THE GOLDEN GOOSE 
 
by Some Sort of Dog 
 
 
This is a story mainly about large breasts. There may be a suggestion 
of explicit sexual activity between adults, but although some of the 
characters have not yet reached adulthood, they are not described as 
indulging in sexual activity with adults. The story is a fantasy and 
should not be read by anyone under eighteen, or whatever the age of 
consent is in the place where you live. 
 
 
 
 
THE GOLDEN GOOSE 
 
by Some Sort of Dog 
 
 
Chapter 1:- Unworkable, But Interesting 
 
"Here's another batch of readers' letters, BJ, the same old theme." 
 
BJ Cunis took a letter from the top of the pile and indicated an 
empty chair. "Take a seat, Will, this could take some time." The 
lined face looked no happier as he put the letter down slowly on his 
desk and picked up another. As he scanned the page, he shook his head 
sadly. "Are they all like this?" 
 
Wilma Harkness, the Editor of HUMUNGOUS! magazine, nodded silently. 
She reached across the desk. "Excuse me, BJ:" she plucked one letter 
from the stack of what looked like almost a hundred and ran her eyes 
down the neat handwriting. "They're not all so destructive; here's an 
interesting idea. Probably unworkable, but interesting." 
 
BJ took the large sheet of quality notepaper, and studied it. "Bit of 
a change from some of these things, written in the john with whatever 
came to hand." He read the first few sentences. "Hmm. Thought you 
said it was different." 
 
"It gets better halfway down the page." 
 
"What, you mean this bit here? 'Having read every copy of HUMUNGOUS' 
... without the exclamation mark ...'since it consisted of forty-
eight black and white pages, I feel sad that it shows signs of going 
the way of the opposition. There are more pages now, but more lurid 
phone-sex ads, too. And the models! They're either silicone cows - 
the same ones as in every other magazine - or fat chicks I wouldn't 
even want cluttering up my barn. What your readers want are 
attractive young women with large breasts. Very large, natural 
breasts. You published some in the past. Where are they now?' A nice 
line in rhetorical questions, Will, but what's he suggest we do about 
it?" 
 
"She's coming to that, BJ." 
 
"She, huh?" The magazine owner turned the page and read on in silence 
for a few seconds, then he lowered the letter in trembling fingers 
and looked long and hard at Wilma. "You mean this offer? Crazy? Or 
just dumb? Look at this ... 'My daughter, for example, developed 
enormously a couple of years ago. She is still not old enough to 
model; but looking forward two more years, at her present rate of 
growth, she could be the big bust model of the century! And by then, 
she'd be street legal.' Jeez! Who is this mother?" He scrutinised the 
signature. "Ah, the girl's mother, obviously! What's this?" he looked 
at the fuzzy Polaroid Wilma handed to him. "Why can these amateurs 
never get anything sharp?" he grunted. "Shit, she's a big'un, 
though!" 
 
"It's one girl, BJ," said Wilma, but it would only need a handful of 
girls like this ...," she watched as BJ reached into his desk drawer 
for a magnifier and studied the Polaroid again, "... to take us back 
to the top of the heap again!" 
 
"You mean, we're not top of the heap any more?" 
 
"I think we all accept that, BJ. We can't keep going on memories. 
We're running on empty." 
 
BJ ran his hands through his still thick but now greying hair. Wilma 
watched him tenderly. He didn't need all this hassle. He had every 
right to expect a quiet life. He had launched HUMUNGOUS! twenty years 
back, to cater to the big breast connoisseur, and had seen the 
magazine grow in size as well as in readership and reputation. 
 
As its first woman editor, Wilma believed passionately that the 
magazine deserved its place by virtue of its quality alone, but she 
knew, deep inside, that it was dying on its feet. Another few months, 
perhaps, and ... who knew? 
 
"What's causing this, Will?" The owner sat back in his chair and 
rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Is there anything we can do to save the 
ship?" 
 
"Too many glossy fat cats chasing too few models," Wilma summed up. 
"We still attract the top natural models, but they're disappearing. 
Even some of the natural-looking ones are implanted. You know which 
ones they are. We still have the best layouts, some of the best 
photographers, our fiction is second to none, we don't stoop to the 
tacky so-called gossip pages, the phoney interviews, the inflated 
measurements ... maybe that's it, we're too honest!" 
 
"Never! So what do you think about this crazy female selling her 
daughter for our centre-spread in two years' time? Is there a chance 
of finding a few more like her? Because if we could ... exclusively, 
of course ... we'd scare the shit out of the so-called opposition, 
once and for all!" 
 
"It would cost, BJ. Either even more ads, and risk alienating the 
readers even more, or another increase in the cover price ..." 
 
"Come on, say it! Or some more of my millions poured into the 
bottomless pit, okay?" 
 
Wilma looked down at her fingernails. "It's the only way, BJ." 
 
"And you think the magazine is worth it, don't you." 
 
She looked up, trying to stop her lower lip from trembling so much. 
She could only nod her agreement. 
 
"See what you can find out in a week! Contact this woman ... Mrs 
Fielding ... and ask her about her little Donna. That's the easy bit. 
You're going to have to discover half a dozen more Donnas. 
Preferably," he went on drily, "some that are old enough to model 
straight away, or at least, in less than a year. Good luck, Will, 
you're going to need it. But if anyone can find these girls, you 
can." 
 
Wilma swallowed hard. Would that she shared BJ's conviction! "And if 
... when I find them ...?" 
 
"We'll have to see about that. See the girls, their folks. But how 
about free medical care, private schooling, clothing - an important 
issue, that one - in return for exclusive rights to HUMUNGOUS! for 
their nude debut layout. And if they still want it, breast reduction. 
Afterwards. All they have to do is postpone the surgery for a year or 
two." BJ's eyes were alight. It was good to see him like this again. 
"I'll see you next week, same time." He stood up, gathered the 
readers' letters in a pile and handed them to Wilma, then in a 
strangely formal gesture, thrust out his hand. 
 
 
********** 
 
"Well, so far, so good." Wilma grinned up at her assistant as she sat 
down in her swivel chair. "Fix yourself an appointment with this Mrs 
Fielding, soonest. Make sure her daughter is available. Go down to 
her place, we don't want them coming here, it's too public." She 
reached for a phone directory. "And, Maggie? Don't give anything away 
on the phone. Non-committal as regards offers, but sound encouraging. 
Tall order, as usual!" 
 
Maggie adjusted her oversized specs which gave the appearance of a 
startled owl. "As usual, chief! I'll get on to her straight away." 
She returned to her own desk, as Wilma admired her assistant's ripe 
figure from astern. 
 
Mags could have been an ideal HUMUNGOUS! model, thought Wilma, but 
she's a little too much like the girl next door for our readers' 
tastes. Nice girl, shame about the face. Not that I can brag of being 
a candidate for a layout in my own magazine. I may be pretty enough, 
but these tits are a few cup sizes short of the HUMUNGOUS! threshold. 
 
Meanwhile, though, Wilma had another lead to pursue. She found what 
she was looking for, and picked up the phone. 
 
 
********** 
 
It was the next evening, and Maggie was driving slowly down a quiet 
lane in the country. "It's got to be down here somewhere," she said 
to herself. "I've been up and down this road three times ... ahh, 
what's that?" It was a gateway, facing the opposite direction. It was 
only a brief reflection of her headlamps off a sign which attracted 
her attention. She wound the window down and peered at the small 
wooden board on a rickety post. 'Fielding's Joinery Services' was all 
it said, in faded letters. "Gotta be the place", she grunted, and 
turned into the overgrown driveway. 
 
There was a light at the end of the drive, and a shack, or bungalow. 
"Needs a coat of paint," she observed, coming to a halt. The 
Fieldings fallen on hard times and selling their daughter?" 
 
The bell didn't work, and the door knocker only produced a barking 
dog somewhere inside the house. At last, Maggie heard footsteps. 
"Quiet, Rachel," ordered a woman's voice, and the door opened 
cautiously, restrained by a security chain. "Hello? Who is it?" 
 
"Maggie Wallace. Cunis Publications. The office called you 
yesterday?" 
 
"Oh, good. Hang on a second." The chains were unhooked and the door 
opened a little wider. Mrs Fielding was a good six inches shorter 
than Maggie, less than five feet. She looked past the assistant 
editor into the gloom outside. "You're on your own?" she asked. 
 
"Yes, only me." 
 
"You're braver than I am. Come in!" The door opened fully. "Sorry 
about the security. We feel vulnerable out here, just Donna and 
Rachel and me. My name's Laura, by the way." She held out a small 
hand. It was a confident handshake. "Come into the kitchen." Laura 
led the way along a passageway toward a half open door. Light, warmth 
and savoury cooking smells wafted out at them. "Ah, here. Take a seat 
while I stir this pot. You'll stay for a bite of supper, of course?" 
 
"Well ..." Maggie hadn't any intention of staying, but as Laura took 
the lid off the pot, she realised how hungry she was. "I'd love to!" 
she said. "I've had nothing since breakfast." 
 
"You girls never look after yourselves. Too busy, I suppose? Anyway, 
there's too much here for the two of us, Donna and me, so I hoped 
you'd help us eat it." Maggie watched as the little woman stirred the 
pot, then sipped from the spoon. She looked critically at the spoon 
for a few seconds, then beamed. "Most satisfactory! Another half hour 
or so. Donna will be back by then." She pulled up a kitchen chair, 
and to Maggie's surprise, turned it round so she could straddle it, 
resting on the wooden back. Laura had quite a shapely figure, it was 
noticeable. Nowhere near as well-developed as the Polaroid showed 
Donna to be, and not in the HUMUNGOUS! league, but slim and well-
curved. 
 
"You must think it's a bit strange, my writing that letter. In fact, 
as soon as I'd dropped it in the mail box, I was overcome by shame. I 
nearly tried to get it back. But, as you can see from the state of 
the house, we're desperately short of money. It's as simple as that. 
Since my Harry died, two years ago, we've kept going, just, but it's 
been a struggle. In fact, the letter was Donna's own idea!" 
 
"Donna's?" Maggie raised an eyebrow. "You mean, it was her idea to 
model for us? She's seen the magazine?" 
 
Laura smiled to herself. "Harry had a stack of them hidden away. I 
always knew he had them somewhere, but never found them, more's the 
pity. We could have read them in bed! Then, one day, I came home and 
found Donna reading one. She'd discovered them in a cardboard box in 
the shed. I didn't know what to think, but d'you know what she said?" 
 
"I wonder if I can guess what's coming!" 
 
"Probably, but it still amazed me. She said, 'hey, look at the women 
in these magazines I found. And I thought I had big titties!' And she 
actually said she'd like to pose the way those women were, just to 
try!'" 
 
"What did you say to that?" Maggie was fascinated by the mother's 
description of the scene. 
 
"What could I say? We sat down and looked through all the books. 
There were some real old ones, black and white pictures, you know? 
And Donna was enchanted by them. All the time, she was pointing them 
out, 'look at that one, look at this one, look at HER', and in the 
end, she said she wanted to pose like those, and make us all some 
money! I should have told her not to be so disgusting - I mean, she 
was still only fourteen then - but she wanted to do it for us." 
 
"So you didn't try to dissuade her?" 
 
"Sure, I tried. But once our Donna gets the bit between her teeth, 
there's no stopping her. She takes after her dad. As she said, she 
was certainly more than big enough, even two years ago. She was as 
big as some of the women in those magazines: bigger than some. And 
now ...!" 
 
"She's even bigger?" 
 
Laura giggled. "Tell me about it! Anyway, getting back to two years 
ago, I ended up taking those mags to bed with me, and I even read the 
stories, and thought, WOW! Do people actually write stuff like this, 
I thought! Little Laura's led a sheltered life." 
 
"People write those stories, and other people read them!" Maggie 
smiled. "They're reckoned to be the best fiction in any magazine. We 
pay well. For stories and pictures." 
 
Laura's face brightened. "You do? But Donna's still too young for 
another two years. That's what was worrying me, while I was writing 
the letter. I mean, I wrote without knowing if the magazine was still 
in existence. With the recession and everything? I thought, what's 
the use of doing this, building up our hopes, when even if they think 
Donna's pretty enough, she won't be able to pose for two more years! 
Although, to look at her, you'd never know she wasn't twenty-
something, at least." She ended wistfully, watching Maggie closely. 
 
"We're noted for our quality, our fiction, our pictures ... and our 
integrity," Maggie said with a slight shake of her head, and Laura 
understood. She stood up and took the lid off the cooking pot again. 
Silence fell, and stretched out. There was the faint sound of a car 
door slamming, engine noise dying in the distance. 
 
"Here's Donna now. She's been baby-sitting. It keeps her in shirts, 
although not in brassieres," Laura stirred the pot more vigorously. 
 
"Hi!" called a voice, as the front door opened and closed. "Just got 
to pay a quick visit," it said urgently. 
 
The two women looked at each awkwardly. "That dinner smells 
incredible! I didn't realise quite how starving I was," said Maggie 
to fill the silence. 
 
>From the hallway, the voice came again. "Is that car in the drive our 
new one, or does it belong to ..." Donna pushed her head round the 
kitchen door and smiled around, brightly but nervously. 
 
Maggie had imagined her as being taller. The Polaroid had been taken 
from a low angle. Donna, though, was even shorter than her mother. 
Certainly quite a bit less than five feet. She had her mother's long 
blonde hair, down to below the shoulders of her dark grey jacket. 
"You must be Miss Wallace," she said, her blue eyes clear and steady 
on Maggie's face. "I always wondered what a lady pornographer looked 
like!" She laughed, a happy ripple of sound. 
 
"We're fairly normal people, just the one head, two of everything 
else," chuckled Maggie, as she shook hands with the girl. 
 
"I'd better take my coat off," Donna said, withdrawing from the 
doorway for a moment. "That smells great, I'm half starved," she said 
as she came back in, and went over to kiss her mother. Then the two 
turned to look at Maggie. It was a difficult moment. Maggie felt like 
a farmer buying a prize pig. The prize pig and her mother were 
understandably nervous. 
 
The Polaroid hadn't been exaggerating, Maggie realised as she tried 
not to stare at the girl. Even in jeans and a chunky sweater, the 
sheer size of her bust could not be ignored. No bra, she thought, 
look at them, they're never still for a second. She can't go into a 
shop and just buy a ready-made one, that's for sure. 
 
"Dig some dishes out of the cupboard, love," said Laura, "this is 
ready." The girl brought three large dishes and placed them next to 
the stove. "God, Miss Wallace, I hope you're hungry. There's tons 
here. Or should it be gallons? I've over-estimated, I'm afraid." 
 
"We'll manage," insisted Donna, rubbing her hands and laying out the 
cutlery, her heavy breasts hanging freely inside her sweater and 
brushing the table as she bent over.

Given the circumstances, it could have been a strained atmosphere, 
but as Donna chattered away about her baby-sitting, they all relaxed. 
In no time, they were all convulsed, with streaming eyes, as the girl 
described an incident involving the children. Donna got up from her 
seat. "Anybody else need a glass of water?" she asked. "Mother's been 
a bit liberal with her seasoning again!" She mopped her face with a 
handkerchief. "Or maybe it's just me ..." 
 
"Is it hot in here?" asked Laura, and Maggie shook her head. "It's 
just you, Don, and no wonder, in that bloody great sweater!" 
 
"Can we do a striptease for free?" Donna asked, her head on one side. 
Maggie said nothing, but started to reach for her purse. "Here goes, 
then!" and the youngster fumbled briefly with the hem of her sweater. 
"I hope I remembered to put something on underneath!" she giggled, 
nervously. Then she pulled it over her head, and hung it quickly over 
the back of her chair. "There!" She glanced at Maggie nervously. 
 
Maggie realised her mouth was open. Donna was enormous, there was no 
other word for it. Well, there were one or two other words. Humungous 
would do for a start. With or without the exclamation mark. The girl 
sat down slowly, still looking at the assistant editor, who had said 
nothing. There was nothing she could say that would make any sense. 
She had a feeling of triumph. What would Wilma say when she told her 
this bit of news? 
 
She felt they were waiting for her to say something. "Donna," her 
voice was cracking. "I think you have the biggest breasts I have ever 
seen in my life! You are just the kind of girl we need." She 
faltered, afraid she might have committed herself too far before 
negotiating terms. "Of course, in a T-shirt, it's a little difficult 
to be certain. Perhaps after we've finished our meal ...!" 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 2:- Donna 
 
The meal was over, and there was somehow a tension in the kitchen. 
Donna rose to her feet first. 
 
"I'm the one on trial here, but it feels as if you two are as nervous 
as I am," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's go in the living 
room." 
 
Maggie looked at Laura and they both shrugged, and started to follow 
Donna through the door to the hall. "I'll bring the coffee, you go 
right on in there, Miss Wallace," said Laura. By the time Maggie was 
into the living room, the busty girl was standing by the fireplace, 
shivering slightly. 
 
"I was too hot in there, now I'm feeling the cold," she said. Then 
she took a deep breath and said, "should we wait for my mother, or 
shall I take my shirt off now?" 
 
"There's no rush, honestly. In your own time. Perhaps we ought to 
wait until your mum comes in. We do really need to talk about the 
important thing, the money, first. Which doesn't mean I'm not 
consumed by curiosity." 
 
"They're nothing special, Miss Wallace. They're just big, that's 
all!" 
 
That's all! Maggie shook her head. By the look of them, they'd hang 
down way past her navel. In the thin T-shirt, the nipples were 
prominent. Prominent and low-slung. They pointed downward and 
outward, but they hung in the T-shirt like heavy vegetables in a 
string bag. 
 
"Would you mind telling me something, before Mother comes in?" Donna 
looked embarrassed. "The way you look at me ... at my breasts ... are 
you a ... do you prefer girls to boys?" 
 
Maggie thought about that. "Not necessarily," she said at last. "I'm 
as fond of men as the next person, but I don't restrict my activities 
to men. I appreciate a beautiful woman, too." 
 
Donna nodded, blushing. "I thought I could tell," she said, "But I 
don't know much about these things. Anyway, thanks for telling me! 
And just in time, here she comes now." 
 
"Still dressed then," said Laura, coming in with a tray. "I thought 
you wanted to do a striptease." 
 
"We waited for you," the girl said.  
 
"Much as it pains me," said Maggie, " we ought to talk about the 
terms of the deal before we go any further. In fact, Mr Cunis has 
authorised a figure of five hundred pounds." 
 
Laura's face bore a look of disappointment. "Oh. I see." 
 
"That's five hundred *a year* Mrs Fielding! From the time we sign, up 
to Donna's twenty-first birthday. Thus we will have exclusive 
modelling rights to Donna for the three years after she becomes 
eighteen. Up to that time, there will be five hundred a year as a 
retainer." 
 
"So we get nothing more after she starts modelling than we do now?" 
 
"Well, no. At the moment, she is doing nothing apart from waiting to 
reach eighteen, and Cunis is buying all her clothes during that time. 
Bras alone would be worth, God knows, several hundred a year more." 
 
"So it's worth two and a half grand, plus Donna's clothes. All her 
clothes?" 
 
"We will have to put a limit on the number of outfits you buy, but Mr 
Cunis won't be stingy. Donna is his Golden Goose, after all." 
 
Laura stirred her coffee cup, looking thoughtful. "It sounds okay, I 
suppose, but I had been hoping for a bit more. Will I get to meet Mr 
Cunis himself to finalise the details?" 
 
"You will certainly be able to meet Miss Harkness, the Editor. Mr 
Cunis is out of the country much of the time. Miss Harkness has 
authorisation to arrange the terms of your contract. My job is to 
pave the way. But that two and a half thousand is more like five or 
six thousand in real terms once you throw the clothes in as well. 
Payable up front, annually, of course." 
 
Laura had an old envelope, scribbling figures on it. "How about 
model's fees?" 
 
"On top of the rest?" 
 
"Sure! If she does a photo session, so much a time." 
 
"There will be a number of sessions written in to the contract. If 
she does more than that, we will pay extra." 
 
Laura considered, crossed out a few figures, did a bit of addition, 
then her face seemed to light up. "Right. Subject to contract, you're 
on! I suppose you want to see Donna now?" 
 
"Well," Maggie said with a wistful look at the girl who was looking 
from her mother to Maggie, her eyes narrowed. "I had rather hoped to 
see more of Donna, now you come to mention it!" 
 
Laura laughed. "Go for it, then, Don!" 
 
The girl reached beneath the hanging mounds of her breasts, and 
pulled the bottom of the T-shirt out from the waist of her jeans. Her 
breasts hung even lower. "Ready, then?" she said, and in one swift 
movement, began to pull the shirt up. 
 
"Stop!" Laura shouted. 
 
Maggie turned from Donna to her mother in surprise. 
 
"What's up, Mum?" Donna lowered the hem of her shirt again, covering 
her swaying, low-slung breasts. 
 
"I just thought of something. What if she grows?" 
 
"Grows?" Maggie felt uncomfortable, realising what was coming. 
 
"You are willing to pay five hundred for Donna as she is now. But you 
want really big-busted girls, don't you?" Maggie had to nod. "So what 
if she is a certain size now, but she is bigger in two years' time, 
when she's old enough to pose? And perhaps even bigger when she's 
twenty-one? Surely she is more of an asset to Cunis if she grows?" 
 
"You mean ...?" 
 
"So much an inch," declared Laura firmly. "We measure her before we 
start, using a standard method. We can do it when she gets her first 
custom bra. Then for every inch her bust increases after that, we get 
an extra so much a month." She checked her calculations and became 
more bold. "Let's say so much an inch for every month in which her 
bust exceeds her original size. Ten pounds an inch per month," Laura 
said confidently. "So if she puts on an inch every three months, she 
gets ..." she scribbled on the back of an envelope and looked 
pleasantly surprised, "she gets an extra three hundred over the year, 
and *you* get a girl who is four inches bigger!" 
 
Maggie's brain reeled. She glanced at Donna again. The teenager was 
already huge. It was unlikely that her bust measurement could get 
more than an inch or two bigger than she was already. Surely not! 
 
"Okay," she said. "Sounds fair enough." 
 
"Excellent. Take it off, then, Donna!" 
 
"Wait a minute," the girl complained. "You talk about me as if I 
wasn't here, you talk about me growing an inch every three months 
without a thought for my feelings in the matter. Now you want to see 
the goods? Bloody hell, these are my TITS you are talking about!" 
 
The two women looked at each other, perhaps a little shamefaced. 
 
Her mother spoke at last. "I'm sorry, sweetheart! You're right, of 
course. But it's for the best that we get all this business out of 
the way before you undress. You still want to do it, don't you?" 
Laura looked anxiously at her daughter. 
 
By way of reply, the girl grinned and grasped the bottom of her T-
shirt with both hands. This time there was no warning shout from 
Laura. She pulled it up and over her head. For a moment, it snagged 
on her hair, and she struggled vainly to unhook it, her elbows 
getting mixed up with her massively dangling breasts. At last, it 
came free, and she held the shirt at arm's length to one side, between 
two fingers. It fell to the carpet, and Donna stood with her huge 
breasts fully exposed. 
 
Maggie felt her cheeks reddening. This was unusual, and not at all 
what was expected of the assistant editor of a prominent men's big 
breast magazine! Fortunately, Donna didn't notice, she was bright red 
herself. 
 
"God, this is so embarrassing!" she murmured. "But you see what I 
mean about how big they are?" 
 
Maggie did, certainly. The great sack-shaped mounds were beautifully 
matched, hanging like great big soft eggs, reaching almost to the 
taut crotch of Donna's jeans. The nipples were large and erect, but 
the areolae were not very big at all by comparison, perhaps a couple 
of inches across, and pale pink, almost virginal-looking. The girl's 
breasts were heavy and full at their bottoms, stretching downwards 
under their great weight, so that they hardly seemed to start 
swelling out from her chest until they had passed her upper arms. But 
then they bulged outwards and sideways, and touched each other in the 
middle only for the last six inches of the endless cleavage. 
 
Laura stared at them as well. "They're even bigger, Don," she said. 
"But they're lovely! I wish I had a pair like those!" 
 
"You're welcome to this pair some days," offered Donna, "although 
some days, I feel quite attached to them!" 
 
Maggie sipped her coffee, still stunned by the sight of the girl. 
"How long have you had them? Oh, God, it makes them sound like 
something you went out and bought. When did they arrive? And that 
sounds no better!" 
 
"Oh, I was a bit of a late developer. There were loads of girls in my 
class who developed before me. I must have been thirteen?" She looked 
at her mother for confirmation. 
 
"But once she started - wowee!" 
 
"Wowee! One minute, nothing, the next? Well not quite a minute, but a 
few weeks. They just exploded. I went through about six bra sizes 
before Mum realised these things were getting beyond a joke." 
 
"Harry was really proud of them, though," Laura remembered, her voice 
husky. "He made a point of taking Donna everywhere, showing her off." 
 
"Whether I wanted to or not! Although after a while it taught me that 
my boobs weren't anything to be ashamed of. On the contrary, in fact. 
Daddy was proud of them, and so was I!" 
 
"I can see you're proud, but they can't be comfortable." Maggie 
stared at them helplessly. Had they drooped even lower? It looked 
like it. Maybe it was the way she was standing. 
 
"Have you tried hanging a 30-pound bag of potatoes round your neck? 
Well, you probably haven't, but if you ever get the chance, try it. If 
you hang them in a bra, the shoulder straps cut into your shoulders. 
But at the moment, Mum can't afford a bra to fit me. It's even more 
uncomfortable going braless than wearing one. But you must know how 
much these things cost!" 
 
"I've heard," admitted Maggie. "Makes me glad I don't need them. I'm 
a good old stock size. Well, if you can call an F cup stock!" 
 
Laura laughed at that. "So am I. Mine are a 32D. One pair of giant 
tits in the family is enough." She drained her cup and put it down 
with a rattle. "Well, Miss Wallace. We have a deal? I can come in and 
see your editor whenever you say." 
 
"It just needs to be finalised, the details and everything. But 
having seen Donna, like this ..." Maggie looked at the girl again, 
whose breasts seemed even longer and lower than ever, "there should 
be no doubts at all. Mr Cunis was most impressed with your letter, 
Laura. I have to report back to him and to Miss Harkness in a few 
days, and tell him, among other things, about you and Donna. He only 
had the blurry Polaroid you sent him, and although it gave some idea, 
it didn't do Donna justice, not by any stretch of the imagination. I 
will be able to describe Donna much more fully, now." Maggie started 
to get up. 
 
"Why not take another photo?" Donna suggested. "We've got the camera 
and some film. Take a few more of me like this. That ought to 
persuade him!" 
 
"It probably would, yes." 
 
And Laura fetched the camera. They took half a dozen shots of Donna 
in various poses, ending with a couple without her jeans. Her breasts 
reached down to well beyond the top of her panties. 
 
"Not for publication, of course," said Maggie. "But we'll keep them 
on file. Right, I really mustn't keep you any longer , but thank you 
so much for the meal and everything, and I hope to see you again 
soon. Especially you, Donna. You can even get dressed again now." 
 
 
********** 
 
"Wilma, what a pleasure after such a long time." 
 
"Five years, if it's a day, Jack. You're looking very fit. And 
prosperous." 
 
"Business isn't bad, you know. Even in England. Breast reduction 
isn't the craze it has reached in America, but I survive." 
 
Wilma looked around the sumptuous office. Jack seemed to be surviving 
well enough. "You know my line of business, now? A men's magazine? A 
specialised men's magazine." 
 
"HUMUNGOUS!? Not familiar with it, but I did my research after you 
called. Apparently it caters for the lover of larger breasts." 
 
"In a nutshell, yes. Which is why I wanted to see you, Jack. As a 
plastic surgeon with ... interests ... in this field, you were the 
natural person to see to discuss breast enlargement. That sort of 
thing?" 
 
"Enlargement?" The shadow of a painful memory crossed Jack's face. 
Wilma's eyes were steady on his, and he couldn't hold her gaze. "Yes, 
although it's not what it was, with women becoming aware of the 
alleged dangers. But there are techniques which carry less risk." 
 
"It's all right, Jack," Wilma said quietly. "It's not for me. Not 
this time, nor ever. How about reduction?" 
 
Jack looked relieved that Wilma had not pursued that point too 
forcibly. A promising relationship had been destroyed when he had 
made a certain suggestion five years ago. 
 
"Reduction? Not much in your magazine's line, I would have thought? 
But yes, I'm doing a little more of it these days. It's not always 
entirely satisfactory, although most clients are so relieved at 
having the load taken off their shoulders they are prepared for minor 
blemishes and imperfections. Rare as they are. Why?"  
 
"I wondered, entirely off the record, whether some of these women or 
girls with larger breasts might be persuaded not to have the 
surgery." 
 
"And do me out of business?" Jack laughed. "No, to tell the truth, I 
do try to acquaint them of the facts, the risks, the psychological 
factors, real or imagined. And yes, I have actually persuaded a few 
women not to have reduction surgery." 
 
"Still the same dear old Jack! How could I have guessed that you 
might try to stop some of your patients going under the knife? Some 
of the pretty ones, were they? The younger ones?" Wilma smiled thinly 
at the surgeon, whose face had reddened still more. She pressed home 
her advantage. "And would it be ethical to allow me to have access to 
some of these women? No, of course not, you will say. You are obliged 
to maintain confidentiality." 
 
"No, of course not. As you say, I am obliged to maintain 
confidentiality." 
 
"Even when they are not your clients, when you have persuaded them 
not to be your clients?" 
 
"I see what you mean. But it's still a breach of confidence." 
 
Wilma sighed and stood up. She wandered across the office and studied 
a picture on the wall, a rural scene with cattle wading in a reedy 
river. She turned suddenly. "Do you offer advice at all? About a 
suitable bra, or a manufacturer of suitable bras for larger breasts?" 
 
"What are you driving at, Wilma? I do, yes, or I have done. No harm 
in that. I usually recommend one of a list of women who provide a 
custom fitting service." 
 
"Could you recommend someone to me? It's for a friend, of course!" 
 
"I hope you're not going to do what I think you are." 
 
"Probably, yes. You know me!" 
 
"That's what I was worried about. You don't change, do you! Why not 
look in the Yellow Pages?" 
 
"But I'd much prefer a personal recommendation, Jack! Especially one 
coming from you." 
 
He sighed, reached into a drawer, and riffled through a pile of 
papers. He found the one he was looking for and copied a phone number 
on to a slip of paper. "Here you are. This one is local, and I have 
sent some women to her within the past year. And, yes, girls, as you 
call them. I thought the term wasn't strictly PC these days?" 
 
"It depends how old they are, doesn't it?" 
 
"Ah, I suppose so. How about fourteen?" 
 
"Hmm, yes, Jack, that is probably a girl. I bet she was pretty, too!" 
 
Jack was flustered. He thrust the papers back into his desk drawer. 
"Good luck, then, Wilma. I suppose there's no chance of us getting 
together for dinner one evening?" 
 
"Why, Jack, darling! How lovely. But not very ethical, surely ...!" 
 
 
********** 
 
Now, all Wilma needed was a willing assistant. Willing and well 
qualified. Who better than Maggie? "Another little job for you, if 
you care to do it. What's your bra size?" 
 
"Mine? You don't want me in HUMUNGOUS!, we'll lose all our 
circulation." She watched Wilma's face. "You're serious, aren't you! 
I take an F cup, although it depends on the make of bra. Some bras I 
can get away with an EE. With some, I can't even get them into a G." 
 
"That sounds ideal," said Wilma. She tried not to stare: Maggie 
seemed to disguise them well. Her shoulders were slightly hunched as 
if she was ashamed of them. "Here's what I would like; you don't have 
to do it, but ..." 
 
She explained the plan. Maggie's face gave nothing away until the 
end. She grinned at her editor. 
 
"Hee! It sounds like a great idea. A girl of fourteen, you say? A bit 
of a long way in the future, two years behind Donna. A regular little 
production line! But of course!" She clapped a hand over her mouth. 
"You haven't seen the Polaroids I took of Donna, have you? Are you 
sure you're ready for this?" 
 
Maggie pulled them out of her desk drawer and tossed them across to 
Wilma, then sat back and waited. Wilma did a double-take. "Jeez. Look 
at them! She's huge, isn't she! Mammoth! And only sixteen, too?" The 
editor realised the implications. Did you work out a deal with the 
mother?" 
 
"Not a bad one," said Maggie smugly. "Five hundred a year plus 
clothes, straight, until she's twenty-one." 
 
"Five hundred plus her clothes? You cheating little swine! BJ would 
have paid two thousand." 
 
"I thought I was driving a hard bargain, but so did Mrs Fielding. 
They must be more desperate than I thought for the money. Ah, there's 
a slight catch as well, but it shouldn't amount to much." Maggie 
described the breast growth clause. 
 
Wilma glanced up at Maggie, then picked up the photos again. "I 
suppose Polaroids can't really do her justice, but she's huge all 
right. No way she's going to grow any bigger than this." 
 
"I figured we'd be pretty safe, that's why I said yes." 
 
"Nice work, Mags. You want to see if you can do as well with this bra 
lady, now?" 
 
"I'm on my way!" said Maggie. 
 
 
********** 
 
The front door was open, and Maggie gave it a push. 
 
"Hello? Anyone at home?" 
 
A voice answered from somewhere toward the back of the house. Maggie 
followed the direction of the sound. 
 
"Mrs Danby? I called earlier, my name's Wallace." 
 
"I remember, of course. Come in, dear, will you. I'm on the phone, so 
excuse me."  
 
Maggie entered the back room, found a seat and looked around her. The 
workroom was cluttered with cardboard boxes and hanks of material. A 
businesslike sewing machine crouched on one end of the work bench. 
And Mrs Danby sat hunched on the other end, legs crossed like an old 
fashioned tailor. The telephone was tucked under her chin and she was 
scribbling furiously in a notebook. Mrs Danby put the phone down. 
 
"Sorry about that, emergency job. A bit of a catastrophe on the 
tennis court!" She perched on the edge of her bench and looked at 
Maggie with bright, bird-like eyes. "Now then, how can I help you?" 
She held her head on one side, which made her look even more bird-
like. 
 
"It's my bra. I can buy one to fit if I'm lucky, but I'm in between 
sizes." 
 
"No problem, dear. You seem to have less of a problem than some of my 
clients. In fact, I was just finishing a fitting at this moment ..." 
 
"Oh, no! I'm sorry," said Maggie. "I shouted and just barged in when 
I didn't hear anything." 
 
"Not to worry. I'd finished the fitting. Miss Archer is just dressing 
again." Mrs Danby waved airily towards a curtained cubicle in the 
corner. Maggie found herself wondering idly why Mrs Danby needed a 
private area for her clients to change their clothes, if in between 
times she was intimately handling their naked breasts. 
 
The little woman was still talking. "So your timing is perfect, 
really. We will have ages before my next appointment. I'll put the 
kettle on." She slid off the bench and scurried away into another 
cluttered corner where she busied herself with jars of instant coffee 
and sugar. 
 
Maggie watched the little woman, who was neatly built, compact; with 
taut, firm breasts about half the size of Maggie's. She was about to 
make polite conversation when the curtain slid back and a woman 
emerged. Instantly, all thoughts of polite conversation fled from 
Maggie's head. 
 
The newcomer - Miss Archer, she remembered - was taller than Maggie, 
about five feet eight. Her hair was long, soft and brown. But what 
stopped Maggie in her tracks was the woman's bust. Even in HUMUNGOUS! 
she had never seen anything like it. First young Donna, now this! 
 
It could have been a pair of soccer balls beneath her crisp striped 
shirt. They were supported magnificently at above the level of her 
slim waist, where the shirt became a riot of radial creases as it 
dived into the top of her elegantly-tailored skirt. But there wasn't 
so much as a hint of a crease on the breasts themselves. The fine 
blue and white striped cotton was drum-taut across the perfect 
spheres which bounced ever so slightly as Miss Archer came across the 
room. 
 
"Hello," she said, with a friendly smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't know 
there was anyone else coming. I've been chatting away, wasting Mrs 
Danby's time, without thinking. I'm Kay Archer." 
 
"Maggie Wallace, it was my fault. I came at short notice and just 
barged in." 
 
"It's no problem, Kay," shouted Mrs Danby. "You're about done, aren't 
you?" She took a close look at the fit of Miss Archer's blouse. "Oh, 
yes. It's lovely. Perfect." 
 
Maggie had to agree. 
 
"Your usual expert job, Mrs Danby. I wish I didn't need these bloody 
great bras, but there's no way I could even stand up without them." 
She held the vast spheres with both hands and shook experimentally 
from side to side. Things wobbled, but nothing fell off. You'll send 
me the bill as usual? Not that I can afford it at forty pounds a 
throw." 
 
"It will be in the post, don't worry." 
 
"So, no regular user discount, then? I'll be on my way in that case. 
I hope I can still fit behind the steering wheel." She made her way 
to the door, then stopped. "What's THAT?" She pointed to a pile of 
work beside the sewing machine. On top was something in bright red 
material. "Is that a bra or some kind of joke?" 
 
"It's a bra, what does it look like?" Mrs Danby laughed. 
 
"May I?" Miss Archer held it up and looked at it in astonishment. 
"Wow!" she said after several seconds. "And I thought I had 
problems!" 
 
"That's Charlotte Davenport's," said Mrs Danby. "Oops! Shouldn't give 
away confidential client information. But you'll have heard of 
Charlotte? She's always in the society gossip columns. Or she was 
until last year. She's dropped out of the scene lately. Probably 
something to do with these!" 
 
"You mean The Honorable Charlotte," Maggie put in. "My Edi ... my 
work colleague knows her from way back. Only the other day, she was 
saying she wondered where Charlotte had got to lately." She gazed at 
the immense bra, an idea beginning to form in her mind. 
 
Miss Archer put the bra down with a sigh. "I guess I'm lucky after 
all, only being the size I am. Right, must go. It will take me a week 
to earn enough to pay for this latest bra. Bye, Mrs Danby. Bye 
Maggie." 
 
"Bye, Kay." She watched the woman go, then made a decision. A quick 
glance confirmed that Mrs Danby was busy across the other side of the 
room. 
 
"Gosh, Kay left her cheque-book behind," Maggie exclaimed, standing 
up suddenly. "I'll try and catch her." She shot out of the workroom 
to the front door. Kay was just getting into her car. "Kay!" 
 
Maggie took out a card. "You said just now that you are finding bras 
a major expense. I have an idea which may help you. Here's my card. 
If you'd like to call this number later, like this afternoon, reverse 
the charges and ask for me, Maggie Wallace. I'll tell you what it's 
all about." 
 
Kay inspected the card and turned it over. "Cunis Publications? Never 
heard of them. What is it? A job offer of some sort?" 
 
"Not exactly a job as such. But it is work, and it will be to your 
advantage. I will explain," said Maggie. "Not now, though: it would 
take too long, and we need to discuss a few things. Meanwhile, Mrs 
Danby will be wondering what we're doing out here. Any time after 
two, okay?" 
 
"Okay." Kay looked at Maggie, mystified, but could glean nothing from 
her expression. She shrugged and grinned, then squeezed herself into 
her car. 
 
 
********** 
 
"I thought for a moment you weren't coming back. Did you catch her, 
or did you have to chase her down the road to the traffic lights?" 
Mrs Danby raised an eyebrow at Maggie. 
 
"Sorry! We started chatting. She's nice, isn't she?" 
 
"She's a sweetie," Mrs Danby agreed. Maggie had picked up the bright 
red bra again and was gazing at it helplessly. There were twelve 
heavy duty hooks down the back. It must take Charlotte Davenport ten 
minutes just to put the thing on in the mornings. What letter size 
were these cups? 
 
"Cup or mug?" 
 
Maggie came out of her daydream. "Sorry? Oh! A cup would be fine, 
thanks!" 
 
The little bra-maker stirred two cups briskly and tapped the spoon 
rhythmically on the rim of one. 
 
"Here you are. G cup?" said Mrs Danby. "Don't tell me. You can wear 
an F, but sometimes you need a G?" 
 
Maggie tried to adjust to the sudden change of subject. "That's 
right. It depends on the make." 
 
"Doesn't matter. So long as it fits. What are you wearing now? Better 
still, take it off, let's have a look at you. Come on!" She snapped 
her fingers and Maggie, startled, rose to her feet. To her own 
amazement, she found herself taking off her sweater. 
 
"You can keep your bra on for a while," said Mrs Danby efficiently, 
and performed a number of brisk evolutions with her tape measure. She 
departed and began heaving cardboard boxes around, looking for 
something. "One day, I'll sort this lot out ... ah, there it is!" 
 
She took up a flat box and opened the lid. Dust rose in clouds, and 
she blew it away. And from the box, Mrs Danby produced with a 
flourish a pink bra in delicate looking lacy material. She held it 
up. It looked less delicate held up. The cups were capacious, Maggie 
could see. 
 
"Try it. It should be your size." 
 
Maggie tried it. Mrs Danby watched her with interest as Maggie 
shrugged off her own bra and lowered her breasts into the pink one. 
She was astonished to find it fitted her perfectly. She had never 
felt a bra like it in her life. 
 
"Oh, me, oh my!" she exclaimed. 
 
"Comfortable enough?" 
 
"It's amazing! Magical!" 
 
"It's about an H cup, although that doesn't mean a lot. You've been 
squashing yourself into a size or two too small. How many did you 
want? I've got three more in various colours ..." 
 
"Yes, please. All four. I'll never find another bra like this. You 
made these?" 
 
"Sure! It's an unusual size. Most of my customers are in the custom 
range. I mean, *really* custom. Here, have a look ... at my style-
book." Mrs Danby took a fat scrapbook down from the shelf and blew 
the dust on to the floor. She began coughing helplessly and took a 
gulp of coffee. "I keep pictures of the best styles, to help people 
choose. That's why I've cut their heads off." 
 
Maggie turned the pages. Mostly the pictures were of women wearing 
enormous bras. The faces were missing from the pictures, but the body 
types ranged from obese to almost painfully slim. 
 
"I've never seen your adverts before anywhere," said Maggie. "You 
were recommended by a friend of a friend, a patient of Dr Henderson?" 
 
Mrs Danby betrayed no emotion. "Oh, yes," she said neutrally. "I know 
him, of course. Or I know of him. I don't need to advertise, most of 
my business is by personal recommendation." 
 
"Does he send you many women for fitting? Dr Henderson?" 
 
"One or two, yes. Shall I wrap those three? You'll be wearing the 
other ...?" 
 
"Thanks. There's no way I'm taking this off now." She stuffed her old 
discarded bra into her bag, then picked up the scrapbook again. "I 
wonder what it's like, being as big as this?" 
 
"The bra helps." Mrs Danby perched on the bench and looked down at 
the page Maggie was staring at. "That one there," she pointed at a 
woman at the top of the page. There were just the two pictures, of 
different women. "That one's young Charlotte Davenport again - the 
girl the red bra's for - probably the biggest I've ever seen for a 
slim girl. As you can see without her shirt, she's bloody enormous! 
And you can see the size of that bra. Serious shoulder straps, and 
twelve hooks!" 
 
"Are all these recent pictures?" Maggie turned over the next page and 
found no more pictures. 
 
"The last six months, these two. Jack Henderson sent me the other 
girl, as it happens. In fact, he persuaded her not to have a 
reduction. He does that to quite a lot of women, which is unusual for 
a plastic surgeon. It would have made the girls' lives easier, and 
brought him valuable business, but he told them to try one of my bras 
first. That girl, Lynda, the smaller one, is very young anyway, she's 
only fourteen. Chances are she would carry on growing after she had 
her operation." 
 
"And she was happy about not having a reduction? She must have gone 
to the surgeon expecting a mastectomy." 
 
"I don't believe any woman wants surgeons cutting her about if 
there's an alternative. And when they come to me, and try one of my 
bras, even huge girls like these can sometimes be persuaded." 
 
Maggie continued to stare at the pictures. 
 
"Even if they're as big as Charlotte?" 
 
"Charlotte? A reduction? Not her. The thought would never enter her 
head. She knows what she wants in life. Probably at the moment, a new 
car. She can't get her tits behind the wheel of her MG, not so 
easily. She's only been driving six months, and she's outgrown her 
first car already!" 
 
Maggie took a deep breath. "Look, Mrs Danby. Let me come clean with 
you. I did want a new bra, and now I've tried one of yours, I would 
recommend them to anyone. But that wasn't the reason behind my visit. 
I want to ask a favour of you." 
 
Mrs Danby looked intrigued. "What is it, then? I wondered what the 
real reason was for all the questions about Jack Henderson and 
everything. You'd better tell me what this is all about before we can 
even talk about favours." 
 
"I'm a writer," said Maggie, embroidering the facts a little and 
crossing her fingers out of sight beneath the scrapbook. "Freelance, 
mostly. I am interested in doing an article on women with very big 
breasts. All the problems, the backache, the taunts at school, the 
lot. And the solutions, surgery ... well, are there any alternatives? 
I confess that until I met you, I wasn't really aware that a bra 
could be a solution as such. That it could offer a quality of life, 
so a woman could show pride in herself the way she was made by 
Nature." 
 
"So you want to quote me, show examples of my work? Not an offer I 
can refuse, really, publicity-wise." 
 
"Of course!" Maggie began to feel a little desperate. It was 
beginning to look as if she would have to write this damned article 
after all. "But there is one other thing. I would be very interested 
to speak to some of your customers." 
 
"Well, I don't know if I ought to ..." 
 
"It wouldn't do any harm just to talk to them? If they had any 
objection, I wouldn't mention them in the article, nor bother them 
further." Maggie smiled encouragingly at Mrs Danby. 
 
"Did you have anyone in mind? Charlotte, presumably?" 
 
"And this one, the young girl. That way, I can show two different 
body types; one a young girl, the other one, Charlotte, who has just 
started getting dramatically bigger. What do you think?" 
 
Mrs Danby sighed. "I don't know if I should. It seems like an 
intrusion somehow, but ..." She stood up and went to a filing 
cabinet. "Here we are. Charlotte, and young Lynda. Speak to her mum. 
As I say, the kid's only fourteen. There you go, phone numbers only. 
No addresses. You can call them and work it out between yourself and 
themselves. Tell them you're a customer of mine." 
 
Maggie felt a surge of joy as Mrs Danby scribbled the two names and 
numbers on a scrap of paper. 
 
"Thank you so much! I'll talk to them, and I will get back to you 
about the interview and photographs." She rose and took up her bag 
and the three new bras in their wrapping. "I suppose I'd better pay 
you for these, hadn't I?" She took out her cheque book and began to 
write. 
 
"That's funny!" Mrs Danby was looking at her quizzically. "Kay Archer 
seems to have left her cheque book behind ...!" 
 
 
 
 
 
Chapter 3:- Kay 
 
"You look different, Mags. What have you done?" 
 
Maggie sat at her desk and grinned self-consciously at Wilma. "I only 
bought a bra from that Danby woman. Well, four, actually. Her entire 
stock." 
 
"It's made a new woman of you. But you didn't need to buy the whole 
shop, you only went for a name and address." 
 
"I got it, too. But I had to try a bra on as part of my cover story, 
and once I tried it on, I didn't want to take it off. You'd never 
believe how well it fits. The only trouble is I'm now going to have to 
write an article for a woman's magazine about big tits and custom 
bras."

Wilma giggled. "Serves you right. You should have thought of a better 
story. Anyway, it will be good practice for you."

"Practice I don't need. Still, here are the names and phone numbers." 
 
Wilma studied the scrap of paper. "Two? I thought it was just the 
young girl." 
 
"Things have developed a little, if that's the right word. It all 
happened while I was at Mrs Danby's. The young girl, Lynda, is there, 
and she seems to be the one Dr Henderson mentioned. But when I 
arrived, there was already a customer there, and she'd just been 
fitted with a bra. A real big girl, chief!" 
 
"And this is her number?" 
 
"No, as she was leaving, I rushed out and gave her my card. She's 
going to call later. I think she will, she sounded intrigued. But 
this other number is a strange story. When Kay - that's the girl I 
was telling you about - when she was just leaving, she saw this great 
big red bra beside the machine, and she asked Mrs Danby about it. 
Without a word of a lie, it was the biggest bra I have ever seen. 
Bigger than anything. It was impossible. Ridiculous!" 
 
"Whose is it, did she say?" 
 
"That's the amazing thing. It's someone you know. Charlotte 
Davenport!" 
 
"Charlotte ... ? Lord Davenport's daughter?" Maggie nodded, eyes 
bright. "But she hasn't got huge breasts. It must be someone else. 
Charlotte is biggish, but she's not as big as you, even." 
 
"She is now. Apparently, she suddenly started getting bigger, and 
paid a call on Mrs Danby. And she hasn't stopped paying calls since! 
Honestly, that bra, it was mammoth! That's her number, there." 
 
Wilma glanced at the paper and nodded. "It's the right area code, 
certainly. Are you going to call them now?" 
 
"Lynda first. You want to come along to see her? And Lady Charlotte, 
as well?" 
 
"Yeah, if you can, arrange something for the next day or two. 
 
 
********** 
 
Kay Archer was having a bad day, and it was still only five minutes 
past two in the afternoon. 
 
She worked at home these days, so she no longer had to face the 
crowded train and the jolting, lurching bus every morning. It had 
been bad enough in the mornings, when Kay was still half asleep. It 
was ten times worse in the evening, after a day in the office, when 
her feet were on fire and her back felt as if she had been hewing 
coal all day instead of entering data at a computer keyboard. 
 
Sometimes she missed the noise and conversation of the office, and 
almost looked forward to the regular visits she paid every month. 
Almost. Every time, as soon as she got home and kicked off her shoes, 
she realised that she was better off out of it all: the gossip, the 
staring, the fresh crop of new boys, straight from school, gawping at 
her chest, making her feel practically naked. 
 
Working at home meant farewell to all that. 
 
But she still had her bad days, and this was well on its way to being 
one of them. 
 
"I wish I had never got out of bed," she grumbled to herself as she 
put the phone down and checked the list of items she had to attend 
to. Half of it had been done before by someone else, and done wrong. 
Why was it, there was never enough time to do it right, but there was 
always enough time to do it twice? And this was only Tuesday. The 
rest of the week stretched ahead of her like an endless tunnel 
punctuated only by blind corners. 
 
Having to visit Mrs Danby's this morning had set her back at least 
half a day. Mail had piled up in her inbox. Kay sat slumped at the 
keyboard and hit a few keys in a jaded way. The familiar form sprang 
on to the screen in front of her, its cursor nagging away, demanding 
input. Now. At once. 
 
Wasn't there something else she should do first? Like putting a bra 
on? She considered it, and reluctantly rejected the idea. Her new one 
was a little bit stiff in the cups, so she had taken it off. It would 
get better in time, she knew. Of her three old bras that still fit, 
two were in the wash, and the other one always seemed to have 
slightly smaller cups than the others. The last time she had worn it 
had been Friday, when she went out with Dan, and she had felt 
practically strangled by her bra cups all evening. It had been a 
miserable evening, one way and another, and Kay hadn't been at all 
sorry when Dan made an excuse and left at ten thirty, shortly after 
bringing her home to her apartment. 
 
He had called on Sunday afternoon, but Kay had let the answering 
machine talk to him. Dan was sweet sometimes, but better in small 
doses. And while he seemed to enjoy the idea of escorting a young 
woman whose figure was, not to put too fine a point on it, 
outrageously overdeveloped, he became jealous and sullen whenever 
another man so much as looked at her. 
 
"They're bound to look at me, Dan," Kay had explained for the 
umpteenth time, as recently as Friday evening. "I'm ... well ... 
different!" 
 
Kay had been different since she had been about fourteen. Until then, 
she had been a fairly ordinary kid, kind of dirty blonde, slim, 
almost skinny, and inclined to gawkiness with her above average 
height. Then her breasts arrived with a rush, and it seemed they 
hadn't stopped rushing since. She was still above average height, now 
around five feet eight tall, and still slim. Her waist never strayed 
half an inch from its regular twenty-three inches, nor did her 
thirty-five inch hips. Why, then, did she have to contend with a bust 
that had never stopped growing since several months before her 
fifteenth birthday?  
 
She gave a heavy sigh and decided against the too-tight bra. This 
morning's visit to the Danby woman had been her third in six months. 
Kay didn't know what her bust measurement was, which seemed to 
infuriate Dan, for some reason. But it was certainly over seventy two 
inches, as her last fumbling attempt to measure herself recently had 
shown her, she was bigger around than the tape measure was long. 
 
Under the shapeless maternity dress she wore about the apartment, her 
breasts rested heavily in her lap. Movement was uncomfortable, or 
actually painful if she wasn't careful, and there was no respite from 
the discomfort. Any attempt to get up suddenly caused her breasts to 
flop massively down to their full length, to rest eventually on her 
lower stomach. 
 
The phone trilled again. A bad day. Not Dan? Not during working 
hours, she thought. Sighing, she reached for the handset and picked 
it up. 
 
"Kay Archer, hello?" 
 
It was more work. Why did the office practically grind to a 
shuddering halt when she took a couple of hours off on a Tuesday 
morning? She decided to tidy her desk and make a fresh start. That 
was when she found Maggie's card. 
 
 
********** 
 
Kay's mind was spinning. It had started out as a bad day, but it had 
taken some unexpected turns. She stood by the bed, trying to get her 
thoughts into some kind of order. 
 
Her job was fine, as a means of bringing in a reasonable supply of 
cash. It kept her in warmth and relative comfort, in food, clothes 
and underwear. Underwear. She had to admit that the prospect of 
having to buy three more bras, or even one more bra, was a depressing 
one. Mrs Danby was not expensive, she had discovered after a few 
enquiries, but all these new bras were an alarming drain on Kay's 
resources. 
 
The visit from Maggie and the other woman, Wilma Harkness, had left 
her in a daze. She had called Maggie, more out of curiosity than 
anything else, and not half an hour later, the two of them arrived on 
her doorstep. Then out of the blue, an offer to become a model, of 
all things! It was ridiculous. Models were skinny lizzies with no 
boobs. It was only after Kay had expressed her astonishment at the 
whole crazy idea that Wilma had opened her briefcase and produced a 
glossy magazine. Kay had never imagined such a thing could exist. And 
it was edited by a woman! 
 
The two of them had even left the magazine behind. "Take a look at it 
later," Wilma had said. "See what you think. We're not asking you to 
rush into things. And give us a call if there's anything further you 
want to know." 
 
HUMUNGOUS! Crazy title. One of these American words. Published in 
London, but aimed at the American market. A weird idea in itself. But 
there had been nothing weird about the offer from Cunis Publications. 

Cunis. What sort of a name was Cunis, anyway? Neither one thing nor 
the other, she giggled. 
 
But in effect, as far as Kay could tell, the offer meant she would get 
two years'-worth of free clothes, dresses, outfits, underwear and 
bras, beauty treatment, massage and hairdos. Plus a tidy sum for 
appearing in the magazine itself. But why? 
 
Did it matter why? Kay would be able to continue her normal job, her 
day-to-day routine. Things would be slightly disturbed, naturally. 
She would have to cram beauty treatment and visits to the hairdresser 
into her daily schedule, and there would be trips into London to the 
studios ... 
 
But what was the point of fantasising about it? She wasn't going to 
go in for this idea. The very thought of appearing nude in a mens' 
magazine. Her poor mother would go into shock, if she hadn't been 
more or less permanently in that state already. And what would her 
friends think? 
 
What friends? The girls in the office? What did it matter what that 
empty-headed bunch thought, if they ever thought anything at all? 
 
It wasn't as if HUMUNGOUS! was widely on sale in this country anyway. 
Kay had never seen a copy until today. She picked it up, and sitting 
on the bed, leaned back against a mound of pillows and began to read. 
To her surprise, it made quite good reading. The editorial said 
something about the policy of the magazine, its promise to the 
readers never to sully its pages with inflated latex or silicone 
sisters - whatever they were - and its vow to bring only the latest, 
the biggest, the most beautiful and the best naturally endowed girls. 
 
Wow, thought Kay. Does that mean me? 
 
By the time Kay slithered down beneath the covers and laid the 
magazine on the bedside table, she knew it *did* mean her. Apart from 
anything else, it meant a measure of financial relaxation for the 
next two years. And then, if she wanted it, she could have a 
reduction operation, paid for by Cunis Publications. Thousands of 
pounds, the surgery would have cost to have it done privately, and it 
would bring her freedom from these ever-growing masses hanging from 
her chest. Or rather, as they were at the moment, resting on the 
mattress on each side of her body. 
 
Two more years, and Kay would be able to sleep on her tummy again! 
 
 
********** 
 
Even in the cold morning light, the magazine's glossy cover seemed to 
glow, luring her to open its shiny pages. The girl on the front cover 
was a pretty brunette, wearing an inadequate bikini. Kay tried to 
imagine herself wearing a bikini. The very thought was enough to 
start her giggling. Grunting, she placed her feet on the rug, picked 
up the magazine and lumbered off to the bathroom. 
 
An hour later, after the phone had stopped chirrupping at her with 
messages from work, she decided. As soon as she had cleared the 
immediate backlog of data entry, she would call Maggie's number and 
ask a few more vital questions. She couldn't think of any right now, 
but something would surely turn up. 
 
In the event, it was almost midday when Kay tapped the last numbers 
into her on-screen form and checked the incoming mail box for 
messages. Nothing. The guys at the office would be winding down for 
lunch. 
 
She opened the magazine again, resisting the temptation to leaf 
through the pages to the girl in the centre-spread, who was doing 
something intimate to herself with a glisteningly moist finger. 
Instead, she checked the phone number, tapped out the twelve digits 
and listened to the ringing tone. 
 
"Maggie Wallace, please." 
 
"Yes, you can certainly give her a message. Would you tell her it's 
Kay Archer, and the answer is yes! 
 
----------
end part 1