Professor Ernest Carter was earnest about a great many things, Mozart, Thomas Hardy, biological advances in the sphere of genetics and cloning, and very large breasts. Being painfully shy when trying to chat a woman up, he had spent most of his adult life alone living a vicarious existence through television, videos, books and magazines. His obsession over the past years, almost to distraction, with the size, shape and look of the female breast had grown to enormous proportions. In the canteen he would stare at the cleavages of his female colleagues, they all wore the white coats of their uniform, although the size of some of them revealed more of the dual spongy mass of breast flesh that existed beneath. For instance there was Mary Arthur, who was working in genetic research and gene pool reassessment, she had the biggest pair in the institute. Massive domes that hung before her, stretching all of her clothes. She always wore skimpy blouses that showed as much of the bifurcation between her breasts as possible. Whenever he saw her he licked his lips and always tried to sit as close to her as his could for the best possible view.
Some of his colleagues guessed that he had a size fetish but said nothing. He was a brilliant man in his specialist field of cloning and although his salivation and pop eyed staring at any woman whose boobs were even slightly large was a distraction, it was not dangerous or a health hazard. Mary, it was said, even enjoyed the attention he paid her, he was a brainy man, and although he was not devastatingly attractive was not ugly either. He was, she said, cute in an Einsteinian sort of way.
However, at the Christmas party, where everybody drank much too much and said much too much and when guards were down and emotions were up, Carter made his mistake. Mary wore a short skirt that showed off her long and shapely legs, a micro skinny top, displaying her taut tummy, and her large, cantaloupe breasts. He could see the entire area of her boobs from his nipples upwards. Smooth and well shaped. He followed her around from the bar, to the table heavily laded with food, around the dance floor and eventually, once he'd consumed sufficient beer, he snuggled up to her, placed his hand on her shoulder, his mouth near her ear, and said the words he had wanted to say all year.
"I love you." He kissed her. "You've got a nice body. You've got nice tits! You know that, don't you."
Mary looked at him in a sad way, ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek in a chaste way. "O Ernest, Ernest, I'm so sorry. But you're nice, you're cute, but you're just not my type."
His face fell, looking as though he was going to cry.
"O, I'm sorry." She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I didn't mean it to sound so brutal. Here's a keepsake for you." She covered his hand with hers and moved it to her right tit and pressed his digits and palm over it. Through the material he flexed his fingers and moved over the wide expanse of the soft silky flesh beneath. He found the nipple and played with it, and sensed it shift under his stimulation and grow towards his touch. He wanted her there and then. He wanted to make love to her, to feel those big soft breasts naked, to feel him member in her and in-between them, he wanted to tear...
She removed his hand and then moved away. "I think that's enough. Sorry, really, I'm sorry." She waved a little wave to him over her shoulder as she strode over to the other side of the room. She spent the rest of the evening drinking and telling whoever she could find about her experience, she smirked as she spoke, and even wobbled her huge chest by bouncing on the spot. Carter spent the remainder of the evening drinking and worrying and regretting.
Back at the institute building he felt extremely awkward around her, and felt that he couldn't be in close proximity to her, so he didn't sit as close to her as he had. She became his obsession from afar. It wasn't her fault, and he knew that, she'd been really good about it and hadn't mentioned to anyone about what had happened. Or at least that's she'd told him. But behind his back he was a bit of a joke. Ernest is a Titman was one of the many names that he got called, and it wasn't until sometime later that he discovered what they thought of him, and then he felt cheated and angry.
It wasn't Carter's fault that he had proclivities towards large mammaries, he couldn't help it. But as time wore on and his demeanour grew more and more dejected as his love life remained perpetually on hold with no possibility of it expanding at all, he decided to do something positive. Reading up on human biology, the latest advances in genetic science and combining it with his own expertize in the field of cloning he formulated a plan.
Taking a sliver of skin seemed the easiest way to take a sample, but it also proved to be the most difficult. He traced Mary through the institute hoping to find an opportunity to help himself, but to his chagrin the chance did not appear. He shadowed her like a stalker for some weeks, before in the canteen it occurred. Talking and flirting with another scientist, Mary misjudged the distance to the refectory table and dropped her glass which broke on impact on to the lino floor. Picking up the pieces she cut herself.
"Shit! That was sharp." She said holding her cut fingers.
First on the scene, much to the amusement of his colleagues, was Carter. It was a trivial injury, hardly worthy of him barging from the other side of the room like a paramedic. But, they nudged one another, Ernest is a Titman. Even then, he appeared to be more interested in the glass than the owner of the largest breasts in the room. That they found to be odd.
After separating the cells into several segments, he began. Starting with the ovum gamete and then the gamete which he would classify as the spermatozoon he generated his own building blocks of life: Mary Shelley would be proud of him. With the aid of a microscope and a plethora of chemicals he introduced the pseudo-sperm to the proto-egg and created his very own, and the very first, proto-zygote. A pre-person that could grown into his very own Mary Arthur. Waiting for the cell to divide and divide again seemed to take forever, he paced around the room keeping a vigil like an expectant father. \par \tab Finally when he was able to call it a success he progressed to the next stage. A growth accelerating compound, genetic enzymes, DNA and sufficient sustenance was placed into the glass womb and the artificial placenta was attached to the fetus. In a matter of minutes the assembly of human material altered into a little, naked baby girl. He removed her from the tank, placed her on a padded couch and examined her. She seemed healthy enough and properly developed so, carefully measuring out all of the chemicals, concentrated synthetic food he filled the hypodermic needles and injected her.
What surprized him at first was that she didn't make a noise, she looked at him impassively and he thought he glimpsed a childish, trusting smile. The next thing that astounded him was the sheer rate of growth. From a toddler to a child in, at most, two minutes. The downy flesh filling out as she grew, burgeoning from a sapling to a tree in moments. Then she matured to a teenager, her legs and pelvis lengthened and widened giving her muscular thighs and wide hips; pubic hair sprouted covering the labia; a trim stomach and breasts that budded outwards and upwards as she lay on the couch.
He was captivated by the breasts as they became round and large and milky white. But they did not stop when they had reached her biological mother's size, but continued to expand. Growing from orange size to melon size to football size, covering her chest with pounds and pounds of titflesh. Swelling like massive balloons being gorged with water. Soon they were over the side of the couch hanging down all around her. All he could see were the massive, gargantuan tits. Words in his head couldn't convey what he saw. He had to touch. Warm, living matter. They soon completely covered her and still growing, bigger than a Mini.
Carter couldn't help himself but licked and kissed and stroked the breasts. Bigger than anything he'd ever hoped for and still building up, still growing. Her cleavage could hide all of him like a womb, it was like one of those childrens' Bouncy Castles, only much more fun.
Only when he noticed that she was encroaching on the walls did he realize that she had effectively blocked off his exit through the door. But, he didn't care... he didn't care, he was in Ernest the Titman's Tit Heaven.
finis