Virginia recovered quickly after Kimiko dashed a glass of cold water in her face, and she sat there, blinking, on the bed, dabbing her face dry with a fluffy towel. Tucked away out of sight in her T-shirt and jeans, Kimiko was still outrageously developed, but just about acceptable. She seemed unusually cheerful, bustling around the apartment, achieving nothing useful. She nodded her acceptance when Miss Twizzell told her she could have her new bra on Saturday, by special courier.
"Okay, but Miki not happy," she warned them. "Finish now. You measure. But not happy no bra today."
"I can't perform miracles. You're very lucky to get a bra by Saturday, you know. You have a huge bust, easily the biggest I have ever seen." Not a word of a lie, not this time!
"Miki much bigger. Not happy. Go Miki bedroom now. Not happy!"
The bra measuring team went into Miki's unhappy bedroom, Kimiko closing the doors behind them.
"Ginny! Hi!" Miki yelped joyously from the bed. "You've got a towel, too?"
"What? Oh, this. I got wet..."
"So did I," Miki admitted dreamily, spreading her arms wide then snuggling back inside her monster bath towel again. "I've been in the bathroom for simply hours! Lux�u-ree! And this is Mizz Swizzle?"
"Twizzell. And I'm Miss, not Mizz!"
"Hi, Miss! You all finished doing Kim?"
"Yes, all done. She's a big girl."
"You ain't seen nuthin' yet, babe," laughed Miki with an outrageous wink at Virginia. Virginia had to mop her face with her towel again. "S'pose I gotta get off of this bed?"
"You're American," Miss Twizzell accused her at last.
"More or less. I still look Asian, I guess. Well, most of me. No, I'll rephrase that. About five per cent of me looks Asian. My boobs are the other ninety-five."
A door opened at the side of the room and a figure emerged, bearing wisps of steam. It had its shirt sleeves rolled right up to the armpits, its immaculate trousers supported by fluorescent orange braces, although Miki would probably call them suspenders or something...
"Will there be anything further, Miss Yashimoto?"
"That will be all for now, MacArthur. I may need you later."
"Certainly, Miss Yashimoto." He retrieved his jacket from the wardrobe, bowed, and made a dignified exit.
"He's a doll!"
"That was MacArthur?" Miss Twizzell was trying to arrange her hair, minutes too late. "Wow!"
"Wow, indeed! And quite a performer, too. Those quiet ones are always ... well, enough said. So, how are you going to measure me? I don't have a bra to wear, and I can't stand up for more than ten seconds. But MacArthur's so strong. He carried me into the bathroom, and..."
"Er, quite! Perhaps if you kneel on the bed, I can do your chest and waist, then we can play it by ear from there."
"I'm in your hands! Okay, let's get this show on the road. Now, how many towels do we have here?"
Miki began flinging back what seemed like dozens of towels, revealing more and more of her astounding figure. At last, she rolled over on to her hands and knees, with only the last third or so of her breasts still covered.
"That's a good position," Miss Twizzell said, and received an over-the-shoulder wink from Miki.
"One of the best for us big girls! Whaddya say, Ginny?"
"Oh? Oh, yes!"
"She's a dark horse, that one, Twiz! We need to watch her. Wow, your hands are cold!"
Miss Twizzle wasn't trusting Virginia with the book again. She wrote carefully in line seventeen the figure 18. "Eighteen inch waist. Bigger than your big sister, Miki."
"It's my back muscles. I've worked out since I was eleven. Had to. What's my hips this week?"
"Thirty-one. Is that right? How tall are you?"
"Four-nine or so. My ass is usually around thirty, thirty-one, depends how I eat. Or who."
"And your chest is twenty-eight. Not that it matters a jot, but you'd need a size 34 bra."
"Yeah, and a cup size three times round the alphabet. Good thing it doesn't metter a jot, whot?"
Miss Twizzell ignored this repartee with dignity. "Now, what on earth are we going to do with those?"
"What, you mean these?" chirruped Miki innocently, tossing aside her left towel and revealing a breast the size of a young hippopotamus.
"Holy shit! I mean ... oh my goodness, gracious me. That's impossible!"
"Tell me about it, Twiz! How's about if I lay like this?"
She tried to sit up, but kept rolling back down.
"Can we help you at all?" They stared at her uselessly. There was nothing really to get a hold of.
"You could send for MacArthur," Miki suggested. "No, better give him another hour or so to recover. How about this way? No, that's no use either." Exhausted, she slid her feet out from under her and lay down on her belly between her breasts. Her naked bottom looked delicious enough to take a bite out of it.
"Has she gone to sleep again?"
"No I haven't," the girl retorted. "I'm thinking. How could I go to sleep like this?"
It was hard to imagine anyone sleeping in that position, but it wasn't easy to imagine anyone having breasts even half that size. And that, Virginia realised, was just about what she had! Miki was so much bigger even than her sister, it was impossible to grasp the idea of it.
"I can take some numbers like that, dear, if you'll just lie still..."
"Sure, be my guest. I'll think a while." Things settled into a buzz of quiet activity. "Hey! I got an idea!" Miki tried to sit up, and an enormous wobbling breast escaped from Miss Twizzell's clutches to lollop on to the bed. The whole room shook ... the whole apartment block. "Ow," the girl complained with admirable restraint. "If I sit up, can you help lift my tits enough so I can get my feet through underneath. They'll be a bit heavy, but ... wow, it would be easier if this bed wasn't so soft ... here we go. Lift, now!"
"Jeez, Miki!"
"Coming! Let me get my feet underneath." From lying on her belly, Miki had risen to a kneeling position, and was now trying to get her feet underneath her and out to the front, so she would be sitting facing the wrong way up the bed. She would have to turn round again at bedtime, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. Or perhaps MacArthur could. "Lift again! Nearly there ... Yes!"
Everything happened at once, as Miki let out the most resounding fart and collapsed in a fit of giggles, with Virginia helpless on top of her left breast. Miss Twizzell had lost her grip on the other one and disappeared over the edge of the bed. A leg waved briefly as if in surrender from the floor. But Miki was sitting up, more or less as intended. She patted her breasts as if they were two well-trained pets instead of unruly accoutrements each heavier than she was herself.
"Can you believe that MacArthur carried me into the bathroom?"
They couldn't.
"He used to be a fireman, he said. Maybe he was joking. You can never tell with these Englishmen, can you?"
Miss Twizzell appeared like Aphrodite rising from the waters. "It's not going to work, Miki. It's impossible. When did you last have a bra made?"
"Two years ago, in the States. I guess I was about the hundred inch mark, thereabouts."
"We've got a problem. I could make cups to fit you, and a body band, but unless we can get you supported properly and standing up, I'm not going to be able to put any sort of a bra together. It needs an entirely new design, I'm afraid."
Miki's face crumpled. "What are you saying?"
"I can do it, but I can't do it here. We need to get you back to my workshop. Fortunately, you're not at college, so it won't be affecting your education. But there are problems. Transport: you won't fit in my car. Mobility: I can't lift you on my own. And making the bra itself. I almost need a crane in the workshop."
Miki seemed to be visibly brightening as this catalogue went on. "No problem," she exclaimed at last. "MacArthur! He can hire a van and drive me over to your place. If you can get a bed in there, we can ... I can sleep at the workshop. MacArthur can bring my meals in and look after my day-to-day needs and stuff. And he can make the lifting tackle or whatever you need. See? Problem solved! When can we start?"
"Bor-ing! The Development and Growth of Japanese Influence Overseas � The Western Influence. How are we supposed to do a project on that?" Wendy pouted and slummocked in her chair.
Maggie rested her chin in her hands. "That's Old Shagbat for you. Boring Old Fart Number One. We'd better see what Josie can suggest."
"No! Not her."
"What do you mean? She's part of our team."
"Not any more, she's not. She's shagging Jamie, so she's out. O-U-T."
"But she can't. She can't do the project on her own. And we can't do it with just two of us."
"She can go fish. Or join Jill's team. What did she do to help us last year? All she ever did was lean on the desk with her pubes hanging out."
"It distracted the boys."
"That's about all. No, we can get by without her. You can go and tell her now."
"Me?"
"Hi, Jilly!" Josie leaned across Jill's desk and waggled her bottom at the boys. From this much closer range, they had a much improved view. "You want a new team member?"
Jill sniffed, then seemed to change her mind. "You're with Wendy's team."
"Not any more. I can't work with that big-titted jealous bitch. I'd have joined Jamie's team, but they want to keep it an all-male preserve. So I've decided to join you. Your marks could do with a boost. You've been bottom of the class for a whole year."
Jill chewed her lip. Her project work had been abysmal this last year, and there was no explanation for it. On her last project she had collected a shameful F-minus-minus-minus and one of her team-mates had told her she didn't want to be bottom of the class any more, it was ruining her prospects. "I'm only bottom in project work," Jill said. "I think Mr Shadbolt has got it in for me."
Josie smiled to herself at the intriguing image of Old Shagbat slipping a length of pork sword to the prim and proper Jill. Bending her backwards over the desk... The picture dissolved before her eyes. "I'm what your team needs; an injection of new blood." She faltered for a moment, reminded once more that her period was a whole week late this month. It couldn't have been Jamie, not yet. It was probably that smelly boy she'd met a couple of times in McDonalds...
"I am a team member short at the moment," Jill admitted. "Can you come on straight away?"
"I'd be happy to," Josie said, wishing Jill had used a slightly less emotive phrase. "In fact, I've got an idea. A good way of getting our own back on that cow Wendy."
Several whispered minutes later, Jill had a beaming smile on her face. The rest of the class had to nudge each other and ask what it was. Jill had never been known to smile before.
"Yeah, Josie, from school. That's right, Wendy's friend. There's something I wanted to ask you. A big favour. Wendy happened to mention that you'd met that Japanese girl at college? Mr Yashimoto's daughter? Kimiko, that's right. Well, we've been given this really boring project about The Development and Growth of Japanese Influence Overseas � The Western Influence. And we thought, well, I thought it would be a way of making it interesting if we could involve a real Japanese person in it somehow. Anyway, here's what I thought we'd do..."
Triumphantly, Josie put the phone down and stepped out of the box. She almost skipped down the steps and along the covered way to the classroom.
"What's she up to?" Wendy muttered, turning away from the steamed-up window. "I don't like it when she behaves like a schoolgirl."
"She is a schoolgirl, Wen."
"And she normally acts like a cheap tart. Who was she on the phone to all that time? And sucking up to Jill, making her laugh. It's not right."
"We'd better get on with our project, Wen. What have you found out?"
"I got a book from the library, but it sent me to sleep."
"I told you it would be too much work for two of us. We'll have to work at the weekend again."
"Not this weekend, we're not. I've got to see Miss Twizzell again."
"Again? What is it this time?"
"The usual. Dr Wallace said it's something to do with the pills I'm on. He wants me to change to a different formula. Meanwhile, I'm two inches bigger again. It doesn't show, 'cos this is such a thick bra, but when I take it off, my tits are just about exploding. Miss Twizzell says I really need a 38-M."
"Bloody hell! How big's that?"
"You know those big Galia melons we saw in Tesco?"
"Yeah?"
"Bigger than those. About fifty-one or two inches. I was near enough fifty last month. Dr Wallace said I might get even bigger until my hormones settle down. He's a bit weird. He keeps rude magazines in his desk drawer. I just happened to notice them when he opened the wrong drawer by mistake when he was looking for his tape measure."
"What does a doctor need a tape measure for?"
Wendy just stared at her.
"I feel like Ironside on TV," Miki giggled as MacArthur carefully negotiated the ramp and trundled her wheelchair out of the side door of the van. "Is this Miss Twizzell's shop? It doesn't look like much of a place."
"This is the back door, Miss Yashimoto. More private, she said. And we can leave the van here."
"Where do we sleep?"
MacArthur sighed, then straightened his shoulders. Miki was an almost insatiable lover. He had heard somewhere that women reached their sexual peak at eighteen. He had heard somewhere else that they continued to improve technically for some years afterwards. All he could say was that a lot of good men were going to be totally exhausted in the next few years. The very best of luck to them.
"You haven't answered the question, MacArthur. Please pay attention."
"Yes, Miss Yashimoto. In the van. Miss Twizzell locks up the shop at night."
"I wasn't thinking about night, MacArthur. I meant this afternoon. We haven't made love since this morning, have we."
"To be precise, not since 11:55, Miss Yashimoto. And before that, all last night, then again at breakfast time and at 10:30."
"I hope you're not complaining, MacArthur."
"Certainly not, Miss Yashimoto." He stopped for breath. The backyard of Miss Twizzell's shop sloped steeply upwards, and the wheelchair and Miki would have been heavy enough even without the added burden of a whacking great pair of breasts.
"Perhaps I should find a younger man, MacArthur," she pondered, nibbling gently on the tip of one finger. She slid it into her mouth two or three times as if thinking of something else. "But not yet. Take me back to the van, MacArthur, please! It's been nearly two hours!"
"We have to measure you for your new bra first, Miss Yashimoto. Then Miss Twizzell can get on with building it."
"Oh, poo! You're no fun at all." The girl left her finger in her mouth to soak, and lapsed into a sulk.
The back door opened. "I thought I heard someone out here," Miss Twizzell beamed at them and began rearranging waste bins and boxes of rubbish to clear a path for the wheelchair. "I think it's going to be too wide for the door," she admitted. "Can you walk a few yards into the work-room, Miki?"
"Walk? I can't even stand up. Perhaps if you carried my tits for me. Or MacArthur can carry me in there like a fireman. He's so strong � although he seems a little weary this afternoon."
The weary MacArthur roused himself. "We could try a new way, Miss Yashimoto. I've been thinking; if I crouch down close in front of you then slowly stand up, I can lift your breasts on my shoulders. Then as long as you stay close behind me, we can walk indoors."
"Hey, that sounds fun! Let's do it!"
"I'll nip in ahead of you both and clear the way." Miss Twizzell darted inside.
It didn't sound very easy, and it wasn't even as easy as it sounded, but as he stripped off his jacket, Miki peeled off her marquee of a dress and prepared to stand up when MacArthur was in position. He had to raise his arms above his head to prevent the monsters from rolling off his shoulders, but eventually they were both ready, and at a grunted signal from MacArthur, up they went.
"Stand really close behind me, Miss Yashimoto," he gasped, and felt her arms clasp him around the waist. The more upright he stood, the further the load slipped backwards off his shoulders. As he was eighteen inches taller than the girl, there was a logistical problem here. The first two feet of her breasts stretched up his back, only the remainder was left for him to hang on to. "We'll have to be quick; this isn't very comfortable." He clung on tight to the soft skin, trying to hold her up there without digging in his fingers too much.
Miki followed, plodding along inches behind him, for wherever her breasts went, she was sure to follow. They negotiated the step, passed through the doorway, and came to the bend in the corridor where the door stood open leading to the work-room. It felt so ridiculous, Miki was getting the giggles. Pressing her little belly against MacArthur's bottom was also making her excited. Suddenly, she gasped with delight, and fumbled with her fingers around his waist.
"What are you up to, you little minx?"
She giggled some more, then swiftly ran her hands round behind him. "Ooh!", she gasped again, and gave an experimental tug to MacArthur's trousers. With nothing holding them up, they slid down, exposing his surprisingly thin and hairy legs.
"What have you done? You stupid little..."
It was perhaps a mistake to try and carry on walking with his trousers round his ankles like that. An intelligent man, MacArthur would perhaps have been the first to admit it. In mitigation, he might have pleaded that he only took a couple of steps forward when the girl pinched his buttocks with a pair of sharp fingernails. The end result was the same; there was a loud noise of ripping fabric, and he pitched forward, falling to his knees. Mercifully, there was nothing in the way, but that was little compensation as Miki, her giant breasts still over MacArthur's shoulders, found herself hoisted up on to his broad back like an extraordinarily busty jockey. Not having any stirrups, she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung on with both hands grabbing handfuls of shirt.
"What on earth?" Miss Twizzell came out from behind her workbench and discovered the couple in their absurd predicament, Miki squealing and giggling by turns. "Hang on," said the bra-maker, between Miki's yelps and snorts. "Hang on! Don't move. Now, do exactly as I say..."
"I don't often work on men's trousers these days," Miss Twizzell admitted, performing some intricate stitching on her industrial sewing machine. Miki sat next to her on the workbench, wrapped in a blanket, swinging her legs and trying not to laugh. MacArthur was sulking in a chair in one corner of the room, wearing only a pair of ladies' pink French knickers and a matching blouse with a pattern of tiny flowers. Miki had disgraced herself by pissing all over his shirt in her excitement, not that it mattered greatly as she had ripped the shirt from top to bottom anyway.
It wasn't just a little dribble of pee, either; poor Miki had lost all control and pissed like a rather large horse. MacArthur's mood wasn't improved as he had been the one delegated to get down on his hands and knees and mop up the mess. He had promised the unfortunate girl a damned good spanking, which didn't seem to upset Miki unduly. Miss Twizzell was beginning to think her work-room was turning into a haven for fetishists.
"You're a naughty little girl," she told her severely, trying to keep a straight face. "Instead of getting on with your new bra, I've got to spend an hour messing around with Mr MacArthur's trousers. After all he's done for you, too.
Miki hung her head. "I'm sorry."
"Say sorry to Mr MacArthur."
"I'm sorry, MacArthur." There was no reply. "He's mad at me," she whined. "And I hurt my tits, too. They need kissing better. All over."
"I don't think Mr MacArthur has time to kiss them all over, Miki. It would take him hours."
Despite his mood of pique, MacArthur was considering this scenario. It appealed to him. He was very much up for it.
"Oooh, look, Miss Twizzell," Miki exclaimed, clapping her little hands. "MacArthur's getting a fucking great hard-on!"
"What? Oh, crikey! Oh, my golly gosh!"
"Put it away, MacArthur, you're frightening Miss Twizzell with it."
MacArthur crossed his legs, but it didn't really help matters. His erection had found its way down the abbreviated leg of his silky underwear and leapt throbbing into the open air. The two women regarded it: Miss Twizzell with longing; Miki with utter familiarity, despite the fact that she hadn't had it in her aching love-tunnel for something like two and a half hours. She spread her legs lewdly and tried to find a way out of her blanket.
"Miki, no!"
"Just a quickie, Miss Twizzell, please!"
"No! It's Saturday afternoon. The shop is still open for business. I may have to bring a customer through into the work-room. I can't have love-making going on in here while I am trying to measure a customer for a bra."
MacArthur gave an agonised croak. He was becoming less up for it with every passing second. Miki watched him getting smaller with a pout. She hated to waste a perfectly good erection.
Miss Twizzell relented slightly. "We'll be measuring you soon, dear. The tank is filling with warm water, now. Mr MacArthur will be helping, so you'll be nice and close to him then. And afterwards, you can go out in the van and he can give you a good seeing-to. There, that will be nice, won't it?"
"Can't he do it to me in the tank? There's plenty of room for two."
"There's room for two normal people, but you're much bigger than anyone else, Miki. Especially with your breasts floating in front of you. We'll have to see if there's enough room for Mr MacArthur as well, won't we?"
"Wow, yeah!"
"It's killing me, Mags!"
"Take it off, then?"
"I can't. Not on the bus."
"There's nobody else upstairs."
"Somebody might come up. And there's a mirror so the driver can see up here. He might see me taking my bra off and crash. It will be on the news..."
"We'll soon be there, Wen. You should have made an appointment, though."
"It's an emergency. She said I could come in any time if it was an emergency."
Maggie could have thought of lots more exciting things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon than watching her bestest friend getting measured for yet another new bra, but she admitted to a certain fascination. Wendy was getting gigantic now, and she was growing so fast. It would be interesting to see this much-too-tight bra come off, just to see how huge Wendy's tits really were now. She hadn't seen them for a week or more.
The bus swung into the terminus and stopped, and she helped her poor tortured friend down the staircase, past the gawping driver and out into the fresh, diesel-fume-laden air. It was only five minutes walk to Miss Twizzell's.
Wendy grabbed her friend's arm and muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "Hurry up, Mags! Don't look, whatever you do. I don't think she's seen us."
"Who? Who is it?"
"That bitch, Josie. With her little friend Jill and a whole bunch of boys. Jill, I ask you! If that little nerd is getting herself laid while I've got a fifty-something inch bust and no steady boyfriend, I'm going to tear her apart with my bare hands..."
Heads down, they hurried on their way, hearing a gust of male laughter at something one of the girls had said.
"That's it, MacArthur, lower away gently."
Miki slithered into the warm water, lowering her feet to touch the bottom of the tank. As intended, her breasts floated just below the surface, their mounded upper surfaces bobbing gently ahead of her like great pink buoys. Miss Twizzell had the tank installed, thinking it might have a use for larger women even when Miki's bra order was completed. Now, with the girl in the tank, she realised that she had never seen another woman even remotely near the size of the diminutive Japanese girl.
Here she was with a water tank capable of holding 6,000 litres of water, a mind-boggling six tons of the stuff in a tank more than six feet square and deep enough for a girl to stand upright with her breasts floating in front of her. And after this job, what could she do with it? The men might as well come and take the whole thing apart again and cart it away. It was built of stout plastic panels screwed together at the corners. It had to be built that way, as the doors of the shop weren't wide enough to bring it in all in one piece.
Maybe she could use it for breeding goldfish in vast quantities. Or piranhas.
"Can MacArthur come in with me now, Miss Twizzell?" No doubt Miki was already contributing her copious bodily fluids to the tank. That was something else Miss Twizzell hadn't thought of. She'd have to drain the tank out between sessions before it began to attract flies and randy dogs. Her water bills would be going through the roof this month.
MacArthur seemed willing enough. He had discarded the big girl's blouse and now wore only his French knickers. Miss Twizzell had to avert her eyes. "Yes, he can get in, too. He can read the tape measure."
"Why is she never in the shop when we arrive?" Wendy slammed her hand down on the bell again. "Come on, Mags. This is an emergency. She'll be out the back."
"But there might be someone back there with no clothes on."
"We're all women, Maggie! Nobody will see anything they shouldn't." Wendy had already shrugged out of her shirt and was reaching behind her to undo her bra.
Maggie was stunned. "Shit, Wen, you're going to explode out of that thing!"
"That's why I'm trying to get it off, before something happens."
"You're busting out of it everywhere!"
Wendy was spinning round on the spot like a dog chasing its tail. She was getting no closer to the bra clasp. "How about if you stop talking like an erotic story and help me out of this thing?"
Maggie gulped. Wendy stopped rotating and she approached cautiously, as if her friend really was about to explode out of the overloaded bra, wrecking the shop in the process. "Hold still." She managed to squeeze a finger beneath the bra strap and at the third grunting attempt she succeeded in undoing one hook. Only about a million more to go. "Breathe in. I mean out!" she yelped as Wendy obediently expanded a couple more inches and trapped Maggie's fingers. Everything went relatively slack and Maggie quickly took the opportunity to release the rest of the hooks.
"Ooh, wow, Mags! Thanks!" The bra slid down Wendy's plump upper arms. She rubbed at the sore red marks on her shoulders. Around the back, too, the flesh was deeply indented. But Maggie wasn't looking round the back. Her jaw fell open as she stared at her friend's breasts.
"You're gigantic, Wendy! Look at them!"
Wendy did as she was told. She blushed and looked at Maggie, who had a strange expression of lust on her face. "Maggie!"
"Yeah?"
"You?"
"Yeah, me."
"You should have said before."
"I didn't feel like this before. Can I?"
"Now?"
"Yes, now! Please, Wen." Wendy took one monster breast in both hands and raised it to her friend's eagerly drooling lips. She nodded her permission.
"Jesus, Mags! Yes, girl, suck that thing!" Maggie did, for several minutes, while Wendy closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
"Fuck me, Wen!" Maggie squeaked suddenly, letting the well-chewed nipple slip from her mouth. Wendy's breasts wobbled dangerously.
"What's the matter?"
"I've been sucking your tits right here in the shop. Anybody could have walked in. Or looked through the window! Let's go through into the back room, quick..."
"In a minute. Come here, first!"
Their tongues met eagerly, and Maggie felt the enormity of Wendy's breasts crushed between them. "Can we do this again, Wen," she gasped hoarsely.
Wendy pulled away and chuckled. "Luckily, neither of us has a date tonight! Let's get measured and get out of here!"
She led her dazed friend down the corridor, her breasts flopping massively against her rounded belly. They paused at the work-room door, listening.
"There's somebody in there," said Wendy. "I can hear water!"
"Water?" They shrugged at each other. There was still time to exchange a brief touch of their tongues before Wendy knocked once and immediately opened the door.
"The tape isn't long enough!" MacArthur held up the two ends and squinted at the numbers from close range. Then he held them further back and gave up. His hands fell into the water with a splash.
"Let me see." He handed the tape to Miss Twizzell. "No wonder. What made you think a ten foot tape would be long enough. Miki's loads bigger than that, you can see."
"Bigger than ten feet?" He looked at Miki, who lowered her eyes modestly. It was hard to look demure with breasts floating well out of arms' reach on front of her, but she managed it.
"Try this one. It's probably just about long enough."
It was. Just about. Depending on how things floated.
"A hundred and forty-four exactly," MacArthur announced, before realising what he had just said. "A hundred and forty-four?"
"Not a bad guess," Miss Twizzell said modestly, although she felt a certain not altogether welcome moistness in her underwear. "Use the same tape, and take some measurements round each of her breasts at the fullest part. That's it, round that way."
Then she became aware that MacArthur was staring over her shoulder, his mouth open. She spun round, her pulse racing. "Wendy! How did you get in here?"
"Did you say a hundred and forty-four? You mean centimetres?" She advanced to the side of the tank, and gasped. "Fucking hell. You don't!" She turned to Maggie. "And we thought I was big!"
"Who's this?" Miki asked sweetly, her head tilted to one side.
"A customer."
"Oh, Hi! I'm Miki."
"You're Japanese!"
"That's right."
"But, you've got..."
"Mm-hm."
"They must be the biggest tits in the world!"
Miki thought about it for a while. "Probably," she admitted. "I am pretty big."
"Who's he?" Wendy nodded at MacArthur.
"That's MacArthur. He's mine."
"That's all right." Wendy reached for Maggie's hand. "We're lesbians."
"Hey, way to go!"
Miss Twizzell found her voice. "You didn't make an appointment, Wendy."
"It's an emergency. My bra exploded. Can you measure me again, please?"
"MacArthur will do it," Miki offered generously. "Go on, MacArthur, out you get and measure Wendy. He's very good at it. He's got lovely hands."
MacArthur had no alternative. He climbed from the tank and stood there, dripping. The girls studied him with interest. The interest was all too obviously.mutual. MacArthur liked all things large. Although the delightfully chubby Wendy wasn't in Miki's league she was nevertheless an astoundingly busty girl. And Maggie's enormous bottom in those tight jeans was unaccountably exciting, lesbian or not.
"Why's he wearing girls' pants?" Wendy asked after MacArthur seemed finally to have stopped growing. She seemed to be reconsidering her sexuality.
"I pissed all over him," Miki said dreamily. "And ripped all his clothes off."
"Wow!" It wasn't really adequate, Wendy knew, but this was truly beyond her experience. Yet this Japanese girl only looked about twelve. Apart from a couple of features, of course. "Miki?"
"Yes?"
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Hey, you're not much older than us. When Arthur's finished measuring me, could we have a little talk? It's about our school project."
"Cool! Hurry up and measure Wendy, MacArthur. They want to talk to me about school."
"I've got all Wendy's measurements on file," Miss Twizzell said. Miki seemed to be taking over. "The only one you need to measure is her bust. Circumference first..." She seemed to notice for the first time that Wendy was gloriously topless. "You'll need to put your bra back on."
"Can't. It's too small. It took Mags ages to get it undone."
"We can't measure you with your breasts dangling right down there, girl."
"She can come in the water with me," yelled Miki delightedly.
Miss Twizzell sighed. "Oh, all right. We just need to measure round the breasts at the fattest point, and their length from her chest to the nipples." She reached for the tape.
"Mr MacArthur's got to do it," Wendy protested.
Mr MacArthur was at that moment trying to tuck away his erection. As soon as it heard Wendy's request, it escaped again, ready for action. He tried to get close enough to measure one of Wendy's breasts, but his cock was too busy getting in on the act. She tried holding it out of the way with both hands, but the thing had a will of its own.
"We need to do something with that, Wendy," Miki observed. "Do you want me to, or..."
Maggie wondered if this might be her big moment. "I could help if you're..."
"I'll do it," said Wendy, instantly unzipping her jeans and pushing them down together with her panties. The sight of the girl's powerful thighs and meaty calves sent MacArthur into throbbing overdrive. Stepping out of her jeans she placed a surprisingly dainty foot on the edge of the water tank. The invitation was clear enough. Wendy was glisteningly hot and more than ready.
"Ye Gods!" Miss Twizzell tore at her hair.
"They won't be long," Maggie said comfortingly. "It's only to make it easier for Mr MacArthur to..."
"I know what they're doing..."
So, by now, did Wendy. MacArthur slid into her without touching the sides, which was quite remarkable, all thing considered. Even more remarkable, considering that he had serviced Miki only a couple of hours earlier, was that Wendy brought him to the very brink in a matter of minutes. "Wow, Wendy! Where did you learn to do that?" he howled
"To do what? Oooh! Yes, Mr MacArthur!"
"Tha... Oh, no! Ooh! Sweet Jesus! Fucking hellfire...! Yaaaaaaah!"
"Mister MacArthur!"
"I said they wouldn't be long, didn't I?"
Miss Twizzell suspected foul play. He must have been faking it.
"It is safe standing up, isn't it, Miss Twizzell?" Wendy asked as MacArthur withdrew with a soft plop and Maggie faithfully provided her lover with a handful of tissues. Then another.
"Don't you girls learn anything at school?"
Maggie looked up from her knees and paused in her wiping. "We're doing The Development and Growth of Japanese Influence Overseas � The Western Influence at the moment. That's what Wendy wanted to talk to Miki about. And she can't get pregnant, her period's not for another two weeks."
Do something, Veronica. Anything. Miss Twizzell pried the tape measure from MacArthur's nerveless fingers and leaving him slumped in his chair, she quickly measured her way around Wendy's fat breasts in all the usual directions. "That's it, all done. Now get yourself into the tank and let's try your bust while it's floating."
"Wheee!" A great tidal wave went up as Wendy joined Miki in the water. "It's warm!"
"It was cold until you started fucking MacArthur," Miki giggled. "I got so hot watching you, I came three times! How was it for you?"
"Brilliant! Thanks for letting me use him."
"Any time. Hey, you're really big, you know?"
"How can you say that, with a twelve-foot bust?"
"No, I'm different. I've got a medical condition. But you, you're just plain huge! Who's going to measure Wendy, Twiz?"
"Can you reach if she holds the tape round her own back?"
"Sure, if we arrange ourselves properly..." There was a lot of sploshing activity until Wendy was disposed to Miki's satisfaction, then the Japanese girl asked, "How big were you before?"
"About fifty inches, I suppose?"
Miss Twizzell confirmed that give or take an inch or so, Wendy was about right.
"Well, floating like this, she's quite a lot bigger. You want to know how big?"
"Of course we do, that's what she's in there for!"
"Don't be impatient, Twiz, or I won't tell you. What cup size was she before?"
"For God's sake! Cup sizes are irrelevant as long as they fit. An M," she added irrelevantly.
"Is that an English M or a Japanese...?"
"English of course!"
Miki pouted. "I wish I could get used to English sizes. Or wouldn't it be better if there was only one system, worldwide?"
"Miki, how big is she?"
"Fifty-six," Miki said promptly. "That's an R-cup, isn't it?"
"I thought you weren't familiar with English sizes..."
"I didn't say that. I just said ... oh, never mind. Will you be changing the water in this tank, Miss Twizzell? Only there's loads of cum floating around in here..."
"I can walk!"
Miki demonstrated. It looked improbable, but she was actually walking.
Miss Twizzell laughed. "It holds you in so much, I was afraid it would make you look just plain fat. But you're so big anyway, you still look about half as big again as your sister does in her bra. How is it under the arms? Okay?"
"Yeah, fine!"
"And around the bottom?"
"It felt a bit weird around the crotch at first."
"It will take a while. You'll have to get used to wearing pads all the time, too."
"At least I don't need a hundred pairs of panties any more. I don't need any panties any more!"
"How about under here? And here? Excellent! You know, I was a bit worried about how this bra was going to turn out. It's really succeeded! If I thought there were ever going to be any more girls your size, I'd patent the design. Walk round the room again."
Miki completed a lap of the work-room, colliding only with the sewing machine and the now empty measuring tank. She only lost her balance a couple of times, and on each occasion she was able to grab the workbench. She ended up by stumbling triumphantly into Miss Twizzell's arms. "Thank you!" she said softly.
Miss Twizzell would have kissed the girl, but her face was way out of reach, of course. "What time is MacArthur coming for you?"
"Ten thirty. Just time to get dressed. It will be great to wear jeans and a sweater again. I haven't been able to get a sweater to fit me since I went back to Japan."
Miss Twizzell held up the appallingly huge garment. "This one will be a tight fit."
"So are these jeans, but I'm sure nobody will complain. There are boys at Wendy's school?"
"Oh, yes! Although Wendy's probably the biggest busted girl they've ever seen. You'll cause a riot."
"Should I take MacArthur for protection, do you think?"
"Leave him outside in the van. If he gets aroused, it's anyone's guess what might happen!"
"Sheesh! He's here now! And I'm not dressed yet!
Josie had a particularly smug expression on her face when Mr Shadbolt called Jill's team to the front of the class. Jill made the announcement. "The Development and Growth of Japanese Influence Overseas � The Western Influence," she read in a sing-song voice, then looked up at the class. She caught the eye of one of the boys and blushed bright red.
"Christ, look at her nipples!" Wendy hissed.
Giggles spread round the classroom. Jill's bosom wasn't her most prominent feature and truthfully nobody had noticed her nipples before. They'd never really had any reason to look. Now, there was no ignoring them as they bored into her blouse. Little Jilly was feeling horny.
Josie smirked. She had been present at Jill's deflowering ceremony on the previous Friday night, when the class swot had revealed herself as an erupting volcano of lust. She had been so embarrassingly noisy they'd had to stuff a pair of panties in her mouth to shut her up. Now, rather than being unable to stop, she couldn't even start. Josie had to do something. "Jill," she hissed in a piercing stage whisper. "Get on with it!"
"Oh! W-we decided ... my team decided ... that with such a boring subject as this..." Mr Shadbolt raised both eyebrows and made a note on his pad to mark Jill's team one grade lower. They were already on F-minus before Jill had even started speaking. Mr Shadbolt had just invented Grade G. Jill had faltered in her delivery. She found her place and continued. "Such a boring subject as this, that we would introduce to the class a genuine Japanese person."
Wendy and Maggie exchanged horrified glances.
"The name Yashimoto may not mean much to you. Mr Hatori Yashimoto is one of Japan's leading industrial magnates. He rarely, if ever leaves his homeland. However, thanks to the efforts of my team..."
Wendy's blood ran cold.
"...we have persuaded his daughter to visit us and answer questions on her country's growth and development."
Wendy buried her face in her hands, as Jill nodded to Josie, who excused herself with a smile. Her skirt was practically up to her crotch. As she twitched to the classroom door, her pert buttocks took turns to appear beneath the hem of her skirt. She wore pale blue briefs. Mr Shadbolt amended the mark to a D-plus as Josie disappeared, leaving the door open. Then she returned, beaming proudly.
Jill reached her big moment. "Allow me to introduce ... Miss Kimiko Yashimoto!"
"Kimiko?" Wendy looked at Maggie. Maggie was looking at the door. She pointed.
"Fucking hell!"
Wendy's hoarsely-whispered exclamation was echoed by the entire class, more or less in chorus. Kimiko followed Josie into the classroom. Mr Shadbolt stood up and bowed gravely, then sat down in a hurry and changed the D-plus to a B-plus.
Kimiko frowned. She hadn't wanted to do this. Now, wearing one of Virginia's white blouses and a skirt borrowed from one of the smaller girls on campus at Westhampton, she found herself facing a class of sixteen-year-olds. Mixed sixteen-year-olds. One of them, a mousy little flat-chested girl with big nipples, was standing at the front of the class with a sheet of paper and staring at her with undisguised horror.
"W-w-w-w," said Jill. "If you have any questions on Japanese Growth and Development for Miss Yashimoto, please go ahead."
A growl came from several male throats. Kimiko frowned her disapproval. Jamie opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.
Eventually, after a great deal of muttered discussion, a lone voice spoke up. It was the thief of Josie's virginity. "H-hello, Miss Yamaha."
"Yashimoto!"
"Miss Yashimoto. Erm. W-what ... how big is ... I mean ... what is your ... like ... bust measurement?"
Uproar.
Mr Shadbolt rose from his seat and pounded on the desk. "Order. Order, please!" Silence gradually fell, while Kimiko glowered at the class in general and at Mr Shadbolt in particular.
Later, much later, Mr Shadbolt might have relived this moment, rehearsing all the various things he might have said. In truth, just about anything would have been better than what he did say.
With the whole class looking to him for guidance and leadership, he politely inclined his head to Kimiko and said, "You may answer the question, Miss Yashimoto."
As Kimiko stormed out, Jill made her way back to her place, her world in tiny pieces. Mr Shadbolt picked himself up from the wreckage of his chair and changed the B-plus to a reluctant H.
One more team remained to give its presentation. "Wendy, please would you come up to the front of the class."
It was an unprecedented step. But Mr Shadbolt felt fully justified in whole-heartedly recommending it to the Headmaster. Mr Shadbolt was a highly respected teacher. His word carried a lot of weight. So, too, did his presentation of the facts.
"I'm sure, Headmaster, that..."
"Come on, Roger, call me Ted."
"Sorry. Ted. This is an important and formal presentation I am going to make to you, so I felt..."
The Headmaster wondered what this was all about. The request from Mr Shadbolt had come out of the blue. Something about a temporary addition to the teaching staff. The new recruit would be adequately supervised, of course. And her work would be monitored carefully. But she � yes, a female teacher � she was such a valuable acquisition that the school could consider her a huge asset. The Headmaster would not be disappointed, Mr Shadbolt assured him. And it was only for a year. Yes, the temporary teacher was highly qualified. She was widely travelled, with a broad grounding in far-Eastern business practices � her father was a prominent businessman, and Miss Yashimoto was enormously prominent herself...
It had been a powerful case. An unprecedented step, certainly, a bold and radical one, employing Miss Yashimoto. And it wouldn't cost the school board a penny. Not a red cent.
"But does she speak English, Roger?"
"She was brought up in America. She speaks American. But it is excellent American. The students have no difficulty in understanding every word she says."
"You make a strong case, Roger. Of course, I should have to meet the lady personally." The Headmaster wrinkled his nose. "You say she's away at the moment? How inconvenient."
"Inconvenient, Headmaster, but thanks to the wonders of Information Technology, you can still hold a face-to-face conversation with Miss Yashimoto. That is why I asked you to come down here to the IT lab this afternoon."
Mr Shadbolt spun on his heel and with a flourish, turned on a monitor. With a few mysterious passes over a keyboard, he conjured up an image on the screen. He picked up a microphone on a small stand and blew into it. "Hello, hello? One-two. Mary had a little..." He handed over the microphone to the Headmaster. "It's working." And he pressed one more key. On a miniature TV camera on top of the monitor, a tiny red light glowed.
The Headmaster stared at the screen. A delicate, ravishingly beautiful face smiled back at him.
"Just speak to her normally, Ted, she can hear you."
He cleared his throat. "Miss Yashimoto? Welcome to Slurryvale High School!"
The Headmaster still stared dumbly at the screen long after it had gone black. "You're right, Roger! I'm sure Miss Yashimoto will be a valuable asset to the school. She is a beautiful young lady. And she's free, too!"
"You will not be disappointed, Ted," Mr Shadbolt assured him. "I certainly wasn't after she gave her brief lecture to Year Twelve." A dreamy expression crossed Mr Shadbolt's face.
"Year Twelve," said the Headmaster. "That reminds me. Young Jill. She simply isn't coming up to standard. Her grades are the worst in living memory. I'm afraid she will have to remain in Year Twelve for another year."
Mr Shadbolt sighed. "It's the usual problem. She's discovered sex, I'm afraid. It's been the downfall of many a promising student."
"Sex, eh? Look. Maybe I should see the girl, have a fatherly chat to her. Might be able to get her to pull her finger out?"
"Her finger?" Mr Shadbolt looked doubtful for a moment. "You could try, Headmaster. If anyone can do it, you can. Meanwhile, if she stays with the others, she's a positive hindrance to their progress. There are some high fliers in that class. Very advanced students indeed."
"I know. I was watching some of them out of my window the other afternoon. Young Wendy, isn't it?" The Headmaster held his hands a considerable distance in front of his chest.
"That's her. An extremely advanced young woman."
"A little overdeveloped for my taste. Buxom, is that the word? You know, your Miss Yashimoto might be a real eye-opener for a girl like Wendy. These little Japanese girls are so delicate, so petite, like perfect tiny porcelain dolls. Having a teacher like that around might make some of our more womanly girls realise that there is immense charm in being slim, in having a childlike, elfin, almost boyish figure. An ideal role model, Roger. Ideal. If all our girls modelled themselves on Miss Yashimoto, just think how much more tidy they would look in the school group photographs."
Mr Shadbolt thought about it. "Yes, Headmaster."