CONTENT WARNING: The text below is, by its intent, explicit in nature. It is unrated and for mature audiences only. This is neither intended nor suitable for any minors, nor adults that do not want to be exposed to descriptions of non-realistic sexual intercourse in a fantasy setting. It is your own choice and responsibility if you continue reading. 

I’ll break it down for those hard of understanding:

Non-realistic — The things described herein do not work in the real world. Not At All! And by that, I mean “not at all”. Just like you can’t turn a frog into a prince, there’s no way to turn the plain maid into a big-chested princess by blowing her up. You’ll just end up with pieces of dead plain maid all over the room. So, don’t even for a second think about it. I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. It’s like having to say, “hey, you know, broomsticks don’t really fly, so you better not grab one and jump out the window, m’kay?” Are there really people that stupid out there? Gosh, I hope I never meet one of those.

Sexual intercourse — Two or more people of the same or different sex and legal age, doing teh nastay together. Ask yourself, and be honest: Do You Want To Read About That? Should you read about that? Are you legally entitled to read that? If “No”, then What Are You Doing Here? 

Fantasy setting — Far, far away in a mirror universe. Faery tale. Magic. Wizardry. Totally made up. Out of this world. In other words, restating the obvious: Do Not Try This At Home!

Connie’s Weed, Part 3 — Two Much By Far

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

Connie tries to find a way out of her predicament, keeping the real amount of remaining transformative juice a secret from ever-greedy Marge. However, when an impromptu make-out session gets out of hand, she is forced to reveal the truth. Soon, Connie is in over her head, struggling between lust and responsibility while the last supply of the juice dwindles ...

First Draft, started October 2008

This Version, April 2010

Spellchecked: mostly by computer.

Proof-reading: Sigh. Nope. Just me and my non-native-speaker brain. 

Obscure musical reference:

“(Oh woh) I’m out on the edge for you / (Oh woh) I’m flowing over” — Jennifer Rush, Live Wire

Altaerna – a world, where the laws of reality may become mere guidelines at any given time, where magic and machinery are intertwined, where all those things creeping in the shadows of fantasy may step forward onto the mind’s stage.

Apart from that, it’s not so different from ours. This story unfolds in a time close to our own.

What happened so far:

Part 1: Shy and slender biology student Cornelia “Connie” Prince finds out she’s different: She can see plants and fruits that other people just don’t notice. Enticed by the prospect of a lucrative discovery, Marge, her raven-haired, spunky, sorta-kinda BFF, ends up with a mouthful of the strange berries by accident, and the mouthful soon turns into a pair of ample handfuls. Connie tries to get some of that for herself, only to find out that her power to see the fruits means she’s immune to their body-changing properties. During her self-experimenting, she involuntarily triggers another growth spurt in Marge and is forced to admit, to herself and to Marge, that she’s attracted to excessive breasts.

Part 2: Is Connie’s giant(ess) nightmare a harbinger of things to come? The very next day, Marge comes up with an idea to turn Connie’s gift into lots of cash, Connie gets cold feet but a nice set of handwarmers, and then a stormy night and a white lie lead Marge down a different path.

Chapter 7: Descent Into Desire

A shadow fell on her books and made Connie look up from her table in the campus cafeteria. Marge pulled up a chair and swiveled down. The voluptuous raven pulled at her shirt’s hemline and fumbled into her cleavage for a few moments, then she dug something from the dark depths and tossed it on Connie’s pile of papers. To Connie, the liquid in the tiny vial sparkled in the ethereal glow of mashed berries.

“Hey, boob witch! Let’s go beyond that shy groping of yours. Today, we’re going to put that rest of it to use. Half’s for you, bottoms up and get your fingers warmed up. The last party was a blast, but there still were a few other girls that matched me. I can’t have that happen again tonight, so I need a little more up top and the counterweight to my boot—y!”

“Marge!” hissed Connie while she cast nervous looks around and pushed the glass cylinder away. “Are you mad?! You can’t just yell around in public like that! And — honestly, any more on your chest, you’re in need for custom clothes!”

“Yeah, yeah. Lighten up, bookworm!” Marge leaned in and nabbed the vial, sinking it back into the abyss of her cleavage. She whispered, “How did you know? I’ve got a whole new outfit hanging in my wardrobe! A dream! Red and black leather, and those little silver studs and the lace-up thingies and all that. Y’know, last week, Bob saw me in my old bodice, and he dragged me off to a tailor the very next day.”

“Bob? Who’s Bob?”

“Forget about Bob. He’s just some rich guy, owns a bar or something. Drove me home last Friday. Hey, listen, I told the seamstress to plan ahead, y’know? It’ll look good on me only if you walk my sisters down the alphabet some more. So you’ll be home when? Six thirty? I’ll be there, I’ll be all yours again. Until then, start thinking happy booby thoughts, sweetheart.”

Marge patted Connie’s cheek, and she was gone. Connie stared down on her textbooks, but the letters swam before her eyes. The paper rounded towards her. Marge’s boobs. Boobs. Bigger boobs. Swelling. Bulging. She leaned back and clenched her thighs, and her legs squeezed the nervous, swollen folds of her sex.

It’s wrong. I need to stop that. Stop thinking about —

— soft flesh, slowly filling out the cups of her fingers. Silken skin, budding nipples, doming areolae, covered in little nubs, sweet thick milk dripping down, leaning in, pouting, wetting her lips with —

— Just one more time. One last time. After that, after th—

Connie shuddered all over and grabbed the edge of the table as her head started to swim and her hips began to rock involuntarily. Wetness worked its way through her panties. Still trembling, she collected her books and stuffed them hastily into her backpack.

Oh gods and heavens, I should’ve worn a skirt instead of the jeans! Need to get home before they soak through! I’m a worse slut than her!

She fled the cafeteria and hurried through the endless corridors of the university. Connie already had the tall doors of the exit in her sight when suddenly a hand grabbed her arm. Her momentum carried her in a semicircle around her captor and made her stumble against the wall. She was dragged around a corner into a darker, empty side passage.

“Easy there, Miss Soakypants!” breathed Marge’s voice. Holding Connie’s arms in her grip, she shoved her stunned prey backwards. A swinging door bumped against Connie’s back. The wide echoes of the corridor changed into the confined, harsh ringing of tiles. Marge quickly turned around and locked the door behind them. Her breath came in fast gasps.

“I can’t wait until later! Need it now! I know you’re all wet, too! Don’t care if it’s the last of the berries! Need it! So come on!”

She pushed Connie against the wall. The cold of the tiles wormed its way through Connie’s light clothes instantly. Marge grabbed the tiny vial, popped the cork and gulped down half of its meager content.

“Marge! We can’t — what if —,” protested Connie.

“Oh shut up and swallow!”

“Marg—mmmfff—”

Marge’s warm fingers squeezed into Connie’s cheeks. She raised her hand, and moments later, the rest of the taste-free juice oozed from the vial into Connie’s forcefully pouted mouth and down her throat. 

“—ulp!”

A thin rivulet ran from the corner of Connie’s lips and disappeared into Marge’s mouth when she kissed and licked her way all over her friend’s face.

The white rushed through Connie’s veins. Again, it blinded her for a few seconds, and when she blinked the veil away, Marge had turned around and rubbed her plump, firm buttocks against Connie’s hip, pinning her against the wall with the delicious weight of heart-shaped ass perfection under a rough jeans skirt. She spread her legs and gyrated her aroused sex on Connie’s thigh.

“Marge!” protested Connie. “Uuuhhnn! You’re — you’re too heavy! Get off me!” Without thinking, she grabbed her friend’s rear and pushed hard.

The response was instantaneous. Throbbing and tingling shot through Connie’s fingers, and the muscular buttocks expanded in her grip. The strong cloth of Marge’s tight skirt creaked. Seams widened. Moments later, the zipper gave in, and Marge’s pale skin peeked through the V-shaped gap.

“Oooh, naughty Connie,” moaned the stooped girl. “Do my tits next!” She grabbed Connie’s wrists and brought them up to her chest, squeezing her flesh into Connie’s reluctant hands. The itching and throbbing set in only seconds later.

“Yeeeees, that’s the good stuff,” moaned Marge. Her hard nipples pressed into the cups of her bra, stretching the cloth and straining into the next layer of her clothes. Flesh bubbled bigger and overflowed the cups that barely held the puffy areola in check. She felt the rough texture of her jeans blouse, struggling to restrain the chest avalanche that filled up the garment.

“Connie—?” gasped Marge. The hands had disappeared, but her jugs kept on filling up. Air just wouldn’t come to her lungs, and she began to feel dizzy as her breathing became shallower and shallower. The expanding amount of pliant breasts quickly consumed all available space in her rugged blouse and slowly crushed her chest.

“Oh gods. Oh gods! It’s — choking me! Need — to —” 

Marge’s fingers dug into her shirt’s line of buttons. She pulled, and little pieces of plastic rained over the tiles. It brought a little relief, bought a little extra time. There was still one more piece of clothing cutting into her flesh. Her hands flailed and struggled as she tried to reach behind her back.

“Not — enough — hurry, open — the bra!” Reddened massive flesh bulged over the cups, and the straps already dug deep into Marge’s back, leaving white ridges in her shoulders and sides. “Gods, Connie, please!”

Connie snapped from her empty-eyed stupor, pulled the hem of Marge’s torn shirt from the belt and flipped it over her friend’s head. The bra’s lock strained to keep the straps together and was strung short of its breaking point. She leaned in and pulled. The whiplash cracking echoed through the room, and Connie licked her aching fingertips to the rhythm of Marge’s relieved panting and gasping.

Marge’s legs regained their strength. She straightened, lifted her buttocks off her friend and staggered away. “Phew! That was close! You got a little eager there, huh?” she gasped, one hand against the wall, the other straightening her gaping shirt.

She looked down. After a short, breathless moment of inspection, she growled: “Oh come on! What am I going to do with these?”

Connie grew pale and splayed her arms, keeping her hands far from Marge’s exploded body. Her friend’s new cartoonish breasts bulged out from just below her collarbones, reaching out at least one and a half foot in a breathtaking curve only broken by the plum-sized nipples, and returned to her ribs with a little sag that shadowed Marge’s navel. Their slight teardrop-shape gave the impression of taut, water-filled beach balls, and only the counterweight of Marge’s impressive ass granted her the ability of standing upright, with a heavy backwards slant to balance the weight.

“Marge, I’m — I’m sorry, I thought you’d say ‘when’, but — and — buh.” Connie twisted away and held up her arms when Marge raised her hand.

Marge patted Connie’s cheek, and when she withdrew her hand, she let her fingers trace along the curve of the blond girl’s cheekbones and dipped her forefinger’s tip between her friend’s lips for a second. 

“Shhh,” she whispered, pouted, and licked the tiny droplet of Connie’s saliva from the tip. Slowly gyrating her hips as she circled her own lips with her finger, she continued, “No harm done. Wasn’t quite what I expected, but I guess we’re tucked away safe enough to have me star in one of your cute inflation fantasies, eh?”

Connie just stared at her. She had expected a hissy fit, or a slap, or — or anything, anything but the shameless flirting show. She’d never have thought Marge would give in so easily to —

The bigger the better. It turns you on. And you won’t burst, ever. Those had been her own words, two weeks ago, in the forest.

Gods, I — her mind’s still like I wished it! What have I done?!

“So?” demanded Marge’s voice, snapping back to impatience. “Put your hands back to work! If you want to see them big, then let’s do this! Load them up with milk!”

“Marge, we better—”

Connie’s mouth simply stopped moving for lack of any coherent thought when her friend turned around again and offered her the breathtaking sight of her narrow waist and the dangling udders that bulged out sideways over her hourglass contour.

Breasts. Massive. B—breasts. Need to cuddle up. Spoon. Reach around. Feel them. Soft. In my hands. Need to — hold them. Want them.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. The primal urge in Connie’s mind gave way to a moment of rational thought. Connie used it to rationalize.

You’ve got power over it. She sighed and shrugged. Oh well, can always undo it later.

“All right, Marge. Here it comes now…”

With her arms held out wide, steering clear of any part of her friend’s body, Connie leaned down further. Her hips pressed against the warm bulge of Marge’s ass and lower back. Marge couldn’t hold up their combined weight and slipped. Connie reached for a hold, her hands found the comfort of Marge’s deliciously clutch-able breasts, and the entangled couple fell flat on the cold tiles. Marge squeaked in sudden nipple-chilling surprise as her resilient balcony was squeezed flat against the floor. Together, Marge and Connie bobbed up and down on the squeaking pillows.

“—Ouff! Hey! H—heeeeeyyyy… Uuooaaahhh!”

Marge’s protest changed into a lascivious moan that mixed with more groaning and squeaking noises. Connie felt herself being lifted higher, higher and higher on an undulating mattress. The taut skin in her grip bulged out farther. She tried to change her hands’ position and let them slip down along Marge’s sides.

Her fingertips brushed against another pair of rapidly developing balloons. She gulped and rolled off her friend’s back, clambering away. There was no way of rationalizing this.

“Uh, M—Marge —,” she stuttered, gawking wide-eyed at the other girl’s chest as Marge also struggled to her hands and knees and the eye-popping amount of orbs dangled freely, round and proud from her ribcage.

“Four? Four breasts?! What were you thinking?” bitched Marge as she inspected the second, slightly smaller pair now attached to her ribs right beneath her original breasts. Their size had evened out a bit while their combined volume was still beyond. Her fingers pinched the new nipples, and a shudder and twitching shot right through her body and grounded the lightning of her anger into lust.

“I? I wasn’t thinking of anything! I was just thinking, thinking, — that you’d say when! How could I know you’d just keep on going?” stammered Connie.

Marge gasped for air. Her voice had lost the hostile edge. She gnawed on her lower lip and winked at her friend with bedroom eyes.

“Very well done.” She wetted her lips and smacked. “We can always make the disappear again later, I guess. While they’re — while — mmmmhhh… come back here. Step behind me. Put your arms around me, and let me kiss your magic hands.”

Marge’s lips fluttered all over Connie’s hand on her mouth, licking the trembling fingers and sucking them into her mouth time and again. The tip of Marge’s tongue wiggled between Connie’s fingers and tickled over her palms, then her wrist.

Her palm. And her wrist. At the same time. Connie’s eyes grew big.

“Mmmh,” mumbled the horny raven. “I mwike thaff. Fe fmore I puff ouf, fe flonger if getfs.”

She turned her head sideways. Connie got a good glimpse of —

— The tentacle. Its tip was a tongue like any other. After the first few inches, it changed into a muscular tube and wrapped around Connie’s wrist like a constrictor. Connie tried to pull away. The long, wet muscle was stronger. It drew her hand back to Marge’s mouth, and the girl kept on licking and nibbling on Connie’s hand.

Marge finally let go. She turned around to face Connie, sat on her haunches, cradled her lower pair of breasts and brought her shoulders forward to squeeze her upper pair with her elbows, too. Offering the four domed areola and the bloated, nervous nipples to Connie, she moaned, “Grab them! Grab them and mash them together and make them grow while I run my tongue dofffn—mmmh!”

Connie’s hands trembled.

This is — it’s just too weird. She looks like a fuck-demon from some eastern temple. Got to make that extra stuff disappear. I should — 

She blinked. No. I’ll ask myself ‘what if’ forever if I don’t try that now. This is off the maps anyway.

Connie dug her fingers into the warm yielding orbs. In her touch, the skin struggling around Marge’s mammary mass began to flutter and tremble like the distending rubber of a balloon filling up with water. It spread her fingers apart until they couldn’t splay any further and the expanding surface slipped by under her fingertips.

“Aaanngghhh—,” moaned her friend, the vowels streaming from her gaping mouth and pouted lips together with the dripping, elongating tentacle. It crept over her chin and disappeared, twisting and wiggling, into the small tunnel that formed along Marge’s breastbone where her breasts’ taut volume kept them from mashing against each other. Nodding up and down like an oil pump, Marge worked the firm rod into her cleavage. The tip wrestled free somewhere at her navel’s height. She closed her eyes and focused her wish, drawing on Connie’s powers. More inches of her tongue spilled forward. The tip found the rim of her skirt and struggled behind the tight cloth. Sweaty, salty curls slipped by, then came folds of skin, until the warmth of the onset of Marge’s thighs enveloped her own tongue. She curved the tip and found the right spot, slowly spreading her labia. Her whole body rocked back and forth, thrusting her still swelling breasts into Connie’s hands.

Marge pouted her lips and closed them around the root of the agile muscle, moaning through her nose. She knew what kind of tongue movements she wanted when someone went down on her, yet she never had found a way to express that during the fevers of sex. Now she didn’t need to explain it to anyone. She simply did what she liked best.

Connie let go and backed away when Marge’s swelling jugs in her hands passed the prize pumpkin stage. Marge didn’t care. Her skin glistened with sweat, and her body, thighs and arms and all, shook for eternal minutes while she ate herself out, rubbing and twisting her tongue over her aroused clit in the ways she always had longed for.

In the end, Marge stooped slowly until gravity took over and sent her bouncing down on the quadruple pillows of her rack.

“Phew!” She laughed, wobbling on the bed of her own mammoth mammaries, and slurped her tongue back into her mouth. “Now that was freaky fun! Right, Connie, you better clean up this mess now. Four of them at that size will just get in the way. Make me presentable again, I don’t know how long the out of service sign will keep people away.”

Connie stared at her non-glowing hands and remained mute.

“Connie—?” An undertone of worry was in Marge’s voice now.

Chapter 8: Running From Empty

“I — I can’t. I’m empty. There wasn’t that much in the vial, and, and you became so demanding, I — I just lost it, and I must’ve used up all the berry power.”

Marge tried to get up, but the weight of her breasts held her chained to the floor.

“What do we do now?” she squeaked in rising panic as the situation sank in.

“I — I don’t know! I —” Connie backed away on shaky knees.

“Connie!” barked Marge. “You’re the clever one! Come on, I can’t — gods, I can’t be found like that! Connie! Snap out of it!”

Connie gulped. Then she took another step backwards, and gulped again. She cleared her throat. Another gulp, another cough.

How to put it, how to put it.

She scratched her head.

“M — maybe, maybe there are some berries left. Let me sneak out —”

“To the plantation? Please, no! It’ll take you an hour or longer! The next break starts in thirty minutes! Someone will call the janitor! They’ll find me!”

“No, I mean, I — I got some …” She sighed. At least there was no way Marge was going to jump up and slap her this time. “I still got some juice at my place.”

“You still got some?” Marge exhaled in profound relief. “Thank heavens!” And, pointing at her fourfold ball-and-chain, she immediately added, “Well? Hurry!”

“I’m on it! I’m on it!” Connie struggled with the window handle. She opened the milk glass pane and threw a checking glance outside. “Gotta climb down the vines, I can’t lock the door from the outside. Marge, you really, really, owe me for that one!” She swung her legs over the window sill. Moments later, she was gone.

“Hey, Connie! Say, just how much of the juice have you — Connie!”

No reply. Marge sighed and rested her chin on her hands. Her elbows dug into the soft pillows of her upper breasts.

Pffft. She’ll need fifteen minutes at least.

Booooring.

She crossed her arms and observed her left nipple that peeked out over the horizon of her mammaries. Marge walked her right hand’s fingers over her jugs, faking goose steps with index and middle finger. She flicked against the plump strawberry of flesh and shuddered at the touch.

Damn, that’s pretty sensitive. Cool.

A playful pinch sent heat through the whole orb. Goosebumps spread over her body. She squeezed harder and inhaled sharply.

Whoa! That’s pretty nice. H—hey!

Marge’s midriff started to quiver in tiny spasms, and her point of view slowly rose. The joints between the tiles wandered over her skin as her breasts grew firmer and lost their flattened shape.

Filling up! Oh fuck, I’m— waitaminute…

Her fingers suddenly dripped with warm wetness, and the upward movement stopped. She raised her hand to her face and sampled the white coating.

Mmmh… Sweet. I guess I can milk a quarter of an hour from that.

Marge reached blindly for the domed areolae. Her mouth spread into a happy smile as she cupped the palm-sized mounds and twisted her nipples between her fingers. Firm and taut as her breasts had grown now, she couldn’t dream of pulling them close enough to her lips to suck on the plump nipples. Marge settled for her agile tongue instead, stretching it out to lick and prod and strangle her teats one after the other.

Connie stared down on the puddles of milk on the floor. 

“Marge!”

“Oh what? I got bored and played with my new assets. It’s not like my milk bar will go away by itself. So, you’re all berried up again?”

“You bet. Here, that one’s for you.” She handed a test tube to Marge and watched her gulp down the fresh shot. The glow spread under her skin only moments later. Connie scratched her cheek, pondering. 

“Right, last time, there was a whole lot of milk in your breasts, and they shrunk after — oh no!”

“Connie, don’t oh no me! What is it now? We’ve got maybe fifteen minutes left! Come on, get my nipples spraying.” 

“I can’t!” The blonde shook her head. She realized there was another problem waiting.

“What do you mean? You must!” Now there was panic in Marge’s voice.

“Look around! There’s no floor drain in here! If I make your boobs let down now, the milk can’t go anywhere but outside! Do you remember how much you squirted the last time? I almost drowned! If you let loose here, the whole corridor will be ankles deep in milk! Unless —”

“Unless what? — Ouch!” Marge cringed. “Ow—ow—ow! Let go! Let go of my nipples! Let — oh gods! What are you doing? Are you — You’re squeezing my nipples shut with your mind!” Her breath came quicker. “Don’t do that! It’s like kneading them! It makes my breasts wake up again! Oh gods! Getting fuller!” The pressure kept on rising in her exited glands.

Connie knelt down in front of Marge’s right breast, Marge’s upper right breast, to be precise. Her splayed fingers enclosed the doming, plate-sized areola and began to send the firm, milk-soaked flesh into wavy motions. A groan mixed of fear and lust slipped over Marge’s pouted lips. Eyes closed, Connie mumbled and whispered.

“Connie, talk to me! What are you doing — I’m — I’m too full! I’m —”

The whole three-feet orb undulated steadily now, and every wave running into Marge’s ribcage took a little gush from the trapped milk and spread it out under her skin. The swelling wandered lower, a warm wavefront of liquid creeping down along Marge’s toned midriff. Soon, her chiseled abs disappeared under round bloat. A growing potbelly squeezed forward between the dangling lower pair of her breasts. Hot skin stretched slowly and steadily from the end of her ribcage to the top of her pubic bone and wedged Marge’s pulled-up thighs apart, spreading her legs as she straddled the expanding ball bulging from her center.

“Connie, I — I don’t like that! I don’t like that at all! Tell me what you’re up to! Are you knocking me up?!”

Without opening her eyes, Connie groaned, “Can’t move you about if you’re four solid udders. And you don’t fit into one of the stalls either. So it’s belly ball time for now. Gonna roll you to the sinks, hang your crotch over one and drain you trough your vag.”

Marge stared at her with wide-open eyes. “Connie, that’s about the sickest thing I’ve heard in while!”

“I—I’m sorry, I—”

The raven-haired girl laughed. “What for? Sounds like fun! Squirting O of a lifetime! Hurry up and do it!”

Sweat ran down Marge’s contorted face as she stooped over the sphere of her womb, clutching the four-feet spread of squeaking skin with arms and legs, rocking back and forth helplessly.

“In—intense! Guuhhnnn! Connie, hurry! I can barely hold it together! My belly! My belly’s bursting!”

Connie stopped her pumping and ran her fingers over the straining orb. She sensed power, sheer, raw, trapped power, coursing through the balloon. She shook her head.

“Fat chance of that. Feels like you could swell on forever.”

“Uhhhh—Gods! F—forever?!” Marge licked her lips. “Really? Hhhhaaahhh! K—keep going! Mmmmh! I’m — so — wet — dripping — down my legs — Connie — rub me! Grab my — pussy —”

Connie ignored Marge’s lecherous pleading and kept on kneading and squeezing the breasts until the lower pair was absorbed into the round protrusion and the upper pair rested its old buxom-yet-possible size on the orb that Marge’s front had birthed. She grabbed the shoulders of her panting friend and stood up, tipping the bloated girl towards the row of sinks.

The cold enamel pressed into Marge’s thighs. Connie wrestled her hand through the tight, sweat-greased fold between Marge’s taut womb and her legs. Her fingertips touched wet, wiry, curly hair, then a swollen, stiff nub slick with sticky ooze. 

“Yes! Yes, pinch it! Rub it!” gasped Marge. “C—cummin’!”

“Oh, you will! And for once I’m happy you didn’t wear panties today. Right, you’ll get horny now. You’ll have the gushing climax of a lifetime,” sneered the blonde into her friend’s tense face. Her fingers kneaded the throbbing clit. She focused, digging her fingertips into the swollen lips at the top of Marge’s vulva. 

The white bolt of magical discharge struck. Marge’s eyes fluttered shut as she felt her cave become wide, flooding with the hot liquid from her giant paunch. Her entrance opened up, the liquid shot out in one single, massive bolt, and the sink filled to the brim with sweet milk in seconds. Connie gasped and quickly covered the distended hole with her hands to quench the tide.

“Hold it tight!” she commanded, and Marge’s labia contracted and wrinkled up like a sphincter in her palm. The riptide turned into a trickle.

“No! Let it out! Let it out! Must keep cummin’,” squeaked the inflated girl.

“Oh shut up! I need to think!” She gave Marge’s buttocks a push, and Marge rolled over, just barely able to stop her momentum with her arms thrust out ahead, hanging upside down from the orb of her own belly.  

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. She’s too full. Too much. The sink can’t take all that, not in ten minutes. Too much spill. Can’t — but, what if —

She knelt down and inspected the two-inches chrome tube that sprouted from the wall and ran up into the basin, and then turned and thoughtfully looked at Marge’s pussy and the thin current of milk that still seeped through the cramped labia valve under the bloated, high-lifted buttocks.

“Right, Marge, now go lower until you feel the tube against your — you know.”

Connie laid on the cold tiles and watched as Marge bent her knees further. The girl had her back to the wall and her thighs wide. The gurgling four-feet sphere of her belly rested on the cool floor between her feet, and inch by inch, she lowered her crotch towards the pipe. The sink laid in shattered pieces in the corner by the door. Only the chrome-plated drainpipe angled out and up from the wall, and now Marge’s crotch slowly descended towards it while Connie aimed the tip.

“Haaah—!” Marge jerked and shivered as the cold rim touched. 

Connie’s fingers tugged and pushed until the position was right. Moist and slippery, commanded her thoughts. Immediately, thick whitish drops appeared in the depths of Marge’s reddened funnel. Connie’s fingers splayed into the swollen labia, pulled them apart and followed the penetrating pipe.

“Unngh — I like that dildo,” came from somewhere above the expanse of stretched skin.

Connie frowned and shook her head. A sigh, then she focused on the obedient flesh in her grip and ordered, “Right, now — open up!”

Hissing and bubbling marked the beginning, then a deep rumble went through the old walls of the building. The tubes clanged and trembled. The noise of mechanical mayhem drowned out Marge’s moan of relief. The vastest part of the milk avalanche thundered down the drain it was intended to go, yet some thin white jets still found their way around her muscles’ seal. Connie hurried to crawl away before she got soaked too badly. Stooped, panting and shivering, one hand against the wall, the other on her knee, she watched her impaled friend’s rapidly shrinking belly. Marge’s head dangled in mindless ecstasy as she power-flushed the vintage plumping of the old building with milk.

“Let’s never, ever, do that again, okay?” gasped Connie, kneeling down in front of her friend and squeezing the last of the bulging belly inwards until it snapped back by itself into the enviable shape of a super heroine’s abs.

“At least let’s not try it again in a place without adequate sewers,” grinned Marge, brushing her sweat-drenched hair from her face. She rose, and the pipe disconnected with a shluurp-pop. Her fingers traced Connie’s chin. “Mmmh. Still was quite a trip. And just how much of our magical juice have you saved, you little liar?”

Connie threw her head in her neck, shook it, closed her eyes and sighed, “Marge, please, no!”

Chapter 9: The Rise And Fall Of Major Boobage

Connie glanced around the terraces of the auditorium. This was the third time in a week that Marge had missed one of the morning courses. The place by Connie’s side was empty. The first few times, she had worried that Marge was angry at her for something or other, but when Marge showed up late, she acted in the same weird blend of brash affection as always. Something kept her up at night, though. Shadows showed under her eyes. Connie had asked. Marge had laughed and pinched her cheek, spilling nothing. Strangely enough, Marge hadn’t asked for enhancement either since the botched make-out in the toilet. Connie was rather sure she hadn’t done any wishing, yet Marge behaved a lot less erratic than before. They still met to cuddle maybe once or twice a week, and even then, the overflowing raven was more than happy to just let Connie hold on to her breasts, no demands, no questions asked.

“I’ll be gone for a week,” Marge announced suddenly. Connie turned her head from the taste-free lunch in the canteen and frowned.

“A workshop,” continued the black-haired young woman.

Connie’s stare didn’t really light up with understanding.

“Modern dance,” Marge finished.

“Modern dance?” And, after a few seconds, Connie added, “You?”

“Well, yeah. Guess what? Someone noticed my balcony! And I don’t mean one of these beaus that drop their trays in surprise when they see me in the queue. No, this is serious. Been there for auditing the last few times I was late, y’know? They think I’ve got potential. Just need to hone my skills a bit, they said.”

Connie frowned. “You remember what you told me, about when you become too eager? About stopping you?”

Marge laughed. “Really? Can’t imagine why I should’ve told you something like that!”

“Well, you’re becoming too eager now, again. Do I need to stop you, for your own good?”

Connie backed away when Marge suddenly leaned in and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” growled the young woman.

Connie didn’t.

The cell phone clunked to the ground and kept on wandering over the floor with each buzzing of the ringer. Connie groaned as she fished for it, reaching it with two fingertips only until she struggled from her bed.

“Marge, what is it this time?” mumbled the tired student, rolling back into her bed. She glanced at the clock.

Five a.m. Figures.

Contrary to her expectations, Marge’s voice was neither slurred nor sprinkled with incoherent giggles. Granted, there was the Marge-typical background of a noisy party, but for all purposes, Marge didn’t seem her early-morning inebriated self for once. Connie’s brain finally picked up speed. Time zones. Wonderful things, until they bit you in the ass at five a.m. because your sorta-best-friend probably hasn’t got a clue about them.

“Marge, what continent are you on? You realize it’s early early morning here?”

“Silly, I know! It’s early morning here, too. I’m almost next door, in the northern district of the city. You got a pen and paper? I’ll give you the address. Come and pick me up! I’ve got big news for you!” Her voice turned away, and Connie could barely make out the “Gee, she thought I’m on holiday! Oh, she’s so sweet, you gotta meet her!” and then the giggle of at least two or three other women in the same room.

After Connie jotted down the street and number, she yawned, “Marge, that’s all across town! Can’t you get a cab?”

“A cab? Connie, if I wanted a cab, I would’ve called one. Come on over! This is important! You’ve just got to come over and see it! If you hurry, you’ll catch my last show for today!”

Click.

Uh—oh, was the summary of Connie’s thoughts as she reached for her clothes.

“Uh, hi, I’m —”

Connie gulped. She had circled the building three times with her car, just to make sure she had the right address. It was a nightclub of sorts, though it lacked any blatant advertising save for a small brass sign with the establishment’s name. The man at the door, blocking Connie’s way now, was a head taller than her and built like a brick wall, and just as easily impressionable. He measured her up with a detached, professional gaze and came to the only possible conclusion in light of her last-decade tree hugger outfit.

“No.”

“No, see, I don’t want to go in there, I’m just here to pick up Marge. She — she just called me, said I had to come over and …”

“Of course she did. D’you know how many times I heard that in the last hour alone? Still, no.”

“You don’t understand! I’m her friend! We’ve been to school together, and now she’s studying with me.”

The brutish guy cocked his head and grinned.

“Uh-huh. Humm, you’re a bit taller than her. Pretty flat, too. So I guess you’re her man girl with the strap-on?” he inquired.

“Wha—? No! No, we’re not — she’s just — we — we’re not doing these things!” blushed Connie.

“Yeah, right. So our Margie is a shy little lady and you two are just cuddling in bed, eh?”

“Yes! No! I — I mean, I —”

“Oh lay it off. You’re not getting in there tonight. Not in that outfit, you don’t.”

“Ah. So you don’t need this job any more, Carl?” came Marge’s voice from the shadows of the corridor, accompanied by the tock—tock—tock of impossibly high heels. The bouncer shrunk in her icy stare as she slunk closer, wrapped in a dressing gown.

“Sorry, Miss Marge. Won’t happen again. I thought she’s just another of those fans —”

“You’re not getting paid enough to think, Carl. Now remember this: She gets in whenever she wants to,” sneered Marge. “So, Connie, come with me.” She glanced over her shoulder as she put her arm around Connie’s waist. “And, for the record, yes, we are cuddling.”

Marge led Connie down the faintly lit corridor. “What a jerk! Hey, sweetie, listen, I just need to do another da capo, they’re all going crazy over me. Do you hear them? And it’s almost six in the morning, yet the place is still packed!” Giggling, she added, “Fuck, it’s great to be a star!” She pushed a door open and gently shoved Connie inside. Snapping her fingers, she told the bartender, “Jacky, the lady’s with me. Whatever she wants, it’s on the house. Give her a table near the stage.” Marge winked at Connie. “Make that a solo table. And if anybody tries to hit on her, hit ’em with the two-by-four. Wouldn’t want to make my best friend feel uncomfortable, eh?”

“Buh — gah — wha — Marge—!” stammered Connie, but her friend had already disappeared backstage.

The bartender curtsied to her. “If you’d please follow me?”

Connie trailed him as he led her through the maze of tables to a small alcove by the side of the stage. None of the other guests gave her more than a passing glance. When the waiter asked for her order, she just shook her head and slipped thankfully into the concealing shadows of her seat. The quiet murmur of people waiting filled the room. Connie quickly scanned the place from the corner of her eyes. 

A silvery pole in the center of a circular pedestal marked the front end of the stage. From there, the elevated floor of illuminated plastic tiles widened, forming a triangle with its base at the curtain. The whole place didn’t quite fulfill Connie’s crude movie-powered mental image of “seedy strip joint,” and for that, she was quite thankful. It reminded her more of some kind of vaudeville club. 

Caught unaware, she jerked in her seat when the deafening, lecherous moan of a giantess made the glasses rattle. Only after the echoes and the drumbeats set in did she realize it was the soundtrack to the next performance, blasting from some unseen but impressive speaker system. The lights dimmed down further until a single spotlight pulled the glittering curtain from the near impenetrable blackness.

Two hands grabbed the edges of the curtains and threw them open when the next bass pulse ripped through the air. Connie recognized Marge in an instant. Her face was hidden by the brim of her huge cowboy hat, but there couldn’t be another pair like those humongous breasts in the world. Two more beats, a dizzying spin that sent those mind-blowing jugs flying, and then Marge stood wide-legged in the spotlight. Rhinestones sparkled on her thigh-high brown leather boots with the impossible heels, the short brown leather chaps and her tautly filled denim shirt. Its massive content had two more beats to calm down again as Marge stood like a statue but for her gyrating hips, but the quivering breasts just couldn’t stop sloshing that fast for sheer volume.

Swaying to the driving beat, the bouncy girl worked her way across the stage, the pole firmly fixed in her sights. Connie gulped. The sudden silence of a skipped beat marked Marge’s first grip at the silvery rod. She raised her right thigh and hooked her shank around it, spinning slowly while she leaned back until her breasts pointed straight to the ceiling, round and balloon-like in the struggling confinement of her shirt that did not permit the slightest sagging of the pliant orbs.

The beat returned again. Marge groaned and grabbed the pole harder, righting her body against the overwhelming weight of her breasts until the metal brushed over her nipples while she undulated left and right. Her leg around the pole unwrapped. Standing straight up again and shifting her weight forward over the tipping point, she used the unyielding pole to force her taut shirt into the depths of her cleavage. Her body thrust against the metal. The music froze, and Marge’s motions slowed down until she simply leaned into the resistance, panting heavily.

Connie watched her friend’s agitated breathing and how the rising and falling motions slowly worked the cloth into the chasm. There wasn’t enough material to both wrap around the mammary mass and to coat the inside of her cleavage. The high-pitched tearing of seams cut through the breathless silence of the audience. Liberated white breast flesh jutted through the widening gaps along her sides.

Two more spotlights. The women appearing to her left and right wore a similar cowboy outfit, and while they were more than adequately qualified for their line of work, they couldn’t hold a candle to their mistress. Their long fingernails clawed into Marge’s sleeves. A harsh pull, and the skimpy dress on Marge’s body was gone. She grabbed her hat and threw it into the audience.

Connie stopped breathing for a second or five, and when she started again, she did it with a gasp she feared could be heard from across the room.

“Oh Marge…,” she whispered when she felt sure enough she could control her voice instead of squealing incoherently.

Her friend’s breasts were gigantic. Well, that wasn’t exactly news to Connie. It was the way Marge had decided to highlight their size and the obvious comparisons coming with them.

Connie had chalked up the paleness of Marge’s face to a trick of the stage lights. Now she saw that the uninhibited dancer had covered her whole body in white paint with irregular black spots. On her head, two plastic horns sprouted from her black spiky hair, and between her buttocks, a fake tail whipped against her thighs in her hips’ fierce swaying.

With her breathtaking proportions dramatically lit in the sudden glare emanating from the disco floor tiles, Marge was made up as a literal cow-girl save for the fact that her udders dangled from her chest instead of her lower belly.

The curtain split once again. Connie almost toppled with her chair when she jerked back. The man — the beast — stepping out on the stage had to be at least seven feet tall. She needed a few moments to recognize the head and the foot-long horns for a minotaur mask. Bulging muscles shifted under the oiled, brown-black skin of the naked giant who must’ve stepped right out of an old 70s fantasy movie. Marge thrust her glaring white body against him in some kind of fertility dance. It showed results, thick and hard results, in a couple of seconds.

Her hand barely fit around the lower arm that grew out of the giant’s crotch. Grabbing the bobbing appendage, Marge led him along to an elevated pedestal that the other two women had quickly rolled on the stage. She climbed on it and went down on hands and knees, with her hips raised to just the right height and her udders dangling freely. Connie wasn’t surprised any more that the milkmaids already did some dance routine that involved shiny chrome buckets while the guy ran his hands over Marge’s back and kneaded her derriere.  

The man-bull standing behind Marge bent his knees and moved forward. His curved rod slipped between Marge’s thighs, peeked out in front for its sheer length and bobbed against her belly, almost reaching her navel. Backing away again and taking aim, he pushed the swollen tip of his erection against Marge’s crotch. Marge moaned, then she let out a bellowing “Moo” as the hard intruder split her open. And then, under Connie’s incredulous stare, she took it to the last inch. Connie’s lips were dry. Marge, the girl who once had told Connie, just to watch her squirm uncomfortably, “I can’t even use a regular dildo because my vaggie’s so incredibly tight,” now knelt in front of Connie’s eyes, on the stage of a strip club, milked by a pair of girls while being mounted balls-deep by a can-thick prick that had to push inside her up to her stomach.

Connie really wished she hadn’t passed on the free drink.

The music thundered on. Marge still rested on her hands and knees, and her assistants each held one huge, milk-laden breast in both hands, oiling and kneading the pliant spheres in deft, long strokes. The cow-girl’s features barely managed to express the overwhelming ecstasy raging through her body while she writhed to the driving wall of sound, impaled on the firm piston that made her abs swell out and shrink back again with its voluminous thrusts. Slowly, helped along by the lubricated and glistening hands of her handlers, her upper body rose. Each squeeze into Marge’s breast flesh forced tiny droplets from the reluctant pores in her hard nipples. Connie glanced around, huddled in her seat. In the twilight of the room, there wasn’t a single guest who hadn’t whipped out his aching rod and was stroking it feverishly. Though limited as her knowledge about strip clubs was, Connie was quite sure this was not what usually happened. She averted her face and stared back at the stage.

Connie instantly recognized the expression on her friend’s face. Marge was about to explode. She arched her back, grabbed the heads of her milkmaids and forced their lips on her nipples. The music stopped for good. Marge’s moaning inhale filled the air. The cheeks of the women bulged. White cascades bubbled from their lips. They struggled free, cupped Marge’s breasts and held them up, sending thin arcs of milk all over the audience. Burying himself into Marge to the hilt, the bull held on to her ass, frozen in rapture.

The spectators also stopped moving for a couple of seconds, then they sagged back into their seats. Connie quickly fled the room and hid in a corner of the corridor.

Chapter 10: Decisions, Decisions …

“Uh, so, do you want to … to talk about that?”

Marge laughed. “No, not really. Ugh, I’m beat. Eight hours of that bull-riding is fun, but it really wears you out.” She snuggled against her seat and yawned. “Hey, thanks for the magical twat you gave me, by the way. Never would’ve thought I could take Mack’s prick in one piece. Wake me when we’re at my door, willya?”

You won’t burst, ever. Her own words. In the clearing. Connie grabbed the rim of the steering wheel harder.

“Marge, we need to talk! Seriously! Look at you! What if you — if you catch something? And when was the last time you showed up for your courses? They’ll throw you out! And look at your clothes! What’s that? Plus-sized? It looks like fetish clothes on you! And the others in your courses are starting to talk! What if they find out you’re Mighty Major Boobage at the — at that — at that bar?!”

“Yeah, so what? Let ’em talk! And, come on. Catch something? Mack’s exclusively for me, it’s not like he can find any other girl that can take him, and we’re all getting screened once a week anyway. It’s the law. Oh, and I’m going to give up on the studying. Waste of time. Do you have any idea of the dough I’m raking in now?”

“You’ll give up — Marge! You can’t — Marge, I — I need —”

Marge ruffled Connie’s mane. “I know, sweetie. Don’t worry! I’ll pay you the same you got from my parents for the tutoring. No, strike that! I’ll triple it! You just gotta be my personal assistant. So, deal?”

Thrice the pay. It would definitely allow Connie to continue her courses, and she wouldn’t have to fight each month to make ends meet.

Connie nodded reluctantly. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Weeks later…

“Marge, this isn’t you!” Connie struggled in her friend’s embrace, trying to push away with her hands on Marge’s shoulders while the curvy assailant kept on nuzzling into the shallow valley between Connie’s meager breasts. Marge’s arms were locked firmly around Connie’s waist, and the feisty young woman pushed Connie backwards until they stumbled upon Connie’s creaky futon bed.

“Oh yes, you’re right!” she laughed, biting playfully into Connie’s neck. “I’m all besides myself now! Rrrrowwwrrr!”

Marge dug her teeth into the rim of Connie’s top and wiggled lower. The edge of the plain cloth scraped over Connie’s excited nipples and finally ripped as Marge pulled harder. Her pouted lips closed around the engorged rough nub on Connie’s left breast. The blonde gasped. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and the words stumbled from her lips.

“M—mmmmh!—Marge, please, p—please, don’t — don’t —”

Marge’s wet, hot tongue drew a shiny line from the left nipple to the right before her burning lips swallowed the other rough bud. The deft fingers squeezing Connie’s buttocks wandered lower and started to do things.

Connie’s body was on fire. Every nerve and fiber demanded to be relieved from all her pent-up desires. She grabbed Marge’s head and guided the relentlessly kissing mouth lower. The raven’s pouted lips took a little detour and adhered to the soft, sensitive skin of the inside of Connie’s thighs, pinching it with her shiny teeth. Connie gave in.

“— Don’t — stop! Don’t stop! Unnngh!”

The days of summer went by, one after the other. A little tweak here, another inch added there, a hint of puffiness to Marge’s lips, just a faint tug at her waist, enhancing the puffy nipples, plumping the areolae, drawing muscle ribs along the thighs … as the stock of juice dwindled, Marge’s hotness went through the roof. She radiated sensuousness. Men were barely able to breathe in her vicinity, and even straight women struggled to maintain their senses.

Connie slowly caught her breath again. She didn’t know why she returned to Marge’s bedroom at a single call, day and again. No, that was a lie. She knew it all too well, and the money that Marge had promised — a promise she’d kept — was not part of it. It was just so unbelievably good to have her friend go down on her, with all the augmented abundance that her body offered. Marge usually left the strip club by six in the morning, had a little nap, and invariably Connie’s mobile would go off as soon as Marge woke for her second breakfast around ten a.m. More often than not, Connie was Marge’s second breakfast, and vice versa.

Just a drop of the rich, sweet cream seeping from Marge’s nipples at the slightest provocation was nectar of the gods. Closing her lips around the rough spouts of delight, feeling the many thin jets tickling her cheeks from the inside, meant paradise. Resting her tired head on the soft pillows after feasting on the nurturing fountains, massaging the supple mountains that easily overwhelmed a single pair of hands and yet stood proud and sag-less as soon as Marge stood up, curling up against Marge’s curves, all this opened the gates to Connie’s personal nirvana.

Just the sight of Marge’s face, with her lips pouting against Connie’s curly bush and her cheeks pumping as she sucked and blew and sucked and blew, and the tongue … heavens, that tongue alone, it whipped over her vulva with warm, viscid firmness, it wormed into Connie’s depths like an angry snake, it made her cave contract in spasms of blissful ecstasy. Marge never showed that trick when she danced on the stage, she never let anyone see what really hid inside her throat. She kept the foot-long, muscular abomination concealed, revealing it only as a special treat for her friend, her lover, her body mechanic. The curling, wiggling, stroking, digging, drilling appendage robbed Connie of her senses. It was the leash that pulled her back, time and again. It was the whip that made her obey Marge’s constant demands of more and rounder and jigglier.

The moment Marge got what she wanted, she’d slump back into her bed and fall asleep in minutes, while Connie was left feeling guilty. Never guilty enough to actually try and stop it, at least not until today.

She looked her friend’s figure up and down. The hourglass arrangement of breasts and hips and ass scraped the border of plausibility and possibility now, from the far side no less. It was on that day that Connie’s thoughts became lost and scared in the uncanny valleys of Marge’s boobs and butt. It was on that day that Connie finally made up her mind.

This needs to stop. I — I can’t let her — I —

Connie’s eyes rested on her friend’s gorgeous bosom, rising and falling to her sleep’s gentle breathing.

No, I can’t take that away from her. She’s looking just too good. But she mustn’t —

Connie’s hands trembled a little as she took a small gulp from her flask.

No. This is it. Never again. Do you hear me, world? I don’t want that. I don’t want to play around with these powers. Never should’ve started. I can’t handle all that. She can’t handle that, either. She is losing herself. If I let this go on, then she’ll dissolve inside. I know it. 

Connie leaned in to the sleeping buxom beauty. A little of the sheen and shine still glittered on Marge’s skin, just barely enough to reach in and touch her.

“Marge, you won’t go back to that strip joint. You’ll quit there. Find some other place, someplace decent. And — and you’ll not have that crazy urge to grow bigger any more, and not all that hunger for sex, either. You’ll — you’ll be you again, understood? No crazy tongue, no rug munching cravings. Just best friends.”

Holding her breath, Connie put her hand on her bedfellow’s shoulder. Once more, the tingling and trembling rushed into her fingers. Faint glow wandered over Marge’s skin and faded as it spread. The sleeping girl shuddered lightly. Vague movement crawled under the skin of her throat, and a little of her ballooned mammaries’ and buttocks’ volume shifted to even out her narrow waist. Marge was still unbelievably hot, but no longer on the wrong side of reality.

The power faded away for good. Connie’s perception of the world shrunk and returned to normal.

That’s the right thing to do, she assured herself, despite the sudden rush of loss that sent her shivering. It’s over. Thank the gods. She exhaled and reached for her scattered clothes.

The half-full hip flask in her backpack gurgled faintly as she picked it up and quietly left Marge’s room.

“Hey, Connie! Connie! Over here!”

Connie turned around on the stairs to the university and saw Marge waving at her, climbing from the passenger seat of an expensive sports car. The spunky girl waved her ride goodbye, ran over, grabbed Connie around the waist and effortlessly lifted her into a wild spin.

“I got it! They gave me the job! Come December, I’ll be the new lead model at Leather’n’Lace! Y’know, the folks who tailored me that awesome bodice? They instantly recognized me!”

“Gnnnghhh—that’s great!” Connie gasped for air until Marge put her down again and released her from the vise of her arms and the soft envelope of her cleavage. “And, the, y’know, the other job?”

“They’re not happy to see me go, of course. Tough. Their problem. Cut quite hard into my paycheck, though. Ah, hell with ’em. Got another job to bridge over until then. Until December, I’ll be waiting tables down at the diner.”

She pinched Connie’s nose and leaned in.

“You hexed me into all that, last night, right? Took away all that crazy sex weirdness, eh? Damn, I should be angry at you, but I just can’t bring myself to that. But just so you know, I already miss going down on you. You had such a nice fruity taste. You sure you don’t want to bring my mind back into that mood?”

“Marge!” gasped Connie. “Even if I w—wanted to, uh, there’s nothing of the juice left.”

“Damn!” Her friend’s face darkened. She glanced around and whispered, “Connie, are you sure about that? I really could’ve used — I’ve still got one problem. My — no, better take a look at it. Come! Hurry!” She grabbed Connie’s wrist and pulled her along through the doors and towards the restrooms.

“So what is—”

“Ssssst!” hissed Marge, walking along the stalls and checking that they truly were alone. Satisfied, she straightened herself in front of Connie. “Okay, listen, I should be pissed, what with you sneaking out in the dead of night after you redecorate my brain and my body! Do you think it’s funny, waking up with part of my assets missing and the urge to work a square job?”

Connie remained silent. She couldn’t think of any reply.

“Yeah, didn’t think so, either. Good thing it worked out in the end. Bad thing is you’ve forgotten about a very private part of me!”

“What? No, I — I didn’t —,” stammered Connie.

Marge spread her legs, bowed, grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up.

“Uh-huh? Then what is this?”

Connie gulped. Of course Marge had gone without panties again, some things just couldn’t be changed. Connie knelt down and tried to do some kind of detached visual inspection, to find out what Marge was complaining about. She couldn’t see anything unusual. Nice, plump outer lips swelled out in a palm-pleasing curvature. The curly, glistening inner lips and the slightly protruding hood of Marge’s clit made for a sight straight out of Connie’s biology books.

“Uh, well, it is — beautiful?”

As soon as she said it, Connie almost bit her lips. Beautiful? Fuck, where did that come from?

“Uh, er, I, eh, it’s — it’s like it’s supposed to look, I mean, it’s your pussy. I guess it looks what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not like I’ve ever wanted to get this close to it.”

“Gee. As if I hadn’t noticed, Miss Coyness. And of course it’s beautiful! It’s pussy. They only come in beautiful. Trouble is, they usually don’t come in that size, Connie! I mean, before all this started, it fit in my palm. Now it barely fits in my hand! And just look at this!”

Marge stooped, holding her skirt up with her elbows, and grabbed her labia. She pulled them apart, and they stretched effortlessly into a pair of pink butterfly wings, forming a funnel with a small, wrinkled hole that quickly relaxed into a gaping, dripping rosette. Connie jerked back.

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, right. That’s a cave for a cow, not for a girl. You better fix that now!”

“Heavens, Marge, I’m sorry! I—I hadn’t thought of that when I wished you back.”

“Uh-huh. You don’t say. Seems like it. Well?”

Connie reached for her backpack. “Yes, yes, I think I can fix—”

Marge’s hand snatched her wrist. With her other, she wrestled the flask from Connie’s hand and held it out of her reach. “Ah—hah! Gotcha! Nothing left, again? Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall twice for that?” She grinned from ear to ear, right into Connie’s scared face, popped the cap and raised the flask to her mouth.

“Marge! No!” Stooping in the pain of Marge’s vise-like grip on her wrist, Connie froze, gasped for air and stared at her friend. The flask was still half-full. Neither of them had ever swallowed that much of the juice before.

Marge glanced at Connie from the corner of her eyes while she cocked her eyebrow and tilted the bottle further to her pouted lips. Connie didn’t dare to move or struggle. She could see the glitter of the liquid shining on Marge’s mouth as the juice inched closer to the spout.

“Marge, please, don’t! It’s the very last! If you drink it all, I — I can’t control it any more! I don’t know what’ll happen — if you want your, uh, tiny twat back, then, then, don’t — oh please, Marge! No! Gods, no!”

The raven-haired girl suddenly lowered the bottle and laughed. She let go of Connie’s wrist and screwed the cap back on.

“Nah, was just messing with you. No juice today. You can leave my pussy well alone, I like it the way it is now! Did you see how it opened up? I can make it gape and I can make it nice and tight, it’s all muscles in there! It’s great! I can shove my own fist in there until I squirt, and next moment, I can make myself cum with just a pair of grapes! It rocks!

“And you didn’t really think I wanted to grow a four-pack of boobs again, eh? Or were you afraid it would turn me into some kind of Boobzilla and I’d go Tokyo on the city or what? Hey, gimme a little credit.”

Marge pouted with a smile before she tossed the flask back at Connie, who fumbled it from mid-air and clutched it with both hands, breathing heavily.

“Gods, Marge, don’t joke about that! I’m keeping this rest safe because, if anything weird starts to happen with you, this might be my only hope of fixing it!”

“Pfffft, yeah, weird. Haven’t we used up our quota of weird for the rest of our lives?” Marge snorted and straightened her clothes. Her next question came right out of left field and stumped Connie for a few seconds. 

“Hey, you’ve got any plans for Halloween next week?”

Connie bit her lower lip. “What? Why? Uh, no, not really. I thought I’d just watch some TV and —”

“No way! Hey, I owe you for fixing my life. So I’m gonna cook up a surprise for my favorite little witch! Okay, so, Halloween, at the diner, around seven, and then we’ll see what comes up.” She pointed at the flask in Connie’s hands. “And don’t forget to bring our little secret.”

Uh-oh. Connie grew pale. “Marge, I’m never going to use that stuff ever again.”

“Suuuure. That’s why you haven’t poured it down the sink and you’re always carrying it around with you, eh? Oh, just bring it along and listen to my idea. Still need to work out a few things, but I know, this time you’ll like it. I promise, it’s not about me. — Damn, look at the time. Gotta run.” She leaned in and kissed Connie smack dab on the mouth until the tall blonde felt dizzy.

The swing door clanked, and Connie was alone again. She slumped against the wall and slowly sagged down until she sat on her haunches, clutching the half-empty flask and trembling with residual adrenalin.

I only wanted to make sure I wasn’t imagining those berries! Oh please, will this ever end?

Her stomach cramped. She dragged herself to the nearest stall and threw up.

To Be Concluded in Connie’s Weed, Part 4: Revenge Blown Out Of Proportion

Come one, hop over to the Overflowing Bra website and give me a rating or a comment. Pretty please… ? (Also, don’t mind if there are a few comments already. If you write it, then I will read it.)

Questions? PM me on the Overflowing Forum, or post in the thread below. 

Like my writing? You can receive update notifications by subbing to this thread: http://www.overflowingforum.com/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2195