharp points in the flimsy, tentlike fabric of her oversized top.

“As a matter of fact, I have. We believe in using our own products at Gynescence. But I’ve never taken that kind of dosage, so I’ll have to take your word for it. Look, Miss White—”

“Call me Mel.”

“Mel. Clearly you can’t go on taking our product much longer, or you’ll be completely incapacitated. You’ll end up completely immobile, and need a full-time caregiver. We aren’t prepared to take that kind of responsibility, even if you want to risk it. We will give you all the care you need now. We owe you that much. But we will not sell you any more Gynescence.”

A fat tear trickled down the side of Melissa’s face and splashed into the bottomless canyon between her breasts. “All right,” she said quietly. “I knew it couldn’t last much longer. Take me away and do whatever you have to do.”

They checked Melissa into a private room in a private hospital, where a bewildering variety of doctors tested and poked and prodded her for days. She submitted with the stoic silence of a woman who has lost all her reasons for living. After about a week, the physician in charge of her case gave her a brief but cheerful report.

“Melissa, I have to say I’ve never seen a case quite like this. We get all kinds of addicts here, and usually they’re in pretty rough shape when they arrive. Whereas you are the healthiest young woman I’ve ever examined. You have the build and metabolism of an Olympic athlete, the reflexes of a professional dancer, and if you don’t mind my saying so, the looks of a supermodel. Even the skin on your breasts is flawless, though by rights it should be a mass of stretch marks by now. If it were up to me, I’d let you go—but then I suppose you’d find another source of that growth formula, and I don’t know how much more breast mass your body can support. Except for that one problem, I’d call you the poster child for perfect physical health.

“Your mental health, however—that, I’m afraid, is another matter. Some people would be quite judgmental about your libido, but I’ve never really bought into the diagnosis of sexual addiction. Most people who appear addicted to sex are really using it to mask some deep pain in their lives. Whereas you really just seem to enjoy it that much. And from what some of our orderlies have told us, you enjoy giving pleasure as much as receiving it.” Melissa blushed; she had, in fact, seduced two of the hospital staff when she thought no one important was watching. “No doubt your high sex drive is partly an effect of the endocrine storm brought on by too much Gynescence. But I’m sure you would be a happily horny young lady even without it. Am I clear so far?”

Melissa nodded. “So what is wrong with me?”

“Well, you’re clearly depressed, but that may be only a symptom of withdrawal. Mainly, I think, you’re suffering from the results of an obsession that’s been acted out too thoroughly. Breast growth is a side effect of the substance you took, but I have a pretty strong notion that you think of it as the main effect—the one you really wanted. Am I right?”

“I always envied girls with bigger boobs than me,” she admitted. “Knowing that I’m bigger than all of them is a real turn-on. But not as much as the feeling I had when they were still growing.”

“Yes, Ms. Maclean told us about that. The trouble is that if you get any more of that feeling, it will destroy your quality of life, and maybe your physical health as well. I’m going to turn you over to our resident psychiatrist, Dr. Popovich.”

Dr. Popovich was a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman, who might still have been pretty if she hadn’t worn her hair in an uncompromising bun. Melissa had daily sessions with her for two weeks. She answered questions about her childhood, her parents, her early boyfriends, her bisexuality, her lifelong desire for enormous breasts. “Ever since I was a little girl,” she told the psychiatrist, “I wanted to have bigger boobs than anyone I knew. I never told anyone, though.”

“Did you feel ashamed of this wish?”

“I felt like people would think I was a freak. And now I am one.”

Dr. Popovich shook her head. “That’s negative self-talk, and it’s not getting us anywhere. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a particular body image, unless it takes over your whole life. Some women develop eating disorders, or drug addictions, or behavioral obsessions. You just . . . developed. This desire has taken a very strong hold of your mind, and now we need to break that hold. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot happier once we’ve done it. We’re all here to help you, Melissa.”

Melissa wanted to burst out crying. What was the point of helping her, when it meant taking away the only thing she wanted? It was like offering help to a starving man on the sole condition that he couldn’t have any food. But Dr. Popovich was so soft-spoken, so kind, so obviously well-intentioned, that Melissa just didn’t have the heart to object. So she stayed silent and fretted, keeping her true desires hidden, as she always had done before Gynescence let the genie out of the bottle.

It isn’t easy for a woman with an eight-foot bust measurement to sneak out of a hospital ward, but Melissa managed it one afternoon during a shift change. Still dressed in an oversize hospital gown, she flagged a taxi and gave the driver Traci’s address. There was nobody home when she arrived, so she sat down heavily in the foyer to wait. Perhaps a dozen people came and went before Traci arrived, each of them stopping to stare at the huge-titted girl sitting silently in the corner, none of them quite daring to speak to her.

Then Traci came in with a couple of canvas shopping bags. As soon as she saw Melissa, she dropped them both. The sound of shattering glassware almost drowned out her short scream of dismay. “Oh . . . my . . . God!” she said slowly. “Oh, ’Liss, what happened to you?”

“Take me up to your place and I’ll tell you,” Melissa said.

Half an hour later, Traci was trying not to break down in tears at the story of Melissa’s troubles, while also trying to resist the urge to start fondling those gigantic breasts. She couldn’t even pretend to stop staring at them. Melissa sighed in quiet resignation. “I feel so bad about this,” Traci confessed. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Yes. This withdrawal is killing me. I . . . I need a fix, bad.”

“I can’t. Oh, ’Liss, I just can’t. I did this to you in the first place.”

“You made me live, Trace! You made me beautiful! All I want is to keep on having that feeling. I know I have to give it up. But what else have I got? I’ll still be a circus freak with tits the size of prize pumpkins. One more bottle isn’t going to change that.”

Then she came out of herself enough to see the mixture of desire and curiosity in Traci’s eyes. She caressed herself through the hospital gown. “You want these, don’t you? Ever since you saw me, you’ve been just dying to cop a feel, to find out if they’re as amazing as they look.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial undertone. “Well, Trace, I’ll tell you, They’re not as good as they look. They’re better.”

Traci gave an involuntary moan of arousal, took a halting step towards the sexual magnet of Melissa’s enormous breasts. Then two steps. And then she was unwrapping Melissa like a Christmas present, diving into the endless pleasures of her colossal bosom, caressing her, playing with her nipples, kissing and licking and sucking, grinding her hips against those huge fleshy pillows, while Melissa came and came and came. They ended up having hours of steamy sex together, interrupted only when Traci unlocked her gray cabinet and gave Melissa two fresh bottles of Gynescence to quench her weeks-old thirst.

“I feel wonderful,” said Melissa when they were lying spent on Traci’s bed, the sheets soaked in sweat and love juices. “Oh, Trace, this is the only thing I really want. How can I ever give it up?”

But she knew she had to, and in the morning she called the hospital and turned herself in. After that they locked her room from the outside, and kept her under constant watch whenever she was allowed out. But Traci came to visit one day, and Neil another. When he saw her sitting up in her hospital bed, he ran to her and put his arms around as much of her as he could possibly reach. “Oh, Mel, you’re so beautiful. You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”

“Then why didn’t you call?” she asked him bitterly.

“When that battle-ax Kirchfeld fired you, it was the start of an office bloodbath. Half the department was let go before it was over, including Kirchfeld herself. I was one of the first batch. They offered me a decent buyout, and after what happened to you I didn’t want to work there anymore. But I didn’t get to take much with me. After all, I signed a nondisclosure agreement before they let me take care of their precious data. A lot of my personal files were erased when I left, and . . . well, one of the things I lost was your number. And by the time I tracked you down, you were gone.”

“Well, you’re here now, that’s the main thing.” Melissa swallowed hard. “Tell me something, Neil.”

“Anything, baby.”

“Do you . . . do you still want me? Like this?”

He relaxed and gave her the warm smile that first attracted her to him, months before she had ever heard of Gynescence. “I don’t know,” he said impishly. “I still think you’re flat-chested.”

All 96 inches of Melissa’s stupendous bust quaked with laughter, the bottoms of her breasts slapping against her thighs. Then she leaned forward, resting her head and arms on her tits like a kid sprawling face down in a beanbag chair. “Prove it.”

“Do they let you have sex in here?”

“Just let them try to stop me,” she answered scornfully. “Now you’re going to do two things for me, Neil. Number one, you’re going to give me the best fucking I’ve ever had. If I don’t come at least twenty times before they tear you off of me, I’m going to come looking for you. Is that clear?”

Neil grinned. “I think I can handle that. And number two?”

“Tell me how much bigger you want my boobs to be.”

Several days after that, Melissa had two new visitors: an attractive married couple, casually but stylishly dressed. The husband was an athletic-looking man of about forty; the wife had the ageless quality of a woman on a healthy maintenance dose of Gynescence. “I’m Dr. Paul Devoir,” the man said, “and this is my wife, Catherine. We’re the founders of Gynescence Labs.”

They both shook hands with Melissa. “Come to check on your basket case?” she asked bitterly.

“Don’t say that about yourself,” said Catherine. “We came to see how you were coming along.”

“Because I was your best customer, or because you’re afraid I might sue?”

“Because we care about you,” said Catherine.

“We invented our formula because we thought every woman should have the chance to be young and healthy and beautiful all her life,” Paul added. “And that’s what you wanted more than anything. How could we not be moved by such a sincere compliment?”

“Anyway,” said Catherine, “we want to have a little meeting with you and Dr. Popovich. She says you’re not improving, and we want to find out why.”

The psychiatrist came in then, and they all sat down while she painted a distressing picture of Melissa’s symptoms. “Some days I think she’s making real progress, but one of two things always happens. Either she falls back into her fantasy and her craving for your, er, product, or she seems to give up and lose all motivation. Medication doesn’t seem to help, and frankly, I’m at a bit of a loss. Is there something about your formula that would interfere with any of the standard spectrum antidepressants or psychotropics?”

“Certainly not,” said Catherine, bridling.

“Though we’ve never tested it in such huge doses before,” Paul admitted.

Dr. Popovich sighed and threw up her hands. “Then I’m stumped.”

“I’m not a medical doctor,” Paul said quietly, “but I think I might have a suggestion.”

“Fire away,” said Dr. Popovich. “I’m not so in love with my MD that I can’t accept help from a layman.”

“In my experience, whenever I find that a problem appears completely intractable, it’s because I’m looking at it the wrong way. Either I’m overlooking something obvious—”

“I certainly haven’t done that,” Dr. Popovich objected.

“I didn’t think you had. Either that, or the problem is actually insoluble as presented. Then the thing is to redefine the problem into something that can be solved. Tell us, Melissa, what exactly is your problem?”

“I’m hooked on Gynescence,” she answered simply.

“That will do for a first approximation. But Gynescence isn’t a drug; it’s a therapeutic hormonal supplement, as harmless as such a supplement can be. Suppose you can be addicted to it. What exactly is wrong with that?”

“These,” said Melissa, spreading her hands to indicate her breasts. “If they get much bigger, I won’t be able to move.”

“Second approximation,” said Paul. “What will happen if you can’t move?”

“Well . . . I won’t be able to live a normal life.”

“Define ‘normal.’ ”

“You know. Keep a day job, date, go out with friends. . . . Normal stuff.”

“All right. And what will you do if you keep taking four bottles of Gynescence a day?”

“I guess I’d keep growing. And I’d keep getting hornier. The bigger these girls get”—Melissa gave her breasts an affectionate hug—“the better they feel. I can hardly think about anything but sex now.”

“Does it bother you that you can’t think about anything but sex?”

Melissa thought hard about that. “No, not really. But I think it bothers other people, and I don’t want to do that.”

“So we have our third approximation. Melissa, you have a choice to make. Either you can give up Gynescence and go back to living a normal life, or you can keep taking it and spend your life confined to a bed, having all the sex your body can stand.”

“For any normal person,” Dr. Popovich said haughtily, “the decision is obvious.”

“I’m not interested in your idea of normal,” said Paul; “I’m interested in Melissa.” He took her hand in his, gave it a friendly squeeze. “Think it over, Mel. Whichever you decide, I promise we’ll give you all the help you need.”

 That night, Melissa dreamed she found a 55-gallon drum of Gynescence in her room. Struggling to get a purchase on it with her enormous boobs in the way, she finally managed to upend it and start guzzling down the flow of rich brown liquid. She drank and drank, but never seemed to get full. Instead, the sweet chocolate syrup turned into an orgasmic earthquake inside her, pounding her whole body with climax after climax until she thought she would tear herself apart. Every time she came, her breasts swelled up a little more, bigger than beach balls, bigger than her bed, at last, bigger than the room itself. There was no room for air; she was squashed against the wall by her own mammoth mammaries, sure she would suffocate in another moment. Then the walls began to crack and crumble, and the ceiling came down in chunks of broken acoustic tile.

As the room exploded from the pressure of her ballooning tits, she found herself expanding into a sunlit meadow on a warm spring day. The breeze that caressed her titanic breasts was scented with wildflowers and rich, sweet chocolate, and at its cool touch her nipples stood swollen and erect, each of them six inches long and more than that around. Most women’s breasts weren’t as big as her nipples were now. The thought filled her with pride and a desperate desire. As if in answer, hundreds of people came running toward her from all directions, all naked, men and women with beautiful, perfectly sculpted bodies, all calling her name and moaning with insatiable lust. They threw themselves on her breasts, licking and sucking, groping and fucking, worshipping her body, and every touch made her come harder and harder. The sun seemed to get brighter, the scent of the breeze sweeter, as she swelled to bursting and beyond. She was certain her breasts would explode from the incredible pressure inside them, but somehow her skin contained the explosion, and they just went on growing bigger and bigger and bigger. And no matter how big they grew, more lovers came running up to occupy every inch of her immense fleshy globes. There were thousands of them all over her now, all hers, all existing for her pleasure, making her come and come and come until every synapse in her brain short-circuited at once, and her nervous system burned out in an electric shriek of infinite ecstasy—

She woke up in her hospital room, soaked in sweat and her own pussy juice. Let Dr. Popovich be normal, and inflict it on anyone she could. Melissa knew what she wanted. She pressed the call button beside the bed and waited for the night nurse to come so she could announce her decision.

“We won’t sell you any more Gynescence,” Paul said firmly when the Devoirs came to see her in the morning.

A feeling of betrayal hit Melissa like a sledgehammer in the solar plexus. “But you can’t! You promised. . . .”

“We promised to take care of you, whatever you decided,” said Catherine in her soft, friendly voice. “And we will. We’ve tested megadoses of Gynescence on animals, of course, but we’ve never had a willing human subject for the kind of test we really want to try. We’d like you to come and work for us.”

“As a guinea pig?”

“As a valued employee, and a pioneer in the cause of science—and as a friend.”

“And maybe even as a lover,” Paul added. “I hope you don’t have any objection to threesomes.”

And that, as they always said afterwards, was the beginning. Melissa checked out of the hospital and spent that night with the Devoirs in their hotel suite before flying back to their corporate headquarters. Not that there was anything very corporate about the place. It was a stately Georgian mansion on acres of rolling grounds, green woods and lush lawns, and a hillside meadow that reminded her almost exactly of the one in her dream. In fact, it was rather like a countrified version of the Playboy Mansion, except that most of the sexy young women on the grounds were too busty for Playboy, and the scent of Gynescence was everywhere.

So, for Melissa, was the taste of it. She drank bottle after bottle, as much as her stomach could hold, and felt the thrill of constant growth come back to stay. Every day she was a little bigger, a little sexier, proud of her ever-increasing beauty. The whole headquarters staff threw a party for her when she topped 100 inches, and again at ten feet. Traci came to work as her personal assistant, and Neil took a job in the company’s IT department. She spent most of her nights with one or both of them, but most evenings she spent an hour or two with the Devoirs first, submitting patiently while they took the most detailed and intimate measurements of her sexual response.

Detailed and intimate, hell! She loved every minute of it. Paul was an incredible lover, and neither he nor Catherine seemed troubled by the least trace of jealousy. “That’s why we got married,” Catherine explained when Melissa asked her about it one night. “We share the same two passions in life—chasing sexy girls, and making them even sexier after we catch them. You’re the best catch we’ve had yet.”

Melissa laughed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me all kinds of stories about the one that got away.”

“We don’t have to,” Catherine said seriously. “For a while, you were the one that got away. Don’t ever try it again, OK, baby?”

That was one of the nights when Melissa slept with the Devoirs. Paul made love to both women, turn and turn about, and Catherine lavished her lust and attention on Melissa’s still growing breasts. They took turns feeding her Gynescence straight from the bottle. Catherine had the uncanny ability to tell whenever Melissa came, and even to tell where one orgasm left off and the next began—something Melissa herself was no longer sure of, they were so intense and so closely overlapping. “That’s sixty-one,” Catherine would coo lovingly. “Come on, baby. Come for us one more time. We know you can do it.” And she was right: Melissa always could. Until at last she couldn’t, and just fell asleep in two pairs of loving arms.

When she woke up the next morning, sunshine was streaming in through the windows to warm the Devoirs’ enormous bed. Melissa yawned and stretched and tried to sit up. That was a tricky exercise now, involving all kinds of rotations and contortions, and sometimes she couldn’t do it without help. This time, she couldn’t even begin. She was pinned by the weight of her own breasts. They fell heavily on either side of her as she lay on the bed, and if the bed itself hadn’t taken most of their weight, they would have suffocated her during the night. They were so huge now that she could hardly touch her own nipples, and so sensitive that every touch set her off in a frenzy of orgasmic heat.

“Paul? Catherine?” she called out, surprised at the quaver in her own voice. “Can you hear me? Paul! Hurry, please! Catherine!”

They came in at a trot, Catherine half dressed, Paul’s face half covered in shaving cream. “What is it, precious?” Catherine asked.

The odd thing was that now that it was actually happening, Melissa felt no fear at all. Just an intense, quiet pride, and a wonderful feeling of anticipation. If she had known it would be like this, she would have let it happen ages ago, and never worried herself with that nonsense about quitting.

“I can’t move,” she said softly. “I can’t move an inch.”

“Oh, my love,” Catherine crooned, stroking Melissa’s waist-length golden hair. “My sweet, sweet baby. I’m right here with you.”

“We’re so proud of you.” There was a catch in Paul’s voice, and when he toweled away the shaving cream from his face, Melissa suspected he was wiping away tears as well. “We’re both so very proud.”

“So am I,” said Melissa. “Thank you both. Thank you so very much.”

Catherine kissed her tenderly, and Paul gave her a four-liter bottle of Gynescence, nestling it between her breasts so she could suck on it whenever she wanted. And she wanted. Just as she had in her dream that last night in the hospital, Melissa wanted to grow and grow until no walls could contain her, surround herself with the sexual glow of a thousand lovers at once. In some sense, it was the only thing she had ever truly wanted, but she had never really understood till now.

She felt Paul’s long cock sliding into her quivering pussy, while Catherine wrapped her arms around one enormous breast and began to kiss and suck and nibble at her distended nipple. Someone was doing the same to her other breast; a rough, masculine touch, Neil’s by the feel of it. And as the first orgasm thrilled through her, turning the whole world into a sweet burn of ecstasy, Melissa bent her neck and put her lips to the bottle protruding from her cleavage like the head of a giant penis. She sucked it down greedily, hardly stopping for breath, and felt the heat mounting inside her as she began to grow again. At long last, the word or was permanently banished from her life.

Sex and chocolate. Just the way it was meant to be.