PROGRAMMING executives at the Big Television Network were positively giddy with excitement as they gathered in the conference room. The ratings for the most recent 'sweeps' period had been delivered � and their network was number one!
"It's that big-money quiz show!" shouted One Big Executive.
"Yes!" echoed Another. "We've got to do it again!"
"No!" chimed in Another Exec. "We can't just repeat ourselves. We have to outdo ourselves!"
"Ooooh, I like that," cried the Executive Across the Table. "But how? By giving away more money?"
"No, that's what the other networks will do," said One of the Higher Ranking Executives. "We can do better."
"How?" asked a Junior Exec. "Should we be thinking of giving something else away?"
"Like what?" chimed in Another. "What else does everyone want � besides being a millionaire?"
"The meaning of life?" someone tossed in.
"Eternal knowledge?" guessed somebody else.
"Oh, come on," scolded an Exec. "Of what?"
"To be famous?" offered a Junior Executive.
"Nah � we're already doing that, by putting them on TV," answered a More Senior Member of the Team.
All eyes turned to the Chief Executive Officer. He was silent and unsmiling.
"What can we give away on a big quiz show..." said one Exec, thinking out loud.
"...that's never been done before..." added Another.
"... and that will add up to big, big ratings??" wondered the Vice President.
The Chief Executive Officer allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. Finally � he spoke.
"Gentlemen!" he barked.
Everyone sat at attention.
"Here's the answer," said Mister C-E-O of the Big Television Network.
"Two words...
Big... tits."
The telephone in talk show host Mary Elizabeth Montague's office began to ring. Mary Elizabeth stood up and began to cross the room to pick up the call.
This wasn't as easy as it sounded.
A few months ago, Mary Elizabeth did an episode of her talk show where the subject matter was big tits. This in itself wasn't unusual. All the talk shows do at least one during sweeps � especially Mary Elizabeth's greatest rival, Janey Johnson. Janey seemed to bring on women with big tits a couple times a week! Why? Because it works. Men tune in, and oddly, so do women � though it seems they only watch so they can sneer. But tune in they do, and that means big ratings. And that's what makes the talk-show world go 'round.
What was unusual about this particular show was that one of the guests told Mary Elizabeth there was a way to increase one's bustline to almost unlimited proportions that didn't involve surgery. And it was instantaneous. Mary Elizabeth wanted her to prove it. So she did prove it, on Mary Elizabeth.
Now she found herself hauling an enormous and incredibly sexy bust of fifty-some inches or more across the room. Janey Johnson just brought over-inflated silicone strippers onto her show as guests. Mary Elizabeth now offered huge tits in the host, so viewers could look her over every single day. Her new look made her talk show number one � but it made simple tasks like answering the telephone difficult.
She rested her heavy hanging load on a side table as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Mary Elizabeth? How are my favorite TV personality and her two very big friends doing?"
"Who is this?" Mary Elizabeth wanted to know.
"It's Roger. You know � from the Big Television Network?" said the voice on the other end.
"Roger! To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked. "Big Network guys usually don't bother with syndicated daytime hosts like me."
"Most syndicated daytime hosts don't have your... special talents," said the Executive.
"Special talents, hell! Why don't you just say 'tits'?" Mary Elizabeth wanted to know.
Her use of the vernacular turned the Executive on. "Well, those tits are what I want to talk about!"
"You and everyone else," muttered the host.
"How exactly did you get them?" said the voice from the phone. "I don't remember you having any surgery."
"There was no surgery," she started to explain. She thought a minute about the bizarre events that led to her enhanced sexiness. A seemingly naïve young exotic dancer named Bobbie led Mary Elizabeth backstage during her appearance on the show... and showed her a four-foot polished ebony statue of a woman with huge tits. Bobbie explained that this was Mammalia, the Ancient Goddess of What It Means To Be a Woman. The dancer said the statue could give any woman almost limitless tits.
Now, Mary Elizabeth was pretty well educated. She knew African goddesses, Chinese goddesses, Norse goddesses, Greek goddesses, and Roman goddesses. But she'd never heard of this Mammalia.
But what Bobbie promised turned out to be true. Mary Elizabeth performed the ritual of faith that Bobbie described, and the goddess blew up her bust right then and there... in front of millions of television viewers.
Her life was changed.
"I'd rather not say, Roger," Mary Elizabeth finally said into the phone. "It's kind of a trade secret."
"Well, I don't care if it's a secret. Keep it that way if you want," barked the Executive. "But we need your help!"
"Yeah? How?" When the Big Television Network talked, even the number-one daytime talk show host listened.
"We're cooking up a big game show where women will compete for the privilege of getting bigger tits," he explained.
Mary Elizabeth's eyebrows went up.
"Naturally, we won't say it that way on the air," the Executive hastened to add. "But it will be clear that's what the prize is. What we want to know is this � can you do it?"
"Do the show? You want me to host?"
"No, no, no," Roger jumped in, a little too quickly. Mary Elizabeth was a little insulted, but Roger was oblivious. "Can you give the winners bigger tits? However you did it?"
Mary Elizabeth smiled. "Maybe. How much?"
"Oh, inches and inches, I guess."
"No. How much money is in it for me?"
"Thirty million," said the Executive. "We'll call it a consultant fee."
"Thirty million..." considered Mary Elizabeth. "Let me get right back to you."
"Mary Elizabeth, you'll have to speak up!" shouted Bobbie over the loud rock music coming from the stage. A strip joint's dressing room was not the ideal place to have a business conversation.
"Can you bring Mammalia to the Big Television Network?" asked the talk show host on the other end of the line. "They want us to make women's titties bigger. Much bigger."
"Well, you know that's what the goddess wants," said Bobbie. "Will we have to keep it a secret, like before?"
"Yes," said Mary Elizabeth. "It will be strictly backstage."
"You know Mammalia would rather do it on camera, so women everywhere know how easy it is," thought Bobbie out loud. "But maybe! It'd be fun to see you again. How much did you say you could pay me for the job?"
"Twelve million," answered Mary Elizabeth.
"Twelve million! Wow!" bubbled Bobbie. "Tell us when and where!"
The floor director counted down. A tympani roll began as the studio lights caught the silhouette of a tall showgirl. The announcer spoke over the drum roll.
"Ladies and gentlemen... from New York... the Big Television Network presents...soon to be America's number one game show..."
Here he took a dramatic pause. As he did, the showgirl's bustline seemed to expand before the eyes of the audience. A breathless "Whoooooooo" rose from their lips.
The announcer waited for the response to subside before delivering the show title.
"WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLION MILLIMETRES!"
The studio exploded into applause as lights came up on the showgirl. She and other tall and busty babes walked in formation as the show's theme music swelled. Swelled... seems appropriate, doesn't it?
Mary Elizabeth Montague and Big Bobbie watched the monitor from their top secret screening room backstage at the studio. They sat in comfortable chairs with helpful side tables to rest their big boobies. The statue of Mammalia stood between them as they watched the screen.
"Look at that," laughed Bobbie. "That's supposed to be big tits!"
"I know," said Mary Elizabeth as she shifted her weight about, trying to rest her bust with a minimum of friction about the nipples. Sure, fabric against huge sensitive nipples felt good, but when they stuck out like doorbells, it was just two more things to get in the way! "Those showgirls don't have any more than the plastic parade you see on Janey Johnson's show every day."
"Nobody watches Janey anymore, now, Mary Elizabeth," said Bobbie to her friend. "You're bigger than any of the girls on her show."
"I know," smiled Mary Elizabeth. "Imagine what Janey would give to have these." She reached forward as far as she could and attempted to heave her two sexy hefty bags to make her point.
"Well, if they want tits � we'll show 'em some tits, won't we?" Bobbie said, playfully pulling on Mammalia's polished stone nipple.
The announcer began introducing the host. The senior-citizen morning personality who'd been hosting the big-money quiz show had been rejected for this new venture. The network wanted someone who would be believably aroused by the prospect of tits expanding on TV.
"And now � here's your host � Garrison Beck!"
Garrison was a top film star who made women swoon. And he had a reputation as a hell-raiser with an eye for the ladies. The producers had sent Mary Elizabeth to talk him into hosting the show � and find out if he had the particular qualifications they were looking for. Mary Elizabeth could tell by the way he shifted his trousers, to make his expanding hard-on more comfortable, that he was a tit-man. A hunk of a host who would be sorely tempted to reach into the blouses of every contestant � that's what this show needed!
Garrison strode to the front of the stage on the arms of two of the tall and titty showgirls. He nearly missed his mark since his eyes were glued to their cleavages the whole time.
"Garrison looks good," said Bobbie, watching the screen intently. "I wonder what he's got between his legs?" Her hand was starting to wander down to the waistband of her helpfully loose slacks.
"Oh, you'd like what you'd find, Bobbie," offered Mary Elizabeth. "When they sent me to talk him into hosting? I got the impression he has to have his trousers 'specially tailored. To make room."
"He needs a lot of room?" Bobbie asked, starting to smirk as she plunged her hands into the moistness of her panties.
"Yes," replied Mary Elizabeth, a little breathlessly. She was starting to shift back and forth in her chair, in order to deliberately rub her hardening and expanding nipples against the surface of the table. "You know how low my boobies hang! Well, when I walked up to Garrison, I felt them touch the head of his cock. Right there in his pants. Without me bending over or anything!"
"Ooooh. How would it feel lost between your two titties?" hissed Bobbie, now working four fingers and a thumb in and out of her hairy moistness.
"Lovely, I'm sure," purred Mary Elizabeth, grabbing her huge tit as best she could and attempting to bend it toward her hands and mouth.
"Thank you, girls," said the host to the two tall showgirls, addressing their four big tits directly. "I'll see you later." The showgirls beamed with pride and walked off. Garrison actually grabbed at the air as they left.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLION MILLIMETRES!" crowed Garrison, as the studio audience broke into applause.
"You don't know how our game is played, because this is our first broadcast. But you don't need to be rocket scientists to figure out the top prize!" cracked the host. "Top prize � a prize top!" Cheers rose from the audience � mostly male cheers, it sounded like.
"All of our contestants will get the opportunity to compete for bigger breasts. Much bigger breasts," he continued. "After every correct answer, their photos will be 'morphed' by our staff computer geek. He hasn't had a date since the Reagan administration, but he knows his megabytes!"
An unshaven man standing by a computer screen waved as the audience acknowledged his contribution.
"The morphed photos are just a sneak preview!" explained the host. "When we have a winner � she'll be sent backstage to have her bust expanded by our top-secret method. You'll see the results, live!"
The audience roared their approval.
"And of course, like that other show, each contestant will be given three 'lifelines'," said Garrison. "We'll wait until we get to that point to explain. Right now, let's meet our first contestant! From Erie, Pennsylvania, Ms. Agnes Corcoran!"
A shy, unassuming woman of about 5' 4" inches came out from behind a curtain. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head, and she wore wire-rim glasses. Like all the potential contestants that had been assembled, Agnes was dressed in short shorts, high heels with little white ankle socks, and a tiny T-shirt. The Network figured that stretching these little wisps of fabric would make their eventual chest growth all the more dramatic. Agnes took her seat opposite Garrison.
"Well, Agnes!" began the host. "Why do you want to BE A MILLION MILLIMETRES?"
"Oh, you know..." Agnes smiled weakly. "My husband... he's always... you know..."
"No, we don't! Tell us."
"He looks at those women with..." Agnes held her hands in front of her chest in that universally understood gesture. "With..." She couldn't bring herself to speak the words. "Like that woman you were in a movie with, Garrison. That blonde."
Garrison smiled smugly. "Which one?"
"Well, that's right," agreed Agnes. "All your movie girls have sort of... big... well, sort of. But I don't think that would be big enough for me. I think I want my front to be... bigger."
"Agnes!" Garrison feigned shock. "You want to be bigger than a movie star?"
"Well... yes. I'd like to be as big as those poster girls. Or the girls on the Internet. Or those... the ones who take off their..." Agnes began to mimic an awkward strip. "In front of men who..." Now she was pantomiming drinking. "And the men � then they usually..." Here she began to make the gesture that means... pleasuring one's self when one is alone. Garrison jumped in.
"We understand, Agnes, and that's why it's time to play WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLION MILLIMETRES!"
Dramatic music, heavy on the tympani, began to play.
"She looks familiar," said Mary Elizabeth, staring intently at the monitor screen. "Have you seen her before, Bobbie?"
"No," Bobbie said, washing her hands and rearranging her panties and slacks. "I've probably seen her husband in the club, but not her."
"Hmm," thought Mary Elizabeth, half out loud. "I don't know... the hair, the voice..."
"Well, Agnes, are you ready for your first question?" asked Garrison, enthusiastically.
"I � I think so," stammered the mousy blonde.
"Unlike the other show, these are not factual questions," explained the host. "These are custom-researched questions, about your own life! But of course, the first few questions are pretty easy. Agnes � what's the nickname most of your friends call you?"
The music hit a dramatic accent.
"That's easy," smiled the contestant. "Aggie."
"That is correct! You've won your first stage in enlargement," beamed Garrison. "Let's check with our geek."
All eyes turned toward the giant photograph of modestly endowed Agnes. With an accompanying slide-whistle sound effect, the bust in the picture swelled noticably. The audience broke into warm applause.
"Next question!" barked Garrison, who seemed to be rubbing his crotch slightly as he busied himself with his index cards. "What unkind nickname does your husband use to refer to your breasts?"
Agnes hung her head.
"I need an answer, Aggie," encouraged the host.
Agnes still wouldn't answer. "Would you like to use your first lifeline, Aggie?"
Agnes just nodded.
Garrison turned to address the offstage crew. "Send Dee out, willya?"
One of the tall busty showgirls strode onto the stage. She was wearing what looked like a man's vest over her considerable chest � and nothing else up top. Her boobs were adorably overflowing the tight garment.
"Go ahead, Dee," said Garrison.
Dee stood in front of Agnes, with her back to the camera. The home audience saw her unbutton the vest, and apparently flash her D-cuppers to Agnes. The audience whooped.
"That's for a little inspiration, Aggie!" called the host. "Now � what nickname does your husband use to refer to your breasts?"
Agnes leaned into her microphone. "Bee stings."
"Bee stings?" Garrison's eyebrows went up. "Is that your final answer?"
"Final answer, Garrison."
"That's a shame..." began the film star, attempting to give the impression that she had lost. "A shame that he calls them that, because that's correct! You'll have something to show him before you're through, won't you, Aggie?"
"Oh, I hope so," bubbled the blonde.
Garrison directed attention to the photograph. Now with a trombone slide for emphasis, the photo's bust expanded even more. An excited "Oooooooooh" rose from the lips of the spectators.
"Next question, Aggie," continued Garrison. "It's turning into quite a perky pair, isn't it? Next question � why does your husband like you to wear your hair with that bun at the top of your head?"
"Ummmmmmm," thought Agnes, as the music became dark and dramatic. "Garrison, could I use another of my lifelines?"
"Yes, you may, Aggie, and I'll explain this particular lifeline to our audience as best I can."
One of the tall busty showgirls came onto the stage and handed Garrison a thin carrying case, about fourteen inches long. Garrison held it up. "We'll open this package out of camera range, because we're still trying to pay attention to what's permitted to be shown on television and what's not."
"That'll change!" yelled a heckler.
"Maybe so, but for now," continued the host, "I'll just say that it's a very lifelike replica of something that's longer than it is wide. And it's not a cigar. Again, the object is motivation for Agnes." Viewers could hear the case being unzipped and they saw Garrison hand something to Agnes below camera range.
"Oh. Oh!" said Agnes, suddenly giddy with excitement. "Mmmmmmmmm," she purred, her arms moving as though she were stroking something. "I think I remember. Uh � you might want to have the camera turned off or something."
"Oh, we'll just have the director take a shot of the audience," chuckled the host, and the screen was filled with the smiling faces of the crowd. Whatever they were seeing was turning them on.
Then viewers heard an odd collection of licking and sucking sounds. The audience members began to burst into applause. Next, the sound of Agnes moaning with her mouth full. Then an audible 'pop' � like something coming out of someone's mouth. No need to say who.
All at once, the camera cut to a tight shot of Agnes, her face flushed with excitement and with a bit of spittle escaping from her lips.
"I know!" she called. "He likes the bun up on the top of my head so he can use it as a handle!"
"I can tell that's your final answer, and it's correct!" shouted Garrison. "Take a look at the photo!"
A triumphant chord from a full string orchestra accompanied the growth of Aggie's computer-generated bust. Now the image rivaled Big Bobbie's. The audience broke out into a chorus of "Wow", "Look at that", "Oh, my fucking God", and "Holy shee-it!"
"My god, this show is turning me on," screamed Bobbie as she worked her nipples like so much modeling clay.
"Me too," agreed Mary Elizabeth, who was experimenting with scraping her bare nipples against the textured wall for stimulation. "But I swear I know this girl from somewhere."
"I can't wait until they send her back here, so we can boost her bust with Mammalia's help!" laughed Bobbie, holding the statue up to use its nipples to tingle her own.
"Oh, my God," moaned Mary Elizabeth. "I want those big, new titties to bash into mine full force!" She had soaked through so many pairs of slacks that she'd taken to standing panty-less in a wash tub.
"Look at that morph," said Bobbie, taking Mammalia's statue and increasing her boob-slamming pace. "She's gonna look fine with those new titties!"
"Oooh, yes!" sang Mary Elizabeth, attempting to jump up and down. A nice thought, but impossible with her frontal attributes. Suddenly, she stopped. She stopped, but her titties kept moving. Nonetheless, she spoke. "You know what that skinny slut Janey Johnson will probably do. She'll want to get these titty babies on her show! I won't let her!" She swayed her upper torso on her last syllable for emphasis and knocked a hole in the drywall.
"Don't worry, Mary Elizabeth," cooed Bobbie. "Janey Johnson is miles from here. You'll get at the girls before she will." To book as guests, or to seduce? The double meaning hung in the air.
"Aggie, you're doing great," encouraged Garrison. "Look at the cans you'll be carting around, even if you stopped now!"
Agnes looked at the photo and involutarily licked her lips. She continued fondling her lifeline object just below camera range.
"Maybe you should save that for later," suggested the host, and Agnes did so. "Are you ready for the question that will make you a grand prize winner?"
"Yes," she whispered, barely able to keep from running her hands over her too-small tits.
"The question that could make YOU a MILLION MILLIMETRES?" shouted Garrison.
"Yes!" she cried, no longer interested in restraining herself.
"All right, here it is. Listen carefully." The music swelled dramatically.
Garrison spoke slowly and deliberately. "When you win here, and have your bust expanded..."
The music intensified.
"...what size bra will you be wearing?" asked the host.
Agnes was visibly sweating.
"What size...?"
"Yes, what size bra will you be wearing?" Garrison wanted to know.
Agnes smiled confidently. "It's a trick question, Garrison. When my boobs get to be a million millimetres, my husband will forbid me to ever wear a bra!"
"Is that your final answer?"
"Yes! That's my final answer!"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" called the host, elated to have a grand prize winner for his first contestant. The audience applauded for a good forty seconds.
"Agnes, you're going to be A MILLION MILLIMETRES!" said Garrison. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir!" chirped the shy girl. "My husband has promised all our friends that he'll unveil them at our next dinner party. And let everyone touch!" Agnes shivered at this last statement.
"Remind me to wangle an invitation for dinner!" said Garrison, standing in profile so that the women in the audience could see for themselves how excited he was by the evening's competition. He turned his head to the camera. "We'll be back after these messages."
The floor director called, "And � we're clear!"
Two crew members hurried on and spirited little Agnes offstage. They walked her down a long corridor and finally stopped in front the closed door where Bobbie and Mary Elizabeth were watching the proceedings on the monitor.
Agnes knocked shyly.
Mary Elizabeth stepped out of her wash tub full of female fluids and hurriedly pulled on a pair of panties. She pulled her tight sweater down over her braless behemoths and covered the absurdly long nipples to simulate a sort of decency.
Bobbie just chuckled as she placed Mammalia's statue back on its pedestal. "Come in," she called.
Agnes stepped in timidly. "Hi," she said. "Umm... I'm the winner."
"We know, we know," said Mary Elizabeth, walking up to Agnes. Agnes stepped back as though in terror, seeing those boobs coming toward her head-on. "We're ready for you," Mary Elizabeth assured her.
Bobbie stood up and drew in her breath, to emphasize the size, weight, and heft of her rack. "This won't hurt a bit. In fact... you'll feel this between your legs as well as in your chest."
It was at this moment that Agnes first understood what she was looking at. "Did... did you girls win, too?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes locked to all four over-inflated knockers.
"No," laughed Mary Elizabeth, "but we're the experts! Step up to the statue. Bobbie will tell you all about it." Mary Elizabeth looked Agnes in the face. "Have we met?"
"Oh, I'm sure we haven't," squeaked the introverted housewife. "I would have remembered your..."
"Tits. We like to call them tits," said Bobbie.
"Yes, your..." Agnes still had trouble saying the word. "Tits."
Mary Elizabeth motioned to Bobbie once more. "I guess I'm mistaken. But Bobbie will help you. Go over to the statue."
Agnes did so. Bobbie pointed to the image of Mammalia. "Agnes, this is the ancient Goddess Mammalia."
"Do you mean it's a statue of an ancient Goddess?" asked Aggie.
"No, I believe it's literally her. And she is so pleased to be able to further her goals for womanhood this way," said Bobbie, walking behind the four-foot statue and bending forward. Mammalia was now dramatically framed by Bobbie's huge hangers. "She is the Goddess of What It Means To Be A Woman. Ancient women believed, quite rightly, that the power of a woman isn't in her vagina or her womb. It's in her breasts."
"Really?" Agnes asked, wide-eyed.
"Really," assured Bobbie. "And she can give you what you want � and what you've won. You just have to believe."
"If I believe? You mean this is... all in my head?" Aggie wanted to know.
"No. It's all on your chest," Mary Elizabeth chimed in. "But that's how it gets there." Agnes turned her head in time to see Mary Elizabeth airing out her nipples again and giving them another vigorous rubdown.
Bobbie reached for Agnes' hands and led them to Mammalia's huge and always hard nipples. "Here, my dear. Hold on." Agnes clamped her hands to the idol's chest. Bobbie backed off, anticipating the rapid growth she knew would come.
"Oh, Great Goddess Mammalia," chanted Bobbie. "Your servant Agnes desires to know the secret. She needs your power. She must know What It Means To Be A Woman!"
It almost sounded like the program's dramatic music was playing, even though the women were backstage.
"Work with her! Work on her!" called Bobbie. "And don't stop until...until... until You, the Goddess, are satisfied!"
The tiny T-shirt supplied by the show's producers began to strain. Agnes' chest seemed to inflate at a most unbelievable rate. It was almost as though Mammalia was excited to get this sort of national exposure. And speaking of exposure, the sides and bottoms of Aggie's expanding boobies were exposing themselves pretty well! The blonde naturally fell forward because of the new weight of her front, but the contact with the floor only caused her nipples to harden, nearly bouncing her back up to a standing position. When the dust had settled, Bobbie and Mary Elizabeth were looking at a bespectacled blonde with her hair in a bun... and a rack that would shame a featured exotic dancer. The tiny T-shirt, emblazoned with the logo of the Big Television Network, did its best to keep those new and unexpected gallon jugs covered. But it wasn't easy. Agnes looked to be about 64-26-38.
"Mmmmmmmmmm!" said Mary Elizabeth, approvingly and a little too hungrily. Bobbie just began to wordlessly applaud. Agnes would have taken a bow, but that would have sent her sprawling onto the floor once again.
"Agnes, you look spectacular!" squealed Mary Elizabeth.
"Titanic," agreed Bobbie.
"Th-thank you," croaked the blonde.
"You know... now that you've got this new, big-titted image," said Mary Elizabeth, "you might want to present yourself a little differently. What about letting your hair down?"
"No!" snapped Agnes, in a panic. "I � I can't. You heard what I said about how my husband likes it."
"Oh, go on," teased Bobbie as she approached Agnes from the left. "Most men love long flowing hair." She playfully reached for her hair clasp. Agnes batted Bobbie's fingers away.
"Yes, and the glasses!" said Mary Elizabeth, coming at Agnes from the right. "Get contacts, or just squint! It's sexier." Mary Elizabeth reached for her glasses. Agnes tried to stop her.
However, since Agnes was surrounded on two sides by enormous breasted women, she was trapped. Both women's boobies clamped themselves around Aggie's waist, just under her newly swollen frontage. She was held in place.
Mary Elizabeth pulled off the blonde's glasses. Bobbie unclasped her hair and let it fall.
All at once, Mary Elizabeth knew where she had seen this woman before.
"Ohmigod!" she wailed. "Janey!"
"Good lord," muttered Bobbie. "Janey Johnson, as I live and breathe."
"Shit!" cursed Janey. "I thought I'd get away with it without anyone finding out. Well, hell." She started for the door.
Mary Elizabeth managed to haul her boobs to the doorway, to act as a barrier. "So now you're going to do more than just do talk shows about huge tits. Now you're going to have them!"
"Yes!" the blonde talk show host chirped. "I'm sick an' tired of being beat in the ratings by the likes of you! Sure, you've got big boobalas, but you're still a tight-assed old schoolmarm! My shows will now be much sexier than yours."
"Janey Johnson!" marveled Bobbie. "I thought you were anti-tit. The way you always make those strippers look like freaks..."
"And the way I always read about how you had your silicone implants removed!" Mary Elizabeth shook her head in disapproval. Not over Janey's tactics. Over the very idea of having implants removed!
"Well, they always used to call me a hypocrite for doing those shows, when I didn't believe in what they were saying," explained Janey. "Now I'm not a hypocrite!" She straightened her back and kind of wiggled into place to punctuate her sentence. Imagine the kind of motion that made for sixty-four inch titties. "And if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have to put my glasses back on and do my hair for the last segment of WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLION MILLIMETRES!"
Mary Elizabeth leaned her twin zeppelins forward. "Of course you know, this means war!"
"Of course!" laughed Janey, meeting her tit-attack head-on. She kept laughing as she navigated her new form out the door and back to the stage.
"Shit!" cursed Mary Elizabeth. "That skinny, spiteful bitch! How could she?"
Bobbie had settled back into her easy chair and was peeling off her slacks. "Get over it, Mary Elizabeth," she advised. "Shut the fuck up, and get over here."
"Oh! Right away." She hurried as fast as a woman of her build could.
"Right," purred Bobbie. "Now just work that nipple over my clit, wouldja? ...Oooooh, that's nice..."