"Hello, Tommy! Tracy's not home yet. Come on in and wait."
      Mrs Tucker opened the door wide to let Tommy in, then with a swift glance up and down the street, she closed it after him.
      "Go through into the front room. There's a nice warm fire on in there."
      Tommy went in and stood looking about him as if he had never seen the inside of the Tuckers' house before. He stared at the photographs in their frames, the books on the shelves, the curtains, the tablecloth, the wallpaper. Anything was better than looking at Mrs Tucker.
      Not that Mrs Tucker was an unpleasant sight for any teenage boy with the average load of testosterone pumping around his system. Just the opposite, in fact. And dressed as she was, she presented a stern challenge. After all, it wasn't really very polite for a boy to visit his girlfriend's house and sprout an embarrassing stiffie as soon as he clapped eyes on her mother.
      He tried thinking of cars, and food, and football...
      "How about a cup of coffee to thaw you out? I was just having some."
      "Thank you, Mrs Tucker. That would be nice. White with two sugars, please."
      She smiled at him and he felt his internal organs start churning. Did she wander round the house dressed like this the whole time? Or undressed like this. He chanced a quick look at her as she slithered out into the kitchen. Her black panties were clearly visible, stretched across a broad yet extremely curvaceous rear end. They would be visible, after all; she was wearing an almost completely transparent thing. What was it, a nightie? At four in the afternoon?
      "Excuse my house-coat," she apologised, shimmering back into the room. Tommy snatched his eyes away from her staggering chest and studied the ceiling. "Here you are," she said, and he had to look at her. She was holding out a mug.
      "Oh, thanks. I was just looking at your ceiling..." Why did I have to say that?
      "Interesting, was it?" She was grinning at him again. "Come and sit on the couch and get warm. Take your jacket off, or you won't feel the benefit when you go outside..." His puffa jacket was being forcibly removed from his shoulders, and at the same time he was being dragged to the couch. "There!" Mrs Tucker sat down, leaving him with a space about nine inches wide. She drew her legs up beneath her, the way Tracy did. That was a big mistake, he thought, thinking of Tracy at a moment like this. Tommy found it impossible these days to think of his girlfriend without experiencing an instant erection. He sat down quickly, feeling Mrs Tucker's thigh almost setting fire to his pants. Had she seen it? Probably not. He crossed his legs, not easy on this low couch, and rested his mug on his lap to hide the evidence.
      "Tracy's usually home by this time," he said politely, failing to stop the mug of coffee moving slowly up and down.
      "She phoned to say she'd been kept in after school and she'd be on the next bus. The whole class was detained, she said. But she's such a good girl, calling her dear old worried mother. That's why we bought her the mobile phone, so she could keep in touch. You can't be too careful these days, especially a girl with Tracy's looks...
      Up to that point, Tommy had almost recovered sufficiently to risk taking a sip of coffee, but the casual mention of Tracy's looks brought him back to full hardness in an instant. It was happening increasingly frequently these days. It wasn't just Tracy, either. Just thinking of sexy things, or seeing a picture of big tits, was enough to have his cock reaching for the sky. And with Mrs Tucker sitting there on the couch, so close she was touching him, he was hard enough to cut glass. Even if she hadn't mentioned Tracy's looks. But she had, and now Tommy was dangerously close to a climactic experience...
      "Are you okay? You haven't touched your coffee. Here, give me your mug and make yourself more comfortable. You're all scrunched up. I'm taking up too much room. I'm rather a large woman, I'm afraid..." The mug was whisked away and Tommy made a hasty attempt to cover his groin under the pretence of adjusting his position. "Yes, a big woman, just like young Tracy...!"
      An icy chill crept over Tommy's face, replacing the hot flush he'd had ever since he'd arrived. What a time for that to happen! It would soak through in a few seconds. Curse these pale grey school trousers! Mrs Tucker hadn't noticed yet, but she would soon.
      "I've got an old photo album of Tracy growing up. Now where is it? I haven't seen it for ages..."
      She levered herself out of the couch and went to the sideboard, instantly finding the album and coming back before he could even pull the clammy crotch of his trousers away from his still-seeping cock.
      "It was right there all the time," she said wonderingly. And to his horror, she folded herself up at his feet and placed the album on his knees. She was leaning so close!
      There is nothing you can say when someone is showing you a family photo album. You make polite noises. Tommy made polite little croaks and squeaks. If he took his attention away from the pictures for even a moment, he could see right down Mrs Tucker's phenomenal cleavage. "Here's all of us at Swanage when Tracy was five. That's her Daddykins."
      "Oh, yeah." Mr Daddykins Tucker was literally a gorilla. He worked as a mechanic on heavy trucks, lifting the engines in and out single-handed and biting through any bolts too tight to be unscrewed.
      "And here she is again at seven! Isn't she sweet? That little sailor suit!" Mrs Tucker leaned across and turned the page. One of her breasts had worked its way almost completely out of the top of her house-coat. A brown nipple was visible, surrounded by one of those big brown bits that Tracy was so proud of on her own tits. Shit! No! He was getting hard again! Already! Not that!
      "This one was when she was nine. Or was it ten? Must be ten, her little titties were getting quite big by then." Mrs Tucker gazed dreamily into the middle distance and sighed. "I remember how she had nothing at all one week, and the very next they were a C-cup! Not that you'd know what a C-cup is, of course. But it happened just like that. Mine never grew that fast. In fact, mine didn't appear at all until I was thirteen. And look at them now!"
      Get out of that one, then, Tommy!
      She sat back on her haunches and placed her hands behind her neck, elbows outstretched to the sides. The position pulled Mrs Tucker's heavy breasts up to their maximum, but even so, they were so awfully heavy that they still rested in her lap. She squinted down at them and grinned up at him mischievously.
      "I was going to ask if you wanted to see them properly, but of course, you might not really like really big breasts like mine. And Tracy's, of course. I'm sorry, I tend to take things for granted so much. I'm a silly old woman, aren't I!"
      "You're not silly, Mrs Tucker!" Oh, shit, blown it again!
      A little smile. "But I am old, dear!"
      "I didn't mean..."
      "It's all right," she laughed. "Do you?"
      "Do I what?"
      "Do you like really big breasts like mine and Tracy's?"
      How could he answer that? If he said he did, he was a horny little goat, simply out to get into Tracy's pants; if he said he didn't, that meant he didn't like Tracy's either.
      "Of course I like them, Mrs Tucker. But everything else is important, too. The total package, kind of thing."
      She looked at him as if he were some kind of alien being. "How old are you, Tommy?"
      "Six months older than Tracy, Mrs Tucker."
      "That's what I thought. Total package? Boy, if you like a woman's huge tits, you tell her so, understand?"
      "Yes, Mrs Tucker."
      "Nancy."
      "Sorry?"
      "Call me Nancy, not Mrs Tucker. It makes me feel about ninety-three."
      "Yes. Nancy."
      "There. That's better. You know, whenever someone tells a boy to call her by her first name in a film or on TV, what always happens?"
      "He carries on calling her Mrs Tucker?"
      "Right! You're a good boy, Tommy. Now, where were we...?"
      She turned another page. Tommy, gaining in confidence, felt able to reach for his coffee mug, where Nancy had placed it on the floor. He took a gulp.
      "Here's Tracy when she was almost twelve, look. In her first ever bikini. We had to get her one of those halter-top ones, because they didn't do the ordinary style big enough to fit her great big bust..."
      Splwoosh! He managed to miss the photo album, but sprayed his mouthful of coffee all over Mrs Tucker. "Oh, Mrs Tucker, I'm so sorry!"
      She had rolled away with remarkable alertness and speed for a large woman, and most of the coffee had hit her squarely � or roundly � on her rump. But she stood up, holding the soggy house-coat away from herself. Then, in a couple of seconds, off it came!
      Tommy looked away in a hurry, but found himself staring down at the picture of young Tracy in her first ever bikini. He looked back at Mrs Tucker. She wasn't a bad looking woman for her age, he realised, then clutched at his groin...
      The front door slammed.
      "What's the time? Oh, no! She's back!"
      Tommy half stood up, then noticed his mistake and sat down again.
      Mrs Tucker turned her attention to a vase of flowers, realising a little late that she was stark naked. In a panic, she set off, running round in little circles, with a strange high-stepping motion like one of those trotting ponies. After a couple of laps, she skidded to a halt, yanked the tablecloth off the dining table in a tinkling cascade of knives and forks, and wrapped herself more or less decently in it.
      The door opened and Tracy's head appeared. "Tommy! Sorry I'm late. Mum made me go to the shops. Where is the old cow ... oops! Mum!"
      "Hello, dear. I was just going upstairs..."
     

"Come in, Tommy. You're too early again. She's been playing hockey and the showers were cold at the other school, so they went back to Tracy's school in the minibus for a shower."
      This was not good news. The mere thought of Tracy playing hockey was enough to push Tommy close to the edge. The thought of her in a hot shower pushed him to the very brink. The sight of Mrs Tucker wasn't helping at all. This week, fortunately, rather than a house-coat or a tablecloth, she was wearing a shirt. It was a blue work shirt, possibly one of Mr Tucker's. But even a gorilla-sized work shirt was tight in a couple of places on Mrs Tucker. The shirt swooped down, wrapping itself round the curves of her enormous breasts, then hung straight down to hip level or just beyond.
      Unfortunately for Tommy's peace of mind, the shirt was apparently all she was wearing.
      He followed her into the front room, where a mug of coffee was already poured for him. "Sit down, love!" Mrs Tucker settled at his feet again, like a large dog. She seemed to be wearing a little make-up and a faint, musky perfume hung about her.
      "Could I ... would you mind if I went to the bathroom, please?"
      "Oh, dear. Of course you can. Top of the stairs, you know?"
      Tommy shot up the stairs and bolted the door behind him. He was nearly bursting, but not for a piss. In just half a dozen rapid strokes, he was spurting powerfully into the toilet bowl. The sheer quantity of his ejaculate almost scared him. At least, he wouldn't have the same trouble as last week. He wiped himself carefully and zipped up. Downstairs, Mrs Tucker was waiting patiently for him, her chin resting on her elbow.
      "That's better, isn't it!" God, had she been watching him wank? "We don't want you leaking all over the place, do we. Or leaking all over me. I got into serious trouble with my grown-up daughter last week," she said archly. "I had a lot of fast talking to do about that tablecloth. Tracy almost accused me of trying to seduce you."
      "Mrs Tucker...!"
      She wagged a finger at him. "It's Nancy, remember?"
      "Nancy. I'm sorry about last week. Tracy..."
      "Did she give you a hard time as well? Poor Tommy."
      "Not too bad, thanks. She was a bit mad. But we made up afterwards."
      "Wow, lucky you! There's nothing quite like making up." She sipped her mug of coffee, her eyes meeting his through the steam. "Are you sleeping with Tracy, Tommy?"
      "Sleeping? No, we both sleep at home." Daylight dawned. "What? You mean...? Meee?"
      "Who else? Well, are you?"
      "I ... no, we haven't..."
      "She says you've done it!"
      "She does?"
      "She wouldn't lie to me, dear, would she? Not about something like that."
      Tommy was confused. Why? What was the girl playing at?
      "It's all right. I don't mind. If Tracy's going to be sexually active, there's nothing I can do about it. And if she's doing it with you, it's not the same as if she's doing it with just anyone, is it?"
      "Isn't it?"
      "Of course not. When I was her age, I wish I'd had someone like you to do it with."
      "You do?"
      "If I could have my life over again..." Her eyes went all dreamy. She sat up suddenly, briskly. "We've got half an hour before the bus comes. Tommy, let's try something. Some lessons."
      A feeling of gloom enveloped him. "Lessons? You mean, like school stuff?"
      "Yes and no. You don't learn this kind of thing at school. Put your hands on my breasts."
      "Mrs Tucker!"
      "No, not yet. Let me take this shirt off first, then you can see what you're doing. You have to learn how to handle a big-busted woman, and that's what Tracy is going to be. In fact, she's already a very big-busted young girl. So before she gets any bigger, you must learn how to give her pleasure. Now, let's get it off for you, then we can..."
      Mrs Tucker's face disappeared into the folds of the blue shirt, as some much more interesting scenery began to appear lower down. Then the front door slammed.
      "Oh, shit, not again! Ow, help, Tommy, the buttons are all tangled in my hair..."
     

"But why, Trace? Why did you tell her we were..." he gulped and swallowed. "...lovers?"
      "So she'd let me start taking the pill, of course."
      "Of course? What do you mean, of course? Why did you want to take the pill if we're not doing anything with each other?"
      "Tommy, don't you know anything? To get me off Games! Lousy hockey every week."
      This was feminine logic at its worst. Tommy went right back to basics. "How does being on the pill get you out of hockey?"
      "Easy. It makes my breasts bigger. When they get too big, I get excused hockey."
      "What's wrong with playing hockey anyway? I like playing football."
      "But you haven't got breasts, have you?"
      "I know. What's that got to do with it?" Tommy puzzled for a moment before coming up with a feasible solution. "Is it something to do with the school hockey shirts all being the same size?"
      She stared blankly at him. "They're not. There's lots of sizes. Anyway, they stretch. But playing hockey makes my breasts bounce around all over the place. And they're so big, when they bounce, they bounce so much they get sore. They're so big, you see? And so bouncy. I don't want to make them smaller � even if I could � so if I can make them even bigger, I can get excused. Simple."
      "You want them bigger?"
      "Of course! And bouncier. Don't you?"
      "Well, I suppose I wouldn't mind. But the pill isn't for that. It's for not having babies with."
      "And it makes your breasts bigger, too. All the girls say so. They're right, too. D'you want to see how big they are now?"
      Tommy felt the familiar lump in his throat. "Now? Here, on the bus?"
      "Well, maybe not. You can see them when we get home. But you can have a feel." She opened her coat and invited him inside.
      He accepted with gratitude.
      "Well, what do you think? Bigger, aren't they?"
      "It's difficult to say. You never let me feel them before."
      "You never asked me before."
      "I never asked you this time."
      "They are bigger, anyway," said Tracy firmly. "In fact, I need a new bra already, and I've only been on the pill for a week. I've grown a whole cup size!"
      Tommy imagined a whole coffee cup-full of flesh being added to Tracy's already magnificent breasts. It sounded a lot. Guiltily, he jerked his hand out of Tracy's warm bodice. She continued non-stop.
      "Mary O'Donnel is on it. She went to the clinic, 'cos her mum would kill her if she found out, and after she went to the clinic, she went to confession and told the priest, and that made it all right, and she went up to forty-three inches in a month."
      "How big was she before?"
      "Forty-two and a half, but that's not the point. It works, and I know it works on me, 'cos I've measured myself. You could measure me if you wanted to."
      "I could?" His heart was thundering against his ribs.
      "Of course. I'll show you how to do it. It's dead easy. Once you know how, you can do it every week for me, and write it down. You could even make a big chart and hang it on your bedroom wall."
      "I don't think Dad would like that. Not a great big chart on my wall with Tracy's Bust Size on it and this red line going upwards."
      "Silly! You call it something else. Something to do with school or football. But you'd better start doing it soon, you're missing all the fun."
     

"What if she comes up and finds us?"
      "She won't. She knows we're in here. She'll whistle a little tune to warn us as she comes up the stairs, and give us five minutes to get decent."
      "But she'll think we're doing it!"
      "Doing it? You mean fucking? It doesn't matter, as long as we're not."
      "I couldn't do it anyway, knowing she was out there listening."
      "She isn't listening. And we're not doing it. You're measuring my bust, that's all. There's nothing wrong with measuring your girlfriend's bust, is there?"
      "Oh. I suppose not..."
      "You don't want to fuck me, do you?"
      "Um ... not really, I suppose."
      "Oh, good. I mean you could if you wanted to, but Mary O'Donnel says it's grossly overrated. But if you really want to fuck me, I'll show you how to do it, and everything. One day next week, perhaps. Right now, though, you've got to measure me." She handed him the tape measure and unbuttoned her school shirt. "You have to put it round just there first. Here, I'll take this shirt right off, and get it out of the way."
      "Why down there? That's not your bust."
      "It's not my waist, either, that's the narrow bit further down. It goes round there. Mary O'Donnel says so." Obviously Mary O'Donnel knew about such things. Maybe the priest had told her. He slipped the tape round Tracy's narrow back and brought the ends round to meet each other in the very shadow of her quite considerable bosom. His hands wouldn't keep still. He could feel the heat radiating from the shiny, satiny cups of her bra. "Hold it steady. Right, what's it say?"
      "Inches or centimetres?"
      "Either. Inches."
      "Why not centimetres?"
      "Inches. They always use inches for girls' measurements in the papers."
      "Twenty-six," he said after a few moments.
      "Good, then that means I need a thirty-two."
      "No, it's twenty-six, Trace."
      "You have to add on five. Or six to make it up to an even number. Never mind why," she hurried on, seeing his mouth opening in protest. "Now you can measure round the big part. All the way round the widest bit of me."
      "It is, too." Tommy made a joyous discovery. "You're wider round the top than you are round the bottom or anywhere else!"
      "Of course I am, silly! All big-busted girls are. I'm much bigger. I'm only thirty-one round the hips. I think you'll find I'm a lot bigger than that up here. Hurry up, then!"
      The tape had a will of its own, but he got it stretched around Tracy's widest part at last, and with a lot of impatient sighing from the patient. "There!"
      "What is it, then?"
      "A hundred and two. Wow, that's gigantic!"
      "A hundred and two? Let me see."
      He handed over the tape with his thumb still in place. She turned it over. "Forty inches, you fool. You were looking at the centimetres."
      "Forty?" Tommy sounded bitterly disappointed. "That's nothing." He thought of his small but choice selection of rude pictures of models with big breasts. Forty was nothing.
      "It's not bad!"
      "You're smaller than Mary O'Donnel."
      "I am not smaller than Mary," she said dangerously. "You've seen her, haven't you? She's big and fat, but are her breasts anywhere near as big as these?"
      Tommy shook his head. "Should I try measuring them again...?"
      "No, it's about right. You did quite a good job for a boy. Take my bra off."
      It was said so casually. He had wondered if one day a girl might say those four little magic words to him. Now Tracy had, in a matter of fact voice. He did as he was told.
      "See the label? Inside the strap at the back.?"
      "Yeah." He was still standing behind her, holding the two ends of the bra strap. They were stretchy and kept trying to pull apart and disappear under Tracy's armpits. She was standing with her hands locked together behind her neck. Wisps of damp, dark hair were visible beneath her arms. He clung on tight to the straps and tried to concentrate on what she was saying. "What about it?"
      "It's got the size on it, see? 32-FF? That FF is what means I'm bigger than Mary, 'cos she's only a C. And I'm bigger than an FF, now. Look."
      She whirled round, the movement snatching the straps out of his numb fingers, then she quickly lowered the shoulder straps in one movement. Tommy gasped as she dropped the bra to the floor. At this close range, Tracy's breasts were enormous. They hadn't stopped quivering, like great big jellies. His eyes glazed over as he mentally compared the vision before him with his picture collection.
      "Shit," he said.
      "Is that all you can say? Shit? Am I or am I not the biggest-breasted girl you've ever seen?"
      Tommy began to nod, then his head started going the other way. "Your mum's bigger," he blurted out.
      "My mum ... how do you know that?"
      "I saw them. Accidentally. Only for a second. Her big round bits are browner than yours. Smaller, but browner. And her nipples are thicker, too."
      "Considering you only saw them accidentally, for a second � and I really don't want to know how � you saw plenty! Or did you take a picture for your collection?"
      "No! I mean, what collection?" He felt the blood drain from his face.
      "Ah, got ya!" She stuck out her tongue and prodded him with a finger. "You've got a collection of pictures. You'll have to show me sometime. Who's in it? Melinda Messenger?"
      He nodded. The girl was psychic.
      "I'm bigger than her. And Ginger Spice. Who else?"
      "Linzi Dawn McKenzie?"
      "I'm as big as her, too. My actual tits are bigger, despite what size she says she is." She wobbled them in his face. "Aren't they?"
      "Yes, Trace."
      "Good. I'm glad you agree." She snorted and giggled. "Hey, this conversation is just like a story I read last week, from the Internet. Nearly word for word!"
      "You can get porn on your computers at school?"
      Tracy disregarded the question. "Danny Baxter brought it in on a floppy, and we all read it. It was about a girl called Becka, and a boy called Bobby. She was teasing him with her huge tits. She had her big sister's bra on, and it was way too small for her. Becka was just teasing him, you know, not letting him touch her, or measure her tits or anything."
      "How big was she?" Tommy's throat had almost closed up.
      "30 double-H," said Tracy. "That's even slimmer than me, and about a thirty-nine inch bust. But I think Becka's sort of like stuck straight out. Mine are probably heavier and hang down a lot more. I bet I'm bigger than her. But she was only like the same age as me, maybe a couple of months younger."
      "Wow," said Tommy faintly. "Did they do it ... do anything?"
      "Not really. It got a bit daft at the end. The boy did it in his pants, without her even touching him!" Tracy giggled. "Can you imagine something like that happening? It's ridiculous!"
      "Yeah, ridiculous!" Tommy was leaking so badly he was beginning to wonder if he'd just done something ridiculous in his pants himself.
      "Anyway, it was only a story. I'm a real girl! But this boy at school was saying it was one of his favourite wank stories."
      "He told you that?" To Tommy, wanking was a desperately secretive business. He'd never even admitted to the existence of his collection before, but Tracy had casually discovered about it with no difficulty at all. A terrible thought occurred to him. "You didn't show him yours, did you?"
      "No, there wasn't time..." She giggled again. "If you could just see your face! Of course I didn't show him. What kind of a slut do you think I am? Come here, silly!" She took his head between her hands and gave him the gentlest of kisses on the mouth. Her lips were slightly open and he felt her smile. "Did I show him my tits! You're the only boy who's ever seen them, ever. You're my bestest friend."
      Her naked slender back was warm and taut against his hands as she leaned back and looked up with her crinkly-eyed smile. Her long hair swung across the backs of his fingers. Her voice was a husky whisper. "I ought to be getting dressed again, Dad will be home soon. He likes to drop in and say hello while I'm doing my homework."
      "Your dad? Here?" Tommy experienced instant detumescence.
      "Why not, he lives here. But he doesn't know the rules like Mum does. He whistles when he's coming up the stairs, but he doesn't wait..."
      The front door slammed.
      "There he is! He's early. Quick." She bounced over to her dressing table, her breasts leaping in all directions at once, pulled out a sweater and disappeared into it. Tommy was putting on his puffa jacket. Already, footsteps were coming up the stairs. Huge, heavy footsteps. "Eeek! The tape measure!" She picked it up and shoved it in a drawer out of sight, then started sorting out her hair. "Imagine if he'd seen the tape measure and asked what we were doing. I'd have said something stupid like dressmaking homework..."
      An enormous fist pounded on the door.
      "Come in, Daddy!"
      The whole room seemed to darken as his shadow fell across the threshold. He filled the doorframe. He was even bigger than Tracy had described him. He looked even bigger from down on the floor, where Tommy was. At the very last second, he had seen Tracy's bra lying there, and had dived down to hide it. He was still trying to stuff the thing in the pocket of his jacket when the door opened. He didn't think a bra could take up so much room in a pocket. It seemed to be made of huge metal springs. Why did girls wear such ridiculously complicated garments?
      "This is Tommy Mountshaft," said Tracy, looking round in some surprise to see Tommy on hands and knees. He scrambled to his hind legs, feeling like a small performing bear, and offered Tracy's Dad a moist paw.
      "Hello, Mr Tucker."
      It was like placing his hand in a mincing machine.
      "Hello, Tommy." The voice was all wrong, soft and piping. Tommy found himself looking round to see if someone else had come into the bedroom as well. But Mr Tucker spoke again, his lips moving in perfect sync. "Tho glad to meet you, Trathy'th told me tho mutth about you."
      "Oh!"
      Tracy laughed. "Nothing incriminating, Tommy, it's all right. We were doing our homework together, Daddy."
      "Tommy muth be boiling hot in that big coat..."
      "I've got the 'flu..." Tommy began to explain.
      "He was just leaving, Dad. Thanks for all your help with our Geometry, Tommy. You ought to be a teacher, the way you explained about measuring the circumference of spherical objects! I'll call you over the weekend, okay?"
      "Spherical objects? Oh, right. I see what you mean. Yeah, it was nothing. It always helps to have someone to work with... I'll be getting along, then..." He began to edge toward the door. No chance of getting past this giant of a man.
      Tracy spluttered and giggled. "I'll see Tommy out, Dad." The monster shuffled aside and the kids escaped downstairs. She kissed him on the doorstep, her unsupported breasts huge and soft against his groin. "See you soon, lover!"
     

"Tommy! Phone. It's for you!"
      "For me? At this time in the morning?"
      "It's a girl," his mother said grimly. "I told her you were having your breakfast, but she said it was important. Get rid of her quick or you'll be late for school."
      She continued to stare at him until he closed the hall door with his foot. "Hello?"
      "It's me."
      "Tracy? Why are you whispering? Where are you?"
      "On the school bus. Listen. Last night, did you see what happened to my ... bra?"
      She'd whispered the last word. "Your what?"
      "My bra," she hissed through gritted teeth.
      "Your ... bra?" Tommy whispered it this time, as his mother passed through on her way to the kitchen.
      Tracy continued: "What are you whispering for? The rest of the kids can't hear you, they can only hear me."
      "My mum's here. She keeps trying to listen. I haven't seen it. Didn't you put it in your drawer?"
      "I thought I did, but it's not there. It's the only one ... the only one that fits me properly."
      Tommy was committed. He had said the first thing that came into his head. Now, sadly, there was no going back and admitting that he'd had an unfortunate accident with Tracy's bra last night, ejaculating spectacularly into the cups within two minutes of arriving home. "What are you wearing now?" he asked, then his blood froze as his mother came past again.
      "Tommy, ten seconds!"
      "Was that her? Tell her she's a miserable old cow."
      "Please, Trace! She'll hear you!"
      Tracy giggled. She seemed to have recovered her good spirits. Her voice came through the earpiece at suddenly increased volume. "It's okay now. The rest of them have got bored and stopped listening. I'm wearing my sweater. You can't really tell I'm not wearing anything underneath as long as I don't try and run. Or walk too fast, or anything. It's a good job it's Friday, we're allowed to wear ordinary clothes."
      "I haven't seen your bra, Trace."
      "It's okay. I'm getting a new one tomorrow anyway. I just wondered if you'd taken it home to wank into or something." There was a sudden burst of laughter from the other end. "Oops! They all heard me say that! Gotta go. See you tomorrow. Love ya!"
      And she was gone. He had lied to her. And she loved him! Not only that, she knew everything. She seemed to know every thought that went through his head. What a girl!
     

"Tommy, she won't be long. Come in!"
      "I thought she'd be here, as it's Wednesday."
      "She asked me to tell you she was going to be a bit late again. It keeps happening! Something to do with the whole hockey team having to be measured for new sports shirts after school."
      "New shirts? But she said she's ... oh! It shouldn't take long, then, as you say."
      "An hour or so. So, how have you been keeping? I think you've been avoiding me..."
      "Avoiding you? No, Mrs Tucker!"
      "It's been nearly two weeks since you've been over. Have you been seeing much of Tracy?"
      Tommy spluttered into his coffee. Not much, only like measuring your daughter's bust. "Not for a few days, apart from just to say hello. She's been busy with homework and stuff."
      "She's a good girl," Mrs Tucker sighed. "But she oughtn't spend so much time working. Girls should have fun, too. I'm sure you'd rather be having fun with her."
      "Oh, yeah!"
      Mrs Tucker stretched like a cat. Her breasts looked fantastic when she did that, sticking out through her sweater. Or almost through it. Like netballs. The thought reminded him guiltily of her sporty daughter and her mobility problems.
      "Did you play games at school, Mrs Tucker? Netball, hockey and stuff?"
      "Me? I tried to get out of it, but not very successfully. It was painful, the way my bust used to bounce, even at that age. Of course, I wasn't as early a developer as Tracy, but I had a forty-four inch bust when I was fifteen. They used to flop around all over the place during games. I'm sure the games teacher used to make me run around just to be cruel. She was a real bitch."
      Oh, no. Here we go again! Mrs Tucker got up and went to the sideboard, and Tommy desperately rearranged his underpants.
      "I found another old photo album," she said, returning to the couch and opening the thick leather book. "From when I was a little girl. Look at this one."
      Tommy looked, then rubbed his eyes and looked again. "That was when I was fifteen. I told you I was big, didn't I?"
      "Yeah..."
      "Forty-four, twenty-four, thirty-three," sighed Mrs Tucker dreamily. "I used to have trouble with my waist even in those days. Look at that little roll of fat." She pointed to another of the pictures, of a girl looking spookily like Tracy, wearing an abbreviated bikini. "I've still got it, you know. Have a feel!"
      "What?" There was no mistaking the invitation. Mrs Tucker sat on her haunches and pulled up her sweater. A plumply rounded tummy wobbled gently, not exactly uninvitingly, bluish-white.
      "Feel it," she said.
      It was cold, like a chunk of supermarket steak. To his surprise, Mrs Tucker clamped his hand to her belly with both hands, sat down on the floor and turned round so that she was leaning back against his legs. His hand was still pressed to her belly, but now there was an awful lot of extremely fat breast in the way. She slowly released his hand, then guided it insistently upwards. She wasn't wearing anything under her sweater. Oddly, her breasts were cold, too, much colder than Tracy's. But having handled Tracy's only once, and for no more than a few seconds, he couldn't really compare the mother's for size with her daughter's. All he could tell was that each breast was much bigger than he could hold in one hand.
      Or two. She dragged his other hand down to her chest, and sighed contentedly when he decided that since she was being so insistent, he might as well be a good boy and enjoy it. He began kneading them like large mounds of bread dough.
      "Play with the nipples, too, Tommy. They need to be played with! Oooh, that's so good!"
      He seriously needed to readjust himself again, and thought he had the opportunity when Mrs Tucker squirmed her large body round and started to climb up on to the couch next to him. But there was no time, she was too quick. In a matter of seconds, she was half lying by his side. Somehow, she had whipped the sweater off so she was completely and embarrassingly topless. Like daughter, like mother; they could certainly undress with commendable swiftness.
      No chance, then, to sort out his unruly manhood. But there was no need to. Mrs Tucker heroically took on the task, sliding down his zipper and snaking a hand inside. Tommy gritted his teeth and prepared to have it torn off at the roots. Instead, he found it quite pleasant. She had a tendency to pinch the soft skin, it was true, but she handled him as if he were a rare and delicate plant. "God, he's all stiff and soaking wet, isn't he?" she murmured. "Let Nancy see to him. There! Is that nice?"
      "Yes," he had to admit.
      "Does Tracy do it as well as this, my pet?"
      "No," he said, perfectly truthfully.
      "She'll improve, darling, she's very young. Wow, he's coming already."
      "Yes!"
      "I know! I've done this before, you know. Although not so often these days. Mr Tucker gets very tired at work. And he prefers quickie sex. We haven't done this for years." This came as a complete surprise to Tommy. Her lips formed a perfect O and encircled him, her hair hanging across her face as she looked up at him mischievously. She looked just like Tracy at that moment.
      "It's happening," he bleated urgently.
      Mrs Tucker nodded in agreement, which did nothing for his chances of holding out any longer. With a high, keening moan, he let nature take its course and pumped a fresh load of salty teenage sperm into his girlfriend's mother's willing mouth.
      The front door slammed.
      "Shit!" she gurgled. "Not again!"
      Mrs Tucker was already scrambling into her sweater as she stood up, still swallowing. Tommy zipped himself up, just avoiding a painful disaster, and picked up the photo album as Tracy came into the front room.
      "Hi, Mumsie! Sorry I'm late, Tommo! We had to stay behind to get measured for new hockey shirts. Guess what! No, I'll tell you upstairs. Come on, you!" He found himself dragged to his feet, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and hustled from the room with some urgency. They were halfway up the stairs when she stopped and grappled with him, her tongue eager, her nipples boring into his chest. "I'm horny, let me warn you! Come on!"
      Her mother smiled to herself as she paused in the hallway and gulped down the last of Tommy's coffee. "He won't be much use to you for a while, darling daughter," she chuckled to herself on her way to the kitchen.