What Bambi and Callista did on their Holidays

by

Frederica has taken her two younger daughters, Bambi and Callista on holiday to a Greek island. It hasn't taken them long to find a way to occupy their days, and their nights. But Callista seems to have started growing again. And her mother's scheme to stop things getting completely out of hand doesn't seem to be helping at all.
© 1999 Axolotl

"What are we going to do tonight, Cal?" Bambi sprawled on her bed, wondering whether to try a new set of batteries in her VirtuGasm.
      "I don't feel like going out. I feel a bit heavy."
      "Heavy?" Bambi turned her head on one side curiously.
      "Full. You know, up here."
      "You're not growing again? Callista!"
      "It feels like it. They're so tight. I couldn't go out anyway, not since my bra burst this afternoon."
      "That was your own stupid fault. You should have taken it off before David came round."
      "I tried to, but I couldn't reach to get the safety pins out. You were out getting laid on the beach, and Mum was seeing her Stavros. David came in, saw me in my bra and T-shirt, and that was it."
      "He undid the safety pins for you?"
      "Sort of. He kind of ripped the whole thing off. At least, I didn't have any trouble trying to explain to him what Mum wanted me to do. He came all over them. Then he rubbed it in until it was all gone. Then he gave me the biggest fucking fucking I've ever had in my life. Then he came on my tits again. Then he went home to recover."
      "You're wearing the poor boy out, Callie!"
      "He's wearing me out. I never thought any boy could do that."
      "Hi, girls!"
      "Hi, Mother," said Bambi. "You're looking flushed. Had a good screwing, have you?"
      Fred went even redder. How did the girls always know? "If you must know," she said haughtily, "I've run all the way here just to tell you the news. Stavros is bringing Mrs Stassinopoulos to see you. His own mother just happens to be a seamstress and dressmaker. He says she makes bras for all the fishermens' wives on the island. So she can make somethng for you. It might not be very glamorous, but I'm sure it will be effective."
      "When's she coming?"
      "About six. She doesn't speak any English, so Stavros is coming as well to translate."
      "That greasy slob's not watching me getting measured for a new bra!" Callista retorted with spirit.
      "He's got to, dear. Mrs What's-her-name has to be able to talk to you and ask you questions..."
      "Like 'how much bigger are you than you were this morning?'" Bambi giggled until Callista nudged her firmly in the ribs.
      "Did you see David, Callista?"
      "Did she see David? Did she see David? Did she ever see David...?"
      "I take it from that that you've seen him, Callie?"
      "Yes, this afternoon."
      "And did he agree to...?"
      "Yeah. After a bit of persuasion."
      "I'm sure it was worth the trouble, dear."
      "How much were we supposed to use?"
      "How much?" Fred's voice had a note of panic. "Just the usual amount."
      "What's the usual amount?" Callista asked innocently. "David doesn't do the usual amount. David does it by the bucketful."
      "How much did you use?"
      "About five bucketfuls," said Bambi. "If that doesn't stop her growing, nothing will."
      "I don't know if David's a suitable boy for such a young girl, Callista..."
      "Mother, you're not having him! He'd wear you out."
      Fred changed the subject abruptly. "You'd better put your bra back on, Callie. It will make it easier for Mrs Thing to measure you."
      Callie turned her thumb down. "No chance. It's useless. Knackered. Finished. Those safety pins of yours weren't up to the job.
      "Oh, no, Callista!"
      "Oh, yes, Mother!"

"Why don't you tell her it's a bra I'm being measured for, not a skirt?"
      Fred hoped Callista wasn't going to behave like a petulant little girl. She explained to Stavros that his mother ought really to be measuring Callista's chest and her bust, not her hips. Stavros spoke at some length to Mrs Thing, and Mrs Thing spoke at some length to her son, ending by slapping the table with her tape measure with a resounding thwack that made Fred and her daughters cringe in alarm.
      "Mama she say she always does it this way. Is best we let her get on with it, okay?"
      "You don't complain when Miss Twizzell measures your hips first, dear," Fred pleaded.
      "Miss Twizzell doesn't smell funny," said Callista.
      Mrs Thing was a forbidding-looking � and funny-smelling � woman shrouded in black from head to ankle. She had scowled at Fred when Stavros had first introduced her, waving her arms about and pointing in fury at Fred's half-exposed bosom. When Stavros finally got a word in edgeways and explained to his mother that she wasn't making a bra for Fred, it was for her daughter, Mrs Thing had practically thrown a wobbly. Staring round the room, she spotted the entirely innocent Bambi and berated her vigorously for several minutes, while Fred got through to Stavros and persuaded him to convince his mother that she was here to make a bra for her youngest daughter, who was chewing her nails in the bathroom, trying to summon up the courage to come out.
      On seeing Callista for the first time, Mrs Thing's behaviour had been even more strange and somehow more unnerving. She flung her arms wide and gathered Callie in for a motherly hug � or as much of Callie as she could get her arms round. Poor Callista, relatively modestly attired in a T-shirt and shorts, had squirmed with embarrassment and discomfort.
      "I wonder if she's been through the Discoveries training course," Bambi sniggered.
      "Sh-hhh, dear. She can hear you!"
      Mrs Thing rattled off a stream of Greek, sending Stavros scurrying round in circles. Finally he stopped in front of Fred. "Mama she wanna pencil and paper. I gotta write down the numbers."
      Callista rolled her eyes in resignation while Bambi dashed off on a search. She returned with an old envelope and a pencil, which she handed to Stavros. Mrs Thing delivered her opinion of a family of English sluts and harlots who expected her to write down measurements on the back of an old envelope, then snapped a command at Stavros, who wrote Callista's hips measurement carefully down, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
      "One hundred and six," he announced proudly, showing the envelope to Fred.
      "What?" Callista squealed.
      "Centimetres, Cal," her sister reassured her. "It's still pretty big, though."
      Callista stuck out her tongue at her before she was swallowed up by the bulk of Mrs Thing attacking her waist. Another stream of spluttering rage that went on for fully a minute and a half.
      "Eighty-one," Stavros announced.
      "Is that all she said?"
      "It's not what she says," Bambi confided in her sister. "It's the way she says it."
      "How big's eighty-one anyway?"
      "Nearly thirty-two inches. You used to be bigger than that, didn't you?"
      "I don't know," said Callista, her face burning with shame. Stavros was staring at her chest as if contemplating a banquet. "Can't she measure my bust with my T-shirt on? He's nearly coming in his pants just waiting for me to get the girls out."
      "The girls have got to come out sooner or later. Maybe we could blindfold him..."
      Fred noted their concern. "Stavros, my daughters are very young and impressionable. They are embarrassed by having a man in the same room. Perhaps if you went in the kitchen while your mother measures Callista's bust...?"
      "The kitchen?" Stavros complained bitterly to his mother. The woman gathered herself up to her full height, which was some way short of her full circumference, and spoke for several eloquent minutes. At the end of it all, a pale-faced Stavros handed the envelope and pencil to Bambi. "I better go in kitchen," he mumbled. "Mama shout numbers through door. I shout English back to you, okay?"
      "Okay," said Bambi happily, exchanging a discreet high five with her sister. "And no peeping!"
      "I think Mrs Thing will want your T-shirt off now, Callista," said Fred.
      Callista started to pull her shirt out from her shorts, a distinctly untidy business. But Mrs Thing flapped her hands, gabbling away at high volume until eventually a reply came from Stavros behind the kitchen door. "Whatever you trying to do, she want you to stop doing it."
      "She's only taking her shirt off," Fred reported.
      A gulp and a groan came from the unseen interpreter. "Keep it on," he said at last. Callista shrugged, massively.
      With an unceasing running commentary in Greek, Mrs Thing advanced on Callista with the tape held ready like a cowboy's lasso. With a whoop and a holler, she encircled the girl's waist, scurried round behind her and hoisted the tape upwards, gathering the shirt up and tucking it beneath her mountainous breasts. She bellowed out a number and waited for the translation.
      It came in a puzzled voice from Stavros. "Mus' be wrong," he announced. "Only seventy-nine."
      "Tell him to keep his comments to himself," Callista advised her mother.
      "Stop editorialising, Stavros!" Fred shouted.
      "What you mean?"
      "Good grief!" said Bambi.
      "She wants her to take her shirt off now," yelled Stavros in response to another volley from his mother.
      "Here we go, then," said Callista.
      "This is the big one," said Bambi, watching as her sister climbed out into the daylight. "Bloody hell, Cal!"
      "My God!" Fred grabbed at the edge of the table and hung on tight. "Callie! You're even bigger!"
      "Yeah, Mum, tell me about it!"
      Mrs Thing seemed quite impressed, too. She placed a hand under Callista's chin and spoke earnestly to her for some time.
      "I think she's telling you you've got the biggest pair she's ever seen in her life," Bambi translated freely.
      "How does she know until she measures them?"
      "She knows, Callie, she just knows!"
      Mrs Thing seemed to be putting off the big moment. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she was waiting for Callie to get smaller, or to grow a little more. She made one or two half-hearted approaches with the tape measure, but each time she shied away, as if performing a strange ritual dance.
      "What's she doing, Mum?"
      "I don't know, dear."
      The woman finally stood still, planted her fists on her hips and bellowed into the kitchen. There was a lengthy pause, then the door opened and Stavros came out, a tea towel wrapped round his head as a blindfold.
      "Mama want Callie to get up on table and bend down. Like this." He demonstrated, bending forward from the waist, earning the approval of his mother who was twitching her head up and down and from side to side. "It make bosoms not pointing downwards." His voice carried deep regret that he wasn't being allowed to see what he was talking about.
      "Cheeky sod," Callista mumbled, but nevertheless she scrambled up on to the table and bent over. Her breasts swung forward from their resting place on her stomach, hanging side by side, each one approaching a foot in width, the puffed-out nipples aiming at two widely-spaced points on the carpet. "Make her hurry up, Stavros, I can't stand like this for long."
      Stavros let out a howl of frustration and translated the message. "She says you too big, she want help. I help, okay!"
      "No, not okay! Bambi will do it. Tell Bambi what to do."
      "Why can't she just get on with it?" Bambi demanded.
      "Please," said Stavros. "Don't make mama mad. You won' like her if she get mad."
      But it seemed that Mrs Thing was finally ready. She wanted Bambi to join her sister on the table and to hold the end of the tape against the middle of Callista's back, while she guided it carefully round the girl's hanging, swaying bust. Then she passed the end of the tape up to Bambi while she stayed down below, holding the tape against the tautly swollen nipples.
      "You ready, Bambi?" Stavros called into his personal darkness. "You gotta put your thumb on the tape an' give it to mama."
      "Why can't I just read it myself?"
      "Don' make her mad, Bambi, please!"
      The ritual was acted out. Bambi obediently handed the tape down to Mrs Thing, but not before an involuntary expletive slipped out.
      "Wow! Fucking hell! Oops! Sorry, Mum. I just happened to see the number on the tape, that's all."
      Mrs Thing didn't seem at all pleased. Flapping at the girls, she insisted on repeating the whole rigmarole twice more. Each time seemed to make her more and more annoyed and she vented her spleen on anyone who was handy.
      Stavros, too, was complaining bitterly about something. Jabbering angrily at him, Mrs Thing finally snatched the book from his fingers and scrawled the number herself. Then without a further word to the family, she grabbed her son by the scruff of the neck and marched him out of the room. His last words drifted back to them as she hustled him into the courtyard.
      "Mama she say she come back tomorrow. You got money ready."
      "The daft old cow," said Callista, clinging to her sister as she tried to get down from the table. "Why couldn't she tell us what the tape said?"
      "Maybe she couldn't believe it," said Fred faintly.
      "That's why she did it three times," said Bambi. "But I saw it and it was the same each time, within three or four inches anyway."
      "Within three or four inches?" Callista shrieked. "How can she make a bra to the nearest three or four inches?"
      "Three or four inches would make a lot of difference to a bra for me, Cal. I'm only fifty-four inches around. With you, you're so gigantic, it doesn't matter so much."
      "How big am I?"
      "Oh, somewhere between 180 and 190 centimetres..."
      "But that's ... oh, my God!"

A little Greek boy delivered the package at crack of dawn. Bleary-eyed, Frederica opened the door and peered out into the brassy sunshine. It was a second or so before her eyes scanned downwards, and she gave a little startled squeak at the sight of the crop-haired urchin holding out a brown-paper parcel.
      The boy grinned. "You," he said.
      "For me?"
      "For you." She reached out for it, but the boy pulled it away out of reach. "You pay."
      "Pay? But I don't know how much. D'uh. How much? Po ... posa thelis...?"
      The boy gave no sign of having understood. He held the parcel just beyond her arms' length away. True, Mrs Thing hadn't mentioned the price, but she'd assumed Stavros would be sorting it all out. It was ridiculous, having to hand a sum of money over to a little boy on her doorstep at ... six in the morning!
      "I will give the money to Stavros," she said loudly and distinctly, the only way to make foreigners understand.
      "Money. Stavros," said the boy proudly, pointing at his chest.
      This was absurd. Fred made a grab for the parcel. To her surprise, the boy let go and left her holding it, feeling rather foolish. He didn't go away, though.
      "Stavros?" he said, looking up at her wistfully. "Pay Stavros?" A tear broke from one eye and trickled down the side of his snub nose.
      Fred realised at last. The kid wanted a tip. That was all! She turned back into the kitchen to find her purse; somewhat surprisingly little Stavros following her.
      "Here you go!" She handed him a small shiny coin, which Stavros accepted between two fingers as if she had offered him a hairy spider. His lip curled contemptuously. "Not enough? Here. I'm sorry, this is all the loose change I've got." And she emptied a pile of cash into his suddenly eager palm. It disappeared instantly into his pocket and a beaming smile spread all over his little face.
      "Cheers, love," he chirped. He had evidently had dealings with tourists before. And he was off like a shot. Fred watched him go, collecting three identical friends from the bushes as he skipped away down the hill. They stopped at the corner to count the money, which Fred realised to her horror had been at least a couple of pounds.
      No point in going back to bed now, even if it was only six o' clock. It was a lovely morning anyway. She poured a glass of orange juice and tugged at the parcel. It was tied with hairy string. Might as well have a look at it, anyway. Callista was fast asleep, and so was Bambi if she had any sense.
      It wasn't quite as Fred had expected. It was black and stiff to the touch, with serious bits of wire reinforcement. Fumbling with it, she unfolded the unyielding material, laying it on the kitchen counter and trying to work out which way up it went.
      It was like a corset thing, she realised. She had it upside down, face downwards on the counter, gazing without comprehension at an endless row of hooks and eyes stretching from top to bottom. There had to be at least thirty or forty of them, at half inch intervals. Perhaps even closer, more like a centimetre apart, but that didn't alter the fact that the back strap of this bra was more than a foot from top to bottom, perhaps fifteen, eighteen inches. Fred turned it up the other way, and discovered the cups. There was a strip of lace at the very top, but this was the only hint of femininity about the whole garment. The lower halves of the cups were made up of enormous semicircles of what felt like spring steel, and at the top, a pair of absolutely no-nonsense shoulder straps fully three inches wide.
      She opened the front of her bathrobe and held the thing against her chest. "Oh, dear. Callista's not going to like this at all. Not one bit!"
      "Not going to like what?" a voice said through a yawn. "Got any coffee? Who was that you had in here...?"
      "Callie!" Fred hurriedly stuffed the monster bra into its wrapping paper and pulled her robe round her. "Good morning, dear! Couldn't you sleep either? It's a lovely morning." She watched the improbably endowed girl plodding across the kitchen in her dressing gown. Callista opened the fridge door and bent over with extreme difficulty to speak to the contents.
      "I woke up and heard you talking. To a girl?"
      "A little boy, actually..."
      Callie stood up and whirled round in slow motion. "Mum! Whatever next?"
      "He was delivering something. Your new bra, as a matter of fact. I just took a look at it. I'm not sure it�s the right kind of thing at all, though."
      "It's here? Why didn't you say?"
      "I wasn't going to wake you up at six in the morning, was I?"
      "Is that the time? Wow!" Callista looked dumbfounded. "Well, since we're up, where is it? I want to try it on. I don't know for sure, but I might be even bigger this morning. Are you sure rubbing spunk into your tits stops them growing?"
      "Don't use that horrible word, dear. Look, it's not quite what we expected, this bra. She's made a kind of corset thing. I suppose that's what fishermen's wives wear. Maybe we ought to just say thank you and send it back..."
      "We can't! She's made it specially for me. It's no good to Mrs Thing, is it? Who else could wear it? Come on, Mum! Let me try it on, at least."
      "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you..." Fred produced the bra and handed it to her daughter.
      Callista turned it over and over. Then she burst out laughing. "I see what you mean! Can you imagine the girls at school if I stripped off for PE and showed them this!" She held it against her chest, outside her dressing gown, then giggled. "It's really kinky! David would get a hard-on up to his neck if he saw me in this!"
      Impulsively she pulled the tie of her dressing gown loose and shrugged it off. Fred had to swallow a gasp. Callista was quite simply mountainous. Her breasts were stupendously large and incredibly firm. And perhaps it was the early morning chill in the kitchen, but her areolae were like halved nectarines.
      "You'll have to help me with all these hooks! What's Mrs Thing on? It would take David half an hour to get this thing off."
      "Bras aren't designed to make it easy for boys to take them off, Callie. Especially bras for girls your size."
      "There aren't any girls my size, mother dear. I'm unique. I'm one of those Children with Special Needs."
      The bra was unique, too. Between them, mother and daughter worked out how to put it on, then Fred got busy round the back with all the hooks � thirty-two of them. It came right down to the top of the cleft of Callista's rounded bottom, which was when the purpose of a mysterious strap became evident.
      "This has to go under my crotch," said Callie, turning up her nose with mock disgust before she subsided into giggles again. "Wow! That Mrs Thing's a real pervert!" But she pulled the strap between her legs and snapped it in place.
      The shoulder straps proved more of a problem. Callista had indeed grown during the night. The straps had to be loosened off before she could get her arms through the loops and pull the straps up on to her shoulders. Only then could they be tightened again, to haul her breasts up to the near horizontal.
      "Turn round and let's have a look at you."
      Callista obeyed. A couple of naval tugs might have helped.
      "Oh, Callie!"
      "How does it look?"
      "How does it feel?"
      Callista tried a few cautious steps, walking across to the counter, then turning carefully to lean her back against it.
      "Enormously top-heavy, but ... hey, it's amazingly comfortable! You wouldn't believe it. I mean, I wouldn't be seen dead in it, but my tits feel like they're floating on air. But what's it made of, cast iron?" She rapped on the side of the bra with a small fist. It made a solid, almost metallic sound. She set off across the kitchen again, her astounding profile a bizarre silhouette when she crossed in front of the window.
      "You must stick out eighteen inches in front, Callie! How can you even stand up?"
      "I don't know!" She giggled again and whispered confidentially. "This strap under the crotch is something else! If I wore this all day I'd be coming by the bucketful!"
      "Callista! That's quite enough of that filthy talk!"
      But Fred couldn't stay mad at her little girl. She tried, but dissolved in giggles. Callista plodded across the floor and the two of them met in a giant hug. When they eventually separated, Fred had to dab at her eyes with her hankie. Her poor little girl! And yet, Callista seemed happy to be the way she was.
      "What's this piece of paper?" Fred picked it up. "It's a note from Stavros. Not the little boy, the other one." She read the waiter's scrawl. "His mama's coming over later to see how it fits. And is that the price? No! That's ridiculous!"
      "How much?"
      "It can't be. It must be the date, or her phone number or something..."
      Callista read the note. "It is the price. Wow! Is that all?"
      "I'll have to give her more than that. If she can make custom bras for that price, we'll have to come out here more often!"
      Callista was craning her neck to see just how she looked in this unspeakably bizarre foundation garment. "Mother, don't even dare think about it!"

Bambi found Callista prancing massively around the kitchen in her outsized T-shirt; her breasts � despite the preposterous support of her new bra � still descending to below her navel and thrusting out so far in front of her that the bottom of the shirt revealed the undersides of both the mighty black bra cups. Bambi had only got out of bed to see what all the noise was about. It was Callie's excited squealing as usual that woke her, but surprisingly, this time she wasn't in bed with the tireless Dave.
      Bambi took one look at her sister and fled back to the bedroom to change the batteries in her VirtuGasm. Half an hour later, her knees still trembling, she peered out of the bedroom door. Callie was reclining in the armchair, her legs wide apart. There appeared to be a strip of black cloth between her legs, although it was hidden by her tangled pubic hair and the glistening folds of her pussy. Her inner thighs were slick with juices, so she was obviously recovering from recent sexual activity. She couldn't see Bambi because the peaks of her tits were very much in the way, towering several inches above her head. There was no sign of her mother. Bambi crept closer for a better look at this new bra, which was now all that Callie was wearing. It wasn't the sort of thing you expected to find in a young girl's wardrobe, but Callie was no ordinary young girl.
      Bambi was about to retire to her love machine again, when there was a pounding on the door.
      "Oh, shit!" said Callie, and started rocking to and fro, trying to get up.
      "I'll get it!" Bambi hurried past her sister who squeaked in alarm.
      "How long have you been there?"
      "I only just came..."
      "So did I! Get me out of this chair, I'm stuck."
      "Where's Mum?"
      "Gone down the village for some fruit. I bet that's Mrs Thing at the door," she added as there was a renewed burst of banging.
      It was. "Oh, hi, Mrs ... Mrs..." Bambi stammered at the squat figure.
      "Stassinopoulos. Your mama? In?"
      It was the first approximately English words the girls had heard her say. Bambi stood aside to let her into the kitchen.
      "Please come in ... Mrs ... our mum's just gone down to the village for some fruit."
      Mrs Thing's eyes narrowed as she stared at Bambi, who realised too late that she wasn't really appropriately dressed for receiving guests. Her nightie had once been almost semi-decent, but that had been before her bust had passed fifty inches. Now, it gaped at the neck to reveal nine quivering inches of slightly sweaty cleavage.
      "You ... need ... bra!" announced Mrs Thing decisively, jabbing a stubby finger into each of Bambi's tits in turn.
      "I've got one, but it's in the wash!"
      "Callista!" The woman howled suddenly, flinging out a hand to haul Callie to her feet and clasp her to her bosom. It didn't quite work as there was so much bosom between them. Then she stepped back and admired her handiwork. "Wear ... bra! Wear ... wear..." She pointed at Callie's absent panties, outraged.
      "Th-they're in the wash, too," said Callista, blushing deeply.
      Tutting, clicking her tongue and snapping her fingers, Mrs Thing started on a tour of inspection of her young client. She was evidently satisfied, because she beamed at Callie and delved in her sack-like bag. "For Callista. Present!"
      "A present? For me? What is it?"
      Mrs Thing was still rummaging. She moved across to the counter and began removing sundry items from her bag: a small melon, a can of Heinz baked beans, a loaf of bread, three tomatoes which she arrayed in ascending order of size, one of those long pepper grinder things, a rabbit's foot, a bottle of olive oil, a china piggy bank and finally, a couple of scraps of shiny red material.
      "Present. For you!" And she handed it over.
      "It's a bikini! In my size? It can't be..."
      "It is, Cal! The other way up."
      The girls stared at the improbable thing. The pants were conventional enough, but the bra consisted of a pair of bags which between the two of them would have just about encompassed a soccer ball. They were joined together by a cat's cradle of stout scarlet string.
      "I think she wants you to try it on, Cal."
      "Try it on? Now? Me?"
      Mrs Thing nodded vigorously. "You. Try on. Now. Take off ... bra ... first." She seemed overjoyed at remembering the word 'first', and exhausted at the same time. She flopped into the armchair ready for the show.
      "You'll have to take your bra off first, Cal," said Bambi. She was chewing all the fingers of both hands in her anticipation.
      "I can't. I need Mum to help me. It's got thirty-two hooks down the back."
      "Thirty-two?"
      "Look at them! It will take for ever. I'll just try the 'kini on over the top. I'm miles too big for a bikini, anyway," she whispered behind her hand.
      "It will look stupid over the top of that bra. You've got to take it off. She's waiting."
      "You'll have to help with the hooks, then. And everything else, too."
      "Everything else?" Bambi was flooding her pants by now.
      "Yeah. But don't start on the hooks until I've got the shoulder straps down. Taking it off's going to be as hard as putting it on was."
      "You can't do it that way," Bambi hissed with a sideways glance at the bra-maker. "You're supposed to leave the shoulder straps on and let your tits dangle in the cups while you fasten it up, and the opposite way round when you take it off."
      "It's not the law, Bam! Just 'cos Miss Twizzell tells us to do it that way, doesn't mean that's the way they do it in Greece." And Callista immediately slipped the straps off her shoulders and unloaded her giantess boobies out of the cups, one at a time. Immediately there was an agitated howl from Mrs Thing.
      "There, I told you," said Bambi.
      But Mrs Thing wasn't scolding Callista for improper bra procedure. Her face bore mingled astonishment and delight as she pointed at the girl's exposed whoppers. "Big," she shouted. "Much big!"
      "Does she think I hadn't noticed?" said Callista. "Undo all those hooks, quick." And she leaned forward from the waist, allowing her bosom to hang right down on a level with her knees.
      "God, you're so huge, Cal!"
      "Don't you start as well! I know I'm huge. I'm a little bit worried I'm still getting huger."
      "You can't say huger, Cal. It's not a proper word."
      "It is now," said Callista grimly. "Hanging down like this, they feel like they're going to burst. Can you remember how it was when we first started growing?"
      "A little bit."
      "It's like that, except I've felt that way now for two days. All throbby and tingly and heavy and full. And sore. Haven't you finished with those hooks yet? My tits will be on the floor in a minute!"
      "Last half dozen. There!" Bambi let the two halves of the bra go and it slipped off, the shoulder straps sliding down Callista's pudgy arms. Ponderously she started to straighten up."
      It was the signal for Mrs Thing to leap out of her armchair. She moved with surprising speed for such a large woman, dipping into her carry-everything bag and whipping out a tape measure.
      "Uh-oh!" Bambi shook her head. "What's she doing now?"
      "Stop! Down!"
      "What for?" Callista demanded. She soon found out. Mrs Thing whirled the tape measure round Callista's bent back and screamed shrilly at Bambi to help her with the other end. Fortunately, Bambi knew instantly what was required. She grabbed the tape and fell to her knees beside one of her sister's monstrous dangling globes, and as soon as Mrs Thing passed the end of the tape beneath the girl's conveniently hanging bust, she seized it and read the measurement in a flash.
      "Bloody hell, Callie!"
      "Can't you say anything but Bloody hell, Callie and Wow, Callie? It's getting tedious."
      "But, look at it!"
      "I can't while you're waving it around like a union jack. Hold it still!"
      "I can't while Mrs Thing's trying to grab hold of it. Look what it says! 225 centimetres! That's ... it's..." There was an expectant silence, even from Mrs Thing, who didn't need it converted into English, but seemed to be aware of the great drama being acted out in front of her.
      "How big is it?"
      Bambi was scribbling with her finger on an imaginary blackboard in the air. They all stared at it as if expecting the numbers to appear.
      "I don't know. More than eighty inches. Much more!"
      "Oh, my God! Eighty?"
      "Nearer ninety than eighty. It's enormous, Cal!"
      Callista started to get up again, but once more Mrs Thing prevented her with a hand in the middle of her back.
      "What is it this time?"
      The bra maker had the bikini bra in her hands.
      "I think she wants you to hang your tits in the cups, Cal."
      "They're nowhere near big enough!"
      "You'll have to try. It might be okay when you stand up."
      Mrs Thing evidently thought so, too. She captured the swaying masses in both the cups at the same time, expertly looped the strings round Callista's neck and back and tied them in a clumsy bow. Then she smacked her on the rump as if she were encouraging a donkey.
      Slowly, carefully, Callista straightened up. Everything adjusted itself in the gargantuan but still way-too-small cups. The strings threatened to saw her head off. But she stood up straight. The audience gasped.
      "Just one word," Callista cautioned her sister. "Just you dare say Wow, that's all!"
      "Wow!" It was Mrs Thing who said it. Both sisters stared at her.
      "There's only one thing you can do now you've got a bikini, Callie. We've just got to go down to the beach."

They didn't stay on the beach long, neither on that day nor for the rest of the holiday. A crowd gathered to stare at the incredible sisters, one of whom had the biggest breasts anyone on the island had ever seen, and the other whose breasts were easily five times as big.
      How the girl � girl was the right word, as she could only be in her teens, and not very far into them at that � could even walk with those things hanging from her chest was anyone's guess. And she was wearing a bikini, of all things!
      As fast as husbands and boyfriends were physically dragged away by wives and girlfriends, twice as many more took their place. The audience crept closer, silent, tongues dragging in the sand, gawping at Callista. David and Jonathan couldn't get a look-in. They sneaked away, and were nowhere to be seen when the sisters plodded back up the path to their apartment after only half an hour's sunbathing.
      "I can't see your David anywhere," Bambi whispered, looking around for her Jonathan.
      "I don't really want to see him," confided Callista. "I couldn't make love with my tits as full and sore as this."
      "They still hurt?"
      "Of course. They're not getting any smaller, you know. They can't get smaller while they're still getting bigger."
      "They can't be, can they?"
      "They are. Not as fast as before, but they're still bigger every morning. I can feel it. And my bra's a bit tighter every day."
      "So Mum's idea didn't work?"
      "I always knew it was an old wives' tale."
      "Look, why not give it one more try? See David tomorrow night, before we go home."
      "I can't. I will hurt too much."
      "You can't just walk away and abandon him."
      "I can hardly walk anyway."
      "You know what I mean. He's too nice to dump."
      "We don't know where he is, do we? We haven't seen his family for days."
      "Look, once we get back up to the house, you stay there and I'll go down the beach on my own and see if I can find them. There won't be such a crowd if it's only me. I fancy seeing Jonathan again, too. And don't pretend you don't want to see David. You know you do."
      Callista swallowed hard. "I won't enjoy it," she sulked.
      Bambi smiled privately. "Suit yourself."

"Will we be able to see you when we're all back home?" David asked awkwardly. The two brothers had paused just outside the door, not wanting to leave.
      Callista reached around her breasts where they wobbled in the bright red bikini cups and placed a little hand on his arm. They both stared at it as if it didn't belong to either of them. "You've got our phone number. Maybe we could meet up one day."
      "Where do you live?" Bambi asked Jonathan.
      "Birmingham. Can't you tell?"
      "I suppose so."
      "It's okay, but it's noisy. Not like this place."
      "Sorry?" Bambi cupped a hand behind her ear. In the bedroom, her mother's panting and grunting had risen in a familiar crescendo to a scream that rattled the windows in their frames. The boys looked embarrassed; the girls exasperated.
      "Give it to me, you little fucking Greek bastard!"
      "Is she okay?" David asked solicitously.
      "I think she's enjoying it," said Callista. "She's always a bit loud."
      Bambi gasped. "I can't believe you said that!"
      The boys turned scarlet. Callista's screams last night had actually shattered a vase. Now that's loud. The girl had a real set of lungs on her.
      "We'd better go," said Jonathan. "Our mum will be getting worried."
      "And we've got to start packing," said Bambi. She closed her eyes and offered her lips for a kiss. Jonathan had to lean across the shelf of her bosom until their mouths collided wetly. They began indulging in a frantic bout of goodbye tonsil hockey.
      David and Callista watched them, then looked at each other.
      "Come round the side," she told him. "You can reach better from there."
      "I never thought I'd ever know a girl whose boobs were too big to kiss her."
      "They'd stick out even further if I had my bra on. I'm a big girl, David. Getting bigger, too!"
      David groaned and tried to stuff his suddenly rampant erection back into his shorts.
      "We can't do it now, David," she giggled happily. "Not again! And certainly not outside!"
      "I can't help it. I'm going to come!"
      "Oh, all right then! Do it in here." And she bent slightly to offer a yard or so of gaping cleavage. David squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again briefly, took aim and fired a volley of semen into the target. He could hardly miss. Seconds later, Callista was massaging it into her bust, every last drop. "That ought to stop them getting much bigger, at least!"
      David gasped. "It makes them bigger, surely? We saw it on the Internet."
      The other couple separated with a squelching sound. "What was on the Internet?" asked Jonathan.
      "You've taken your tits out," Bambi accused her sister, outraged.
      "David needed somewhere to ejaculate," she explained.
      "But Callista! We're outside!"
      "Nobody saw it. Anyway, we weren't fucking or anything. He only came between my tits."
      "But that will make them bigger!" Jonathan protested. "Everybody knows that!"
      Bambi and Callista looked at one another. Could it be? Surely not. Their mother wouldn't be as stupid as that, would she?

'...Aeroflot are relieved to announce the arrival of their Flight Number...'
      Bambi had to reclaim all their baggage from the carousel. Fred was hiding behind her dark glasses and having one of her headaches. Callista's tits were too big. She watched her older sister's struggles with a trolley that only wanted to go round in circles and dump their bags in a heap. Nobody offered to help the unfortunate girl with the extremely large bust. Quite a few spectators stared at her with lustful intent but no one offered her a hand. Her outrageous figure scared them out of their wits.
      "Hi, stranger!"
      Callista's head jerked round. "Dicker! What are you...?"
      "Same as you, I s'pose. We just got back from Ibiza." He pronounced it Eye-beef-a, probably because that was how they said it on the BBC.
      "We?" Callista looked round.
      "Marco and me. He's waiting for his bag. I told him it's on its way to Singapore by now." Dicker's eyes widened. "You've been eating well!"
      Callista blushed. "I'm having a bit of a growth spurt. I'll tell you all about it when we get home."
      "I'd like that. You're not on your own?"
      "Bambi's collecting the bags. Mum's somewhere. She's got a headache. She's been screwing a Greek waiter. Grown-ups these days..."
      The crowd parted and a cheery voice called out. "Look who I found!" And Marco appeared, wheeling a piled-high baggage trolley, with Bambi simpering like a schoolgirl in his wake. "Fucking hell, Callie!" he roared, scandalising half the arrivals section of the airport.
      "Hi, Marco. You're looking brown."
      "And you're looking huge! I thought Bambi's tits were enormous, but yours ... wow!"
      "How are you all getting home?" said Dicker.
      Callista shrugged interestingly. "I dunno. We came on the bus. It seems ages ago now."
      "You can come with us. We've got this minibus collecting us in half an hour. We ordered a taxi but they didn't have one. So we'd have plenty of room for you two."
      "But what about Mum? How many seats has this bus thing got?"
      "About twelve. She could fit in as well. She could sit up in front with the driver. We could sit at the back."
      It sounded a more than admirable arrangement. Someone to talk to all the way home. And maybe more...
      "Thanks, Dicker," said Bambi. "Mum will pay for a share of the bus. It will be cheaper than three bus fares. Four, actually; Callie would probably need two seats."
      Callista stuck out her tongue at her sister.
      "Callie was going to tell me all about her tits getting so huge," Dicker smiled, wrapping an arm round her shoulders. Callista felt indescribably comfortable.
      Bambi grinned up at Marco. "I'd better tell you about mine, too! I'm nowhere near the size of Callie, but if it wasn't for her, I'd be the biggest girl in the whole school."
      "You might be yet," said Callista. "How can I sit behind a desk with these things? I might have to leave!"
      "Leave school?" Dicker gasped. "But you're only...!"
      "Not leave school! Just leave that school. I bet if Mum told somebody at the Department of Education about me, she could get me a private tutor, free."
      "I'd do it for free," said Marco.
      "I'd pay to do it," laughed Dicker, and Callista laid her head on his shoulder. She was beginning to want him between her thighs in the worst possible way.
      "Let's go and find Mum," she murmured in his ear. "I've got so much to tell you."
      "If I was your private tutor, I could make you write a composition about it. 'What I did on my holidays.'"
      "She'd never get it past the censors," Bambi giggled. "Come on, you lot. Holidays are okay, but it's great to be home!"

Dicker climbed off, exhausted. It wasn't as easy with Callista as it was with other girls. There wasn't so much choice of position, for starters. Mind you, it had its compensations, one of which was that by doing it on Callista's brand new queen-sized bed, your best mate could be doing it at the same time in the very next room.
      Bambi knocked softly and came in, leading a limp and devastated Marco by the hand.
      "It's okay," chirped Callista brightly. "We've finished. At least, Dicker has."
      They arranged themselves on the floor, watching idly as Callista attached herself to the various probes and sensors of her VirtuGasm. She gave her little inward-breathing cry as the machine started its task.
      Marco shook his head in awe at Callista's utter insatiability. "Did she take that thing on holiday with her, Bambi?"
      "She took it, but it didn't work. She didn't want to use mine. I've got the older one. It doesn't do as much, but at least it runs on batteries."
      "What did she do for sex, then?"
      "We'd got boyfriends. One each."
      Dicker looked at Callista, whose eyes were closed and her mouth open. A dribble of fluid had escaped her full, moist lips, and a similar dribble of saliva had found its way out of her mouth to trickle down her chin.
      "Only one boyfriend? What was he, Superman?"
      "No, just a boy we met on the beach. He was pretty good, she says. He could just keep on doing it over and over again."
      "Shit, how old was he?"
      "Dunno. 'Bout fourteen, I suppose."
      Dicker and Marco exchanged significant nods. Clearly, they were well past it; over the hill.
      "Of course, he had plenty of cum to spare. That was handy when Callie started getting so huge, 'cos he did it all over her tits."
      "He did it all over her tits?" Dicker gasped. "On purpose?"
      "Of course. Bucketfuls of it."
      "You mean, Callie wanted to be this big?"
      "She wanted to be a bit smaller than this, but by the time Mum told us about boy-juice, it was too late."
      Marco nudged Dicker. "Did I just hear what I thought I just heard?"
      "Your mum told you about boy-juice?"
      "Yeah. Mum's okay about sex and stuff. She heard about boy-juice on the Internet."
      "Yeah, it's common knowledge. But she knew about it and she still let this boyfriend come all over Callie's tits?"
      "Of course she did. She wouldn't want Callie getting so big she'd have to pay hundreds of quid each for special bras, would she? But by the time she told us, it was too late, she was vast!"
      "Wait a minute." Dicker took a deep breath. "Let's start again."
      There was a brief pause as Callista started coming again, with a keening wail that shook the windows. Her nipples were now so long that her areola-cups, designed for an entirely hypothetical maximum nipple length of 1.75 inches, were in danger of falling off. Ever the loving older sister, Bambi held them on for her.
      "Your mum heard about boy-juice on the Internet, right?"
      Bambi looked up at him, her palms still clamped across Callista's steadily expanding teats. "Yeah."
      "What did she hear about it?"
      "That if you get an adolescent boy to come on your tits, and you rub the juice in, it stops them growing too big."
      "It stops them growing?"
      "Yeah. It was on the Internet."
      "It stops them growing?"
      "I told you. Yeah."
      Dicker sighed. "No further questions for this witness. Marco?"
      Marco looked deep into Bambi's eyes. "Bambi..."
      "Not now, Marco, I'm helping my little sister have a wank!"
      "No, Bambi, listen. Your mum heard about this boy-juice thing? Did she read it herself?"
      "No, it was our Auntie Dawn."
      "Auntie Dawn?"
      The boys looked guilty. They still felt uncomfortable about abandoning their nubile, busty girlfriends for Auntie Dawn. Dicker blundered on. "I suppose you know how big your Auntie Dawn's boobs grew while we were shagging her?"
      Bambi giggled. "Big? You call D-cups big?"
      "They're big compared to nothing at all, which was what she had before. But you know what caused it, don't you?"
      "Our Auntie Dawn was a late developer. Some women are."
      Dicker took another deep breath and swallowed. "Erm, girls. I think there's something you ought to know."

"But you mean there isn't an antidote?"
      "Antelope, Callie. The word's antelope."
      "Are you sure, Dicker?"
      "Course! That was on the Internet, too. And there isn't one, anyway."
      "We'd better tell mum, Cal!"
      "Oh, I don't know, Bam! In fact, I've got a brilliant idea for Mum's birthday present..."