Attention, the following story contains gratuitous amounts of boobs and other scandalous content.� If that�s not your thing; then look elsewhere for your reading pleasure, otherwise, dive in, dear reader.

10 Days in the Life of a Librarian, Part II

By: Kodos

����������� It was Monday morning, and I awoke to the buzzing of my alarm.� I sat up in bed, forgetting for the moment how intolerably sensitive I had found myself the day before, but as I felt the sheets slip down my chest, I was pulled back to reality by the fact that their touch did not leave me writhing in ecstasy.� Still blearily trying to divide my dreams from the waking world, and blinking against the morning sunlight, I reached up, pressed my palms to my chest, and gasped.� My nipples were still just as plump and hard as last night, and though working myself into a lather would still be deliciously easy if they stayed like this, it seemed my body's great upwelling of desire the day before had been reduced to more manageable proportions; with a little help from some nursing pads, I imagined it would be easy enough to get through a day at work without having to go running for a soundproof room if someone hugged me.� The surprise though, that took my breath away, was that when I held my hands against my body, they also felt, for the first time in my life, two soft, warm mounds gently swelling out in front of me.

����������� I couldn't believe it- I pulled my hands away and looked down, and there they were: my breasts.� Just thinking those two words was exhilarating to me, and in a flash I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, eyeing my new assets with all the interest and satisfaction of an art student gazing upon a marble statue.� On almost any other woman, and certainly any in my family, a bust like this would have been beneath remark.� I had no doubt that I would still be able to walk down the street and not draw attention to myself, and if I harbored any notions of getting big enough that I'd need to get my bras custom made, I clearly had a long way to go before my figure developed enough to warrant it.�

����������� I grabbed them both and kneaded them eagerly; they were still far from handfuls even, but to me they felt as soft, and warm, and pleasant as cousin Cora's behemoths surely felt to her.� I was getting turned on and swiftly approaching the point of no return, but since I was already running late, I couldn't afford to linger in bed and play around if I wanted to get to the library remotely on time.� But still I stood there transfixed by the sight of my modest little bosom.� My boobs were firm and full, at least for their size, and they bounced ever so distractingly when I gave an experimental hop.� I was still miles away from having any kind of cleavage, but it filled me to the brim with satisfaction as I pulled on a bra and discovered that, for the first time in forever, I needed to loosen up the straps a bit to give myself room, and even then it was still too small.

����������� I probably wouldn't have even filled out a B-cup, to be honest, but seeing myself spill- well, okay, there wasn't nearly enough of me to spill anywhere just yet- swell out above the tops of my small cream-colored cups, well; it was immensely satisfying on several levels.� I stuffed a couple pads down into them for good measure- just because my boobs weren't obscenely oversensitive right now didn't mean I felt safe assuming they were going to stay that way- and pulled on my tightest blouse, simply cut, but in a kind of raw linen color that I'd always thought looked good on me, and there I was.�

����������� Once I got into my skirt I looked as modest and respectable as a girl could be; I could have worn this to teach Sunday School and no one would have batted an eye.� To me though, it felt gloriously daring, just one step shy of tearing my blouse open while I was standing at the reference desk.� I finally had boobs, and everyone I met today could see it.

����������� I spent my workday in a heady state of quiet jubilation.� Just as I had expected, none of the other staff mentioned my modestly increased voluptuousness, and while I did my best to be on the lookout, I caught not a single sidelong glance at my chest, either appreciative or envious.� Still, it was eight hours straight of inner triumph.� There was a moment before lunch when a woman with three kids left her purse on the checkout desk and I had to run out into the lot to catch her, I felt my bust weakly bouncing within the confines of my bra, not remotely heavy enough to be inconvenient, but undeniably real.� Later I was doubled over under a desk trying to reach a power socket and I felt a frisson of excitement as my chest- my breasts! - brushed against my knees.� There must have been a hundred times during the day that I'd just be sitting there reading my email, or wandering the stacks looking for a wayward book someone had asked for, and I'd just look down at myself and smile; it was all I could do to keep myself from giving them a good squeeze, just to reassure myself that I wasn't dreaming, and it took more effort than I like to admit to keep myself from unbuttoning my blouse in the restroom on my lunch break, just to enjoy another quick peek.

����������� On my way home, I stopped by the lingerie shop to find a bigger bra.� I was already imagining what lay ahead of me if I kept having a glass of this strange concoction every night before bed; if last night's growth was any indication, there was no way I'd be able to stuff myself into any of my bras tomorrow.� I felt weirdly self-conscious as I wandered around the store, picking up underthings labeled with regions of the alphabet I'd never had cause to be interested in before.�

����������� I ended up getting a little bit ahead of myself; but when I found myself standing there contemplating a 38H, which was so capacious I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around being able to fill it up, I caught one of the employees staring at me awkwardly, and I quickly retreated back to the smaller sizes and picked out an C, D, and- hell, a girl can dream can't she? - An E cup.� The same girl who'd shot me the look was standing at the register when I came up to pay.

����������� �You do know none of these are the same size, right?,� she asked pointedly, glancing at my chest as if to drive home the fact that my endowments didn't exactly warrant even the smallest of my purchases.

����������� �Uh, they're for, ah, friends,� I lied badly, burning with resentment since the clerk certainly wasn't having any trouble filling out a bra that was probably at least an F.

����������� �Well, okay then, just remember that you can't bring them back once you've worn them,� she cautioned me, her every word unbearably smug.

����������� If I hadn't been sure I wanted to keep drinking that stuff at home until my tits were huge before, I was now.� All I could think of while I drove home was the look on her face next month, heck, next year if it took that long- I could always keep making up more of the growth potion, when I came to her store with a pair of melons so ginormous that she looked like a flat-chested little girl compared to me.� I smiled at the thought of spending an hour wandering through her store, wearing a super-tight T-shirt that let my boobs spill over my uncomfortably too-small bra, and maybe sighing and rubbing my lower back now and then, as if I was about half a cup size away from needing something sold by a parachute company.� I giggled as I worked out what I'd do when she finally came up and asked me if there was anything she could help me find, and I told her what (obscenely outgrown) size I was wearing, and how sweet it would be when that little tart was forced to admit that, no, the store just didn't carry anything that would fit, and no, she was afraid I'd have to go to a specialty place for something that could contain me well enough to go out in public.

����������� By the time I got home, the anger, the embarrassment of being called out in the store had been channeled (helped along by close to ten hours without being able to explore my developing bust) into desire.� I walked through the front door, stripped out of every stitch of clothing I was wearing, and marched to the fridge, almost running into the kitchen counter as I watched my promising little breasts quiver ever so faintly with every step I took.� I poured myself a brimming glassful from one of the jugs, and swallowed it down, feeling deliciously defiant as I thought again about showing up that big-titted girl at the bra shop, practically willing the stuff to flow straight into my breasts and inflate them like a couple of balloons.�

����������� Though that didn't quite happen, it was still gratifying to feel the bellyful of thick liquid resting heavy inside of me, my tummy bulging out slightly more than usual.� The last two evenings I'd been so exhausted by the time I had my nightly dose I was ready for bed, but this time, I felt oddly invigorated.� Banging the empty glass down on the kitchen counter, I hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower.� As the water grew hot, I noticed in the mirror how my bra straps had left faint marks against my shoulders today, something they'd always been loose enough to avoid doing before.� I could already feel the familiar wave of giddiness filling my head as my drink bubbled up into my brain, and by the time I actually stepped into the tub, I felt pulled tight between intoxication and lust.�

����������� The hot water beat against my bare skin like a spring rain, and as I turned to face it; it struck my chest like a million little lightning bolts of bliss.� I soon found myself with one hand idly rubbing my tender breasts, my other finding its way down between my parted thighs, my body already wet in places far deeper than the shower could reach.�

����������� The air grew thick and humid as I stroked myself ablaze; my nipples were nowhere near as agonizingly tender as they had been yesterday, but as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me, I began to enjoy this even more.� Instead of one swift, overpowering explosion that left me practically senseless, this was perfect; I could take my time.� I reached up for a moment and set the shower to massage; water beat against my bare skin like a hail of tiny bullets, and I cried out softly as I came.� My entire body was still so flush with desire; I needed so much more before I could be satisfied.�

����������� I slipped a second finger inside myself, the entrance to my femininity already swollen with desire and slippery enough to admit me easily, even if I did gasp as my inner body stretched to hold twice as much.� My feet spread ever more zealously toward the edges of the tub; I stroked myself deep and hungrily, probing for the most responsive places I could reach, coming again and again, as I sought to use up the treasure of desire that filled me so maddeningly.

����������� By the time I was spent, I must have been quite a sight, on my knees in the bathtub, panting through the heavy air, my hair plastered to my face and neck, with water pounding against my chest so powerfully that my breasts were somewhere between sore and numb.� Every inch of me tingled; it took me three tries before I could find the strength to stand up and cut off the shower, and I shivered as I stepped out into the hall, even with my warm robe drawn tightly around my body.� For a moment I toyed with the idea of going back for another drink; tempted by anything that might bring my day of triumph against that busty trollop at the bra shop closer.� But I could barely put one foot in front of the other, and though I still harbored some small concerns over what overdosing on the stuff might do to my body, it was the keen memory of my last two nights of dreaming that made me stagger upstairs and into bed, too tired to do anything beyond wrapping my robe around me a little tighter and burying myself beneath the covers.

����������� I wasn't sure if the dreams were growing less unsettling, or I was simply growing used to them, but for the first time since I started taking the potion, I actually enjoyed the rest of the night.� I felt my chest growing warm and full as I slept, my breasts becoming larger and heavier as the hours of the night ticked by, swelling, fattening until they bulged out of my robe, my nipples as thick as wine corks and even more sensitive that they had been on Sunday.

����������� I woke up Tuesday morning, half-smothered under a pair of boobs the size of bowling balls, firm and round and weighing down like lead against my chest, took one look at myself, called in sick, and then spent the next four hours in bed exploring my newly-earned endowments until I was delirious with delight and absolutely exhausted.� When I stood, they hung down past my ribs, and bulged out to either side of my body so far that everything I did with my arms seemed to push or squeeze them in some novel and entertaining fashion.� I tried on the E-cup bra I'd just bought; it was so tight around my massive tits that just trying to stuff them into it was too painful to bear, so I did the only thing I could do.� I grabbed a t-shirt- baggy or tight didn't matter now, even my biggest shirt made it look like I had a couple of decent-sized pumpkins stuffed into it, and without a bra, my nipples jutted out so obscenely I had so be careful of how I moved so the fabric didn't chafe against them too distractingly.

����������� I got into my car- just reaching around them to the steering wheel was a challenge- drove to the lingerie store again, and marched inside, striding deliberately so my huge boobs bounced wildly at each step.� I was the only customer in the store, and there she was, the girl from last night, standing at the counter, talking on her phone, not even looking in my direction.� She had to be, what, maybe a large E, or an F-cup tops; here she had thought she was all that, and now, compared to my big, luscious melons, she looked like the flat-chested little girl.� I tried to stifle a giggle, but she heard me anyway, turned, and stared for what felt like an eternity.

����������� �Can I- can I help you?� she finally stammered, unable to tear her eyes away from my titanic bust; it was obvious she recognized me from the night before.

����������� �Ah, yes, I hope you're able to,� I said graciously, arcing my back to make my boobs jut out even farther, the seams of my shirt protesting meekly, �It seems that I've outgrown all the bras you sold me yesterday- don't worry, I'm not trying to bring them back for a refund- but I do need something that will give my girls the support they need, if you're up to helping me find it.�

����������� �What is this, some kind of prank?� she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me suspiciously, �Is this for some kind of hidden camera thing where you come in with an obvious pair of enormous fake tits and try to make me look stupid?�

����������� �Hey now, that's no way to treat one of your biggest customers,� I pushed back gently, inhaling a little just to press my advantage as far as I could, �I'm simply afraid I don't know what size I need anymore, and I was hoping you could get out your measuring tape and help me find something appropriate.� I'm in no hurry; I know I can tell you'll never need to buy anything nearly as large as that, so if it takes you some time to find it I won't hold it against you.�

����������� �You know what? Fuck you,� she sneered, turning her gaze back to her phone, �I'm sorry we don't roll out the red carpet for little-titted bitches here, but that's no excuse for you to come back today and waste my time like-�

����������� �Oh,� I interrupted, breaking into a mocking smile as I did so, �I don't care what you think of me; I've got a pair of jugs here that must weigh close to fifteen pounds each hanging off my chest, and if you don't step up to the counter, grab your fucking tape, give me the best service of my life until I find something big enough to help haul these around without breaking my back, I am going to tear off my shirt, slam these suckers down on the counter for everyone that walks in to see, and then get on the phone and raise hell until you are fucking fired.�

����������� She glared at me with hatred in her eyes, and I could tell she was getting ready to tick me off properly, so I did the only thing that came to mind; I grabbed the edge of my shirt and yanked it up to my neck, my two huge tits bulging out pale and naked in the shop's bright lights, my nipples practically throbbing in front on this bitchy shop girl.

����������� �Holy crap,� she murmured to herself as she drank in the sight of my bared bust in all its glory, her voice becoming meek and deferential, �I'm Sorry Ma'am, I must have confused you with someone else; I'm, ah, I hope I didn't say anything to offend you just now.�

����������� She looked like she was waiting for an answer from me, but I silently fixed her with a steely stare, and made not the slightest move to cover up my very real and very exposed breasts.

����������� �Uh, sorry about the mix-up,� she apologized again as she frantically rifled through a drawer under the counter, �Here, um, if you'll just step into the dressing room with me, we can get you fitted for something to, er, satisfy you.�

����������� The next hour was a revelation.� I'd read before about what kind of power came with having a figure that robbed others of their senses, but this was the first time I'd actually felt it. The bitchy girl's hands trembled slightly as she took my measurements, though whether with fear, awe, or rage at being shown up by someone even bigger than she was, I didn't know.� Outwardly she was the very picture of submissiveness as she wrapped her tape around my chest, and then several places around each of my amply-proportioned breasts.� Each time she touched me, I found myself growing more aroused, not simply with the normal urge that my recent growth had so spectacularly amplified, but with the thrill of domination; this woman feared and hated me in equal measure, and yet here she was, touching my body with the greatest of care, and being almost pitifully docile, fully aware she was one cross word away from getting fired for turning away a customer so desperately in need of her employer's support.

����������� Every minute that the fitting dragged on was exquisite.� Though I was sure she had measured up matronly older women with more raw boobage than me, I wasn't quite that massive yet; it was obvious that she wasn't used to dealing with a young, modestly trim woman who just happened to have breasts bigger than her head.� I could feel the discomfort radiating from her as she worked; I knew she was desperate to get me out of her shop, but she was terrified of selling me something that didn't fit, and with good reason.� She was starting to sweat through her blouse, and I wondered indulgently whether it was just the strain of knowing that she was going to lose her job if she screwed this up, or if spending the better part of an hour touching and measuring my tender and ever so abundant flesh had gotten her keyed up in an entirely different way.

����������� �Oh-okay, you can pull your shirt back down, Ma'am, if you don't mind,� She said at length, her voice now quite drained of imperiousness, �I think- well, if you were any bigger I think we'd have to special order something for you, but if you absolutely need something today, a 38J ought to give you some comfort.� I'm sorry though, but we probably won't have more than a couple styles in stock right now.�

����������� �Fine,� I sighed dramatically as I pulled my shirt back down, making a big show of how hard it was to get it to stretch over my rosy-tipped peaks, �Bring me what you do have and I'll see if any of its actually big enough to hold me.�

����������� �Yes Ma'am, right away,� she squeaked, hurrying out of the fitting room lie she was desperate to be away from me and my splendidly intimidating bosom.� She returned from the stock room a few minutes later, looking like a messenger bringing her queen tidings of a lost battle, clutching in one hand an enormous teal bra, �Here, Ma'am, this is, ah, this is the only thing we have in right now in your size.�

����������� �Oh good, so you do have something big enough to holster my fat, swollen boobs,� I said with a patronizing smile as I cupped my overgrown melons with both hands and hefted them assertively, �Come along then, be a good little girl and help me get it adjusted so we can see if it's actually cut generously enough to hold all of me.� Lucky thing I like teal, otherwise we might have a problem.�

����������� �Wait, help you with what?� She squeaked, glancing again at my chest.

����������� �Well, you're the girl who knows all about fitting bras, aren't you?� I asked haughtily as I leaned in closer to her, �I've got a lot riding on how well that bra fits me, and if you think I'm going to pay a hundred bucks for something that barely keeps my tits from bouncing around when I walk, you are sorely mistaken.� I don't see any other customers in here, so you just come back into the changing room with me and help me get that thing adjusted so the straps aren't trying to cut me in two, and maybe I'll think about buying it.�

����������� �Yes, Ma'am,� she answered obediently, �Of course.�

����������� As soon as we were in the dressing room again, I took my shirt off.� Even though she'd already seen every inch of my substantial bosom, being completely alone and topless with the salesgirl made me feel even more deliciously brazen than before.� It was having an effect on her as well- as she reached in to slip the voluminous cups beneath my breasts, she looked almost as if she'd been hypnotized, her will broken by her proximity to my spectacular bust.�

����������� She seemed strangely less guarded as she fastened the straps around my chest and shoulders now; where before she had touched me a gingerly as if my skin was fire, she now acted as if she was almost looking for excuses to caress the lush rondure of my breasts.� Already it was plain to see that this bra was at least two sizes too small to fit me well; boob-flesh bulged through the gap between my chest and the cups, and my breasts spilled over their tops to the point that even if a shirt that fit me, this thing wasn't doing anything to protect my modesty.� And yet she kept working, tightening here and loosening there, hefting, squeezing, testing- surely she knew even better than me that it was all in vain, my girls were simply too big for a J cup and not just by a little.� And yet she persisted, utterly enthralled by my body, her hands growing more and more emboldened as she gently tucked my bulging bosom into the cups, placed her hands (how very small they looked against the pale expanse of my breasts) under my bust to lift it into a more tolerable position, each time she would glance up at me, searching, perhaps, for some sign of reproach from me, but I only looked down upon her patiently, smiling ever so slightly as she dutifully kneaded my bust.

����������� The bra was adjusted about as comfortably as she could make it, though still it was comically undersized.� The straps, stretched tight, stood away from my chest like the cables of a suspension bridge, my boobs standing almost straight out from my body, riding so high I could almost lean forwards and motorboat myself.� My nipples only seemed to stab at the fabric more insistently now, several minutes of being rubbed and pressed against the bra having done nothing to diminish their arousal.� With one last searching look, the girl abandoned all pretense and reached down into the bra with both hands, her hands sweaty against my hot flesh, and pinched both my taut peaks, as if that would somehow deflate them.

����������� I gave a muffled cry of release as I came, my entire body bucking involuntarily, as the terrified girl yanked her hands away and looked as me as if she expected a beating for taking such liberties with a customer.� I realized I was panting, my chest painfully tight every time I drew breath, the bra far too constrictive for such excitement.

����������� �I'm sorry,� I said, straightening up, and trying to regain my composure as well as I was able, as I took off the bra and let my twins hang free once more, �I'm afraid this one just isn't quite equal to the challenge.�

����������� �I'm sorry,� the girl echoed, �I tried my best, Ma'am, I really did.�

����������� �I can see that now,� I told her warmly, reaching out and softy grasping her upper arm, our bodies so close now that when she breathed in I could feel her own full breasts brush against my own swollen bosom, �I know you tried your best; you don't need to worry about me calling your boss.�

����������� �Oh, thank you, Ma'am,� she sighed, �I just, we don't get many customers your size here and I haven't got as much experience as I'd like to have fitting women of your, ah, stature.�

����������� �Would you like a little more practice then?� I asked coyly, inhaling until the bra straps were as tight as violin strings, �I'm in no particular hurry; why don't you go ahead and special order me something that you think would better suit a woman of my proportions, and when it comes in, you can help me fit so it shows off my charms to their fullest extent.�

����������� �Oh, yes, Ma'am, of course,� she agreed eagerly, �I'll order a couple just so you won't have to wait longer if I turn out to, ah, underestimate you again.� I'll put in a request for one in an L cup, I don't think an K will be quite big enough now that I've had a chance to get a closer look at your, ah, situation.� Maybe I'd better order one in an M too, just to be sure; I�d hate to keep you waiting just because of my inexperience.� You know, there's a style that I think might look even better on you than this frumpy old thing; would you mind if I ordered you something a little more, ah, modern?� I can have it here in a couple sizes by tomorrow afternoon.�

����������� �Oh, I think I could be satisfied in whatever style you think would flatter me,� I said, stepping forward until my own bust pressed beguilingly against her own, backing her against the wall, �And if you're worried about keeping me waiting, who says you need to wait until that next shipment comes in before you get some more up-close experience working with a woman of such impressive dimensions?� What time do you get off today?�

����������� �Ah- I get off-� she stammered, blushing, her hands trembling as she held them suggestively close to my breasts, �I mean- my shift ends at five this evening, Ma'am.�

����������� �Well then, do you have any plans you can't postpone for the evening?� I asked, the warmth of her body burning against my bare skin; my nipples so hard that it must have hurt her to have them digging into the softness of her own chest, �I'd love to take you out somewhere for dinner; I bet you see all kinds of interesting things here and I've just love to hear all about them.�

����������� �Ah, no- I think I'd be up for that,� she answered meek and eager, �When can you come by?�

����������� �Let's say a quarter after five, after everyone else has left for the day,� I offered, wishing that she'd touch me again, and grateful she didn't; I wasn't sure what I'd do if she made me come again right now, �I like to show at least a little discretion.�

����������� �Yes Ma'am,� she said quietly, �I'll be waiting for you.�

����������� �Good,� I told her, �Now you run along, hang this little thing back up someone it will actually fit, and put in a couple orders for me.� Don't worry about being too adventurous when it comes to style, if you wind up getting me something too revealing to wear outside the bedroom, I'll still be absolutely overcome as long as it fits me right.� Now if you don't mind; I've got to stuff myself back into this teeny little T-shirt, and then maybe make some reservations for later- or maybe I'll just buy a bottle of wine or two and be ready to cook something up at home tonight; how does Moscato sound to you?�

����������� She gave me a nod and then slipped out the door, the cool air that followed in her wake reminding me just how hot and thick the atmosphere in the dressing room had grown, the mirrors too fogged up to show anything more than a blurry reflection of my lush curves.� I pulled the T-shirt back down over my tits- it felt smaller since I'd taken it off; could I really be growing that quickly now?� I opened the door myself, stepping out into the lingerie shop, face flushed pink and hair mussed, looking just like a woman who had been enjoying herself entirely too much to be in public.� The busty sales girl was leaning against the wall behind the desk, looking shell-shocked, and scarcely less disheveled herself.

����������� �You know,� I mentioned as I sauntered towards the shop entrance, snapping her out of her reverie, �I really hope you enjoy spending some more time alone with me this evening; even if the bra you ordered does fit my big, fat breasts, I'll probably be needing something even bigger next week, and you have such a delicate touch when it comes to helping a girl take inventory of her charms.� I do hope you'll be up for a repeat performance.�

����������� �Yes Ma'am,� she breathed, as the shop closed swung closed behind me.

Day 4

����������� I was still in bed- it was early, and I endured a fleeting moment of confusion, the scent of the shop girl's hair still lingering in my mind, so vivid had my dream been.� I felt wonderful, though the bedclothes were soaked with sweat, my room reeked of sex, and I had somehow wriggled out of my panties during the night.� Sitting up, I looked down at my chest; they might not have swollen to nearly the size in my dream, but my boobs were definitely bigger.

�����������

����������� I was at least twice the size I had been yesterday, my delicate little mounds having plumped up considerably overnight, now filling my hands when I cupped them, and heavy- and bouncy- enough that for the first time in my life I felt like they needed support.� The nearly touched each other now, even hanging free and naked from my chest, and though my nipples were no more sensitive than the night before, the sheer novelty of having enough flesh to actually squeeze, to really play with and explore, set my heart pounding and my loins trembling in mere seconds.� Prurient curiosity quickly overcame me; I tried to lift one to my lips, were they large enough for me to suck them yet?� No, I still had a lot of growing to do before I could pull off such a trick.� Fair enough, I could still do things the old-fashioned way.� I spread my feet slightly, the wood floor cold against my soles, and slid a finger along the slick cleft where my thighs met.

����������� I gasped; even the cold room around me felt like a furnace as pleasure surged through my body.

����������� The alarm went off.� Dammit, I couldn't be late; I was the only one on the desk until lunch. I tried to tell myself that just five or ten minutes- okay, maybe twenty, tops- of fooling around would still get me there in plenty of time, but the part of me that wasn't completely drunk on my new curves knew that if I stopped to play for that long, it would be at least an hour before I could drag myself out the door.� I should have stopped to take a shower, I looked like a mess and anyone who got close enough would smell the last night's pleasures on my skin, but a little extra perfume would have to cover for that particular sin; I was trying to get myself calmed down and collected, and there was no way a hot shower was going to help with that.

����������� I pulled on a long skirt and cast about for the bag from the lingerie store; I was definitely going to need something a bit bigger to support myself today.� Right- it was still down in the kitchen.� I found a nice blue button-up top in the clean laundry basket, and rushed down the stairs, my enlarged bosom bouncing distractingly every step of the way.� The kitchen was even colder than upstairs; I felt my bare nipples growing hard against the chill, as I reached into the bag and drew out the cream-colored C-cup bra I'd bought the night before from the bitchy- but now strangely intriguing- shop girl, and tried it on.�

����������� This was a new experience for me; I'd never had breasts big enough that I needed to slip them into my cups, and every second I had to spend on the peculiar chore of getting myself comfortably situated was heavenly.� Even as I struggled with what countless other women surely considered about as exciting as brushing their teeth or putting on their socks in the morning, I felt a frisson of elation nearly as sharp as if my boobs really were as big as bowling balls, and I was struggling to put on my shoes with a pair of such boulders filling my lap.�

����������� I fastened the hooks in back; I had never needed a bra with three of them before, and surveyed myself with satisfaction.� It fit me perfectly, snug, but comfortable, and once I slipped in the nursing pads again to keep my outsized nipples from being too much of a distraction, it restrained my girls quite adequately.� It hit me- I had grown nearly two cup sizes overnight- this was literally something out of a fantasy, and I tried to wrap my mind around the possibility as I put on my shirt and buttoned it up.� The buttons around my chest were titillatingly tight, not quite straining enough that they were in any danger of popping off, though I did remind myself not to breathe too deeply today, just in case, but they taut fabric around them opened up just enough of a gap between each button and its hole to make me grateful I had gone with something neutral at the bra store, and not something scandalous like iridescent purple.

����������� I threw on my coat and headed out the door, a dozen ideas and fears flooding my brain as I drove in.� Surely someone was going to notice today.� I had worked with all these people for the last two years, every day as flat in front as an ironing board, and now here I was coming into work with a bustline that, while nothing out of the ordinary for a decent portion of the female population, was brazenly bigger than before.� Maybe nobody would actually ask; how do you go up to a coworker and say, �So, looks like your tits grew three sizes last night; what's going on with that?�� Still, people were bound to notice, weren't they?� I'd been there all week; no one would believe me if I told them surgery was behind my increasingly bountiful bosom, and if I said I'd been taking some new supplements, I'd either be laughed at or hit up for details and, more importantly, the recipe.� I couldn't risk sharing it, not yet; I felt like letting something like this, especially without full directions, out to the population at large (and it would only be getting larger if they got their hands of my little secret) would just be asking for trouble.�

����������� Then again, maybe I could just go for a lie just plausible enough to turn aside suspicion.� I went to the gym a couple times a week; I knew a lot of girls who wore spanx or used a push-up bra to give themselves a little temporary enhancement; what if I just told anyone who asked it was a new bra meant to, well, give me a little more oomph up top?� Who would have the nerve to call me on that?� I swallowed as I pulled into the library parking lot- I was about to find out.

����������� Kylie was already in the office, turning all the computers on as I came in.

����������� �Morning, Seph; you have anything going on today?� she asked cheerfully as I passed her.

����������� �Ah, nope, just another Tuesday morning,� I said as I unzipped my coat, bracing myself for, well, I didn't know what, �Just watching the desk this morning, and then probably trying to get my books together for the kids story time tomorrow.�

����������� I hung up my coat and turned to face Kylie.� I didn't exactly throw my chest out like I was auditioning to be a stripper, but wasn't trying to hide it either.� I waited a beat.

����������� �Oh right, this week's theme is, what, cows, isn't it?� she said placidly, �Well, I don't have much going on this morning, so if you need some time off the desk a little early to get yourself put together, just let me know.�

����������� �Um, thanks,� I said, feeling almost disappointed that she hadn't noticed what, to me, were some major development in my frontal regions, �I might take you up on that.�

����������� �Cool, just let me know when you're ready,� Kylie said, glancing up at me again from the office printer, �That's a cute top, by the way; you've always got such good taste in fashion.� One of these days I'm going to have to go out shopping with you, just to see how you do it.�

����������� �Thanks, I guess I just know what I like; I don't know how much wisdom I'd have to share,� I answered gormlessly, �I'd like that though; just let me know next time you're looking to fill out your wardrobe a bit.�

����������� And that was that.� Could Kylie really not have noticed how much bigger my boobs were?� Granted, she was wasn't exactly a tiny little wisp of a woman herself; though she probably wasn't five years older than me, she already had that solid Christmas cookies and potluck dinners figure that seems to happen to a lot of women librarians after a few years in the service.� Did women just not even notice other girls if they weren't bigger than they were?� It blew my mind; here I had been almost painfully conscious of the relative sizes of every woman in the room who was bigger than me (which was usually all of them) since I'd been about sixteen; was there just something uniquely weird about me, or was that just one of those things, like rich people not worrying when the cost of a latte goes up by half a dollar?

����������� The rest of the day was kind of surreal; I felt like I was carrying around a pair of cantaloupes under my shirt and nobody said a word.� I barely even got any awkward stares (well, there was one guy who came in to order a book and addressed all his questions to my boobs, but I'd never seen him before so I couldn't be sure if he was dumbstruck by my bosoms, or just a standard issue skeevo); and all my regulars, men and women alike, treated me just as they always had, with not so much as a questioning glance, though I did get a couple of compliments on my top, and one or two who looked at me kind of quizzically before asking if I'd done something different with my hair, or if I was wearing a new pair of glasses.

����������� Overall, it was the kind of day that should have restored my faith in humanity; here I was, practically busting out of my shirt (at least it felt that way to me) and here everyone was as decent and pleasant as could be, no men awkwardly hitting on me just because I was a little better endowed than before, no women glaring at me like some big-breasted harlot out to steal their man or at least make them look bad; no one seemed to objectify me at all.

����������� But I realized, I kind of did want to be objectified, at least a little.� I'd been pretty and cute before, but never hot, or sexy, or alluring, and as the day wore on, the more I found myself wanting that.� Yeah, it was nice that some sketchy guy thirty years older than me didn't come up and try to pick me up while leering at my tits, but I had kind of hoped some cute guy might stop by my desk on some thin pretense of a reference question and then hang around to chat just long enough that I'd know he wasn't just being polite.� Heck, even one of the old matrons from church coming in to pick up her Amish romances for the week give me a smile and observing that I'd �filled out nicely� would have been a breath of fresh air.� I was almost tempted a couple of times to really throw my chest out when someone came by, or to undo a button or two while I was on break and make a point of leaning forwards while pointing out our hours and phone numbers to new customers, but I felt like that would be cheating somehow.

����������� Don't get me wrong, I knew that girls like cousin Cora probably had to fend off creepers and deal with jealous whispers all the time, but for just once in my life, I wanted to feel what it was like to be noticed as a woman first, and then for my charming personality.� It wasn't until I was getting ready to leave for the day that Kylie noticed me reaching for my coat and said, �Hey, um, I don't want to sound weird or anything, so promise you won't take this the wrong way.�

����������� �What? Of course not,� I said, suddenly feeling very doubtful, �I didn't get a complaint or anything today, did I?�

����������� �Oh- no, nothing like that,� Kylie assured me, as she glanced at my chest with that awkward sort of awareness that I'd been longing for, �It's just, um, have you been putting on a little weight lately? - Not that it's any of my business.�

����������� �Oh, well- that,� I kind of stammered, taken aback by her bluntness, �Well, I guess, maybe a little bit.� Why do you ask?�

����������� �Just, um, nothing,� she demurred, �It's just, well, you look like you're wearing kind of a tight shirt today, and I guess I never noticed before how you look like maybe you've gained a few curves since the staff retreat last summer.�

����������� �Good heavens,� I said with feigned shock, �Isn't that the kind of thing they teach you managers not to say to your employees?�

����������� �Come on now, I wasn't trying to make it weird,� Kylie insisted, �Besides, it's not like I'm in any position to judge; since I went back to school last year, I've barely had any time to exercise- I've gained like fifty pounds since last semester.� It's just, I dunno, whatever it is that you're doing, it's, well, it really looks good on you, that's all.� I mean, I'd like to tell myself I'm voluptuous, but really I'm just kind of a fatty, no point in denying that preferring cupcakes to crossfit and bedroom slippers to gym shoes hasn't doomed me to a lifetime of shopping in the plus sizes, but you- well, you're really starting to get a bit of that old school pinup look going on.� Whatever you're doing, you keep it up, girl, and I wouldn't be surprised if you wind up getting discovered by some modeling agency one of these days.�

����������� �Oh, that's um,� I faltered, feeling my face turning a bright shade of red, �I mean, don't be so hard on yourself, Kylie, just because you're not a skinny little stick figure doesn't mean that nobody notices you.� I hear there are a lot of guys who like a woman with a few more curves, even if some of them tend to collect around her middle, and heaven only knows I'm not having to beat them off with a stick, so maybe you'll have better luck than I am.� Also, um, thanks.� I kind of have been trying to go for a bit of a different look lately and, well, you're the first one who�s noticed and that means a lot to me.� So thanks for mentioning it, even if it felt weird.�

����������� �Hey, no problem,� she said brightly, bringing me in for a hug that pressed her soft, self-indulgent body against me, the way her prominent belly hanging several inches below the waistband of her skirt and rubbing against my flat tummy making me feel strangely flustered, �If you ever find one of those guys who prefers a girl who loves cake more than she likes being able to see her feet, don't you forget to send him my way now, you understand?�

����������� �Sure thing,� I agreed as she let me go and I hurried to grab my coat, feeling strangely conscious of both her body and mine, and eager to get out before I did something to embarrass myself, �But only if he's cute; you don't deserve anything less.�

����������� �Honestly, I'd be happy to do without cute as long as he's a good cook and knows how to give a decent massage,� Kylie said with a giggle, �Sorry, I've gone and kept you past quitting time, and I bet you've got all sorts of big plans this evening, cover girl.� I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?�

����������� �Sounds good,� I replied as I made for the door, �I'll see you then!�

����������� My drive home was- well, confusing.� Here I'd been wanting someone to notice my new boobs all day, but when Kylie finally said mentioned them, and in the nicest, most complimentary way I could have hoped for, I just felt weird and awkward.� Maybe that was just because I wasn't used to this, and getting compliments on my figure would turn into a regular staple of my conversational diet if I stuck with my plans.� I felt bad for Kylie though; I guess I'd been so self-absorbed in my own sense of inadequacy that I'd never stopped to empathize with what it must be like for a woman who wished she was smaller and thinner.� It wasn't like she was huge either, I'd always thought she looked kind of- I dunno- well-padded, cozy even; I couldn't believe she had trouble finding a guy interested in snuggling up next her on the couch on a snowy winter's day, but what did I know?� I even toyed with the idea of sharing some of the formula with her.� I mean, even if there was nothing I could do to make her happy with her belly, at least I could help her overshadowing it with a nice big pair of tits.� I imagined Kylie, just as she was now, but with a set of fat, heavy melons resting on her belly, not so huge she couldn't reach around them to lift a stack of books anymore, just spectacular enough to keep any man's eye from wandering far from her bustline, but finally decided against it.� It was just too soon; I didn't even know what would happen if I kept taking this stuff; I couldn't just bring my boss a gallon jug of some freaky potion tomorrow and be all like, �Here, drink this and your boobs will swell up like balloons and men will notice you and you'll feel good about yourself!� Just don't ask me where it came from and don't tell anyone else about it, okay?�

����������� And I didn't know what would happen if I kept taking it every night, did I?� Would I keep growing like this as long as I kept up with the formula, two sizes a day?� If this kept up I really would need special order bras before the month was out.� Or would it come even sooner than that?� My breasts had grown twice as big last night; what if the same thing happened tonight, and the next, me waking up every morning to find the burden of sensitive flesh suspended from my chest had doubled?� It was almost enough to make me back off, to skip my dose tonight, or at least try just a half glass.� I still had no idea how this stuff might affect my health, my body, over the long term, and for all I knew I was taking ten times as much as I was supposed to.� But no- even as I felt a little shiver of fright at the thought of overdoing it and waking up to find my breasts distended to obscene dimensions, like beach balls or even bigger, the thrill of excitement I felt when the image struck me was far too enticing to resist.� If I had to choose between staying normal and unremarkable and safe, or doing something that might leave me with breasts so breathtaking that half the people I met at work wouldn't be able to remember what color my hair was if you asked them, well, I knew what I wanted, and it involved doing everything in my power to get as huge as I possibly could.

����������� I had a nice evening; I picked up some Chinese for dinner before I got home, and contentedly ensconced myself on the couch with my chop sticks, wearing nothing but a fleece robe wrapped tight around my chest so that I could look down and see, for the first time ever, my cleavage.� I was just tucking into my General Tso's and idly flipping through the channels when a talk show caught my eye.� I didn't recognize the host, expensive suit, cheap hairpiece, they mostly looked alike to me, but his guest was a woman, kind of mousy and on the slender side, wearing a red jacket that gave her some shadow of respectability, but below it, a tight with halter top that was filled to overflowing with a bosom that almost rivaled the woman who'd accidentally bestowed her recipe on me.

����������� The show was already well underway, but I leaned forward on the couch to get every question the slick host asked her, and hung on every word of her answer.� Apparently, she had been nearly as flat as I was before she'd gotten pregnant, but because of some million-to-one hormonal thing, she had gained like, eighteen cup sizes while she was expecting.� Holy crap, that was two sizes a month and she was fucking enormous; was I really ready to keep gaining two sizes a day?� She talked about how her doctor had told her that if she ever got pregnant again, she would almost certainly endure another massive burst of growth, and since one of her breasts already weighed fifteen pounds, and the other only slightly less, there was no way she could afford to risk it.� All the while her husband was sitting there next to her, obviously doing his level best to look concerned and thoughtful as his wife described what it felt like having her bust expand by twenty inches over nine months, but every now and then lapsing into a sort of dumb grin, as if he couldn't believe how lucky he was.

����������� The audience cheered and whooped as she stood up, undid the belt that held her jacket in place and, shyly but resignedly opened the front of her coat to show just how huge a set of thirty pound boobs was.� I didn't even hear most of what she was saying anymore; for all I knew it could have been her sharing some dire warning about how dangerous and unhealthy it was to have breasts so enormously overdeveloped, but all I could do was watch in fascination, just drinking in the sight of her glorious mammaries straining against the thin white fabric of her top.� It was only as the interview ended that I was jolted back to myself by the sensation of something warm and sticky falling between my breasts, and realized that in my distraction I had dropped a bite of chicken into my cleavage.

����������� The woman's breasts were absolutely gigantic, and though I'd kind of zoned out as she talked about how inconvenient they were to deal with, all I could think about was how incredible it would be to be even bigger than she was.� I wolfed down the rest of my dinner and went to the kitchen; there'd be no half measures or skipped doses for me, not if I wanted boobs big enough to make me a byword among the nations.� I found myself a larger mug; one of those German ones shaped like a boot, and filled it to the brim with my elixir.� I meant to sip it slowly while I sat on the couch, watching whatever happened to be on, maybe one of those shows about how aliens invented the chili dog, or Hitler's brain was alive in a secret lab in Hoboken, New Jersey or something, but after my first taste, I couldn't help but gulp it all down in one go.�

����������� I'd swallowed nearly half again as much of the stuff as I was used to, and it hit me hard.� Dinner had left me pretty full before my first mouthful, and I had barely put set down the empty glass before I had to lay down on the couch.� My tummy was tight as a drum; I shouldn't have drank so much more than I was used to, especially on top of a big dinner, and I was already feeling dizzy and disoriented, the ceiling spinning above me as I closed my eyes.� I'd go upstairs to bed in a minute; I just needed to lay down first and catch my breath...

����������� The studio lights were blinding; the audience was a dim sea of shimmering shadows, and it was only as my eyes adjusted that the stage gradually settled into focus.� My chair was uncomfortable in some nebulous, dream-fogged way, and I was seated between two women- the one on my left had a pair of huge fake tits fully twice as wide as her slender body.� They thrust out from her chest like torpedoes, her nipples barely covered by the leopard-print tube top she was wore.� To my right sat another girl; she looked like she was barely twenty, a little self-conscious at being in the spotlight, and wearing a low and generously cut top that showed of a bosom so fulsome it all but reached her lap, her full, round breasts jiggling gently as she breathed, as if she her bra had been fitted for comfort rather than support.� She glanced at me and gave me a half impressed, half warning look, when the fancy suit guy from the talk show came out, microphone in hand, and addressed the crowd.

����������� �Welcome back, friends,� He said with well-practiced showmanship, �We're back now for our next segment, 'My giant breasts changed my life!'� Let's give all three of these brave girls a big hand before we get started.�

����������� The crowd roared and whooped; I glanced to either side and saw the girl with stripper tits sticking her chest out as far as she was able, even tugging down her top a bit to really give the audience every inch she could afford to show, which only made them cheer all the louder, while the girl in the low-cut top gave a little bounce where she sat, as if her chair wasn't quite right, making her breasts jiggle impressively for the next ten seconds at least.

����������� �Okay, okay, let's get on with the interview,� the host said, waving his followers down a bit, �First here, we have Miss Tina Morgan, or as she's better known to her fans, Tina Titans!� Please, tell us a little about how your breasts changed your life.�

����������� �Oh, certainly, Bob,� she said with a giggle as she stood up, in a voice so perfectly ditzy that it had to be an act, like she was some unholy hybrid of Valley Girl and Queens, New York, as she took the microphone and held it for a moment as if she were going to try to deep throat it instead of talking into it.� I noticed now she was wearing a skin-tight black pleather skirt, so short that I wondered if anyone in the first five rows couldn't have told you what color her panties were, assuming she was actually wearing any, �Well, I always had a decent bit to play around with growing up; I was head of my high school cheering squad and, well, I don't want to give away too much, but I did have to wear two sports bras at once all through my senior year if didn't want to bounce right out of my uniform during a game.�

����������� �Interesting,� the host said, eyeing her bust appreciatively, �So when did you decide to take matters into your own hands, so to speak?�

����������� �Well, Bob,� she gushed, taking his suggestion literally and hefting her boobs a little for the audience- they looked like they had to be nearly as hard as rocks, they were so overfilled with whatever she had paid to have pumped into them, �When I graduated kind of wandered for a few months and finally I fell in with some folks and I had the opportunity to do a little motion picture work, you know, just the softcore stuff- nothing too racy.� I guess I'd been at it about six months, when my new director told me I should think about getting a bit of an upgrade done, you know, to expand my opportunities for professional growth.� So I said okay and he introduced me to a surgeon he knew, and well, a month later I was filming again, this time with a nice, healthy pair of H cups bouncing up and down while I danced, took a shower, whatever the studio wanted me to do.� Next thing I knew, I was bringing in five times what I had been earning before on royalties alone, and getting all sorts of offers to dance at the most exclusive clubs.� I would have been happy to be thankful for what I had and ride that gig as long as it would support me, but a few months later my manager came back and said he'd been asking around, and he'd gotten to know a guy in Mexico who might have an offer for me.�

����������� �I know a lot of our viewers have probably familiarized themselves with your work already,� said Bob of the cheap toupee, �But please tell us all about how that went, if you would be so generous.�

����������� �Of course,� she agreed, giggling again and bowing a little, her overinflated boobs nearly popping out of her top, �Well, my manager, he asked me if I liked how my career had been going since I had some work done, and of course I said I'd never been happier.� So then he asks me, would you ever think about super-sizing things a bit more, if you follow me.� And I said sure, as long as he could find me a surgeon that wouldn't just stuff my tits- oops, sorry, forgot we're on the network right now- my girls full of saline or whatever until they looked all fake and weird and stuff.� And he said, no, he knew this guy down in Toluca who had been working on some new kind of implants, but he couldn't sell them up in the U.S. Until he had a few successful tests, so if I was willing to go under the knife again, he'd be willing to do the work for free.� I didn't even think about all the details at the time, I just bought myself a ticket, and next thing you know I'm down there lying on the table while this guy I'd only met for like, five minutes, is getting ready to work on my boobs.�

����������� �And what happened then?� Fancy Suit asked, leaning in attentively, which also happened to give him an excellent angle on Miss Tina's cleavage.

����������� �Well, I woke up all sore and stuff, splitting headache, the whole nine yards,� Tina said, �I don't know if he was just using cheap knockout gas or what, but my tits hurt like hell and they weren't any bigger than when I went in.� I spent a couple days in the motel healing up until walking around didn't make my chest feel like it was about to rip open, and then grabbed a flight back to L.A.� It wasn't until I'd been home for a couple days and went to get dressed to go out and buy some groceries and a bottle of wine or two that I realized, I was getting bigger!

����������� I totally freaked out and called my manager like, right away, and he told me that was the whole point- instead of being balloons full of saline or whatever, my new implants were absorbing fluid from my body, making my boobs bigger and bigger the more they soaked up!�

����������� The next few months were wild; every time I went to shoot a new set or do another video, all my fans just lost it over how much I had grown since last time they saw me.� Before the end of the year, I was twice as big as I had been before, and even though my back was starting to give me some serious trouble, I was still loving every minute of it.

����������� By that spring I was making ten times what I had been before my last operation, but my poor ti- boobs were starting to feel tighter by the day.� I finally went to see my doctor, who freaked out when I told her I'd gotten experimental boob job.� She told me that something had gone wrong; my body was filling them up way quicker than they were designed for, and my skin was being forced to stretch too far and too fast.� She said that if I didn't get at least some of the fluid drained soon, they might actually explode, and from how tight they were getting, I kind of believed her.

����������� I just couldn't go through with it, though; I just couldn't go back to being smaller, to not having all my followers on Instagram go nuts every time I posted a picture of myself after another growth spurt.� I tried to at least take some of my doctor's advice; I didn't do anything with jogging or trampolines for a few months, and spent a lot of time in bed to give my aching back and shoulders a rest.

����������� I didn't stop working though; I kept right on posting regular updates, celebrating when each of my girls passed the twelve inch mark, when they each broke twenty pounds, then thirty.� Sometimes I'd just sit there rubbing them and talking about how hard it was to carry so much weight around, or complain a little about how awfully tight they felt that day, and then I'd show 'em how stretched-out my nipples were getting, or point out the veins that had started popping out here and there.� Even when I worried about how far I was pushing myself, I didn't dare go back to my doctor; if she'd upset before, there was no way she'd let me walk out without draining my boobs now that I was so busty I had to turn sideways just to fit through the bedroom door.

����������� That was two years ago.� They're not growing nearly so fast anymore, and while I kind of miss the feeling of waking up every morning feeling like I'd gained another inch or two overnight, it's given me the chance to take better care of my body and strengthen my back up enough that just going out to the store doesn't leave me bedridden the next two days.� I've never been bigger online either; when I realized that if I kept making as much as I'm making for the next three years I could retire I almost thought about having my implants out after I'd made enough to live on, but then I realized, it's not just the money; I've never felt happier, or sexier, than since I decided to just let the twins here blow up as big as they want to get.�

����������� �Thank you Tina,� the host said warmly as she sat back down, the way she winced and rubbed her back suggesting that she was not quite so inured to the burden of her bust as she claimed, �Now then, for a bit of a different perspective, why don't we turn to our next guest, Laney Howard, or as her thousands of fans know her, Lusty Laney.�

����������� �Thanks, Bob, there's no chance you might be one of them?� the fair, black-haired girl asked with a saucy wink as she reached forwards to take the mic, her prodigious breasts rolling out onto her thighs, �Could you bring that thing a little closer, please; unlike Miss Titans over there, standing up can be a bit of a chore for a girl like me.�

����������� �But of course, Miss Howard,� Bob beamed as he showily pressed the microphone into her outstretched hand, �We always want our guests to be comfortable.� Now, why don't you tell us your story?�

����������� �Well, I was actually a bit of a late bloomer,� Laney confessed, her voice practically dripping with fallen girl-next-door charm, �But just after I started college, boy did I bloom!� By the end of freshman year, I'd gone from being completely flat to being the biggest girl I knew; from nothing to a G cup in less than ten months.� I didn't always enjoy getting hit on by drunk frat boys at parties, but something about the way everyone looked at me after I started growing; I was just hooked.� Sophomore year, it hardly let up; I was buying new bras every couple of weeks, and I had to stop going to the campus gym because there was just no way I could exercise in public and not get arrested for showing off about half an acre of boob. �By New Years, I was up to an L, and my folks were getting worried about me since my grades were starting to suffer.� Mom thought I ought to get a reduction, that I must be getting teased or catcalled or something and that was making me skip class, but the truth was, now that people were finally interested in me, well, I started to do a little experimenting.� There were plenty of times I should have been in class and instead I was in bed with a couple other girls getting high and just fooling around, or drunk at some guy's place letting him plow my melons just because it made me so hot to see him disappearing between my boobs with every thrust.�

����������� �And did any of this give you second thoughts about living like that?� Mr. Cheap Toupee asked solicitously.

����������� �Not really,� Laney said with a good-natured shrug that set her assets, enticingly aquiver, �I knew a lot of them probably thought they were just using me to get off or for bragging rights to their buddies, but I was using them too.� When you're in the shower with another girl at three in the morning, both high as a kite, and she's eating you out because you promised her that if she did you'd let her play with your breasts after you passed out, it's hard to be too high and mighty about anything.� Anyways, I didn't get my boobs whacked like my mom wanted, in case you couldn't tell by looking at me, and by the end of the year I was on academic suspension.�

����������� �And what did your parents think of that?� Bob asked earnestly.

����������� �Well, I think they wanted me to move back home and get clean at least, probably at least go and see a specialist or something,� Laney sighed, �But I was up to an O cup by then and, well, I didn't want to give up my apartment and partying and all that, but I needed to earn money somehow, so I got myself a cheap webcam and started making videos.� I'd just log on Friday night for a few hours, put away a bottle or two of wine, take my top off and talk about stuff while chatting with folks.� Sometimes it was just about clothes and food and video games, and sometimes I'd be feeling kind of frisky and start sucking my nipples, playing with myself, you name it.� Money just started coming in and I was doing pretty well until one day, some guy sent me a message saying he'd pay me a two hundred bucks if I'd do a video where I dressed up like a milkmaid and pretended to panic because my boobs were getting so huge.

����������� After that, I was golden.� Once word got out that I'd do requests for the right amount, offers just came flooding in.� Please, Laney, get high and play with a vibrator; Laney, I'll pay you to act like you've been cursed by a gypsy and now your breasts are gonna get bigger and bigger until they pop; Laney, if you wear a tuxedo and a top hat while a flat-chested girl ties you up and spanks you, I've got my Paypal account all ready to go- it just didn't let up.� I've been living the dream for the last two years now, plenty of money coming in to pay the bills, and getting paid to do what I love.�

����������� �And has it been hard having to leave behind your family and all your friends from before you started all this?� the Host asked.

����������� �Actually, I haven't really had to,� Laney explained with a small laugh that made her lush bosom wobble hypnotically, �For a couple months, my mom threatened to disown me, but blood is thicker than water, and eventually we just kind of settled things.� When I'm visiting them, I dress respectable and just talk about my hobbies and stuff that doesn't involve taking my clothes off for fun and profit, and they never come to visit me since my house is half disaster area and half kinky sex dungeon.� Besides, I still live in a college town, and I've gotten to become a bit of a local legend, so I tend to arouse more than a few comments no matter how modestly I'm dressed.� It probably didn't help that last year during the school's Sex Week I did a thing where I went up on stage, talked about being a self-made porn star, and then took my top off, called for a volunteer from the audience, and when some poor girl came forwards I held her head between my boobs until she literally passed out from lack of oxygen; apparently, people remember that kind of thing.�

����������� �So, no regrets at all then?� Bob pushed, as if he was surprised that a life of such utter debauchery could be so sweet.

����������� �Not really,� Laney insisted, �I mean, I know it's not what a nice girl with a 3.8 GPA is supposed to do, and I suppose one of these days I'll get too old to be out partying until the wee small hours of the morning and folks won't be interested in paying for the privilege of seeing me jiggle around with my everything hanging out, but nah, I really love what I'm doing.� Besides, I just got fitted for my first P cup bra, and just the idea of having all those people watch me while I get even bigger just makes me tingle in all sorts of places I can't mention on TV if I don't want to land you guys on the FCC's naughty list.� But yeah, I don't know where I'd be if my body hadn't decided to go crazy a few years ago, but I can't imagine it being more fun than this.�

����������� �Thank you, Miss Howard, now let's turn to our final guest of the afternoon, and if you need me to hand you the microphone, I think I'd better not even try to make her stand up for it,� Bob quipped, smiling at me, �I won't insult both you lovely ladies by saying we've saved the breast for last, but I think even the pair of you won't argue that it's only fitting that we finish by talking with Persephone Hawkins, who some have called the biggest woman in the world.�

����������� As he leaned in and handed me the mic, it all clicked into place, and for the first time I was aware of my body.� I wasn't restrained by any outside force, but by the sheer weight my own body.� My breasts were gargantuan, filling my lap, licking out beyond my knees.� They spilled over the arms of my chair by several inches; if I hadn't been resting my hands on top of their tender bulk, I would have been pinned helplessly beneath them.� The massiveness, the pressure of so much unbridled flesh weighed heavy against my chest; I found myself getting lightheaded if I didn't make a deliberate effort to fill my lungs each time I inhaled.� I was wearing a red jacket, a little bit retro, pleather with modest shoulder pads.� It fit me pretty well, except for the fact that it hung open in the front, helplessly outmatched by the delicate vista of flesh spread before me.� Some kind of stretchy white top was drawn over the immensity of my breasts, and from the way I could feel thick straps biting into my shoulders, I must have had some kind of bra on underneath to keep me decent, if that word even applies to a woman with boobs heavier than her body.

����������� �So then, Ms. Hawkins,� the host said, fixing me with a singular look, �Why don't you tell us your story?�

����������� �Well, I never really developed, at least while I was growing up,� I heard myself saying.� I was trapped in my own body; I hadn't chosen to say those words, and yet they flowed so naturally from my lips, I couldn't say I felt the slightest inclination to resist, �I barely had anything to show off at all even when I was twenty five; it was like the boob fairy had just decided to pass me by.� I did okay though; I met a nice guy, got married, things happened like they do, and one day I wake up with cramps and sore boobs and it turns out I'm pregnant.�

����������� �And that was when you started to, ah, develop?� Bob asked.

����������� �Yeah, I was barely a month into my first trimester when I outgrew all my bras,� I heard my voice explaining, as I reminded myself to breath deep lest the weight of my own breasts squeeze the breath from my lungs, �I wasn't frightened when it happened; I read that lots of women gain a few inches up top while they're expecting, and some of them even keep it afterwards, which I wasn't going to complain about if it happened to me.� It was kind of a fun change, actually; I couldn't stand the smell of coffee anymore, and I barely ever slept through the night, but well, at least I finally had boobs.� I'd always heard that pregnant sex was incredible, but I never quite believed it until, well, I don't want to give too much away, but yeah, growing these didn't bother me too much, at first.�

����������� �And when did you realize that something, unusual, was happening to your body?� came the next question.

����������� �Well, I didn't even start to worry for a couple of months,� I explained, spellbound as I listened to my words, �I'd heard that a woman can gain three, even four cup sizes when they've got all those hormones pumping through her body, and I guess I didn't think of the measurements on the maternity bras I was going through as official, if that makes any sense, and I was enjoying finally having a little something to fill out my top so much that I wasn't exactly looking for reasons to complain.� I wasn't until I met up with a girlfriend of mine I hadn't seen since before I got pregnant for a lunch date and she took one look at me and said, 'Holy cow, Seph, your boobs have blown up like balloons!' that I really started to think something might be wrong.� I mentioned it when I went in for my next checkup; I was already a D cup and a pretty generous one at that, just a third of the way through my term, so my doctor kind of looked me over, ran a few blood tests, and told me that while I had been, ah, developing more than most women in my condition, I was still, barely, on the charts for what was normal, and since most of the potential treatments were pretty severe and might be bad for the baby, he told me I should just wait and see.

����������� When I came back a month later for another checkup, my boobs were spilling out around the straps of a G cup maternity bra.� I had some kind of weird hormone imbalance, she told me, being pregnant had basically flooded my body with whatever chemical it is that stimulates breast growth, and apparently my boobs were unusually receptive to it, and were responding accordingly. �Aside from setting me up with a very well-padded bra, there was nothing medical they could do to stop it without hurting the baby, and with five months to go, none of the specialists even wanted to guess how big I'd grow by the time I was ready to deliver.

����������� For more than six months, I gained a cup size a week.� I swear I could tell my breasts had gotten heavier overnight when I got up in the morning; after I outgrew the biggest maternity bra I could find, I just took a leave of absence from work, rigged up sort of a double sling out of a couple old T-shirts to keep the twins from breaking my back, and spread myself out on the couch, watching TV, playing video games, and expanding.� They say that when you're pregnant you're eating for two, but I felt more like I was eating for four.� My belly was getting bigger by the day, but my boobs were growing even faster; by the end of my second trimester I couldn't even see my bulging tummy without, you know, having to push my girls out of the way, and from the way my doctor was starting to ask questions whenever I came in for a checkup, I could tell she was getting worried I might be getting too big.� It wasn't bothering me though; I couldn't get enough of my soft, pillowy boobs, and my husband couldn't either; my libido was blossoming right along with my belly and bustline, and we'd never been happier together, even though by about month eight, things did start to get a little awkward in bed, what with me having a baby belly that made it look like I'd swallowed a beach ball and boobs so heavy and full that, well, it didn't matter who was on top, if we weren't extra careful someone was always in danger of getting smothered under my big, milky melons.

����������� My doctor wanted to induce delivery early, she told me the baby was healthy enough for delivery already, and there was no way of telling how big I'd end up if I went all the way to natural term, but I just couldn't quit early.� Everything about being pregnant had just felt like such a gift; it would have been ungrateful for me to end it any sooner than I needed to.� My milk started coming in two days later, and that kicked off a whole new burst of growth; I'd measure myself in the morning, with a little help, of course, waddling around the house with these puppies and my huge pregnant belly I was in no condition to do anything that called for flexibility- well, I was still usually up for one thing that called for it-and by bed time I'd have grown another half an inch, though it was hard to be precise with so much soft, tender flesh to look after.� The milk started out with a trickle, but by the end of the week I was having to pump myself dry every four hours or so, if I didn't my poor boobs just got so full and tight they honest felt like they might explode, and I woke up more than once in the middle of the night with the sheets soaked through and my breasts throbbing for relief.�

����������� �It sounds like they were getting pretty hard to deal with,� The genial host prodded, �Did you ever think about taking your doctor's advice?�

����������� �Oh, never,� I gushed, glancing down beatifically at my mammoth bosom, �I know it sounds like it must have been awful, but I loved every minute of it; every day just left me feeling more full of life, more womanly and, well, more in the mood, if you follow me.� It's a good thing I enjoyed being pregnant so much, because I ended up being two weeks overdue, and those last two weeks came with a lot of growing.� Even after we brought the baby home from the hospital there were still challenges; my husband had to help me when I was nursing because I could barely even reach my nipples anymore, much less hold a newborn to one, but we made out well enough.� My boobs finally stopped growing then, though I was still ridiculously milky for the next few months, and when I was finally feeling up to going back to work again I decided to go out and get myself a new bra or two, something that would really show off my new figure since I was so proud of it.� Well, it took the girl at the store a while to measure me; they weren't really used to dealing with a woman my size, but she finally decided that I was actually an R cup.�

����������� �That's incredible,� the host said, as the crowd gasped in shock, �But tell me, Persephone, you're obviously much, much larger than that now.� What happened?�

����������� �Well, my doctor told me that I should make sure I never got pregnant again, because the same thing might happen all over again and there was no telling how much more my boobs would grow if I went through all that a second time; she actually weighed them when I came in for my checkup and each one of my boobs already weighed more than fifteen pounds.� But I just loved being a mom, and having giant breasts, too much to stop.� I decided to try the stay at home mom thing for a while, it meant some sacrifices, but we could afford it, and we both wanted more kids, so I just never went back on the pill and well, when your love life is as active as ours is, it was just a matter of time before our little family was growing again and I was growing right along with it.� By the time our second was born, I'd more than doubled in size up top, and my doctor said that if I wasn't going to be more careful I should at least get a reduction, but I read that if I got my boobs chopped, I probably wouldn't be able to breastfeed any more, and besides, even though they got in the way- if you think keeping up with two rambunctious little kids is hard, imagine trying to do it while carrying around more than sixty pounds of bosom hanging from your chest- I just love having huge breasts like this, I could never get rid of them.

����������� Well, we kept on trying, and about a year later I got pregnant with our youngest.� This time around it actually was kind of hard for me, my husband had to take a couple months' leave near the end just to help me look after the kids because I was getting so, well, you can see for yourself, plus I had a belly out to here, and some days I could barely haul myself out of bed.� I'd just lay there on my side, my big, round belly sticking out in front of me, my boobs spreading over like, half the mattress; it was actually kind of fun having an excuse to just be huge and lazy and to spend all day eating, sleeping and myself grow.

����������� By the time our littlest one arrived, I was so huge there was no point in even trying to get me fitted for a bra, my breasts weighed every ounce of sixty five pounds, each, and I was producing more milk in a day than a prize-winning dairy cow.� That was six months ago, and we've never been happier.� I still stay at home with the kids, there was no way I could ever go back to work at an office as big as I've become, though I have picked up a bit of freelance stuff I can do from home over the computer.� Every time I go in for a checkup, my doctor mentions that if I get pregnant again I might explode, and I'm pretty sure she's joking, but I still haven't gone back on the pill, so I guess I'll probably find out sooner or later, but yeah, for our family at least, life like this is good.�

����������� �You mentioned doing some freelance work from home,� the host followed up, �Does that include any, er, modeling?�

����������� �Oh no, I could never do that,� I demurred, blushing, �Not that I've got anything against anyone else who goes that route, but my girls are just for me, my husband and the baby.� Though I do have to admit, I kind of enjoy the looks I get when we go to the beach every summer and head down to the beach in my bathing suit.� I mean, I know it might sound funny coming from a woman who willingly let herself get as enormous as I am, but I'm really not an exhibitionist or anything, I just really love having big boobs.�

����������� �Well, thank you very much for coming out so share your story with us,� the host enthused, �I know all of us here have really enjoyed having you here today.�

����������� �Oh, not at all, it's been my pleasure,� I said as I stood up, my buttons straining and the straps of my gargantuan bra pulling taut as they were compelled to carry the lush burden of my bust, eliciting another round of 'oohs' from the audience as I straightened my back and showed them just how spectacular my figure truly was, �If you'll excuse me now, though, it's been a few hours since last time I pumped, and I'm starting to feel, well, a little bit too full for comfort.�

����������� And with thunderous applause and more than a little whooping and cheering as my every step sent gentle aftershocks rippling through by bosom, I walked off stage, as saucily as I safely could without bursting right out of my top, the lapels of my red jacket rubbing distractingly against the sides of my tremendous, milk-filled breasts.