I started this story with the idea in mind that I might try my hand at doing a BE version of "Charles Dexter Ward," but as I got along with it, it sort of took on a life of its own and became something rather different.� Just as a warning of course, I know all the historical details are probably laughably wrong, so I would recommend not worrying about them.� Also, just as a warning, please be advised that this story contains boobs and stuff, quite a lot of them actually.� Well, not all that many in terms of absolute number, if sheer quantity is what we're talking about, but rather, in terms of absolute boobage, the whole thing is soaked through with them.� So if you're not into that kind of thing, you should probably close this document out now, and go read something wholesome on the cultivation of Siberian yams.� Tally-Ho then!

Vicky & Victoria

by: Kodos

���� Vicky stood before the ancient mansion and drank it in.� The air had that still, heavy, almost syrupy quality that can't really be described to anyone who hasn't ever spent a summer in the Deep South, and doesn't really need to be described to anyone who has.� As she leaned back against the door of her old Plymouth, holding her narrow hips at an odd angle as she tried awaken her foot that had fallen asleep on the long drive down, Vicky considered that this place might as well have been frozen in amber.� It was a huge white house, built well before the Civil War, the paint on the great Doric porch columns peeling in the humidity as two wizened live oaks seemed to sway in the non-existent breeze.� This, Vicky observed, was not at all what she had imagined.

���� And yet, here she was, done at last with school, with no money, no job, and no prospects.� It had been two weeks after graduation, just as the lease on her apartment was running out and her student loans were beginning to come due that she had gotten the letter.� Her great aunt (was it one great or two?) had died and, to Vicky's great surprise, had left her everything, as apparently she was the last living woman of her line and sole heir to the family fortune, such as it was.� Without a second's hesitation she had packed up everything she owned and left Connecticut far behind as she made her way to Georgia, her imagination ablaze with dreams of living in a grand historic plantation house, the home of her ancestors, the family fortune hers to do with as she pleased as long as she consented to live there.� How eagerly she had run through the doors of the county courthouse to claim her inheritance, how she had driven down the deep-rutted dirt roads, her car kicking up great billowing clouds of dust as she raced out to take charge of her new home.� And now, here she was.

���� Limping forwards, pins and needles still shooting through her leg as it woke up, Vicky climbed up the front stairs and onto the porch.� She pulled the key out of her pocket, but when she reached for the door handle, it swung inward as if in anticipation of her touch.� For a moment, Vicky wavered on the threshold.� She felt certain that this house had been waiting for her, expecting her, and now she felt that sort of thrill of anxiety that a person is likely to experience before they open the cover of new story, or take the first step of a journey that promises to be dangerous and wonderful.� She stepped inside.

���� The house, if anything, seemed bigger on the inside, the front room grand and high, with a great broad staircase and florid wallpaper, faded and curling around the edges in the light that shone bright and colorless through all the dusty windows.� Stacks of books lay everywhere, as if someone had been called away fifty years before while in the midst of adopting the Dewey decimal system, and had neglected to return.� Black and white photographs in grotesque gilt frames hung on the walls, and motes of dust danced languidly in the air.

���� This was really all rather more than I signed up for, Vicky thought, as she stepped onto the threadbare carpet and slowly turned in the middle of the room, hoping against hope that upon further inspection this place might turn out to be better than it was.� It wasn't.� Sighing a mild oath, she let herself collapse onto the nearest object at hand, which fortunately for her, happened to be a chair.� At least, she pondered, as she sat in the midst of it, it was shaped like a chair, sort of.� It had armrests, after all, and was upholstered after a fashion, and it had a sort of a wing-backed thing going on as well, all of which pointed very much towards chairitude.� The scale though, was grotesquely wrong, for it was absolutely huge.� Not that it was all that high, for while Vicky was definitely on the tall side of things (a quality which she had always loathed as she felt it made her look even more gangly and awkward than she would have been otherwise), her could set her feet firmly upon the floor while sitting in it.� No, where this particular chair departed so dramatically from the normal conventions of its genus was in its breadth.� It was wide enough to seat four, at least, but stranger still, it was deep.� If Volkswagens had any need for chairs, Vicky thought, this would be exactly the sort of thing they might be in want of.� Experimentally, she scooched back as far as she could, until her back rested against the back of the chair, and she was left staring at her feet, which barely even reached the front of the seat.� Who, she thought to herself, could possibly require such a gargantuan seat?

���� Such questions would have to wait for now, Vicky thought as she extricated herself from chair, noticing that the rest of the furniture in the room seemed to have been designed along similar lines.� It was getting late, and the long trip had left her tired.� Climbing the creaking steps, she passed any number of rooms that looked as if they had lain undisturbed for decades.� At long last though, she reached the end of the hall and discovered what was surely the room which her great aunt had called her own.� It was, for one thing, a good deal cleaner than all the others; its windows were clear and bright, the wallpaper, though undoubtedly antique, had a certain freshness to it, and up against the wall was set a canopy bed so huge that Vicky thought it might have been more at home in the palace of a sultan than out here, two hours away from civilization.� The mattress though, showed no signs of being inhabited by squirrels, and sitting atop it was a neatly folded set of bed linens, clean and crisp, which, to Vicky's utter amazement, smelled like they had been washed and dried in the sunlight that very day, as if some unseen maid had prepared the room for her.� A lamp on the nightstand was already turned on, and by the time she had made up the bed and arranged the thick feather pillows to her liking, Vicky found she was so completely exhausted that she could not even imagine going out to the car tonight to bring in her pajamas, but rather stripped out of her clothes and stretched out naked upon the bed, thinking in the fleeting moments before sleep overcame her how wonderful it felt to feel the cool of the evening air of the on her bare skin.

���� That night an extraordinarily vivid dream came to her.� She was standing outside somewhere, out in the yard.� The grass was green, and the sun seemed to smile down on everything.� The air was absolutely still and quiet.� Vicky heard water in the somewhere nearby, a fountain burbling, or a stream perhaps.� She felt herself drawn to it as if she had no will of her own, walking across the sprawling grounds of the house, past gnarled trees and ruined stone field walls until at last she turned a corner and there it was.� A pond, hollowed out of the stone.� The water sparkled invitingly, and Vicky found herself suddenly standing right at the very edge of the pool.� There was a splash, a figure, a woman rose out of the water, and Vicky found herself staring into her own face.� Or was she?� The woman was her, and yet, somehow, she wasn't.� No sooner had Vicky thought this that the woman in the pond laughed, a great, lusty, welcoming laugh, and then everything dissolved again into darkness.

���� The next morning Vicky woke with a start, and discovered that in the half a second it had taken her to sit up that she was completely awake, her mind clearer than she could remember it ever having been in her life. The pool, it's here, I have to find it! she thought to herself.� It had felt so real, and now she felt that she had to see it, it was important somehow, important in ways she couldn't even begin to explain to herself.� She threw on her clothes and ran into the hall and down the steps.� Her long legs carried her swiftly through the dining room and in another moment she had cast open the double doors that opened onto the back patio and stood there, looking out.� The patio itself was not wide, a steep hill began at its edge and dropped unseen to the field below.� A staircase was cut into the hill though, and when Vicky had run to the top step she stopped.�

���� There it was, just as she had known it would be and just as she had been afraid that it was not.� It was the pool from her dream, or at least it had been long before.� As she descended the steps in a sort of a trance, she could see that it had been many years since anyone had cooled themselves on a hot summer day here.� It was mostly empty, the bottom of it covered with a later of rotting magnolia leaves and stagnant water.� An old copper pipe, cast with intricate florid patterns on its green surface projected out from the stone at the pool's rim, though no water flowed from it.� This, Vicky decided, would be her first project.� The front room, the kitchen, the rest of the yard, all of it could wait until she restored the pool.� And so, finding a scrub brush and a bucket in the kitchen, Vicky set to her task as the sun rose higher in the sky.�

���� The was no ladder, she noticed, but as the pool was only about five feet deep near the edges, she was able to lower herself down into it readily enough.� From inside, it seemed deeper somehow, perhaps twenty feet across and perfectly round.� Slogging tentatively through the goop at the pool's bottom Vicky figured that it was perhaps seven or eight feet deep in the middle, and as she examined the stone of the wall around her, discovered that just as in her dream, the pool seemed to have been carved out of solid rock, hewed out of the very living stone.� It was really, she thought, quite an impressive bit of work, but as the day was already getting warmer, she thought it best to stop pondering and get to work.� Bucket after bucket of leaves and muck she threw out over the side as the heat of the day grew, until a large pile sat by the pool's edge, glowering down on Vicky as she worked.� By the time she had mucked the last of it out, it was early afternoon, and the sun blazed down on her from the sky.� Her clothes were soon soaked through with sweat, her t-shirt clinging to every curve of her body, or at least it would have, had she had any curves to cling to.� Still, Vicky did not slacken her pace as she set about scrubbing the stains from the stone wall around her.� It was slow going, and when she went into the house for some water, Vicky found that whatever well the house was getting its water from was brackish and sour, hardly fit for washing clothes and dishes, much less for drinking.� At last though, her work was done, though everything around the pool remained wild and untamed, Vicky stood beneath the pipe and wondered, for the first time, how she was supposed to turn on the water.� She did not have to wonder for long though, because no sooner had noticed the problem, than she heard a sort of a rumble, and then an echoing sort of a gurgle, and finally, to her amazement, a stream of water began to pour from the pipe, showering her with the most marvelously cold and refreshing water she had ever felt.� It was clean, and clear, and wherever it was coming from, it was obviously not the same source as the water in the house.� As it coursed down over her body, Vicky felt utterly restored, as if she could almost drink it in through her skin.� She cupped her hands beneath it and drank some.� It tasted pure and crisp, and smelled a little bit like the copper of a new penny.� It was the best thing Vicky had ever tasted, and before she had given it a second thought, she put her head under the stream and drank deeply from it.� By the time she had drank her fill and stepped out of the falling water, she felt like a new woman.� Every inch of her body felt alive and invigorated, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.� The water was already beginning to collect at the center of the pool, where a puddle not more than a couple of inches deep was beginning to form.� All at once, Vicky realized that she had not had anything to eat since the morning, and as she watched the sun beginning to sink towards the horizon, she felt very hungry indeed.� And so she pulled herself up out of the pool, turned for a moment to revel in the day's accomplishment, and went back to the house.

���� Inside, Vicky went back to her bedroom, peeling off her sodden clothes almost before she was in the door.� As she passed the mirror though, something caught her eye and she turned to look.� It was herself.� Vicky had never personally thought very highly of her appearance.� She was tall, of course, but while some girls made that look graceful, she had always felt it made her look gawky.� And she had always been thin, but rather than feeling fit, she had considered herself scrawny.� As she looked at herself in the mirror now though, Vicky felt that something had changed.� She looked different, healthier somehow.� She was still very much on the slender side of things but she definitely looked as if she had put on a few pounds.

That's odd, she thought to herself, turning experimentally in front of the mirror, It must be the light in here or something, there's no way I could have gained anything in the last two days.

���� Vicky stood there a while longer, still trying to square her self-image with the image the mirror was showing her.� Her hips had the merest hint of a curve to them now; her thighs, her butt felt a little less flat.� Her ribs, which had been visible as long as she could remember, appeared to have faded into her lithe body.� And her breasts, well, it was difficult to be sure how much bigger they were, but since up until now they had pretty much been nonexistent, well, even being able to fill out an A-cup would be an enormous change.� Whatever was going on, Vicky liked it.� A lot.

There's no way I can have gained any weight though, she told herself again, It isn't like I've been eating any more than I did in college, and I've been doing way more working and sweating since I got to this place than I ever used to.� Still, I just feel so good, so alive after that little shower in the pool, and it would be nice to be a bit more of a woman, so whatever is going on, I hope it keeps going.

���� She had just finished putting on some fresh clothes (noting with curious satisfaction that her pants had indeed grown encouragingly snug around the hips and that her bra didn't fit quite right until she let it out just a little) when she noticed a picture hanging on the bedroom wall.� She would have sworn that it hadn't been there the night before, and yet, there it was, as plain as day.� Vicky lifted it off the wall and carried it over to the light, and gasped.

���� It was a black and white photograph of the pool, taken long, long before.� It looked just as it had in her dream, well maintained and used.� A table sat beside it, set out with drinks, as if a party were about to begin, and on the far side of the pool were a row of chairs, and standing beside one of them was the thing which had made Vicky's breath catch in her throat.� It was the woman from her dream.� She was smiling at the camera, and looking at her, Vicky felt as if she were looking into a mirror again.� Almost.� The one difference that Vicky could discern about her twin in the picture was that while Vicky was thin as a rail, this girl was rather on the zaftig side.� She wore a dress which must have been, by the standards of the day, very daring, and it showed her figure off to great effect.� Her hips had a sultry curve about them, and she sported such an impressively full bust that Vicky felt a twinge of envy just looking at it.

���� I wish I looked like that. Vicky thought to herself.� And after a moment of surprise at her own thoughts, realized that it was absolutely true.� At the same time, she couldn't help but wonder if the reason she had had the dream last night was because she had seen this picture.� Surely it had been in the room last night, she must have seen it unconsciously and dreamt of it as a result.� Still, Vicky thought, it certainly felt as if fate was guiding her hand here somehow, and she resolved to think about it more later as she took one last look at her smiling buxom doppelganger before setting the picture up on the bedside table and going down to the kitchen to put some ramen noodles on for supper.

���� After her dinner, as the sun sank wearily over the horizon and the shadows grew longer on the threadbare carpet in the great front room, Vicky decided to do a bit more exploring.� She was still fascinated by the picture, by the woman in it who looked like her.� Of course, she thought, there's no reason that two women in the same family wouldn't look alike, but there was something more than that, something in the way the woman in the picture seemed to be smiling at me personally, as if she'd been expecting me, waiting for me.� It was all silly, she told herself, the hot weather, the solitude, it was all taking its toll on her mind, making her obsess about a mere coincidence.� And yet, even as she told herself that there was nothing more to it than a trick of fate, a genetic quirk that had given her the same face (if not the same figure) as some long-dead relation, she found herself picking through the bookshelves, looking for something that might at least tell her the identity of the woman who smiled at her from that ancient photograph.�

���� Most of the books in the house, Vicky soon discovered to her dismay, were of no use.� Those which had not succumbed to the vagaries of age and humidity were of no personal interest at all.� She looked through every bookcase in the house for a photo album, a family history, a scrapbook, anything that might tell her something useful, but to no avail.� As the hour grew late and Vicky felt herself weighed down by weariness, she decided to abandon her quest for the night, throwing herself into the capacious embrace of the Enormous Chair, which, whatever else might be said about it, had definitely been made with comfort in mind.� As Vicky closed her eyes though, thinking about how well she had earned a good night's sleep, she heard a thump behind her, like something falling on the floor.� Startled only for a split second, she realized that it must have been a book.� She had been through the shelf of them there twice and one of the useless things must have shifted and fallen off.� Ah well, Vicky thought as she rose from the chair, I'll just put it back up and then it's off to bed for me.� Her eyes only half open she picked the offending tome up off the floor and was in the middle of placing it back in the shelf when she realized that this was not a book that she had seen before.

���� It was large, though not particularly thick, bound with leather and tied about with a faded red ribbon.� Even more interestingly, it had a brass clasp locking it closed and gave every hint that it was a journal of some kind.� Amazed that she could have overlooked such a singular thing, Vicky pressed the release on the clasp, but was locked.� Had she found it two hours before, she would surely have tried to force the lock straightaway, but now, the hour being well after midnight; Vicky decided to let it rest until tomorrow.� And so she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, laid the gilt-edged book down on her night table next to the picture, and laid herself down on the bed.� She was out before her head hit the pillow.

���� Vicky awoke late the next morning to all the aches and pains that her work the day before had earned her.� The air was already stiflingly hot and noon was still an hour away.� Vicky was, she decided, too hot, too stiff, and not nearly motivated enough to undertake any new projects right now, so she decided instead to go and see how the pool was doing.� As she walked out onto the back patio and started down the steps cut into the hillside, she saw the pool come into view, every bit as welcoming as a clear oasis in the middle of a barren desert.� As she come closer to it though, Vicky began to wonder if it wasn't just a mirage.� The pool was full, for one thing, and while she had imagined that it would take at least a couple of days to fill it up, the water now stood at a level just about a foot lower than the lip of the pool.� It was strangely clean too; Vicky had assumed that much of the grime that she hadn't been able to scrub off the stone would be discoloring the water, and yet here it was as clear as a mountain stream.� Well, not quite as clear, because there was something about the water.� It caught the sunlight in a curious way whenever she wasn't looking at it directly, sparkling as if there were little bits of something shiny floating around in it, while little waves played on the surface as if there was a breeze, though there was not.� Vicky knelt down by the edge, feeling the cool air rising off the water's surface caressing her face.� She stared into the pool intently.� There was nothing in the water, it was as clear as crystal, and yet when she didn't look at it, it was there, something, dancing in the pool like motes of dust caught in a sunbeam.� She leaned forward and thrust her arm into the water; it was so cool and fresh that Vicky shivered as she felt herself getting goosebumps all over her body.� It would be absolute madness, Vicky thought to herself, to do anything on a day like this except to get into that pool as quickly as possible and stay there until she had a good reason to leave.� She stood, stripped off her clothes in one graceful movement cast them with abandon into the bushes at the edge of the terrace and cast herself into the water.

���� It was like jumping into the fountainhead of life itself.� As the water closed over her head, Vicky felt it tingling against her skin, swirling around her as it embraced her like an eager lover.� It felt so wonderful that she was almost reluctant to come to the surface for air, but as she raised her head out of the water, she found that the air tasted sweeter than it had before.� As Vicky slipped along idly through the water, she felt as if the water was soaking right into her bones.� The tension, the pain in her muscles seemed to melt away as small currents massaged her naked body excitingly.� She had never felt so alive, so positively brimming over with energy in her entire life.� And yet, so strangely peaceful, so natural, as if all of a sudden everything in her life made sense, everything fitting so wonderfully into place.� Vicky felt as if she could do anything in the world, and yet, the only thing she wanted to do was this.

���� As she idly drew herself across the pool Vicky watched the sun slowly tracking its way across the sky.� It had to be at least a hundred and ten degrees, she thought, but here, in the water, she felt more comfortable than she could imagine.� The only distraction growing in her mind was that she had slept through breakfast and now, well into the afternoon she still hadn't had any lunch.� Feeling hungrier by the moment now, she paddled reluctantly to the edge of the pool and pulled herself up out of the water.� Climbing out of the pool though, her knees held almost to her chest as she lifted herself over the edge, Vicky felt something pressing softly against her legs; it was her breasts.

���� Surprised by the sensation before she had even consciously realized what it was, Vicky had vaulted out of the water and was standing again on dry land.� She looked down in disbelief.� Omigosh, they're huge, Vicky exclaimed as she beheld her bust, Where did these come from?� Agog, she reached up and cupped them in her hands, marveling at how heavy they were. I must be at least a C now," she thought, giving them a disbelieving squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine, "A large C.� How did I miss this?� What made them grow like this?� Why are they so, sensitive?� Vicky asked herself as her nipples, already puffier than they had been before, perked up as she ran her hands across them, a frission of pleasure running through her as she hefted her newly amplified bosom, savoring how firm her new endowments were, how heavy.� This can't be real, Vicky told herself, even as every nerve in her bosom affirmed that it was, I've got to get to a mirror; this is just impossible!� Vicky began to run for the stairs back up to the house but stopped short almost as soon as she began; something was wrong with her legs.� She stopped, looking for the first time down past her breasts, which even as she came to a halt, bounced as if to remind her of their larger presence.� Her hips, they were broader somehow.� Not unnaturally so, at least Vicky didn't think so, but they had definitely developed.� Walking felt different now, her hips swaying as she moved, almost of their own accord.� Vicky pressed her hands to them as she climbed the steps, feeling her shapely thighs pumping in time as they carried her up to the house.� This can't be happening, she told herself again as she ran into the house and made for her bedroom in a daze, I can't have put on weight this fast, this must be some kind of a hallucination, or a dream; I must be dreaming about that girl in the picture again, imagining that I'm turning into her or something.� Vicky was standing in front of her bedroom mirror now, her reflection giving silent testament to the truth she already knew.� They're even bigger than I thought; none of my bras are going to fit me at all now, she thought, her mind racing as she surveyed her body, And these hips, I look like some sort of 1950s pinup girl.� Vicky turned, trying to get a view of her behind, and sighed.� As if her curvier hips weren't enough, her butt looked absolutely swollen, popping out behind her as if it had decided that her rear had to be at least as impressive as her front.� Her waist was as narrow as ever, thought Vicky noticed with delight, and the longer she looked at herself, the more she liked what she saw.� For the first time in her life she really felt like a woman, not just a girl, but a real woman, with a body built not for studying and starving but built for pleasure.� Somehow, she knew, the pool was responsible for this, for the way her breasts had a perky, almost conical shape to them, for her sultry hips, for her ass that gently bulged beneath her weight as she sat down on the bed to figure out what exactly was going on.� No sooner had Vicky rested her chin upon her hand though, when a click came from her nightstand and the lock on the journal fell to the floor.� Her hands trembling with anticipation, Vicky reached out and picked the book up.� She was almost afraid to learn what power had brought her here, and was now transforming her, and yet also yearning for the knowledge that she was certain awaited her within.� She opened the book, and read.

���� Dear Diary, I have been wondering, as of late, why it is that the spring behind our house seems to have grown more powerful.� Many years ago, when our family first settled here, I understand it was nowhere near so potent as it is today, merely keeping the women of our household strong and healthy.� Somewhere along the way though, something must have changed it, and augmented its power.� I asked Mother if she knew anything that might help, but she just gave me one of those looks and told me it was not decent for a young woman to take too much of an interest in such matters.� I don't know why she's so worried about me; my figure isn't even half as ample as hers (and I'm sure Father would be the last to complain if she were to spend a bit more time out in the spring improving her physique; the men in our family, I have learned, seem particularly fond of generously formed women), but at any rate she acts as if going for a bit of a swim is the worst thing in the world, and every time she sees that my dress is getting a bit tight about the bust she gives me this glare as if I've been of indulging in some horrible vice instead of simply doing a thing that women in our line have been carrying on with for something on the order of two hundred years.

���� I think it was probably the war.� Not about mother, I mean, she's just forgotten how it is to be young.� The spring though, I think it started happening after the war.� It sort of cast our family to the four winds, some of them ending up out to the west, looking for new land to settle, others moving north because that's where they could earn a living.� There are so few of us left here at the house that the spring's effects are more, concentrated in some way.� As if before it had to spread its strength among more women and now that there aren't as many of us here there may be more of it to go around.� Which means, of course, that there is more of me to go around (I hope Mother never gets ahold of this diary).� Or it could be possible, I suppose, that the spring might be almost a living thing, and that in years since our family first discovered it that it may have grown in power somehow.� The scientific method, if I recall it correctly, tells us that one must form a hypothesis and then test it, to understand how a thing works, so I shall definitely have to carry on with my experiments, if only to further the growth of human knowledge (and perhaps see how many stays I can get to pop out of my corset at the next town dance).

���� One last thing, and then I shall have to leave off writing for the night and go to bed.� We had a gentleman with a camera stop by the house this week to do portraits.� It seems quite remarkable to me that photography has improved to the point where a perfect likeness of a person can be had in just a few minutes (though photographs, like so many things, do still take a while to develop).� I was very pleased with the way that mine came out, though Mother said that it made me look like a wanton harlot.� Since she didn't want it, I have taken it for myself, as I believe it is a most flattering likeness of me.�

���� Well, that is all I have to relate for this week, I expect I shall being writing again soon

���� ���� Victoria

���� Vicky sat there in the bed, stunned, running her fingers across the page as if she expected the book to dissolve into dust, or vanish in a puff of smoke.� She gazed at the languidly looping strokes that formed the name at the bottom of the page, wondering again how this voice had reached out across the countless years to find her.

���� This simply cannot be; I must be dreaming, Vicky thought, Magic springs that make a woman grow more voluptuous and this, that a woman with my name writing in the one book in this entire house that tells me anything just happens to be putting down her thoughts on the very thing that I've been trying to figure out.� There must be something else here going on, or perhaps the solitude is just starting to get to me.� Vicky gazed again towards the mirror, sighing as she realized that whatever else might not be real, her body was too real to deny.� A chilly breeze blew in through the window, and a distant rumble of thunder announced that a storm was on its way.� Oh well, Vicky thought to herself as she rose from the bed, I'd best put some clothes on and get back to the housework; it certainly looks like I won't be going outside again today.� As she stood though, a piece of paper fell out of the diary and fluttered to the floor.� Stooping to pick it up, Vicky turned it over and realized something that I expect any of you reading this already suspected, that the woman who wrote this diary and the woman in the picture were one and the same.� Clothes suddenly forgotten, Vicky sat down on the bed again, studying the photograph.� It was definitely the same woman.� She had all the same features as Vicky, though she wore her hair piled up neatly atop her head, and she smiled a smile that was at once demure and teasing, as if she was challenging Vicky to follow her.� Vicky could see how Victoria's mother might have been less than taken with the picture though, for while the camera had only captured her from the chest up, it had still captured plenty.� The dress she wore looked several sizes too small, barely containing a pair of breasts swollen larger than cantaloupes, liable to burst her seams if she were to do so much as inhale.� Vicky wondered how much time separated this picture from the one she had seen earlier.� Victoria looked to be no older in this one, so it couldn't be all that long, and yet judging by her blossoming bosom alone, she looked as if she were at least twice the size she had been (at least, certain portions of her were).� And she had written that the spring was getting stronger.� Laying the book on the nightstand now, Vicky contemplated herself in the mirror again.� Her figure, which had seemed so impressively augmented just half an hour ago suddenly seemed positively willowy in comparison to Victoria's voluptuous form.� That, Vicky decided, was beauty, and she wanted more of it, as much in fact, as she could stand to get.� At the moment though, fat raindrops were spattering against the glass of the window, and unless she felt like getting struck by lightning, Vicky would have to wait until later to try and follow in Victoria's ample footsteps.� Resignedly, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt before trudging down to the kitchen to work on cleaning out the cabinets there.

���� Hours later, as the long gray afternoon gave way to evening, the rain still pounding on the roof; Vicky dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom, never wanting to scrub another floor tile as long as she lived.� She collapsed into bed, asleep in an instant, when she opened her eyes though; she realized she was somewhere else entirely.� It was the front hall of the house; she realized turning slowly to look at her surroundings.� It was different though.� Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, blazing with crystalline light.� The furniture and the rugs were no longer faded and threadbare, but rich and colorful.� The wallpaper was bright and whole, its oriental pattern giving the whole room an enchantingly exotic feeling.� This must be a dream, Vicky told herself sensibly, especially as she realized she was naked, her skin luminously white beneath the lights overhead.

���� "It is indeed a dream," came the answer from the top of the grand staircase, "or at least close enough to one as it makes no difference."

���� Vicky looked up, there upon the top step stood Victoria, just as she had in her picture, her voluptuous form fairly spilling out of a deep maroon dress that was marvelously too small for a woman of her ample charms.� Vicky stared at her body, amazed at how her broad hips swayed as she negotiated the stairs, her bottom so indulgently fat and round that Vicky was sure she had to be wearing some sort of a bustle; there was no way that that was all real.� She held before her a sort of a chalice, and from the careful way she began to descend the stairs, Vicky realized that it was definitely full of something.� She didn�t looked much older that Vicky, but there was something about the way she carried herself, something in her eyes that made her seem much older and wiser than she appeared at first glance.

���� "You're Victoria, aren't you?" Vicky asked, realizing the second she asked that it was a silly question.

���� "I am indeed," she murmured approvingly as she came nearer, "I have been waiting for you for a long time, for you to come home so that this place might share its life with you, that you might take the legacy of the women in our line."

���� "How do I do that?" Vicky asked, feeling rather small, though as she drew up next to her, she saw that Victoria was not a bit taller than herself.

���� "Drink this," Victoria said, holding the chalice up to Vicky's face.� It was filled almost to the brim with a wine-dark liquid, and an aroma rose from it that made Vicky feel lightheaded, her mind becoming cloudy.� Victoria held the chalice to Vicky's lips and tipped it up just a bit.� The taste of it was like warm honey, and as the first drops of it rolled past her tongue and down her throat Vicky felt a delightful warmth spreading through her body.� Time seemed to slow down, and she savored every stretched out moment until she felt something new that got her attention.� A strange but not unpleasant prickly feeling had begun to build in her breasts.� Still looking at the smiling face of Victoria, Vicky lifted her hands to her chest to touch them, only to feel the soft touch of their warm skin sooner than she expected.� She looked down, past the goblet as she cupped her hands beneath her breasts.� They were growing.� Already they appeared to be larger than a D, slowly but visibly expanding, their tender flesh growing gradually heavier as if they were determined to swell to a size larger than her hands could hold. �She looked with concern up at Victoria, who smiled back it her benignly.

���� "Don't be worried, my dear," she reassured Vicky, "just enjoy how magnificent the sensation of it is.� Drink up now, there's plenty left in the cup here."

���� As Victoria tilted the cup upward again, Vicky realized with alarm that despite all that she had already drank; it looked just as full as when she started drinking.� She looked down at her chest again, her breasts tingling as they continued to grow.� They were already plumper than Vicky would have liked, at least an E cup now, though she had never really had an reason to become a good judge of such things.� Their increasing weight excited her, and the way they touched her chest lower and lower as they swelled aroused her.� As they continued to fatten, Vicky shuddered as they finally grew full enough that they touched each other, a single point of contact that grew as they ripened like a pair of melons, growing more lush by the moment.� Vicky's nipples grew perky, almost painfully taut as they rode outward on the swelling curve of bosom.� Vicky reached up to touch one of them, but no longer sure where her body ended any more, she instead almost slapped herself with her hand, the impact sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through her body.� It was getting difficult to keep her senses about her and she pulled her head back away from the cup, an escaping rivulet of wine running from the corner of her mouth and down her graceful neck before pooling in the blossoming expanse of her chest.

���� "Please, Victoria," Vicky asked softly, "How much more?� I'm almost as big as you already?"

���� "Oh are you now?" Victoria smiled mischievously, "You still have a long way to go before you're as plump as me.� If that's what you're going for though, I'm happy to oblige."

���� She pressed the cup again to Vicky's lips and as she submissively began to drink again, Vicky was distracted for a moment from her breasts by a new sensation growing within her.� The same warmth that was spreading through her bosom was slowing working its way downwards like honey being dripped over her body.� As it reached her waist, Vicky felt a tingling sensation building inside her, a sensation that touched her in all the most sensitive places, cutting through the pleasant fog that had wrapped itself around her mind.� Vicky felt a new sensation beginning to grow in her, a fullness building in her bottom.� She closed her eyes as she let the pleasure continue to increase inside her, first soothing, then stimulating, and soon so intense that she felt all but overwhelmed by it.� Curious, Vicky slid her hands down along her body, noticing how Victoria, though she still held the cup to Vicky's lips, was watching her body intently, a smile of indulgent approval on her found face.� As Vicky passed her hands along her belly she noticed how much smoother it felt, not fat, at least, not quite, but softer and more sensual.� As she reached her hips, her eyes grew wide with surprise and a startled cry escaped her mouth.� Her hips were vastly wider than before, flaring out broadly below her still-narrow waist.� Carefully now, she reached back to discover what was happening behind her, almost afraid to find out how large she was becoming.� As her small hands sunk into the soft expanse of flesh behind her she realized - she was enormous.� Her ass swelled out behind her, its luscious curve growing more pronounced by the second.� Vicky felt it swelling beneath her hands, her soft skin burning beneath her touch.� She felt like someone was pumping fat directly into her body, and at the moment it all seemed to be going directly to her burgeoning behind. How big is she making me? Vicky wondered, looking at Victoria's decadently voluptuous figure, the way her ass was so lusciously huge that even from the front its magnificent fullness was evident, I've got to be at least as big as she is by now.

���� "Still enjoying it, my dear?" Victoria asked her, "I know you can't see the rear view from your current position, but let me assure you, it is a most impressive sight.� You've got the perfect sort of a body for this, just wait until we're got you all plumped up and full, you'll have a body that every woman in our family will envy.� Here now, it looks like you're slowing down a bit there, why don't you drink a bit more here?"

���� She tipped the cup upward again, Vicky noticing as the small river of wine poured into her that it looked, impossibly, as if it were more than half full.� She felt the urge to pull away, to get Victoria to stop, if only for a moment so that she could catch her breath, but she felt herself unable to move as the intoxicating scent of the wine twined itself around her brain.� Her breasts were getting heavier by the second, gaining more and more weight as they swelled. �Though their skin was still soft to the touch, they were beginning to feel almost unbearably full as they surpassed Victoria's size and continued onward.� As they spread slowly down her body, Vicky tried to lift them.� They filled her arms entirely, as large as watermelons and delightfully juicy, so achingly swollen that Vicky could hardly stand it.� Each moment Vicky felt like the waves of pleasure surging through her could not possibly grow any more intense, and each moment she was proven wrong.� Her breasts were deliciously swollen now, two fat spheres that swelled out wider than her plump shoulders.� Vicky's nipples were so tight that they hurt her, with a pain so exquisitely exciting that she wondered how she was able to stay conscious.

���� Vicky's ass was still growing too; she could feel it, becoming more indulgently luscious as with each passing moment she felt and more fat being pumped into it.� Her legs were getting plumper as well; she could feel it even though she had no way of seeing anything lower than her spectacularly plush tits.� She felt her thighs bulging as they fattened, the same sensation of fullness filling her entire body now.� As her increasingly ample thighs began to press against each other, Vicky couldn't help but rub them together, savoring the electrical jolt that arced through her belly as she did so.� All the while her already-enormous ass continued to grow still more luxuriously swollen.

���� As Victoria continued to look on, even as Vicky's overgrown bosom began to push against her own, Vicky looked into the cup and saw that she still had a least a third of it to go.� Victoria saw the look of desperation in her eyes and smiled at her reassuringly as she drew the cup away from her for a moment.�

"Don't worry, you're doing just splendidly," she purred, "I mean, I'm not going to lie to you, the more you drink the more potent it becomes, so you're going to be getting a lot bigger than you probably expect, but I've done this many times before and you, "she paused to weigh one of Vicky's stupendously swollen tits with her hand, "are in the very best of hands.� Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you're almost as big as I am by the time we're through here."

"Almost as big?" Vicky protested, moving her feet apart to give her sumptuously swollen thighs more room to grow, "I feel like I'm already twice as big as you are."

"Ah," Victoria said brightly, "That would certainly be true if this were my true size, but as it is, I have chosen to appear before you more moderately endowed tonight, as otherwise I would hardly be able to hold this chalice to your ruby lips.� Believe me, This," she said, nodding her head toward Vicky, "is only the beginning.� Now then, let's finish of this cup and buxom you turn out to be."

���� As Victoria held the cup out towards her once more, Vicky realized that the moment of decision had come.� Summoning all her strength she felt her mind clear for a single moment and willed her hands to obey her.� Before Victoria had time to react, Vicky had lunged forward, her stupendous bosom quaking, its weight threatening to pull her forward down to the floor.� She grabbed the cup from Victoria, and without hesitation triumphantly threw her head back and drank the last of the wine as quickly as she was able.� Victoria stepped back, the look of surprise on her face quickly giving way to one of pride as she watched the results of Vicky's impulsiveness.

���� Vicky felt the wine gushing like a torrent down her throat as she emptied the cup into herself.� Immediately she felt it, a feeling like a dam had burst inside her and all that it had held back was suddenly set loose.� Her breasts, already achingly swollen, all but exploded as a great wave of growth surged into them.� With each passing second they grew heavier and more massive, gliding down Vicky's increasingly sensual belly as they swelled.� One moment her belly button was just below her lusciously huge bosom, the next it was framed on either side by a pale breast trembling to contain the incredible volume of fat being pumped into it.� Seconds later Vicky's navel had vanished, her stomach almost entirely hidden by her fat, juicy tits.� The last drops of wine passed her lips and Vicky let the cup fall, as it dropped into her deepening cleavage and then rolled to the floor.� She gazed down at her titanic jugs, trembling at the thought of how full they were becoming.� Her white skin creaking as it stretched to accept still more, Vicky felt her mammoth breasts growing firmer as they reached their capacity, exceeded it, and kept on expanding, so lusciously fat that they throbbed at the pressure building inside them.� Vicky struggled to catch her breath, almost panting as her titanic bosom swayed and jiggled seductively with her every move.� Her nipples throbbed with tightness, ready to explode, but when Vicky tried to touch them she found they were no longer within her reach, her breasts had grown too colossal to reach around, and had become so indescribably sensitive that squeezing them was utterly unthinkable.

���� As Victoria looked on appreciatively, Vicky's indulgently rotund rear grew increasingly plump.� It bulged out behind her massively, so round and full that is seemed to defy gravity, so lavishly swollen that it stuck out like a shelf behind her, jiggling as it continued to grow larger and larger, until between it and her bounteous bosom, Vicky found it a growing challenge to stand up straight.� Vicky's hips, already sumptuously wide, continued to blossom outward as if determined to give her the most staggeringly hourglass-shaped body imaginable.� Her sleek thighs swelled to match them, expanding as if they were being inflated with fat, smooth and soft and getting larger by the moment.� The growing pressure between them and within them aroused her intolerably; Vicky felt her knees going all wobbly.� She knew that she was too unbalanced to move her feet further apart without falling over, and yet as her thighs continued to fatten, squeezing together in a way that only served to stoke the fires of lust burning within her loins.� Already moist, Vicky felt herself growing increasingly slick, the creamy flesh of her thighs glistening wetly.� She struggled to keep her balance.� One second; her ass quivered with fullness as every nerve on the stretching surface of her skin screamed with pleasure. �Two seconds; her breasts, already filled to the most exquisite excess, seemed to groan as she gained weight, her nipples so tight they felt like they were in a vise.� Three seconds, her thighs were getting fatter.� Vicky tried to stand perfectly still, but the excitement surging through her overfilled figure made that impossible.� Every twitch, every little motion made her legs slide wetly against each other, sending spasms through her femininity.� Vicky could withstand it no longer; her legs buckled beneath her and she fell to the floor.� Her bottom struck first, the impact of her weight on its swollen immensity finally sending her over the edge as an explosion of ecstasy convulsed her body.� A split second later she felt her indecently abundant bosom fall against her growing belly and spill across her voluptuous and womanly lap, jiggling with unimaginable repletion.� As her senses back to return to her, Vicky wondered if it was over, if the magic was at last spent.� For half a second, she decided it had, and then almost as quickly she found herself feeling a twinge of disappointment, and then, as her head began to clear and the climax faded, she found that she was still growing.

���� Vicky felt herself rising slowly upward as more fat was forced into her overfed bottom.� It bulged out like an overinflated water balloon beneath her increasing weight, her soft skin quivering desperately even more as she piled on the countless pounds.� It was as if whatever magic there was in the wine took every yielded inch, every extra pound accommodated and saw it only as a challenge, as if the fact that her poor overstuffed bottom had managed to hold another ten pounds was reason enough to see if it could bear another twenty, another fifty, another hundred as her sumptuously overfed ass was forced to contain more fat.� Vicky's burgeoning bosom began to overflow her capacious lap, as her massive boobs, already overfilled to bursting, continued to expand.� They quivered, indecently full, aching as they grew even more bloated, so fat and tantalizingly swollen that Vicky hardly dared to breathe, much less touch them.� Vicky could no longer see her nipples, lost as they were beyond the bulging curvature of her mammoth mammaries, but they hurt so arousingly, as if someone had hooked each of their taut and rosy tips up to a bicycle pump and pumped away at them with such sadistic abandon that they felt as if they much each be ready to explode from the pressure, her areolae straining to contain the sumptuous burden behind them.� Vicky felt her breasts gaining weight as they spread across her thighs; she shuddered to think at how heavy they each had to be by now, at how they were still growing fatter and heavier as her cleavage began to billow up towards her face as they piled up in her lap.� Becoming more ponderous by the second, Vicky couldn't even begin to reach her plumpening arms around them anymore, as they overflowed her lap, ballooning faster than her lusciously stuffed thighs could keep up with.� They were spectacularly distended now, as Vicky felt her skin stretching to accomodate the deluge of fat pouring into them, she was almost overcome by the sensation of every single nerve in her overnourished melons becoming more sensitive, more alive than she had dreamed possible.� As her two white, trembling orbs rose high enough to touch her cheeks, Vicky began to wonder how long this could continue, whether they were going to keep swelling up until they smothered her, or whether they were simply going to burst.� They already pressed so closely against Vicky's neck that she could just about lick them without moving her head, an idea that she found strangely intriguing, but at the same time, she could feel them throbbing with the pressure within them, growing more immensely fat and full as she watched.� Her entire body was quivering with fullness now, from her plumpening calves and her ponderously overstuffed bottom, to her swelling tummy and the creamy expanse of her immensely bloated bosom.� Vicky was afraid of what would happen if this kept going much longer, but as her breasts continued to spill out across her indecently ample thighs and press buxomly against her cheeks, trembling like two balloons crammed full of jelly, she also found herself hoping that this might end, just not quite yet.

���� At last though, the magic seemed to have exhausted itself, for with one last little surge of growth that shook her voluptuous body and forced a small cry of surprised delight from her full lips, it was over.� Vicky felt her heart stop racing as her pulse returned to normal; her breathing became more regular again, her monumental bosom expanding and subsiding appealingly.� As she tried to take stock of herself, Vicky was amazed to find that her hands could no longer touch the floor; her self-indulgent derriere was so delightfully fat that between how high it lifted her up off the floor and how lusciously curvesome her hips had become, that all she could touch was the seemingly endless expanse of her own sumptuously tender charms.� Her breasts, magnificently swollen, were almost too tremendous for her to comprehend, filling her entire lower field of vision, they rested on her legs almost out to her knees, and if not for the fact that her bottom had had enough fat to fill a swimming pool stuffed into it, her breasts surely would have touched the floor on either side of her opulent thighs.� Vicky was awakened from her reverie when she opened her eyes and saw Victoria leaning over in front of her, the scarcely-contained bounty of her own bosom softly grazing against Vicky's own, which seemed to wobble most distractingly at the slightest provocation.� She was positively beaming.

���� "Well my dear, I have to admit I had my doubts about you passing the test," she said as she appraised Vicky the way one might look at the prize-winning pumpkin at a state fair, "But I have never been happier to be proven wrong."

���� "What do you mean, 'passing the test'?" Vicky asked, still more than a little muddled, "and how come the last drink made me so much bigger; there wasn't even that much left in the cup?"

���� "Oh well, the thing is, my darling girl, that the magic of this place, of the spring out behind the house, can only take you but so far.� To really tap into the power that has sustained so many of our women before you, you have to want it, to claim it as your own," she explained, "and the more you do want it, the more powerful it becomes.� Which is why when you took the cup yourself and drank it instead of just allowing me to feed it to you it became considerably more potent."

���� "So what do I do now?" Vicky asked, as she assayed to heft one of her ginormous breasts and marveled at its weight. "Is this even real? Or is it a dream?"

���� "I suppose you could say," Victoria began, choosing her words thoughtfully, "that while it is most definitely a dream, it is a real dream, an important one will change your entire life from here on out."

���� "Oh," replied Vicky, who had been hoping for something a little less cryptic.

���� "At any rate though, I suppose the time has come for us to part ways again," Victoria said, "You have a big day ahead of you, and you're not going to get anything done out in the world while I'm keeping you here.� And you might want to start wearing a swimsuit, you know, the Georgia sun gets awfully bright out there and I'd hate to see such a lovely complexion as yours touched by too much sun.� It is so good to know though, that a woman of our family still lives who can honor the legacy of a proud line of fat women.� Of course, since you're the only one left, you may find that you have to get very fat indeed, but I'm sure now that you are equal to the challenge.� Good luck then!"

���� And before Vicky could say a word, Victoria had leaned in so far that she was just about lying on top of Vicky's breasts, the added weight exciting her terribly, and kissed her full on the lips.� Vicky felt her head swimming as the room began to spin and fade into the distance.

�� Vicky awoke to find herself back her bed in the great old house.� She was wrapped up in the sheets, her entire body damp with sweat, her thighs still soaked with her own juices.� She sat up to find that her breasts were once again in the D-cup range, full and perky, topped by nipple once more rosy and delicate.� Her hips had a bit of breadth to them, certainly enough to leave no doubt that she was every inch a woman, and her legs, though far from plump, had a certain sleekness to them that was most becoming.� Vicky stared at herself in utter wonder.� Only the night before this body had seemed to her to be unbelievably curvaceous, bordering on excess in its voluptuousness, but now she had a different standard to aspire to.� It was going to be a very hot day, Vicky decided as she finished disentangling herself from the sheets, a perfect day to go for a dip in the pool.