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Somewhere in the past...

There existed the Hargrove Home. A well-designed, well-constructed wood cabin built by the hands of the man himself, Jebediah Hargrove. The home — sparsely furnished, austere in appearance and totally lacking in comfort — would've been a living hell to most people; and yet to Jebediah, his wife Naomi, and their daughter Jessica it was the only home they would ever need or want. Though lacking in earthly wants, it had all the basics a good Christian family could ever need. Plus an extra or two.

The family's wood-powered stove, for example. It was an unnecessary luxury to Jebediah, who only consented to buy one after enduring a year's worth of nagging, whining, begging, and pleading from his wife and daughter. Still, with the purchase, he made Naomi and Jessica prove he didn't waste his money by forcing them to demonstrate the stove's usefulness on an almost continuous basis.

Washing dishes using wood-stove heated water was one such way. It satisfied Jebediah, made cleaning those grease-laden dishes that never truly got clean a breeze, and provided a nice bonding moment for mother and daughter.

Naomi and Jessica didn't think they were bonding when they washed dishes. If told that was what they were doing, they would've looked at the speaker as if he came from another planet. Bonding was a word totally foreign to them. All they knew was that they cherished washing dishes together, looking forward to their talks of female things.

Talks that, allowing for their religious and social background, were rather progressive in tone and subject matter. No topic — except one — was off-limit. Everything else was up for grabs. It was probably the freest exchange of information imaginable for women at this time.

Sure, Naomi used pleasant-sounding, Church-accepted euphemisms in place of those harsh, hellish, heathen-speaking expletives she accidentally heard a time or two. And not being the most educated of people there was admittedly a lot she didn't know. But to the best of her ability, she answered every question on every topic put to her by her daughter. Every topic except that one.

Of course, the topic was broached at every available opportunity. With Jessica's abundance of curiosity and the topic's forbidden status, it was a given. Jessica would ask that which she should not ask. Naomi would tell her: "Hush, child." And the matter would be dropped. It was a game. And those were the rules. The only problem was Naomi, being the older of the two, was getting sick of the game. She was losing her resolve and her "Hush, child" was coming out weaker and weaker.

Jessica knew this. Her mom was breaking. Maybe, today would be the day, she thought as she took a deep breath preparing to ask that which should not be asked.

Naomi saw her daughter take her breath. It would've been impossible not to. She knew what was coming. And on cue, it came:

"Mama, am I really that different from the other girls in town?"

There it was, the question. And automatically, Naomi replied to her daughter: "Hush, child!"

"Mama..." Jessica countered in her child-like whine.

Child-like? Well, the whine was. It was the sort of thing expected from a just turned fifteen year-old girl denied her want of the day. The sort of thing that every girl Jessica's age did. And because Jessica did it, it would mean she was just like every other girl. Wouldn't it?

That was the kind of logic Naomi used in moments like these. And for the briefest of moments, it worked. Auditorially and with her mother's eyes looking elsewhere, Naomi's little girl was...well, a little girl. But no mother could avoid looking at her child. The love — the maternal bond — forbade it. Naomi had to look at Jessica. And when she did, gone went the image of her "little girl" replaced by ... by...

THOSE!!!

Her daughter's breasts. Naomi referred to them as THOSE when she thought about them, which she tried to do as little of as possible. But when her naive, innocent daughter asked her if she was really that different from the other girls, her mind couldn't help but think about THOSE and answer in the affirmative.

Jessica was most definitely different from the other girls. And in their town that wasn't a good thing. People lost their lives for being different. Being accused of witchery and/or being an agent of Lucifer were the usual — official — sentencings. But Naomi, like everyone else in town, knew when all was said and done and the pretty, flowery language of the town's high officials were stripped away, those towns folks were killed for one reason and one reason only:

They were different.

Well, Jessica was different, too. Dangerously different. You could see it in the eyes of the townsfolk: The windows to their souls. And what you saw wasn't very pretty.

Naomi and Jebediah Hargrove saw it. Clearly. And took immediate action. They spirited their daughter away, built their home, and never let any of the towns folks see her.

"She died" was what they said when asked about her. A sinful lie, but a necessary one. They knew they were saving their daughter's life with that lie. And surely He could forgive them that.

But what about THOSE? she wondered. Could He — would He — forgive THOSE? Were THOSE made by His hands or Lucifer's? Were they — Naomi and Jebediah — interfering where they shouldn't by saving their daughter's life? The questions were endless.

Like Jessica's:

"Mama, am I really that different from the other girls in town?"

"Yes," Naomi finally answered. "Yes, you are?"

Her response seemed to just hang there, suspended in space. Neither her nor Jessica could believe she finally answered. And neither one wanted to be the first to comment.

But Jessica's youthful exuberance wasn't going to let a breakthrough moment like this pass. Her mother had started the ball rolling with her answer and Jessica was determined to keep it rolling.

"How?" she asked her mother.

Naomi looked at THOSE, thinking her daughter was trying to make a joke. The answer to Jessica's question was literally under the child's nose. But the naive, unaware look on Jessica's face convinced her mother that she really didn't know how she differed from the other girls in town. Incredible.

But then Naomi thought about how she and Jebediah raised their daughter and suddenly Jessica's reaction didn't seem so incredible. Just sad.

Their daughter didn't know how any of the other girls her age looked. How could she? She never saw them and they never saw her. Jessica Hargrove, to everyone but her mom and dad, was dead.

"How am I different?" Jessica asked, interrupting her mother's thoughts.

Naomi was ready to answer her daughter this time. She felt the girl was entitled. But what was the proper way to answer such a question? A moment later, Naomi Hargrove took a deep breath and told her daughter this:

"Jessica, look at my chest?"

"Your pardon, ma'am."

"I said, 'look at my chest, child.'"

Hearing the seriousness in her mother's voice, Jessica did what the woman said. She looked at her mother's chest. What she saw were two sphere-like orbs greeting her through the multiple layers of her mother's outfit.

The orbs were big. Too big for Jessica, who, for some reason, imagined holding them in her hands and failing. Her child-like hands — no match for the sizable orbs — would've been easily inundated.

So, Jessica pictured the biggest hands she could imagine. Those of her father's. The big man's hands were almost twice the size of hers and, by Jessica's estimation, still too small for the orbs. Amazing.

Jessica didn't know her mother had orbs like that. How could she with the excessive amount of clothing that made up Naomi Hargrove's day-to-day wardrobe? The clothes hid her mother's endowments to the point that Jessica couldn't believe her eyes.

"Jessica, see how big my breasts are?" Naomi asked, catching the amazement in her daughter's eyes.

Jessica nodded.

"Well, I'm larger than the average woman," Naomi said, stating the obvious. "A whole lot larger than the average woman."

Jessica was about to comment when her mother cut her off:

"Now look at THOSE, uh, I mean look at your own breasts."

Jessica didn't want to look at her breasts in front of her mom. It was ... well, for some reason, it was embarrassing. She knew how they looked. They were her breasts after all. So she obliged her mom by performing a quick look downward. Barely looking at her orbs — breasts as her mother called them. Her mother wasn't satisfied.

"Jessica, I said 'look at your own breasts'," Naomi repeated. I mean really look at them. Stick them out like I did."

Jessica sighed in resignation, briefly jutting out her chest. Ever-the-dutiful daughter, she proceeded to do what her mother asked. She took a deep breath and stuck out her chest. The sounds of her clothing being ripped asunder suddenly filled the air. Jessica, seeing the alarmed look on her mother's face, instantly returned to a relaxed position, but not before giving her mom a look that said: "See, mom, I told you so!"

Naomi could only smile at her daughter. What am I going to do with this girl? she thought.

Jessica returned her mother's smile, as the two female Hargroves suddenly broke out in a burst of spontaneous laughter. Jessica loved this. The camaraderie she and her mother shared. It was the special, undefinable something that made the two more than mother and daughter but the best of friends.

Eventually, the laughter stopped and Naomi got back to the subject at hand.

"Jessica, your breasts dwarf mine," she said.

Jessica heard the words. She knew they were true, but this was her mom. Saying aloud that she had breasts that dwarfed her mom's seemed wrong. She wouldn't do it, so she said: "No, mom, they only look bigger than yours."

Naomi stifled a laugh. She knew what Jessica was trying to do and it bought a smile to her face. What a good child Jebediah and I raised, she thought, realizing that Jessica was trying to spare her mother's feeling.

Naomi didn't appreciate her daughter lying, however. Especially when the lie was as delusional as the one Jessica was trying to pass off: Mom, they only look bigger than yours.

"Don't be ridiculous, child," she said, emphasizing the word ‘ridiculous’. "THOSE breasts of yours are more than twice the size of mine!"

"They really are, mom! They're so big that they cover my entire body! All I'm able to see are my breasts! Everywhere! Why they make yours look like..." Jessica, having her mother's approval, quickly felt the pride that came with her enormous endowments and started ranting. A raised eyebrow and stern look from her mother instantly reminded her that pride came before the fall and the rant stopped.

"Sorry, mom," Jessica apologized. "I forgot myself for a moment."

"Yes, you did," Naomi agreed. "But your sinful pride aside, you were on the right track. THOSE breasts of yours — their incredible size — make you a lot different from other girls your age."

Jessica let her mother's words sink in. Her breasts made her different. That was news to her. She knew — no, felt — that they were big. The mounds of flesh and the sheer weight of her breasts made many of the activities in her daily life difficult, if not impossible, to perform. But so big they made her different? How could she have known? She lived in a vacuum. The only female she saw on a regular basis was her mother, who out-of-the-blue revealed that she, too, possessed a pair of larger-than-average orbs.

"Mom, I never thought my breasts made me different," she said, summing up her feelings.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Then how come everyday, you asked me: 'Mama, am I really that different from the other girls in town?'" asked a confused Naomi Hargrove.

"Well, mom, I was wondering — I was wondering about my special room."

"Your special room?"

"Yes, mama."

Suddenly, Naomi wished they were talking about her daughter's enormous breasts.

"What about your special room, Jessica?"

"Well, why do I have one, mom?"

Why did Jessica Hargrove have a special room? Now that was a good question. A very good question. Not one her mother wanted to answer, but a very good question nonetheless.

"Well, dear, you see..." Naomi began, struggling for words.

And suddenly she was interrupted. Thank God!

It was the sound of the front door slamming against the wall. A sound that Naomi and Jessica should've been accustomed to, but weren't. Even though it was the usual way he greeted his family after a hard day of work. Jebediah Hargrove was home.

"Naomi, why isn't she in her room," he thundered, seeing his wife and daughter talking in front of him.

"Well, uh..." she began.

"No excuses," he said, cutting her off. "Grab her arms. Now!"

"Hi, daddy," Jessica said, as her mom and dad grabbed her arms, escorting her to her special room.

"Hi, sweetie," Jebediah responded, some of the gruffness leaving his voice.

Naomi, helping her husband, couldn't help compare Jebediah's attitude with that of Jessica's. They were total opposites. Jessica (calm, cool, and collected) versus Jebediah (agitated, animated, and ass-backwards).

"What's going on, dear?" Naomi suddenly asked.

"As soon as it gets dark, Naomi!" he yelled. "Do you remember me telling you that? Have her in her special room by dark. What were you thinking, Naomi, what were you thinking?"

"But she hasn't changed in weeks, dear," Naomi said quickly in her defense. "I just thought..."

"You thought wrong," Jebediah said in his tone of finality and Naomi knew the discussion had ended. Jebediah, who always had the last words, had said them.

And being a man, that was that.

Naomi dropped the subject. But only in the real world, where men seemed to have all the power. In her mind, she defiantly thought what she wanted. And what she wanted to think about was Jessica's changes and their effect on Jebediah.

Jessica's changes came with THOSE. Literally overnight. One day she was a sweet, innocent little girl the next she was ... something else.

Her parents had their opinions on Jessica and her changes. But they kept them to themselves. To do otherwise was dangerous.

So, they ignored THOSE and the changes. At first. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time. The only thing they could do at the time. But as THOSE continued to grow and Jessica's changes became more and more pronounced, the Hargroves realized that the time of passively ignoring their daughter had passed. It was now time for them to start actively doing something. Anything.

And so they did.

Jebediah moved his family as far away from his neighbors as he could. He hated doing it: leaving his friends behind. But as a father, who loved his daughter, he felt Jessica was more important.

Which was why he built the Hargrove Home with a special room just for Jessica.

Those were the thoughts running through Naomi Hargrove's head. Thoughts of days long passed. Thoughts of a family that had some unique problems and dealt with them. To her, THOSE and Jessica's special room were a part of the Hargroves' daily life. Normal. Everyday. She couldn't understand Jebediah and his agitated state.

"Hurry up, woman," he yelled, attempting to force Jessica and THOSE through the door of the special room.

"Ouch, daddy! That hurts," Jessica replied.

Instantly, Jebediah slowed down. His beloved daughter had that effect on him. He would never intentionally hurt her, his baby girl.

"Sorry, baby," the big man said, his usual voice of gruffness suddenly gentle.

He surveyed the doorway, his eyes growing wide in amazement. He knew Jessica's THOSE were big, but bigger than the doorway? When did that happen?

In the past Jebediah and his wife had always eased their daughter into her special room. Whereas this time, Jebediah was trying to force her. A slight variation, but an important one. This was the first time in a long period that Jebediah was forced to look at his daughter's endowments. Really study them. What he saw left the man dumbfounded.

His coordination off, it was up to Naomi to shift and move her daughter's breasts around. Some push. Some pull. A couple of "Ouch, mom, that hurts!" and finally they got Jessica through the doorway and into...

Her special room.

A room that contained no furniture and no toys. A room lit by a single lantern showing the only things present: iron manacles and steel shackles. Wall-mounted, they gave Jessica's special room the look and feel of a dungeon. Which, in fact, it was. A dungeon designed and built by the hands of her father.

Jessica didn't know the room was a dungeon, of course. How could she? Her parents told her that she had a special room of her very own and that's what she came to believe. They told her the manacles and shackles were part of the room's specialness and soon she believed that, too.

Working around her abundance, her parents began the process of chaining their daughter. Jessica went out of her way to help them. She actually looked forward to being imprisoned. An attitude much different from the first time she was chained. Then, her younger self — confused and scared — cried a week's worth of tears.

After chaining her up, Naomi and Jebediah prepared to exit. Jessica didn't even look at them. She knew they would be back in an hour. Or less. That was the game. Chaining Jessica up, leaving her alone for an hour, then returning to release her. That was the game — as strange as it was — and Jessica had no problem playing it.

Except her parents weren't playing a game. Not a children's one, anyway. Their game was an adult one. One of life and death. Jessica's.

They had a reason for the manacles and shackles. A reason for Jessica's special room. They even had a reason for keeping Jessica in the room for approximately one hour.

Jessica's changes.

That was the reason for everything.

Jessica's changes.

And nothing else.

Naomi and Jebediah knew that in one hour Jessica would change or not change. One hour. It was never any later than that. So they waited outside the door to Jessica's special room.

And waited.

And waited some more.

58 minutes later — just when they thought the hour was up — they heard it.

"Father."

God, help us, Jebediah and Naomi thought simultaneously, rushing back into Jessica's special room.

"Oh, father, you bought mama dearest. Get rid of her!"

The words were coming out of Jessica's mouth. But this wasn't Jessica. She had changed. Her voice, once sweet, girlish and high-pitched was now dirty, mannish, and low. Her skin, bright with the glow of youth, now looked an old, mildewy yellowish color. And her attitude — once sweet and innocent — was now evil.

"Leave my daughter, demon!" Jebediah yelled, attempting a preemptive strike. Sometimes his anger — his righteous anger — was enough to force Jessica to change back.

Not this time, though.

"Why would I want to leave this body," the voice said. "This young beautiful body. I mean, look at these..."

"Watch your mouth, demon!" Jebediah interrupted.

"Tits!" the demon spat out. "I say what I want, father."

"I'm not your father, demon."

"Of course you are ... father," replied the voice. "I know how much you love your little Jessica and, believe me, your little Jessica just loves you."

"Naomi, I want you to leave this room," Jebediah suddenly said to his wife.

"Jebediah, no, we both should..."

"Woman, I said leave!"

It was the tone of finality. Of course. Naomi didn't want to leave her husband alone with Jessica in her changed state. Not with THOSE. But she was a dutiful, Christian wife, who obeyed her husband. Reluctantly. She exited the room, but not before firing off a parting shot:

"Jebediah," she said at the door, "I love you."

And closed the door, praying that she didn't somehow seal her husband's fate.

"I love you, too, daddy," the voice said mocking Naomi.

"I said, leave my daughter, demon," Jebediah said through gritted teeth.

"And I said why should I?"

Changed Jessica stared at Jebediah for a moment. She then stared at the enormous mounds of breast flesh dominating Jessica's upper body. They were covered up, but Changed Jessica saw she was getting a reaction out of Jebediah. A reaction that only increased when Changed Jessica started undoing the buttons, ties, and stays keeping her decent.

"Stop doing that!" Jebediah yelled.

"No, father," answered the voice defiantly. "I want to show you why I refuse to leave young Jessica's body.

Jebediah didn't know what to do. He rushed towards his daughter's body — a body becoming more and more visible — and then rushed back to his starting point. He yelled threats to no avail. Changed Jessica continued undressing until finally...

The only things keeping Jessica's body covered were her hands.

"Look at me, father," the voice said triumphantly. "I'm going to show you what I know you've been waiting for. I'm going to show you..."

Jebediah turned away just as Changed Jessica exposed herself.

He did it. Turned away. Resisted temptation. It was easy. He won.

Those were the thoughts running through his head when he heard the laughter. Unpleasant laughter belonging to a madman. Mocking and cruel-spirited. And loud. The laughter was so loud. Jebediah had plugged his ears with his fingers and still he heard the laughter. At his expense. The laugher was laughing at him.

"Stop laughing at me!" Jebediah yelled.

"But you're so funny, father. I can't help myself. I have to laugh at you."

"Why, demon? Why am I so funny to you?"

"Because, father," replied the voice deadpan. "I offer you something I know you've been dying to see and yet you turn away — run away — from it."

"That's my daughter, demon. What she has I don't want to see!"

"Liar!"

"I know my heart, demon," Jebediah said with all the power he could muster. "It belongs to my God! It belongs to my wife! It belongs to that which is good and right!"

"I know your heart, too, father," countered the voice. "I know your thoughts, your fantasies, and those things you've buried. I know it ALL father! EVERYTHING!"

"And — and with that knowledge about me, you'll — you'll do what, demon?" Jebediah asked, fear filling his voice.

"Nothing," replied the voice calmly. "Not a single blessed — I mean, unholy — thing."

And Jebediah knew the voice was right. He couldn't resist seeing THOSE! He couldn't. His mind wouldn't let him. Knowing they were uncovered. That was the trap. As long as they were covered — he and THOSE — were safe from each other. But THOSE were uncovered now. And they were calling him. "Oh, Jebediah. Oh, Jebediah." It was like the sirens calling the sailors at sea. Jebediah heard the call and had to answer it. He had to see THOSE! He had to!

And so, he turned around.

Instantly, seeing two wonders of the world. Jessica's breasts. Jessica's wonderful breasts. So big and firm. So pristine being made out of Jessica's young, stretchmark-less flesh.

He tried to steer his mind back on the track of righteousness. He tried to think of the wonderful breasts belonging to his wife. But he couldn't. The sight of Jessica's breasts had obliterated all memories except the one before him.

He walked towards his daughter's body like an automaton. His legs walking independently of any conscious thoughts made by his brain.

He saw Changed Jessica lick her lips in anticipation of his arrival and didn't care. All he could think about were THOSE!

Standing in front of his daughter's chained body, he stopped in front of THOSE and stared. At Jessica's abyss-like cleavage. At areolae the size of wagon wheels At breasts needing at least a parachute-sized bra for maximum coverage and support. He stared and he stared.

"Father," the voice said, trying to get his attention.

But all he did was stare.

"Father, you can do more than stare!" the voice said in frustration. "You can actually do something with these things."

And Jebediah did do something. Finally. He started drooling.

"Oooh, gross," said the voice. "I've definitely failed with this one."

And outside the door, Naomi laughed at the voice. She knew firsthand what it was going through. Her breasts, nowhere near the size of THOSE, were still big enough to put Jebediah into a drooling, staring trance whenever she decided to reveal them.

How could she expect her daughter's to do anything less?