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 4:- Lynda This question was impossible. Lynda snorted with disgust and slammed her pen down, bringing startled glances from the rest of the people around her. She gathered up her papers, clicked her pen shut with an air of defiant finality, and got to her feet. Looking neither to right nor left, she undulated down the central aisle, placed a single sheet of paper on the teacher's desk, and left the room with her nose in the air. The other girls sighed dramatically after Lynda had gone, and the boys returned to their interrupted work. The teacher turned the sheet of paper over in disbelief and looked at the door as if expecting Lynda to come back in and finish her end-of-term exam. Then she read the brief essay, which made no convincing attempt to answer the question. The composition ended with a one-word paragraph on a line of its own. "Bollicks!" it said. Lynda Mae Sutcliffe can't even spell a simple word like that, thought Miss Carling. She grinned to herself. The kid would be outside now, dragging on a cigarette, behind the bike sheds. Miss Carling envied her. It was a lovely early Spring day out there. Not an afternoon to be cooped up in a stuffy classroom writing pointless essays about whatever. Bollocks just about summed it up, thought Andrea Carling. Or at least, bollicks. No, this would not do! The girl had to be disciplined. The low marks she would get for this pitiful attempt at an exam question would be insufficient punishment. Lynda was bright enough to do this work standing on her head. Andrea Carling's mind formed a brief image of Lynda standing on her head and she found herself blushing. Fortunately, the members of the class weren't looking at her, they were absorbed in their work. Either that, or sound asleep. Andrea scanned the bowed heads before her. Most of the kids were scribbling away, their apparent industry masking an overall mediocrity. In this class of fourteen year olds, nine boys, eleven girls, only Lynda showed a spark of creativity, and she was the one who chose to scrawl foul language across the bottom of her exam paper and leave the classroom for a crafty smoke. One or two of the boys were looking up furtively as if hoping and praying for Lynda to reappear. They sheepishly returned to their work as Andrea glared at them. Horny, spotty little bastards, gawping at Lynda's boobs. Andrea felt a hot glow spread over her face and shoulders as she thought of the girl and her exuberant development. 'She's even bigger than me,' Andrea thought, 'and I always thought mine were huge!' She was forced to open the top of her desk and rummage round inside it to cover her embarrassment. Her own bust was extremely large, although Andrea was a fairly large-boned woman, pushing six feet in her heels. But she knew that despite Lynda's attempts, partially successful, at hiding or disguising her development, the fourteen year old kid's bust was probably several cup sizes larger than her own. The familiar moistness was spreading through Andrea's panties. 'Oh, shit! That's all I need,' she thought fiercely. 'Shit, shit, shit!' ********** Lynda slipped out of the gate and caught the early bus. As a frequent bunker-off from school, she was a regular passenger on this one, which passed half an hour before the official school buses came along. The driver was one of the usuals. He gave Lynda a frank stare up and down before looking her in the eye. "Hi, you. Part time again?" "Yeah. They can't teach me any more." She flashed her season ticket and leaned forward slightly, her full breasts protruding over the driver's ticket machine. As ever, the response was gratifying. His eyes came out on stalks. Satisfied, Lynda glided to a seat at the front, as close to the driver as possible, not so that she could watch him, but that he would be constantly aware of her presence. She imagined his lust and desire as the bus grumbled along the road, eventually stopping directly outside her house. Lynda mouthed a kiss and waggled her fingers in a friendly wave as the doors sighed open for her to get out on to the footpath. Then it was gone, and the driver was completely forgotten as Lynda pushed open the kitchen door. "That you already, love?" Lynda's mother was up to her elbows in flour. She pushed a stray wisp of hair back from her eyes and left a dusting of flour on her nose. Lynda wiped it off for her with a moistened finger. "We had exams. I finished early." "Oh, good, dear. How did you get on?" "All right. What's this?" Lynda had found the note with her name on it pinned to the cork notice board. "Phone message for you. They rang at nine this morning. I told them you was at school. A Miss ... what is it?" "Wallace. Dunno any Miss Wallace." What could it be? Something to do with her sagging off from school? "I'm going up to change. This bra's killing me." Mrs Sutcliffe bit her lip and looked at her daughter with concern. "It was big enough, love. It can't have shrunk in the wash. I took extra care with all your bras. They cost plenty." Maybe it didn't shrink, Mummy dear. Maybe I grew!" "Don't say that, Lyn. Surely you can't get any bigger. I mean, you have a lovely figure, but enough's enough ..." Her voice tailed off. Lynda was already halfway up the stairs. She was still up there ten minutes later, when the phone rang. "Lyn? It's for you, dear. Miss Wallace." ********** Wilma closed the office diary and stood up, feeling reasonably satisfied. "A good week's work, Mags." "We'll see about that after we've met this Lynda. She sounded a disgraceful little bitch on the phone. Typical teenager." Wilma grinned to herself. Maggie was into her twenties by all of two years. Probably grumpy because she had to work tomorrow. Half a precious Saturday wasted visiting Lynda Sutcliffe. "I bet she'll turn out to be perfectly lovely. How did her mother sound?" "Bewildered, more than anything. She couldn't seem to understand what the deal was all about. I explained that BJ was interested in the scientific aspects of a certain type of female development, and that he would perhaps be prepared to fund Lynda's clothes bill for the next few years, provided she entered into his project at the end of it. It's not that easy to explain over the phone." "It will be easier face to face. We need to see young Lynda first. She's what it's all about. If she doesn't look as if she's going to be suitable, then BJ can save his money." Wilma glanced at the clock. "I'll pick you up in the morning. It's about a two hour drive. Eight thirty?" "Fine, just fine!" Maggie grumbled. ********** "She'll be back in ten minutes. I told her you would be here by half past ten, but you know what kids are like. She chose the most awkward moment to go and do her chores. I said it wasn't that important, but no, she had to go. Tea or coffee?" Mrs Sutcliffe bustled out into the kitchen and returned with a tray. The best china. Nothing but the best for the visitors. "We didn't explain completely about this project, Mrs Sutcliffe," Wilma started, as soon as Mrs Sutcliffe came to rest for ten seconds. "Fanny!" "Sorry?" "You don't have to call me Mrs Sutcliffe. Call me Fanny." "Oh, good. I'm Wilma, and this is Maggie. Anyway. Mr Cunis is in publishing, and he publishes a range of magazines. One of these is dedicated to showing a particular type of female physique. We understand from our interview with Mrs Danby that Lynda is of that type. What Mr Cunis would like to do is to prevent other publishers from perhaps unscrupulously trying to tempt our subjects to model for them instead of us." "Uh? Model?" Mrs Sutcliffe looked at Wilma, then at Maggie, not comprehending. "You mean, you want Lynda to be a model? But she's not built like a model. You've got it all wrong. I thought your Mrs Danby would have told you that." "All models aren't the same shape, Mrs ... Fanny," Maggie said patiently. "There is a need for some women and girls who are built on more generous lines." "You mean like you?" Mrs Sutcliffe pointed at Maggie's chest. "Yes." "But Lynda's bigger than you. Miles bigger." "We know, but that's the type of figure Mr Cunis is looking for." "It's not like Page Three, is it?" Wilma took a deep breath. "You mean, sleazy nudes with corny captions? Certainly not. But undressed, yes. It's a very high class publication, though. Read by men and women all over America." Maggie looked at Wilma helplessly. If this went on, she was going to crack up laughing. "America?" Mrs Sutcliffe breathed. "America! Our Lynda!" Right on cue, Lynda arrived home. They heard her lugging a shopping bag through the hallway as the back door slammed shut, and muffled curses coming from the kitchen. Then the door opened, and Lynda looked in. "Hello, love. Here's Miss Wallace and Miss Harkness to see you. It's about Page Three in the American papers." Wilma opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again. Lynda was a startlingly pretty girl. There would be no objection to using her on that score. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders and she occasionally tossed it back with a jerk of her head. She wore tight jeans, very tight indeed round her surprisingly womanish hips, and a bulky work shirt in a bold check pattern, like a lumberjack's. Even thus disguised, the fullness of her bust was clearly evident. Maggie was looking at her, too, almost hungrily. "Hi!" the girl said without much enthusiasm. "Page Three in America? They don't have Page Three in America." She didn't wait for an argument on this point, but went over to the window and looked out into the back garden. It was several seconds before she turned round and sniffed. "Me? Page Three? Why me?" "You're a very pretty girl, Lynda," smiled Maggie. "And you are more suited to the type of model we are looking for. You have ..." "A fuller figure," Wilma helped Maggie out. "You mean big tits?" The girl was trying to shock her mother in front of her guests. She thrust her breasts out against the thick cotton. "They're still growing, too. I told Mum yesterday but she didn't believe me. Me bra's too tight." Wilma had decided. Lynda would be ideal. A spirited girl. Her manners would perhaps improve over the next four years or so. "Mr Cunis will buy all Lynda's new bras, Mrs Sutcliffe. Until she's twenty-one. By then, Lynda will be old enough to make a decision about her own future. Much will depend on her ... her development before then. But I can assure you that Lynda would be ideal for our project, and you will find it advantageous, financially speaking." "You mean you'll pay her? For doing what?" Mrs Sutcliffe looked doubtfully at her daughter who was studying the two women guests with interest, her eyes alert and bright. "Mr Cunis will pay her just to stick around until she's eighteen. And he will look after her interests until then. We will ask her to attend the studios for a day beforehand. Perhaps during the school holidays. They will take a few record photos of Lynda, get her used to being photographed and everything." Even Lynda was beginning to look excited, despite herself. "Studios, Mum. I'm going to be a model. You've got to say yeah, Mum!" "I don't know. She's so young ..." "We won't have any pictures taken for publication until she's almost eighteen, Mrs Sutcliffe. You have our word on that." Wilma felt as if she was wading through treacle. "She'll say yes, Miss Harkness," Lynda assured Wilma. "She just likes to hang things out a bit. When can I go to the studios? It's half term next weekend. I'm free for a whole week. How about then?" Wilma exchanged glances with Maggie. "We'll see if we can arrange it. Probably no reason why not," Maggie said. We'll call you on Monday. In the afternoon when you get home from school." "If that's all right with you, Mrs Sutcliffe," said Wilma. Chapter 5:- Charlotte The car bounced smoothly down the long driveway and stopped in front of the stables. The sun had gone behind a bank of menacing-looking cloud and the warm stone of the manor house and its outbuildings had turned to a bleak grey. The breeze, which had been soft and cooling, seemed suddenly chilly as Charlotte extracted herself from behind the wheel. It's either this car or me, she thought. One of us has to go. She retrieved her tapestry bag from behind the seats and made her way slowly across the raked gravel to the front door. The first spots of rain began to fall, and Charlotte looked round apprehensively at the open-topped car, then smiled in reassurance as Maxwell appeared from the stable block, climbed aboard and reversed insolently into the stable yard. Good old Maxwell. Good young Maxwell, she corrected herself. In his twenties, and quite desirable in a rough kind of way. No doubt, popular with the girls in the village. The door opened magically when she was still a yard away from it, and the housemaid greeted her with a marginally respectful nod. "What time did Daddy get back, Mrs Grummit?" Charlotte Davenport unwound her scarf and inspected her mane of red hair in the looking glass. She never thought of it as a mirror, always a looking glass. Shit, she thought, what a state. Another reason to get rid of the MGB and get something more grown-up. Perhaps Daddy would run to a small Mercedes. Something with plenty of room behind the wheel. "Half an hour ago, Miss Charlotte. He would like to see you. You're in the shit again." Actually, Mrs Grummit didn't say the last sentence, at least, not loud enough for Charlotte to hear her, but she certainly implied it. Charlotte looked sharply at the woman: painfully thin and almost six feet tall, she no longer towered over Charlotte, but she had always been a terrifying presence about the house since Charlotte had been a child. Even now, at an assured and aristocratically confident seventeen, Charlotte was not altogether sure where she stood with Mrs Grummit. The angular face was free of expression. "Where is he?" Charlotte sighed. "The library. I suppose you would like tea?" "Thank you, Mrs Grummit," said Charlotte coolly, "that would be most acceptable." Daddy hurriedly drained his whisky glass and slid it out of sight behind the reading lamp. "Can I refresh your glass, Daddy?" Charlotte took the glass, sniffed it and selected her father's favourite malt. Equal parts with cool water from the house's own well. She brought the drink to her father and kissed him on the forehead. "Hard day?" "Hard enough. But it's over now. Another day, another ten thousand dollars, as our American cousins always say. How was yours?" "So-so. Middling." Charlotte started to run her fingers through her tangled wind-blown hair, then gave up. Must get Mrs Grummit to arrange an appointment at Loose Ends for the morning. "I've outgrown the car, Daddy, I was wondering ...?" Lord Davenport looked startled and embarrassed. "Outgrown it? Surely Maxwell could adjust the seat for you. Tell him you need more leg-room, dammit!" "It's not leg-room I need, Daddy. It's boob-room. My legs, you may have noticed, have not grown substantially since I was sixteen. My breasts, on the other hand, have." She felt a pang of shame as her father went scarlet. It wasn't fair to embarrass him like this. Mrs Grummit entered with the tea tray. "Chocolate biscuits, Miss Charlotte, your favourites," she said sweetly before retiring. "And don't dunk them in your cup, you messy bitch," she didn't quite say as she closed the double doors behind her. Charlotte perched herself on the arm of her father's chair. Her right breast slumped heavily against his cheek. Bloody thing, she said to herself, and adjusted its position before resting her lips on top of his head, among the thinning sandy strands. "I wish I had finished growing, Daddy." She sounded like a little girl. "I saw Mrs Danby again yesterday. My usual appointment?" Her father nodded. "Still getting bigger, she said. "All she can do is carry on making bigger and bigger bras until they stop growing, and the fucking doctors are worse than useless, the only treatment they seem to offer is to chop them off. It's nearly the year 2000 and they still cut women's boobs off when they get too big to sit behind the wheel of a sodding MGB!" "Language, m'dear!" said her father mildly. She returned to her chair and stirred her teacup. The temptation of the chocolate biscuits was too great for her, and she watched almost lasciviously as the dark brown chocolate changed to a lighter, more fluid texture. She was a second too late to get it to her mouth before it broke off and dropped on to the enormous shelf of her breasts. "Oh, shit! I'll have to change my dress now." The phone tinkled three times. Mrs Grummit's special coded ring for Charlotte. If it had been two rings, it would be for Daddy. It must be something important, unless Mrs G was feeling bolshie and decided to trouble the young mistress with a trivial call. "Hello, Charlotte fforbes-Davenport." "Miss Davenport. Miss fforbes-Davenport. Your secretary said you were busy but you could perhaps spare a minute." 'Secretary! Bloody Grummit, my secretary!' "Well, I am rather tied up at the moment, what is it?" "My name is Maggie Wallace, from Cunis Publications ..." ********** "I can't believe it, Mags! Three out of three! That's a result!" "Four girls altogether, including the girl Donna. BJ will be creaming himself." Wilma looked at her severely. "BJ does not cream himself. What's the program of events for next week, then?" "Tuesday: we've got the young kid, Lynda, going to Sunbird Studios for Duncan Throssell to photograph her. I will be there to meet her off the train and take her to the studio. I'll have to stay with her until it's time to go back. Her mother can't make it, so I'm lumbered with her." Wilma grinned. "Can't have a young girl running loose round London on her own. Especially one who looks like Lynda. What about the others?" "Nothing yet for Donna. She understands that although she could appear in this country, she's not old enough for Cunis, and Cunis is the goose that lays the golden eggs. Or golden bras, in her case. She can see Mrs Danby next week sometime. But Kay Archer is old enough, and so is this Charlotte fforbes-with-two-small-ff's-Davenport. Near enough. So we've got them both arriving at Sunbird on Friday. Kay in the morning and Charlotte later on. She's got her own transport, it goes without saying. Probably get the chauffeur to drop her off in one of the Bentleys." "That's the strange thing," Wilma mused. "They've all agreed to have a go at modelling, but for different reasons. Donna's Mum needs the money, and so does Kay; young Lynda is doing it for sheer devilment, but Charlotte. Why? The money's not a problem, one imagines. What does she want? Independence? To get out from Daddy's influence? She's the least likely of the lot, yet she almost ripped your arm off when you offered free bras and stuff." "Maybe they're broke, despite the baronial hall and the brigade of servants." "Only a maid, a cook, a junior girl to do the cleaning, a chauffeur and two gardeners." "Do you think she's getting it off the chauffeur," asked Maggie with a giggle. "Maxwell, wasn't it? Hunky." "She probably prefers Ruperts. No shortage of Rich Ruperts about the place. Rich Ruperts and Hooray Henrys. She used to be a randy bugger after she quit school. Anything with a prick, that's Charlotte. She doesn't work, or anything, so she has all the time in the world for amusing herself. In fact, I bet she's bored rigid. Jumped at the chance of breaking the monotony with a spot of nakedness. Think she'll fancy Duncan?" "She can fancy him if she likes, but I can't see it getting her anywhere. Not with Duncan!" "Perhaps not. Maybe one of his assistants. They both prefer girls!" "Geoff and Debbie? Yeah, one of those ought to hit it off with Charlotte. We'll have to drop by on Friday and see how it goes." Wilma sighed. Debbie had never made a pass at her. "If Debbie likes big breasted girls, she can't wish for anything bigger than Charlotte." She studied the Polaroid Maggie had brought back from her visit. It showed Charlotte casually attired in jeans and T-shirt. Those things had to be eighty inches! Her bust was even bigger than Donna's. And over six feet tall, too. Perhaps it was just as well for BJ's blood pressure that he wasn't going to see any of the pictures of his new models until the full range of them had been photographed. The girls who would carry HUMUNGOUS! into the next millenium. Truly the girls of the nineties! In more ways than one, thought Wilma. Chapter 6:- Lynda Goes To London Duncan Throssell placed his hands on his hips and glared at Maggie. She placed her hands on her hips and glared back at him. "I know she's too young, Duncan, but it isn't a waste of time and money. BJ is paying." "BJ has more money than sense. What is the point of photographing a kid who won't be old enough for another two years, or four years before she's eighteen? Maggie shrugged. "So long as he's paying, you should worry? Just a few shots, that's all. Fully clothed, and one or two in a bikini or whatever. And Duncan ...?" "Yes, Maggie?" "Friday. The other two. Sorry about the short notice, but we only just found out. These two are old enough, so you can spread yourself. If you'll pardon the expression." Duncan placed his hands on his hips and bristled. "I should think so, too. Where's this kid got to anyway? A schools photographer, is that what I've come to?" "She's just dressing. Honestly, Duncan. She's a lovely looking girl. No! Don't say it! Here she comes now. Oh, bloody hell. Look at her!" Duncan Throssell looked at Lynda and had to agree with Maggie's description, and also with her exclamation at the sight of the girl in her photography clothes. She had evidently dragged her mother out to the shops with her and spent some of BJ's money in advance. Maggie wondered who had made the choice, and whether Lynda or her mother had the final say. The girl's top was a frilly white blouse, the material almost transparent, but with so many ruffles and frills that you couldn't really see anything at all through it. One sensed the hand of the mother in the choice of size, which was generous enough for Lynda to grow into. The pressure of the girl's exuberant bosom from within suggested that she would grow into it sometime within the next five minutes. But the sleeves were on the long side, and the neck and shoulders were more suited to an even larger person than Lynda. Her turquoise skirt was flared and quite remarkably short, revealing a pair of powerfully muscled legs in dark stockings. Her hips were, in a word, generous. In fact, possibly over-generous. They were broad and her buttocks were remarkably well-rounded. Lynda strode confidently out of the changing room in her stockinged feet, carrying a pair of high heeled shoes in her hand. Her arrival from one direction coincided with the appearance of Duncan's two young assistants from another. Both stopped in their tracks at the sight of Lynda, who despite her dress and her development, was still obviously very much a young girl. Geoff and Debbie stared at her, and both were assailed by lust. "God, look at them!" Duncan flapped his hands at the transfixed couple. "Get in the studio and check the set up. Plain blue cyc and have the high stool ready as well. Geoffrey, did you load all the mags?" "Yes, Duncan. You already told me, Duncan." "Check them again. I just need to talk to this young lady before we start work." He shoo-ed his slaves into the studio. "Now, Lynda. It's Lynda, not Lyn?" The girl nodded. "We will take a few of you like this, then later, some in a bikini. You brought a bikini with you?" Lynda nodded again. "Good, it's just as well. Debs keeps a few spares available, but you're regrettably not a standard size. How tall are you?" "Five feet six and a half, without my heels," said Lynda, finding her tongue at last. "Quite tall. For your age, at least." Duncan was still feeling somewhat put upon at being a schools photographer, as he saw it. Maggie looked at her watch. "I'll sit in your office and make a few calls, Dunc, okay?" Music was thumping from the speakers in the studio, where three huge umbrellas nodded their heads over an empty stool, perched on an endlessly large sheet of plain blue paper which curved away up one wall to an elaborate gantry equipped with pulleys and chains. More lights stood ready at the sides of the room, where Geoff presided over a table littered with expensive-looking camera equipment. He didn't take his eyes off Lynda as she hesitantly stepped on to the blue paper. The confidence she had shown as she strode out of the changing room had drained away. Duncan had that effect on first acquaintance. Debbie smiled at Lynda and held the chair invitingly for the girl to step forward. She reminded Lynda of the PE teacher at school, with her short cropped hair and obviously large but well-flattened bust. Two or three inches shorter than Lynda, she looked up at her with frank appraisal which made the girl feel naked and hot inside her clothes. She perched her bottom on the stool, then hoisted herself on to the seat, facing the umbrellas which contained bright lights. "You can slip your shoes on, now, love," said Debbie. Duncan appeared behind the lights, peering down into the top of a bulky camera. Clack, it went, the umbrellas all flashed brilliantly and the camera whirred. Lynda blinked and her eyes watered. Geoff had moved round behind Duncan, grinning encouragingly at her. She tried to grin back, but Duncan was talking to her constantly, coaxing and cajoling in his soft, lisping voice. Lynda found herself grinning at the camera instead of at Geoff. Flash after flash, and she began to try new poses of her own. "That's nice, Lynnie, just lick your lips, dear, yes, again, ooh, yes, that's excellent, splendid, again, now lean this way a bit, to your left - no, your left, that's it, good girl ...!" In no time, Duncan handed the camera to Geoff and called out, "Right, Debs, where are you, girl? We'll take five then do it all again with the bikini shots. Take Lynnie to the changing room. It's all right, dear," he confided to Lynda as she passed, "Debbie won't ravish you ...!" Geoff looked anguished as Debbie led Lynda away. "These your school clothes?" Debbie inspected the blazer and pleated grey skirt. "Yeah, some of them. Mum said I had to wear them on the train so I wouldn't have to pay the full fare. They're horrible." "How old are you, Lynnie?" This Lynnie business was catching on, and there was nothing Lynda could do to stop it. "Nearly fifteen," she lied, adding several months to her age. "Gosh!" Debbie had watched as the girl stepped out of her skirt and now she exclaimed in surprise as she unbuttoned her blouse. "You're even bigger than you look," she said. "I know," said Lynda, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. The doctors said what was causing it, but it was a long word. Two long words." "Let me do that. I'm good at it." Debbie released the four hooks. "Is this a custom size?" "Mm-hm. I was miles too big for the biggest cup size you can get in a size 32. Now I'm nearly too big for this bra as well. My other one I had made at the same time is too small." Debbie eased the bra's shoulder straps down Lynda's arms and came round to view her from the front. "Wow, Lynnie! You're massive! You sure you've got a bikini big enough to hold those things?" "We bought a separate top and bottom. The bottom was a 38, the top's a 44. It was the biggest one they had, but I can get into it, just." She demonstrated, while Debbie watched helplessly, occasionally touching the teenager gently on the pretext of adjusting something. Lynda had got the bikini bra on, but there was considerably more of her outside than in. "You look fantastic, Lynnie. Come and show Duncan. And Geoff. He'll be most impressed. He likes big boobs, and he's been eyeing yours up ever since you appeared. You wait 'til he sees you now!" "He must see plenty of boobs round here," said Lynda, fishing for a compliment. "Plenty, but not too many like yours. Even Maggie's models aren't often as big as you up top. And HUMUNGOUS! is supposed to be a big tit mag." Lynda looked blankly at her. "You are going to appear in HUMUNGOUS!, aren't you? When you're old enough?" "What's HUMUNGOUS!?" "Oh, my God. Don't they tell you anything? You'd better ask Maggie what it's all about. But Maggie's lot are into big titties." "So she told Mum, but she said it was a special project or something scientific." "Oh, well. They can call it that if they like. But if those things on your chest are still growing, like you say, you'll be on the front cover in four years time. If you can wait that long." Geoff appeared at the dressing room door. "Come on, Debs, what's keeping you? Christ!" He stared at Lynda and his eyes became as big as saucers. Lynda couldn't stop herself grinning stupidly. Geoff was quite good looking, she thought. She reckoned that Debbie fancied her as well, although Lynda wasn't sure what to do about that. It was beyond her experience. She followed Geoff into the studio, walking as close as she could to him, so when he stopped at the camera equipment table, Lynda collided softly with him. "Ooh," she said. "Sorry, Geoffrey!" "Geoff. It's Geoff. Only Duncan calls me Geoffrey." His fingers trailed accidentally across the outer slope of her breast. Lynda felt her cheeks reddening. She felt no better when Duncan came out from behind a curtain and looked at her with professional interest. "Oh, my God, girl, look at you! Up on your stool, Lynnie," he said. And the flashing and posing started again. ********** "How did you enjoy it, Lynda?" Maggie asked as they sat on the station waiting area, watching the train arrivals indicator screens. "It was great! Pity it had to end so soon. They gave me some pictures, look." Lynda fished in her bag and came out with a fistful of Polaroids. "Gosh! I never saw you in your 'kini," said Maggie, looking through the pictures. "Quite pretty, isn't it!" "We had a right old game trying to get one to fit me up top. It's about six sizes bigger than the bottom half, and it's still not big enough. Debbie liked it!" I bet she did, thought Maggie. She handed the pictures back to the girl. "It nearly fits, anyway. Still, you'd better not show these to your Mum!" The screen display changed. "Here's your train. Right, got your ticket? Don't fall asleep or you'll end up in Scotland. Bye lovey!" She kissed Lynda briefly on the cheek. "See ya later, Mags!" Lynda strode across the crowded concourse to the ticket barrier, and Maggie saw lustful glances directed at her long legged, broad hipped figure, and the improbably immense bust beneath her school blazer, as she disappeared on to the platform. "Disgraceful," Maggie muttered, "the way some people always ogle schoolgirls." Chapter 7:- Kay Meets Charlotte "You don't need to come along, honest. It will be dead boring, all the waiting around. They won't let you in the studio." Kay shoved another pair of panties in her overnight bag, and glowered at Dan who was hovering unnervingly by the bedroom door. "I can give you moral support," Dan mumbled. "My morals don't need supporting, dearest," Kay insisted, but she knew this was a losing battle. Dan was going to drive her down to the studios, saving half the return train fare. It also saved the early morning travel on a crowded train, which was one of the things Kay had always hated about her old job. Of course, Dan wasn't going to be able to take her home again in the evening, as he had to get back for his night shift at the works. Cunis Publications were paying for Kay's accommodation at a reasonably expensive hotel, so she wasn't exactly complaining. The train journey back home on Saturday morning would be altogether a more leisurely affair. Dan had his hangdog expression on, and Kay suddenly felt sorry for him. "Come here," she smiled, wondering why it always ended up like this as Dan's chest pressed warm and heavy against her, the hint of his male hardness squashing into her breasts, down there where they lay unsupported on her stomach. "Darling!" "I have to get dressed," said Kay, breaking the kiss at last. "We mustn't be late." Her enormous breasts swayed massively as she walked slowly to the dressing table and picked up her bra. "Help me with this," she said with a glance over her shoulder at Dan, whose tongue was either hanging out or licking his lips. "You know how much you enjoy doing up bra hooks." "I prefer undoing them." But he hooked them like a good boy. All eight of the things. ********** "It wasn't my fault the car overheated," Dan complained petulantly. "It was all that traffic on the motorway." "It wouldn't have been there if we'd been on time instead of farting around in deepest Hertfordshire. But would Mr Ace Driver listen to me?" "You, who always holds the map upside down?" "Only when we're going South. It makes perfect sense to me. And if we'd gone South instead of halfway round England, whe'd have been there an hour and a half ago. By the time we get through this lot, it will be two hours. It's not good enough, Dan. They'll probably sack me for this. A whole studio tied up and kept waiting, hanging around while your car boils dry and you get fucking lost!" Dan had given up arguing. He sat hunched, nudging forward whenever the gridlocked traffic moved another foot. One hand gripped the wheel as if to crush it to dust, he gnawed at the knuckles of the other. All around them, traffic in the other lanes was darting forward. Taxis performed bold U-turns and rocketed away down narrow alleys to God-knows-where. Buses pulled casually out from stops and belched warm greasy fumes as they plodded down the bus lanes in nose-to-tail formation. By the time they arrived outside the door of Sunbird Studios, the street was mockingly empty. Nobody would believe they had been held up in traffic. Kay was greeted by a competent-looking young woman who introduced herself as Debbie. "Come on in," she grinned welcomingly. "Coffee's on. Usual traffic?" She took a bewildered Kay by the arm and led her - marched her - to the dressing room. "Is that your boyfriend? He can make himself useful if he likes. He can pour the coffee." Debbie waved Daniel away dismissively. "There's probably something he can read while you're working. He can read, I suppose?" Kay wondered why she was giggling at that. "We're doing flimsies and stuff first, aren't we?" Debbie knew exactly what the plans were, but she still asked the question and Kay nodded. "His Lordship's having a bit of a lie-down. He's exhausted, poor lamb. Must be his latest boyfriend wearing him out. Duncan prefers boys," she added, perhaps unnecessarily. "Ah, this will be what's-his-face with the coffee. Come in, then! Plonk it down there, then make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Help yourself to smut." Dan did as he was told. He had the feeling that you didn't mess with Debbie. Debbie, meanwhile, was gaping at Kay in a manner which caused her some discomfort. "Are those you, right down there?" "They're all me, yes. Nobody else but me in this dress," Kay confirmed. "I thought that girl we had earlier this week was big, but shit, you make her look undernourished. She was only fourteen, though, and still growing. She was one of your lot, too. One of Maggie Wallace's new girls. Although she won't be appearing for a few years yet. Duncan was offended at having to shoot her. He doesn't do school work, he says. Come on, then, let's see them!" Kay released the hook at the back of her neck before shrugging the dress loose and tugging it up over her head. She emerged into the daylight blushing as she saw Debbie's expression. "Now that is what I call a bra!" Debbie reached out an enquiring finger and touched the taut body band where it joined the overflowing cup. "And only just big enough, too!" Kay dropped her dress on the back of a chair and faced the girl. She felt naked under Debbie's frank scrutiny. "Sorry for staring. Things are really looking up round here for tit-lovers. And I am one of those." Debbie patted her own compressed bosom beneath her sweatshirt. "These are E-cups," she said to a slightly disbelieving Kay, "but I hide them pretty well, right? Of course, yours are ten times as big! You'll wow young Geoffrey. He's the camera assistant. He looks after the equipment, I look after the models. It's a good arrangement." Kay hesitated, reluctant to release her breasts altogether in front of this stranger, no matter how appreciative she was. "Where's your negligee, then?" "In my bag. Everything's in there. Even my best bra. For best, read biggest!" "You're not still growing as well, surely? At nineteen?" "Mm-hm! Not so fast now, but still an inch every month or so. At least, so my bra lady tells me." "Well, don't just stand there. Let me help you with all those hooks." Debbie smiled her encouragement. "A too-tight bra isn't the best thing to wear before a session. Leaves horrid marks. Still, there will be plenty of time for those to fade before we do the nudies. Off with it, then!" And off it came. Kay felt oddly aroused at the touch of this girl's hands, a touch which she felt on her back, her shoulders, her arms. Everywhere but her breasts, which Debbie seemed to avoid on purpose. Dropping the big pink bra on top of her dress, she reached for her bag, meaning to search for her negligee, or whatever it was called. It wasn't there. "Wow!" Debbie's voice made Kay turn round. She looked Kay up and down, already holding the negligee in her hand. "Let's see you before you cover up all that loveliness. You are just so fantastic, Kay. Amazing!" Kay found herself blushing even deeper. Her nipples were giving the game away, too. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you. Here!" Debbie tossed the negligee to Kay. "Slip into something more comfortable and come into the studio. Meet Geoff. I'll wake up the Lord and Master. Not necessarily in that order. See you in a minute." She left with a little finger wave. Standing alone in the dressing room, Kay found herself wondering what she was doing in this place. She felt lonely and scared. Not just nervous, scared. What crazy impulse had made her agree to do this thing? The money would be useful, sure, but she had managed perfectly well until now. Would anyone notice if she quietly dressed again and slipped out into the street. Taxi to the station. She had her ticket. Apologise to Maggie in the morning. "Sorry, Maggie, I can't go through with it." "Through with what?" asked Debbie, coming back in. "I told Himself and he's getting up. Mr Grumpy Duncan. You want a hand with this frilly? Pretty thing. Did you buy it specially?" "No, my ... it was a Christmas present, from Dan." "He was lucky to get such a pretty one in such a large bust size. Most of them are for fat old ladies. Come on, arms up!" Kay obediently put her arms above her head like a child being dressed. Debbie went round behind her and slipped the negligee over her head. "Lovely, turn round! Oh, yes! Right, then. Time for the big entrance. Two minutes, Miss Archer!" Like a lamb, Kay followed Debbie's taut-jeaned rump along the corridor and into the studio. A young lad was doing something with a pile of black and chrome cameras on a side table. Debbie introduced him. "Kay, this is Geoff. He looks after the cameras." "Hi, Kay!" Geoff started to say, then stopped with his mouth agape. "Geoff is fond of the fuller bosom, Kay," Debbie explained for his benefit. "He will probably stop staring at your chest in a few minutes, but he may prove uncommunicative." To Geoff, she said, "Duncan is up and on his way. Get your arse moving if you don't want another bollocking this morning." Geoff speeded up whatever it was he was doing with the cameras, then went around switching on the lights. They all seemed to be aimed at a couch in front of what looked like a window frame, but it had no glass in it, just a covering of white translucent material lit from behind. Kay recognised it from some of the pictures in the magazine she had read. It brought home to her that she was in the same business as the models in HUMUNGOUS!, parting their legs and playing with themselves. She was oddly comforted by the fact that she still had her panties on. Music started up, booming out from four huge loudspeakers, until Debbie shrieked at Geoff to turn it down. "We had a threesome in here yesterday. Deaf, by the sound of them. Dumb, certainly. Right, go and perch your butt on the couch. I'll get my make-up box and touch up your nose for you." She flounced off, calling, "Hiya, Duncan," as she passed him in the doorway. So this was the great man himself. Kay took in the mane of silvery-white hair, rather too long at the back, the affected moustache and the mannered walk. He reminded her of her uncle Frank, only a bit older. Not at all the sort of thing she had expected. She had anticipated a kind of slick used car salesman in his mid-twenties. Perhaps things wouldn't be as bad as she had thought. "Kay, is it?" Duncan offered a slightly limp hand. "You may call me Duncan. You are very very late, but it's only to be expected these days." Kay felt as if the traffic problems round London were entirely her own fault. "My boyfriend brought me in his car, and it over ..." "Lovely big breasts, Kay. You're a real Cunis girl, all right." He sighed heavily and accepted a camera from Geoff, who was still staring at Kay in deep awe. "Let's have a look at you, then. Lean on the arm of the couch, and look at me. No, the other arm. Yes, that's fine. Splendid! Try turning your body a bit this way, more ... and look this way, I'm over here, Kay, and ..." Flop! went the camera, the lights flashed and Kay blinked helplessly, blinded. "Don't look at the umbrellas, dear heart, look at the lens. That's this bit on the front of the camera. Whoosh! That's better. That's my girl, one more. Now bend the other way ..." Whichever way Kay sat, it felt wrong. Several times, Duncan had to come over and manhandle her body into position like a Cindy doll. He was getting tetchy and irritable, and she felt lonely and close to tears. At last, he shouted for them to take five, and Debbie darted forward to repair Kay's face. "Sorry about that," the girl apologised. "He shouldn't sleep during the day. Hey, don't worry! You're doing just fine, love. Look, when he comes back, he'll be doing the topless shots. How do you feel about your pants? You happy to take them off?" "I can't do any with my legs apart. I'd die ..." "That's no problem. We'll see how it looks with them on, and if you do take them off, we won't show anything. No pink at all. You'll see. He'll know what you don't want to do and pose you accordingly. Duncan's brilliant like that. Right, you all fit? Here he comes." It did go better after that. Duncan stopped hectoring Kay; she relaxed and even began to enjoy the experience. When the time came for her to take off the frilly negligee, she even had the confidence to play peek-a-boo with the camera before thrusting out her chest. Not that thrusting her chest out made much difference, with her breasts hanging down on to her lower stomach the way they did, but it felt wanton and sexy. She even began to fantasise about the readers of HUMUNGOUS! looking at her pictures and doing whatever it was they did. At first, in her imaginings, the reader looked a bit like Dan, but she dismissed the thought and let her mind create a fantasy figure of her own choosing. As she fondled her breasts and touched her erect nipples, the thoughts became alarmingly vivid. What's happening, she thought, am I getting turned on by this whole business? The insistent music, the flashing lights, Duncan's constant cajoling voice, the touch of her own hands: it was all getting to her. She was doing a succession of standing poses, facing the camera, running her hands down her long hanging breasts, down the sides of her body, down to her panties, her firm bottom ... "Hold it there a minute, dear. Those knicks are going to have to come off. We can't show that! Debs, give her a hand, dear." Duncan slumped in an armchair, exhausted, as Debbie grinned at Kay and held out a hand. "Come to the dressing room for a minute while Duncan recovers, sweetheart," she said. Kay, feeling dazed, followed her into the darkness beyond the lights. They went into the dressing room, passing an open-mouthed Dan without so much as a word. "Gosh! I was getting to enjoy that until he stopped." Kay inspected her face in the mirror. "How was I doing?" Debbie was close to Kay suddenly, touching her on the shoulder. Surprised, Kay turned and found herself clinging to the girl. How it happened, she had no idea, but it felt oddly comforting to be hugged like this, to feel Debbie's firm body against hers, her strong arms encircling her. She allowed her eyes to close as Debbie's mouth met hers. "Debbie?" she started to say, but changed her mind and let the moment take charge of her. It might have been thirty seconds, but it felt like hours. Debbie grinned up into her eyes like a pixie. "Duncan will be wondering where we have got to. I mean, he'll know what we're doing, but it probably best if we don't take too long." She took a powder puff from the dressing table and applied it in delicate little dabs to Kay's cheeks and forehead. "There. You look as good as new. Apart from your panties. Have you got another pair handy?" "In my bag. But what ...?" Kay realised then, and blushed scarlet. "Did I look ... was I like this ... in there?" "Not quite as wet as that, no," Debbie laughed. "But there was a bit of a damp spot. That was why Duncan stopped." "Oh, my God, no! How terrible. How can I go back in there now?" Debbie found another pair of panties, a darkish purple, and held them up critically. "These will show every drop of wet. You might have to go without." "But I can't, not after that. I'm so ashamed. Letting myself get so excited like that." "You were brilliant. The pictures will be lovely. You must have had a nice fantasy going. But it's all right. Lots of girls get wet. It's perfectly natural. It is!" Kay was unconvinced. But she accepted another kiss from Debbie before the assistant told her firmly to sit down while she touched up her lips with a brush. "Now, come on. We'll leave these behind." Debbie tossed the purple panties back into the bag, took Kay in her cool, capable hand and led her down the corridor to the studio. The rest of the session went by in a blur. For the first few poses, Kay was wooden and her hands felt like dinner plates, but Debbie smiled at her encouragingly and gradually, she eased herself into her fantasy world again. Then it was over. "Sorry we overran a bit, my love!" Kay was astonished. It didn't seem at all like Duncan to apologise for anything. "You were really flowing so nicely at the end, we shot another six rolls. Lovely stuff, dear!" And he held out his cheek for a kiss, eyes shut. Kay obliged and he opened them again. "Unfortunately, our next model is already here, so I'm going to have to throw you out. Debs will help you, of course. But in case I don't see you before you go, good luck. Maggie will give you a call when she gets the contact strips. I have a warm feeling, though. A warm feeling!" This time, there was no sign of Dan when they came out of the studio. There was a startlingly blonde little receptionist tapping away at a keyboard. She looked up without particular interest at Debbie and Kay, now draped in her negligee again. "Her boyfriend? Was that him talking to ...? He had to go. Five minutes ago, just after I'd come on, at two. He said he'd see ya at the weekend." That last bit was directed at Kay, without any change of tone. There was a young woman in the dressing room, sprawled in an overstuffed armchair, totally at her ease, reading a tabloid newspaper. She looked up, tossed the paper to one side, and clambered to her feet. Kay didn't often feel overwhelmed by another woman, but this one towered over her. Not only was she overwhelming in height, she was also dauntingly large, in a dress like a flowered tent. Even her hair was big. She had enormous hair. She made Kay feel tiny, and in her flimsy negligee, almost naked. "Good afternoon," the young woman drawled. God, she sounded so bloody confident, Kay thought. "Charlotte Davenport," the woman announced. She held her hand out and Kay took it. She recognised the name. Her mouth opened as she tried to say something. Feeling stupid, she shut it again. Charlotte smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. "Please excuse the frock." She indicated her dress. "Apart from its clashing with the furnishings, I can't use my car at the moment, and this was the best disguise I could find to wear on public transport in the capital. Slumming, you know, but none of the cars was available this afternoon. Bloody disgraceful!" She was grinning, though - a big grin - belying her words. "Charlotte! We spoke on the phone." Debbie beamed at her. "Sorry we're late. We overran with Kay's session. We were going so well, Duncan didn't want to stop. This is Kay Archer. You're both working for the same firm." "Cunis?" Kay looked at Charlotte with surprise. "You mean ...?" "Of course, you wouldn't know, would you." Debbie explained. "Maggie has called you two in for photos today, and there was another kid earlier in the week. You're all on the same scheme, apparently. I don't know what the deal is, but Cunis was after some new blood, or something, so he's found you lot! Anyway, Kay, babe, if you want to get dressed, I'm sure you will excuse me if I help Charlotte get ready ...?" "Oh. Oh, sure." Kay felt her cheeks reddening, and she moved her bag and clothes off the chair to the corner of the room. "You been here long?" Debbie was looking Charlotte up and down, peering more closely at her chest with growing interest. "Half an hour. I was a bit early myself. There was a guy out in the kitchen when I came. Hanging around like a spare prick at a wedding. We had quite a chat. Quite a chat! He said he was ... oh, shit! Kay, he was yours, wasn't he?" "Mine? D-Dan?" Kay stammered, turning scarlet. "No! I mean, he only brought me here. That's why we were late arriving. But he's nothing special. Just an occasional date." "That's all right, then." Charlotte smiled secretly to herself. "I asked him out tomorrow, and he seemed keen on the idea!" She picked up a Harrods carrier bag from the floor. "I brought some undies, as you asked," she said to Debbie. "Do you want me to put them on now, or are we meeting Mr Throssell first? Bloody hell, that sounded bad!" Charlotte cackled like a horny hen. "Now would be fine, since we're late." Debbie sounded almost eager. Kay, meanwhile, had pulled up her purple panties and was about to dive head first into her dress. She was so flustered after her hot session in the studio, she hadn't come down yet. If she had, she might have remembered to put her bra on. As a result, she missed the first public appearance of the Hon Charlotte fforbes-Davenport when she came out of her capacious frock. By the time Kay's head finally emerged from the neck of the dress, her first view of Charlotte showed her that this was not the fat young woman she had appeared to be. On the contrary, in fact. Debbie, too, was staring helplessly at Charlotte, too. Conversation had ceased. Charlotte looked from one to the other. She had dropped the flowered dress on the chair behind her, and was wearing nothing but scarlet silk knickers, stockings and slightly heeled shoes, which nevertheless made her legs look endless, and at the same time, immensely powerful. And a bra, of course. Don't forget the bra. It was scarlet, and Kay recognised it as the one she had seen at Mrs Danby's. But it looked even bigger now it was full of Charlotte. She felt she had never seen anything as sexy in her life as this tall, powerful and incredibly, outrageously stacked young woman. Thick dark red hair cascaded over her shoulders and hung heavily in waves around the upper slopes of her breasts. Kay was quite speechless. And her panties, her clean purple panties, which she had been wearing for at least two minutes, were already soaking wet.