DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction and any resemblence between 
characters in this work and actual persons living or dead is entirely 
coincidental. This work contains scenes of explicit sex between adults and is 
intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are offended by depictions 
of adult intercourse or if you are less than the age of majority in your 
jurisdiction please do not read or download this file. Because this is a 
fantasy, characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe where 
AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases do not exist. In reality sex 
without protection is unwise and nothing in this work should be taken as 
condoning such activity, or any of the other activities depicted herein.
Many thanks for your kind comments on my first story (Sleep Time). This one is a 
bit of an experiment and I'm still not sure it worked. But thanks anyway to 
Boris Ludmemkov, from whose story (A Reasonable Man) I swiped the idea. Comments 
always welcome.
-Downing Street
HARRY BOOBDAY
---- 1 ----
The morning was mild and the leaves were just breaking on the trees when Cecilia 
stepped out of the townhouse where she lived with her mother, locked the door 
carefully behind her, and set off for school. A thin, shy, brown-haired girl, 
she habitually walked with her head down and books pressed against her chest. 
She was a little worried about the history test she had that morning. She 
noticed someone coming out of the Nomeda house next door, probably Nick. Maybe 
she could avoid him.
In contrast to the trendy townhouse where Cecilia lived, the Nomeda house was a 
big, stately, old Victorian building that squatted in the middle of a huge lot 
like it had been there forever, its yard perpetually shaded by a ring of grand 
old elms and maples. The house was a better preserved example of the rundown, 
older homes that had been torn down to make way for the new townhouse complex. 
Cecilia was one of the few teens in the complex, the majority of the units being 
occupied by upwardly mobile young couples or established professionals. Although 
Nick was her age he attended a different school, some private institute for 
gifted students.
Cecilia looked up to see Nick Nomeda looking at her. That guy gave her the 
creeps. There was something weird about his eyes. He smiled at her as he walked 
closer. A sly, knowing smile, almost sinister. He said something, still looking 
at her. It sounded like "harry boobday"
"What, what did you say?" she said blankly, her eyes locked on his. "I didn't 
hear you."
"I said Happy Birthday, Celia. It is your birthday today, isn't it?"
"What? Oh, yeah, it is. Thanks." Those eyes....
"You're eighteen now, right?"
"Yes. How did you know--"
"I guess you're legally an adult," he said. "and all the pleasures of womanhood 
are yours." He turned suddenly and walked away.
Cecilia shook her head. What was that all about?
 
Maybe I'd better get a haircut, Cecilia reflected, looking at herself in the 
mirror next morning. I'm getting kind of shaggy. She ran her hand through her 
mousy brown hair. It felt a little thicker than usual, probably that new 
shampoo. But hadn't she gotten a haircut just two weeks ago? She finished 
getting dressed for school.
 
Lydia Loveswell had just popped out to get the paper when she heard a friendly 
voice behind her. "Good morning Mrs. Loveswell." She turned to find the Nomeda 
boy smiling at her. He had schoolbooks under one arm. "Good morning. Uhm, Nick 
is it?" She knew he was the son of the Nomeda's who lived in the big house at 
the end of the street. She didn't like them particularly; they always struck her 
as a little strange. And the boy was just odd, in some undefinable way.
"Yes, that right. Nick Nomeda. I guess we're neighbours. Nice day to be outside, 
isn't it."
Somehow Nick's innocent remark made Lydia feel very awkward. Of course she was 
hardly dressed to be outside. She was standing on the front steps of her 
townhouse, still in her nightgown and slippers, with her housecoat unfastened. 
She had just opened the door to get the newspaper.
"Yes, yes it is." she said uncertainly, drawing her robe more tightly around 
her. He had not taken his eyes from her face, but somehow she felt exposed. 
There was something odd about this kid.
"I hope we can be good neighbours," the boy went on. "My mom says a 
neighbourhood is sort of like a marriage. If you want to get along you have to 
be co-operative. Make accommodations. Otherwise you'll get into a fight with 
your neighbours and end up not talking. Sort of like a divorce, huh?"
Lydia stood motionless, newspaper in hand. What a peculiar choice of analogy. 
Did he somehow know of her own impending divorce? How could he, she had only 
been to see her lawyer today. It was just a coincidence. "Yes, I guess it is 
sort of like that," she found herself saying. "You have to try to co-operate." 
What was it about his eyes?
"Well, I have to get to school. I'll be seeing you, Mrs. Loveswell." He turned 
and trotted away down the street, leaving Lydia standing on her front step. 
After a moment she shook herself out of her reverie and went back inside.
 
Later that day Cecilia slipped into a washroom between classes, dropped her 
books beside the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She lifted her loose 
sweater and examined herself. No wonder she had felt so uncomfortable this 
morning: her bra was too small. It was an old one, and she had probably just 
outgrown it. She decided to go shopping after school for a new one.
Late that afternoon Cecilia tried on the new bra in the changing room of a store 
in the mall. She had graduated to a new cup size. Finally. Being a late bloomer 
was one thing, but Cecilia had despaired of her breasts ever getting to decent 
size. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Maybe she should get a haircut while 
she was here.
 
David Loveswell put down his briefcase and leaned over to give his young wife a 
peck on the cheek. She turned away. "You're late," she said coldly.
"Awe c'mon, don't start that crap. I just stopped for a drink on the way home. 
We won the Crumpett case! I felt like celebrating."
"You could have called."
"Shit, Lydia, baby, I never got the chance. Come on, don't be mad." He put his 
arms around her. "Look, I'll tell you what. Why don't we skip dinner and have a 
little celebration of our own." He let one hand stray to her behind so she would 
know what he meant. "Afterwards we can order in Chinese food."
Lydia, who hated being called baby, was about to reply that she was in no mood 
for his thoughtless advances. But then she remembered her conversation with the 
Nomeda kid that morning. Maybe she should try being a little more co-operative. 
Accommodating. That was important, wasn't it. She forced a smile. "All right, 
Mr. big-shot lawyer. Let's celebrate."
"That's my girl!" David was privately surprised at his wife's willingness to 
have spontaneous sex, but he wasn't about to let a good chance go to waste. He 
took her hand and led her to the bedroom. Later, after David had finished his 
usual selfish lovemaking, Lydia lay on the bed and reflected that it had been a 
little better than usual. She had co-operated, concentrating on getting him off 
rather than just her own pleasure. She felt good about that.
 
"There you go," said the stylist, lifting off the blanket. "What do you think?" 
Cecilia regarded herself in the mirror over the sink. Her new haircut looked 
sharp, her normally drab hair appearing somewhat fuller than before. Maybe a 
shade lighter too. That new shampoo was working wonders. "I like it," she said. 
She squirmed a little. Somehow she had bought the wrong size of bra.
 
It was Saturday morning and Cecilia regarded her naked torso in her bedroom 
mirror. There was no doubt about it. Her breasts were getting bigger. That was 
good news as far as Cecilia was concerned, but wasn't this kind of fast? She was 
on her second new bra in less than two weeks. Talk about a growth spurt. She 
hefted her breasts experimentally. Yes, they were definitely heavier. She 
brushed a thumb over her left nipple and started at the rush of pleasure. More 
sensitive too.
"Isn't it about time you got a haircut?" Cecilia's mother said over breakfast 
one morning.
"But Mom, I just got one. Less than a week ago. My hair is going nuts!" She 
brushed her long bangs out of her eyes.
"Don't be silly dear," her mother said, "Hair only grows an inch a month."
"Mine's more like an inch a day," Cecilia said, but her mother wasn't listening.
"There goes that Nomeda boy. What's his name? Rick?" She was looking out the 
window.
"Nick"
"Yes, of course. He's a strange one. I wonder what he's talking to April about?" 
April was a neighbour. She worked in an office downtown, real estate or some 
such. A round, friendly woman. "You know, I ran into him on the street the other 
day, and we had the strangest conversation. He's remarkably thoughtful for a boy 
his age. We got talking about his schoolwork, and he kept saying that it wasn't 
brains or luck that got you through but discipline. You had to work at it, like 
anything else. Discipline...." She took a sip of her coffee, lost in thought. 
Cecilia brushed her hair out of her eyes and felt her breasts shift beneath her 
sweatshirt.
 
"Look," said Lydia Loveswell, hands on her hips, "If you must drag me to these 
stupid company parties, you could at least have the decency not to flirt with 
every bimbo in the place!" She glared at her husband furiously.
Her husband crushed his beer can in one hand. "I wasn't flirting, dammit! I told 
you, Monica simply wanted to know something about my work so I told her, that's 
all."
"I'll bet she did. Does your legal expertise include cross- examining boobs? 
Hell, David you were practically drooling!"
"Lydia that's bullshit and you know it. I was just working the room. These 
parties are important; if I want to get ahead, I have to fit in socially with 
the senior partners."
"Oh, really? Tell me, which of Monica's headlights is the more senior?" She 
looked at her enraged husband in disgust.
He thumped his hand on the arm of the chair. "Jesus Lydia, will you give it a 
rest! It just so happens that Monica is a fully qualified legal secretary, and 
she works for one of the partners. She can be a pipeline to the inside circle. 
It's not my fault that she's also good looking. I was just being sociable." 
Though he would be a lot more than just sociable given half a chance. Shit but 
that woman had a body. Wasn't shy about showing it off, either.
"Sociable!" Lydia spat. "You danced with her half the night. It might have been 
sociable to spend a few minutes with your own wife, too! Or were you too 
mesmerized by big tits to remember that?"
David said, "For god's sake Lydia stop it! You're acting like a jealous 
fishwife. Monica is a great dancer and I happen to like dancing. And maybe I 
wouldn't need the company of other women if my wife was a little more of a real 
woman and less of a dried up prude!"
Lydia reeled at the insult and started back with a vicious retort. Her 
conversation with Nick Nomeda came back to her. Co- operation. That was key. She 
forced herself to calm down.
"I--, well, all right," she said softly.
David blinked. "What?"
"You're right, David. I'm over-reacting. It was just a party, and, and you know 
what you have to do to get ahead. I guess I can't blame you for talking with 
Monica, she is very pretty. Do you want another beer?"
David looked at her, nonplussed. "That would be fine," he said.
 
"Hey, Celia, you got your hair done!" exclaimed her best friend Leanne by her 
locker one day. "Looks good!"
Cecilia brushed her hair back and smiled nervously. "Thanks, I'm, uh, wearing it 
differently. Makes it look longer." She wanted to talk about something else.
Leanne ran her fingers through the shoulder-length hair. "Did you color it too?"
"No!"
"Oops. Sorry. I just thought, it looked...lighter, that's all. Why are you so 
touchy?"
"It's nothing. I'm having a bad hair day."
After school she stopped by a hairdresser for another haircut. She was too 
embarrassed to go back to her regular salon, not less than a week after her last 
cut. As she sat forlornly in the chair the woman fussed over her light brown 
hair, suggesting a number of different styles. "It's almost a shame to cut it," 
she insisted, fluffing it up with her fingers, "It's so strong and healthy. You 
know, it would take a perm really well."
"Just cut it." Cecilia growled. "Short."
The hairdresser sighed. "Very well, if that's what you want." She picked up her 
scissors and proceeded to trim Cecilia's hair boyishly short. Cecilia sat 
uncomfortably in the chair, reminding herself that after the cut she really had 
to go buy another new bra.
Both improvements lasted less than three days.

Harry Boobday
---- 2 ----
Cecilia came into the living room to find her mother flipping through a catalog. 
It looked like mostly fashion leather. "Mom," she said, "I think there's 
something wrong with me." "Why, what makes you say that?" her mother said, 
setting aside the glossy catalog. "Goodness, but your hair is getting long, 
isn't it. Why don't you get it cut?"
"But I did! On Tuesday. And the week before too! My hair is growing like crazy. 
Look, it's down past my shoulders now. What's happening to me?"
"Oh come now, Cecilia, nobody's hair grows that fast."
"Mom!"
"OK, OK, let's take a look." She got to her feet and walked around her daughter, 
examining her hair from all sides. She ran one hand through the thick locks. "It 
looks very nice dear," she said kindly, "You must be taking better care of it." 
Cecilia rolled her eyes but said nothing. "Hmmm, that's funny." her mother said, 
examining the top of Cecilia's head. In her heels she was several inches taller 
than her daughter.
"What? What's funny?"
"Your hair is lighter at the roots. Almost blonde. You haven't died it or 
anything have you?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, I can't see anything at all wrong with your hair, dear. Maybe you're 
going through a growth phase?"
"I'm eighteen! This is as grown up as I'm supposed to get."
"Hmmmm. It is unusual, I'll grant you that. Still...."
"It's not just my hair, Mom."
"Oh?"
"My breasts too. Look." She opened her blouse. Her breasts were round and pert, 
the nipples distended.
"Honey, why aren't you wearing a bra?"
"Because none of them fit, Mom. Haven't you been listening? I've gone through 
three bra sizes in the last two weeks! I won't be able to get into my clothes 
soon."
"Well, that does seem rather fast. But you were always sort of small, then, 
weren't you dear."
"Well, that's not a problem any more, is it?" Cecilia said sarcastically. "And 
besides, they're really....sensitive. You know?"
"Oh, I see, do they hurt?"
"No, that's not what I --"
"Look, Cecilia, you're just blooming a little later than the other girls, that's 
all. You should be delighted. Don't worry, in a few weeks you'll be perfectly 
comfortable with the new you."
"But Mom--"
"Look, if it makes you feel better, if this is still bothering you in another 
week we'll go see Dr. Bloomsworthy, all right?"
"Sure Mom." She sighed deeply.
Her mother turned to walk away, walking elegantly in her high heels. Cecilia 
frowned. "Mom?"
"Yes dear." She had picked up the magazine again.
"Why are you wearing heels at home? I thought you said those shoes pinched your 
feet."
She smiled. "They do. I'm punishing myself."
"Punishing?"
"Yes. You see, I had a cookie after lunch today. If I'm going to loose that ten 
pounds I've been talking about I have to maintain better discipline. So I'm 
punishing myself. Every time I take a step it reminds me that snacks are 
forbidden. It's a simple system."
Cecilia rolled her eyes again. Why did her mother have to be such a flake? She 
rebuttoned her blouse, and one finger accidentally brushed a nipple. She 
shuddered, and fought the urge to do it again.
 
"Sorry I'm late honeybunch," said David Loveswell casually, setting his 
briefcase on a kitchen chair. "We had a late meeting about that bankruptcy. I 
guess I sort of forgot about the time."
Lydia put down her book. "You always forget about the time," she said curtly. 
She rose. "Anyway, your dinner is in the oven."
David caught the anger in her voice. "Look, don't start, OK, Lydia. I can't go 
ducking out of an important meeting just to call my wife! This was a pretty 
intense discussion."
Lydia scowled at him. "It only takes five minutes, David. Is your precious 
lawyer's time so valuable you can't tell your own wife she's wasting time making 
supper?"
"Look, I just never got the chance, all right. Now I've had a long day, I'm 
tired and I'm in no mood for your bitching. So let it go, OK?"
"Oh sure! Just toss me aside like yesterday's newspaper. For a change you could 
-- I mean you should --," she faltered, frowning. After a moment she continued 
in a calmer voice. "Well, you're home now, so let's not argue. Did you have a 
busy day?" She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
"What? Uh, yeah, pretty busy I guess. Lot of referrals lately, which is good. 
Shows the partners trust me."
"Well, come have supper. I kept it warm for you." She patted his chair.
David sat and ate, studying his pretty young wife warily. She was acting a 
little strangely. They had been fighting of and on for most of their four-year 
marriage, and David privately feared a separation lay ahead. But they were 
arguing less and less lately because Lydia kept quitting half-way through. In 
the midst of a furious exchange she would stop, gather her thoughts for a 
moment, and then capitulate. Tonight David had anticipated a stormy reception at 
home, but Lydia had abandoned the argument almost before it got started. Now she 
was being extra nice to him, as if she were somehow embarrassed about having 
raised her voice. She must have noticed the alcohol on his breath when she 
kissed him, but she never even mentioned it, even though it blew a gaping hole 
in his concocted story about a long meeting. In fact the only meeting he had 
attended was in a bar with Monica, the stacked secretary.
"I'm sorry I blew up at you like that," Lydia said a few minutes later, taking 
his empty plate away. "I should have realized you would be working. Would you 
like a martini?"
"Yes! Sure. But I thought you didn't like me drinking the strong stuff at home."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, never mind that, I was just fussing. No, 
don't get up, I'll get it." She tripped over to the bar and began mixing 
spirits. Still unsure of what was going on, David followed her into the 
livingroom and settled comfortably into his favourite chair.
A moment later Lydia slipped into his lap with his drink. "Here you go," she 
said, "olive and all."
David sipped it. "Mmmm, perfect." He decided to press his luck. "So, what say 
you and me go to bed?"
"Now? It's only seven-thirty!"
"I know." He pawed one breast crudely.
To his amazement, Lydia did not pull away. "Ooooh, David you randy man. Come on, 
finish your drink and let's go!"
As usual, once they got undressed David was on her in an instant, apparently 
incapable of grasping the concept of foreplay. But this time it hardly mattered 
because Lydia was already wet. Just the thought of giving her husband sex, of 
doing something to please him, was enough to turn her on. And David's powerful, 
artless strokes pleased her like never before. She wrapped her legs around his 
back, pulling him to her. "Oh yes yes yes!" she thought dizzily, on her way to a 
blinding orgasm, "it feels so good to co-operate!"
 
Cecilia stood before the mirror in her bedroom, examining her nude reflection 
critically. She had to admit it looked pretty good. Her hair was getting 
lighter, no question about that, and it fell down over her shoulders in rich, 
inviting tresses. She had cut it herself the other day, carelessly whacking off 
big chunks with a scissors, but it had already grown all that back and more. Now 
it fell down the middle of her back, well below her bra strap. Or where her bra 
strap would be if she were wearing any these days. It seemed pointless to invest 
in new ones until her "growth spurt" was over, which didn't look to be anytime 
soon. Smiling, she hefted her full chest in both hands, admiring the swelling 
roundness of them. She had always wondered, back in her bee-sting days, what it 
would be like to pack a pair of proper 36's. Well, now she knew.
Although the rapidity of their growth still alarmed her, Cecilia conceded 
privately that she liked her new look. Her breasts were as round and flawless as 
those of the pin-up girls she saw on the covers of men's magazines, jutting 
proudly out from her chest like twin balloons. Yet somehow despite their size 
they defied gravity so well that she was able to get away without a brassiere. 
Her hair, previously limp and thin, was growing thick and bouncy even as it 
lengthened. She was getting lots of looks at school; from classmates, sometimes 
even from teachers. She was getting asked out on dates too. For Cecilia that 
kind of attention was a new thing and she was basking in it. It was becoming 
increasingly difficult to find clothes in her closet that she could wear, 
however. A major wardrobe upgrade was definitely called for.
She was still holding her breasts, and inevitably her fingers began to gently 
knead and caress. "Mmmmmmmmm, that feels nice," Cecilia muttered, as her fingers 
strayed to her reddening nipples. Her boobs were so incredibly sensitive these 
days. Sometimes even the feel of clothing against her bare chest was enough to 
set her off, which made for interesting times at school. Especially when she 
wore the green wool sweater.
She was actively squeezing and fondling her breasts now, and her breathing was 
becoming rapid. "I'm soooo hot," she told her reflection. One hand slipped 
downward and began to tease the outside of her sex, pushing aside the sleek 
curls of pubic hair. At least her hair down there wasn't growing any faster, 
although she noticed that her triangle was growing lighter to match the hair on 
her head. Still fondling her boobs with one hand, she slipped in one finger, 
then another, not at all surprised to discover she was already moist. Her hips 
were starting to gyrate, back to front. Cecilia gazed into the mirror at the 
sexy, long-haired young woman who was pleasuring herself with increasing energy 
and had trouble believing it was her. "Ohmygod," she groaned, stumbling backward 
toward the bed. "I think I'm going to be late for school!"
 
Dr. Bloomsworthy scratched his head, surveying Cecilia's bare chest with a 
physician's eye. Yet she wondered if there wasn't just a bit more than 
professional interest in his intense gaze. They were in one of the doctor's 
examining rooms, and Cecilia was seated on a high table, her new sweater in her 
hands. "I can't say I've ever seen anything like this before," he said, now 
studying Cecilia's silky smooth hair over the top of his glasses. He picked up a 
long lock and let it fall. "When did you last get your hair cut?"
"Sunday. I did it myself again, with a pair of scissors."
"But that's only three days growth! How much did you take off?"
Cecilia shrugged. "About a foot, maybe two. She grabbed a strand of blonde hair 
and pointed at the middle. "About here."
The doctor held up the lock of hair where she had pointed, let it fall in loose 
curls. "But that's-- that's over a foot of new growth! In seventy-two hours! His 
voice quivered with astonishment. "Extraordinary. Altogether extraordinary!"
"I didn't believe it myself when she first told me, Doctor," said Cecilia's 
mother. She was sitting in a chair by the wall, her purse in her lap and her 
back straight. She was still wearing the toe-pinching high heels, coupled now 
with a long, tight, leather skirt in tasteful lavender. "But she showed me the 
cuttings. What do you think it means?"
Dr. Bloomsworthy frowned. "Maybe some kind of hormonal imbalance. I'll have to 
run some tests. Have there been any other changes besides the accelerated 
growth?
"Other changes?" Cecilia scoffed. "Other changes! Doctor, I'm blonde! Don't you 
remember I used to be a brunette? I dream of Celia with the lank brown hair. Now 
I'm a beach bunny! It's starting to curl on its own too. This is just too 
weird." She toyed with a yard-long strand of gorgeous blonde hair, a feminine 
gesture she had picked up without realizing it.
"And you say your breasts are also showing accelerated growth?"
Cecilia arched her back a little, letting the melons on her chest jut out a 
little further. "What do you think, Doctor," she teased. "You saw me a couple of 
months ago, remember? For that flu. I was a thirty-two inch bust then."
He was studying her with a mixture of shock, scientific interest, and, something 
else. "And now?"
"I was a nice 36 last time I measured myself. But that was a week ago. I'm quite 
a bit bigger now."
Dr. Bloomsworthy fished around in a drawer until he found a tape measure. He 
slipped it around her chest and pulled it tight across the front. The tape 
pressed gently against Cecilia's nipples and she drew in her breath. "Be...be 
careful, Doctor," she breathed.
He pulled the tape away with his finger marking the measurement. 
"Extraordinary," he said again. "You're sure it was just a week ago?" Cecilia 
nodded. Still holding the tape measure, Dr. Bloomsworthy stepped back, scratched 
his chin and studied Cecilia's chest for a long time. He looked fascinated. 
Cecilia was getting a lot of looks like that these days. In spite of herself she 
felt her nipples stiffening.
At last she said, "Doctor?"
He roused himself. "Hmmm, what? Oh, yes. Quite an exceptional thing. It could 
just be a late spurt of maturation, after all, I suppose. But the rate of growth 
is unusual. I'd like to do some blood work, if you don't mind Celia. That's the 
quickest way of seeing if anything is amiss. Are you feeling any discomfort?"
Cecilia blushed a little. "Well, no pain, if that's what you mean. But they are 
really, uh, sensitive."
"I see. Well, no need to be alarmed just yet. It could be nothing. I'll take a 
little blood now, and we'll get that out of the way." He began pulling vials and 
syringes out of a supply cabinet. "Which arm would you like?"
Cecilia's mother got to her feet quickly. "I'll just, um, wait outside if that's 
all right," she said, averting her eyes. She hated needles.
Dr. Bloomsworthy looked up from swabbing Cecilia's arm. "Yes, of course. But 
please send the nurse in, won't you?"
Cecilia's mother exited quickly, the enchanting sway of her derriere exaggerated 
by the high heels and advertised by the curve- hugging leather skirt. She had 
taken to walking with a deliberately feminine gait, putting one foot directly in 
front of the other as if she were walking a tightrope. When Cecilia asked her 
about it she had explained that she was trying to improve her posture. It was a 
simple matter of self-discipline, she said.
Dr. Bloomsworthy drew two blood samples and put the vials aside. Then he looked 
at Cecilia's chest and scratched his chin again. He bent down and examined them, 
one at a time, with the intensity of a collector studying rare postage stamps. 
"Uh, Doctor?" Cecilia queried.
The doctor looked up. "These are really quite remarkable." Unexpectedly he 
reached out and cradled them, one in each hand.
Cecilia gasped from the sensation. "Oh! Please, uh, do be carefulllll, Doctor!" 
she exclaimed.
"You must have exceptionally strong musculature, here," he explained, running 
his fingers down the top slopes of her breasts.
"Doctor! Please be, be, careful. I'm really, verrrrry sensitive!"
He let go of her breasts, reluctantly, just as the nurse entered the room. 
"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."
Cecilia drew a deep breath and reached for her sweater. "Believe me Doctor, it 
wasn't pain! When will you have any results from the blood tests?"
"Give it a week or so. Until then try not to worry too much. I'm sure it's 
nothing out of the ordinary." He seriously doubted that last statement.
Cecilia struggled into her snug-fitting sweater (it hadn't been snug when she 
bought it) and threw back her long blonde locks. "Thanks, Doc." she said, then 
left to find her mother.
Dr. Bloomsworthy watched her go, taking a long last look at her incredible boobs 
and blonde hair. Extraordinary. In twenty years of medical practice he had never 
seen anything like it. And in twenty years he had perfected clinical detachment 
to the point where even the most captivating display of feminine charms had no 
effect of him. Until now. He looked down at the steel-hard erection straining 
his pants.
"You called, Dr. B?" said the pretty young nurse.
"Oh, yes, Yvonne, could you send these boob samples over to the hospital? Sorry, 
I meant blood samples. Yes, please send these blood samples over to the 
hooterville. Have them run all the standard tits. I mean tests. I'd like to have 
results by mammary, er, monday." He was perspiring. "Just send the damn 
samples."
"Of course, Doctor," the nurse said, backing out of the room.
 
"Why do you have to wear pants all the time," David Loveswell complained one 
evening. "You have such great legs." In this he was being perfectly honest. 
Lydia's legs alone were a large part of the reason that he had married her. 
David was sitting in the livingroom, working on his second martini that Lydia 
had prepared for him.
Lydia was just putting away a couple of magazines and she looked down at her 
fashionably snug bell-bottoms. "You don't like these? You told me they flattered 
my behind." She was very well dressed for an evening at home, in a new striped 
sweater and black, wedge-heeled sandals.
David was feeling a little loose from the booze. "Sure, they're great, but 
they're still pants. Why not wear a dress now and again. Make you look like a 
real woman. Give a fellow something to come home to."
"Well David, I don't think --" She stopped and considered. The habit no longer 
surprised David, nor did her compliance a moment later. "You always did like my 
legs, didn't you honey. Tell you what, wait here and I'll go get changed." She 
shuffled off to the bedroom in her platform sandals.
David admired the sway of her rump beneath the tight pants and smiled slyly. He 
still had no idea what had come over Lydia, but he definitely liked it.

Harry Boobday
---- 3 ----
Cecilia was late for school again the morning after her visit to Dr. 
Bloomsworthy. She spent a long time sitting in front of her bedroom mirror 
combing her long blonde hair. It seemed to fall into place pretty much on its 
own, sliding in gentle, glistening waves down to the small of her back, but 
Cecilia loved to comb it anyway. It took a long time for her to convince herself 
that it was truly her reflection looking back at her. Was there something 
different about her face? She pursed her lips, trying to decide if they were 
fuller, or if it was just the framing effect of the hair. And down below were 
her marvellous, ballooning breasts, with the raspberry red nipples that hardened 
at the lightest touch. Would they ever stop growing? She couldn't resist 
touching them, to marvel at their new smoothness and unnatural buoyancy, and 
that felt so good that she ended up back on her bed for a long and delightful 
finger fuck. When she recovered her breath she dressed in a pair of stretch 
jeans and one of her newer sweaters that wasn't yet impossibly tight.
The door to her mother's room was slightly open as Cecilia passed by, and she 
noticed her mother getting dressed too. She stopped and did a double-take. Her 
mother was already wearing high heels, a sleek new pair in patent black, and 
dark stockings with an elaborate woven seam up the back. She was busy clipping 
the stocking tops onto the bottom of a black silk thing that looked like a tight 
bustier. "Mom?" Cecilia said.
"Oh, good morning dear," her mother said with a smile, looking up. "Aren't you a 
little late for school?"
"Mom, what is that you're wearing?"
"This? Why this is a corset dear. How do I look?" She finished the last clip and 
pirouetted gracefully. She reminded Cecilia of an illustration from a Victorian 
adult novel. The satin corset pulled in her stomach and pushed her breasts out 
and up, where they spilled over the top invitingly. The lace cups of the corset 
skimmed just below her nipples. Her legs looked splendid in the sexy stockings, 
and the seams up the back led the eye from the tops of her four-inch heels 
upward in gentle curves to where the garters stretched across her black-pantied 
behind.
Cecilia frowned. "You look, um, good, Mom, you look good. But isn't that thing a 
little uncomfortable?"
"I'll get used to it, I'm sure. It's all a mat--"
Cecilia raised a hand. "Don't tell me. It's a matter of self-discipline, right?"
"Exactly dear." Her mother beamed. "Now run along before you're late for 
school."
 
Cecilia's white sandals crunched on the gravel as she made her way quickly down 
the alleyway behind the townhouse complex. It saved her a few steps coming home 
from school, and since she was quite late she had decided to take the shortcut. 
She would have to think of a likely excuse to placate her mother. Maybe tell her 
she had been studying in the library. She bit her lip, grinning, and threw back 
her lustrous blonde hair. Some studying.
She had been strolling home after another day of making her male classmates walk 
into things when a car pulled up beside her and Josh from the football team 
popped his head out and asked her if she wanted a ride. The walk home wasn't 
really all that long, she did it every day, but Josh was a total stud with an 
ace sports car so she wasn't about to say no. Celia climbed into the car beside 
him and her unrestrained breasts bounced playfully. He had trouble keeping his 
eyes on the road.
Cecilia was wearing a fashionably short little skirt over an orange sweater; the 
skirt had a sort of bib up the front that fastened with two clips to the 
suspenders up the back. The outfit was a nice compromise: it allowed her to 
dress up without looking like she was putting her chest on display, as most tops 
did nowadays. It showed off her legs too. Celia's burgeoning bosom was 
attracting so much attention that she had started wearing minis just for 
compensation; sort of a reminder to the world that she was more than just tits. 
It didn't work; now guys stared at her chest and her legs.
Somehow the ride home took a lot longer than planned. Josh suggested that they 
take a ride down by the lake, and they parked among the trees and necked for a 
long while. Cecilia had no intention of letting things go any further, but when 
Josh's hands found her super-sized jugs the jolt of sexual pleasure that fired 
through her incinerated her self-control and in a few moments she found herself 
sprawling sideways on the seat, sweater up and suspenders unfastened, whimpering 
and mewling excitedly while Josh licked and nibbled and sucked her tits like a 
starving man. She hadn't realized it was possible to achieve an orgasm from 
breast stimulation alone, but Josh's oral attention brought her to a peak in 
minutes. She was still coming down from that one when she noticed Josh had his 
pants down and his cock out. Entangled on the carseat she gave him a gentle 
breast-fuck until he came all over her giant chest, and she climaxed again as 
she rubbed the rich goo into her skin. Josh gazed at her adoringly as they both 
slid down from the love-making high, and Cecilia realized in that moment that 
she could have Josh anytime she wanted.
Eventually he took her home and now Cecilia was hurrying up the back alley so 
she wouldn't get a lecture from her mother. Actually, her mom was so 
pre-occupied with her own self-discipline these days that she hardly noticed 
what Cecilia did. Nevertheless, Cecilia had a date that evening and she needed 
time to give her hair its daily trim.
She noticed another figure coming down the alley toward her, and her heart sank. 
It was Mrs. Quidnunc, the neighbourhood tight- ass. She was maybe in her late 
thirties and had a good job with the government. But in her spare time she spied 
on all her neighbours and pumped everybody for gossip, always looking for some 
moral blight that she could pass prudish judgement on. Cecilia didn't like her 
very much but her mother insisted that she be civil with the neighbours. And 
Mrs. Quidnunc, as luck would have it, lived next door.
But what was she doing in the back alley, with her head down and her shoulders 
hunched, studying the ground in front of her? That wasn't like Mrs. Quidnunc, 
who always strode down the front sidewalk with regal bearing, her nose held 
high. She had seen her like that the other day, talking with Nick Nomeda in 
front of her townhouse, and her small eyes had flicked her way as Cecilia walked 
by, registering her new look with frank disapproval.
Mrs. Quidnunc did not look up as Cecilia approached. She seemed to be in a 
hurry. They reached their respective back gates at the same moment. "Good 
evening Mrs. Quidnunc." Cecilia said respectfully. She wondered for the 
hundredth time where she got that peculiar name. The older woman looked up, 
startled. "Oh, yes. Celia. I did not see you there." She spoke carefully, 
enunciating every word. "Fuck me," she said distinctly.
Cecilia started. "Excuse me?" She couldn't have heard what she thought she 
heard.
"I am sorry, dear," Mrs. Quidnunc said, looking about furtively. "I must have 
fuck me said something awful. I meant to say fuck me."
Cecilia took a step backward. "Uhm, Mrs. Quidnunc, are you, like all right?"
Her neighbour heaved a great sigh. "This is so frustrating." She leaned over the 
picket fence conspiratorially. "Please try to fuck me understand. There is 
something fuck me terribly wrong with fuck me. I can't seem to stop suck on my 
tits saying the most terrible things. I can't even paddle my ass tell when I'm 
doing it! I try to say a simple greeting, like "fuck me", and it comes out like" 
-- she lowered her voice -- "good evening."
"My gosh, that's terrible. What, I mean, how long have you had this, um, 
problem?"
"It just started this week, out of the screw me blue. No warning. I was fuck me 
silly fine last week!"
"How, how do you, I mean, how do you, like get through the day?" Cecilia asked, 
amazed.
Another deep sigh. "Fuck me, it isn't easy. I mostly try to avoid talking. Can 
you imagine how hard like a nice hard cock that is? I work in a big fuck me 
office. I've had to pretend that cum on my face I have let's fuck laryngitis all 
week. What am I going to spank me do?"
Despite her dislike Cecilia found herself sympathizing with her neighbour's 
plight. "Have you been to see a doctor?"
"Yes, I'm a cunt yes. I had to book the fucking appointment in person because I 
kept fuck me swearing into the goddam fucking telephone." She shook her head. 
"The doctor I love cocks said something about repressed fucking emotions or some 
such lick my nipples. He thinks I should be fucking a psychologist." She looked 
at Cecilia with a pleading, subdued expression she had never seen before. "Tell 
me honestly; do you think I'm a cocksucker?"
Cecilia was momentarily dumbfounded. After a long moment Mrs. Quidnunc hung her 
head. "You're right, maybe I am going crazy," she said. There was another 
awkward pause. "You know," Mrs. Quidnunc said at last. "This whole episode has 
really made me think about my husband. For the first time in years I miss him. 
Isn't that remarkable? We had our share of problems, but he always knew what to 
do in a crisis. I could depend on him. I wonder what he would say about this 
little problem. " 'Just be yourself and stop worrying so much about other 
people' or something like that." She sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't have divorced 
him after all."
"Mrs. Quidnunc!" Cecilia exclaimed. "You've stopped swearing!"
Her neighbour was appalled. "Oh dear, you mean, I've fuck me been saying nasty 
things all along?"
"Ohmygosh, I'm sorry. I guess you didn't realize. But all the time you were 
talking about your ex-husband you didn't swear once."
"Well, isn't that the strangest thing. Ever since this screw me started I fuck 
like a rabbit haven't been able to get through two sentences without saying 
something awful. I wonder.... Maybe I should call him. I still have the number 
somewhere."
Cecilia looked at her watch. "Yikes, I really have to go, Mrs. Quidnunc. My mom 
will be holding supper for me. I hope your problem works out." She turned and 
trotted up the walk, boobs and blonde hair bouncing brightly.
"Thanks for listening, dear," Mrs. Quidnunc called after her, "I love it up the 
ass!"
 
Cecilia's mother was just putting supper on the table when Cecilia came in. 
"Sorry I'm late, Mom," she said, "I was talking with Mrs. Quidnunc."
"Well get to the table dear, and let's eat." She set two plates of food on the 
table, bending stiffly at the waist. Today she was wearing an above-the-knee 
blue leather skirt that pulled sleekly over her hips and thighs. Her stockings 
were delicate black lace and her feet were wrapped in glossy blue, high-heeled 
sandals with thin leather straps winding tightly over her foot and far up her 
ankle. She had become very fond of clothing with straps that she could lace up 
tight. Cecilia could tell by the exaggerated hour-glass figure that she was 
wearing one of her corsets beneath the blue silk blouse.
"Is that all you're having?" Cecilia asked as she dug into her own supper.
"I'm watching my weight, dear."
"But Mom, you said you had lost those ten pounds."
"That's right, and I intend to keep them off too. I have a long way to go to 
really get in shape. I can't let discipline slack off, you know."
Cecilia started to say something, then stopped. Life sure was going weird this 
last little while.
After supper she retreated to her bedroom to get ready for her date. She slipped 
out of her clothes and looked at herself in the full length mirror. "What the 
hell is happening to me?" she asked her reflection. "My titties just keep 
getting bigger." She had taken to thinking of them as her titties; words like 
breast seemed too clinical for pneumatic pleasure-pillows like hers. She twisted 
this way and that, admiring her incredible profile. Her boobs thrust out from 
her chest like they were filled with helium, still not showing the slightest 
sag. "Titties, titties, I love my big titties" she sang quietly, pinching the 
raspberry-sized nipples. "Mmmmmm, that feels nice. And my titties love me!" She 
played with herself for a few moments, watching the movement in the mirror, but 
then with an effort she stopped. Better save it for the date. Doug was supposed 
to be taking her to a movie, but she was pretty sure that she would be having 
some great sex before the night was over.
First thing to do was trim her hair. She fluffed it out gently, letting the 
thick golden curls sweep over her shoulder and down her back. Then she pulled it 
around and carefully carved off about six inches with a scissors, so the end 
fell a few inches above her hips. It would grow that back in a day or so.
It took a while to find something to wear; many of the tops and sweaters she had 
purchased last week were too small again. She settled at last on a short A-line 
skirt and a black ribbed sweater with a little gold zipper at the throat. The 
sweater didn't strain so much if she undid the zipper. Then she stepped into a 
pair of comfortable platform slides -- not the kind of outrageous spikes her 
mother lived in these days -- and touched up her make-up. Studying herself in 
the make-up mirror, she could see that her lips were definitely getting fuller, 
her skin smoother. Her eye-lashes had undergone the same transformation as her 
hair, so now she had long, thick, upward-curving lashes that framed her bright 
eyes dramatically and turned a simple wink into foreplay.
A car horn sounded outside. Cecilia admired herself for one more moment, threw 
back a lock of flawless blonde hair and hurried off to greet her date. Doug was 
like totally buff and he had never even noticed her -- until now.
Loud music pulsed in the living room as Cecilia walked by. She poked her head in 
to see her mother working out vigorously to an exercise video. She had changed 
into a shiny black body- stocking with yellow stripes up the sides, matched with 
bright yellow socks and expensive white training shoes. Her shoelaces were shiny 
yellow.
"Mom!" Cecilia shouted over the video, "I'm going out now."
Her mother didn't pause in her leg-lifts. "That's fine dear," she called back, 
"Don't be too late. You have school tomorrow." Cecilia had been going out a lot 
lately.
She left her mother to sweat by herself and hurried out to meet Doug. He was 
sitting patiently in his car but when Cecilia appeared he looked up and his eyes 
locked on her spectacular chest. "Hi Doug," she sang.
"H-h-hi, Celia," Doug said. "You look -- terrific!" His voice was tinged with 
awe.
They didn't even make it to the movie.

Harry Boobday
--- 4 ----
"Mmmmm, yum yum yum I love David's cock," said Lydia Loveswell to herself as she 
slurped noisily on his tool. "Why on earth didn't I try this sooner?" They were 
in the livingroom, David in his favourite chair and Lydia on her knees in front 
of him, looking like a wet dream in black lace underwear, sheer black stockings 
and mirror-black high heels. It was an outfit David liked. Lydia's sexy little 
black dress was lying on the floor.
"Hey, you're getting a little better babe," said David arrogantly. "Try to take 
a little more in this time." Lydia did as she was instructed, concentrating on 
swallowing as much of her husband's substantial cock as she could manage. Her 
long earrings glittered as she bobbed her head up and down. She still wasn't 
expert by any means, but David said she was improving, and that was what 
mattered. She wouldn't be satisfied until she could swallow him completely.
Sex was so much better when she made an effort to be conciliatory, Lydia 
reflected, as she earnestly gave her husband his evening relaxation. Throughout 
their marriage she had resisted oral sex, convinced it was degrading and 
uncomfortable. Now she realized that attitude was selfish and unco-operative, 
and she was eager to make amends. Unexpectedly, she discovered that she loved 
it! She had never imagined David's cock in her mouth could feel so good! If this 
was co-operation she would co-operate night and day! In fact sucking David off 
got her so excited that Lydia had started playing with herself while she sucked. 
She stopped though, when she realized it was taking her concentration away from 
giving him her absolute best effort. That was critical. She had to make sure she 
accommodated his needs.
 
The Vice-Principal frowned as he studied the papers in front of him. "Cecilia, I 
called you in because I'm frankly concerned about your performance in this last 
semester." He looked up at her from behind his old oak desk and Cecilia was 
certain she detected something more than professional interest in his eyes. His 
gaze lingered on her supernatural chest, ill-concealed behind a bulky black 
sweatshirt with the logo of the city football team on the front. She matched the 
sweatshirt with clingy, black tights and low-heeled black ankleboots. The dark 
clothing contrasted splendidly with the radiant waterfall of hair tumbling down 
over her shoulders and far down her back, and the slimming tights only 
emphasized her top-heavy figure.
Cecilia wasn't at all surprised that the VP was staring at her. Just about 
everyone did lately. She could hardly go out on the street without causing 
traffic accidents. She gave the VP her best sweet-innocent look, while girlishly 
twisting a strand of hair around one finger. "Why, whatever do you mean, sir?" 
she said, trying not to sound nervous. She had never been summoned to the VP's 
office before. Generally only chronic flunkies, truants and trouble-makers got 
sent to the VP. There had to be some mistake.
"Cecilia," said the VP, "You have always been a consistent student. I've got 
your reports here and I see mostly high C's and B's, even a few A's. If you 
finish your year with the same level of performance, I see no reason why you 
shouldn't get into college. But lately you have fallen off rather badly."
"I have?"
"You came down badly on your history midterm. You failed your last two math 
tests; and now Mr. Faraday tells me you haven't even turned in a book review for 
English class."
"Well, I've been, uhm, kinda busy," Cecilia said lamely. In truth she hadn't 
been doing much homework lately. She was out on dates most nights, and when she 
did half-heartedly sit down to read one of those boring English books her 
attention would wander to the marvels of her ever-growing titties and before she 
knew it she had lost a lazy hour sprawled on her bed playing with herself. The 
books were too hard anyway.
"Evidently not too busy with classes, though," the VP said. He held up a stack 
of late-slips. "Cecilia you have been late every morning this week, and last 
week too. You have been skipping classes and cutting out early. This simply will 
not do!"
Cecilia shifted her weight slightly and the movement made her breasts bounce a 
little under the sweatshirt. She noticed the VP's attention shift back to her 
chest. "Now, Cecilia, I realize that you have gone through an um, unusual, er, 
period of... delayed development, and I can imagine that that has been somewhat, 
ah, distracting." He seemed uncomfortable with this part of the discussion. 
"Nevertheless, I simply cannot let this truancy continue. You need to be 
applying yourself if you want to finish the year with a respectable average. 
Therefore," he pronounced, "I am assigning you detentions every evening until 
you have made up these tardies."
Cecilia was shocked. How could he do that! She had dates lined up every night 
this week, she couldn't waste time sitting around in study hall! There had to be 
some way out of this. The VP did seem to like her looks; maybe she could 
sweet-talk him.
She planted her best pouty look, and lowered her heavy eyelids. She was wearing 
dark mascara to highlight her three- quarter-inch lashes. "Sir," she said 
softly, deliberately tossing back her mane of shiny blonde hair, "I don't think 
you understand the strain I've been under. My body is changing so fast!" She 
took a couple of steps around the side of his desk, walking with the deliberate 
wiggle she had seen her mother use. "I mean, I've put on more than nine inches 
of bust size in less than a month! And they're still growing! See?" She tugged 
down the bottom of the sweatshirt, letting her breasts bulge through the fabric.
As she had hoped, just the outline of her boobs was enough to distract the VP's 
attention. His gaze rivetted to her chest and his frown softened. "Yes, well, 
perhaps this has been, er, a...tumultuous time for you, but, uh, that is, you 
mustn't let your uh, physical condition, interfere with your schoolwork," he 
said, with rather less conviction than before.
"But Sir, they interfere with everything!" Cecilia demurred, taking another step 
toward him. "I'm even having trouble finding clothes that fit. That"s why I've 
been late for school some mornings." Well, that was one reason.
She smoothed down the front of her overfilled sweatshirt as if to emphasize the 
point, and the effect was even more gratifying. The VP couldn't seem to tear his 
eyes away. "Yes, I see, uh, well, perhaps there are, uh, mitigating 
circumstances here, but still, you must understand, the rules on attendance are 
firm." He licked his lips. "Very firm...."
Smoothing down her sweatshirt brought the soft cotton fabric against Cecilia's 
nipples and a familiar tingle coursed through her. She felt certain from the 
VP's rapt gaze that she could talk her way out of this; men just couldn't seem 
to resist her marvellous titties. "I guess I have missed a few classes," she 
said contritely, shrugging back her golden locks so her breasts bounced 
charmingly. "But things have been really confusing lately. I've gotten sooo big, 
sooo fast, that I can't even find underwear that fits!" She dropped her voice to 
a secretive whisper. "So, you know what? Most of the time, I just don't wear 
any. Look!" Abruptly she grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it up 
over her chest.
Cecilia was standing right beside the VP's chair and her eye- popping breasts 
were suddenly bouncing and swaying right before his eyes, the nipples red and 
protruding. The Vice-Principal gasped in shock. "C-Cecilia! What on earth are 
you doing! Put those away this instant! They're gigan -- I mean, cover 
yourself!" But he was staring helplessly.
Cecilia felt wanton. "They're unbelievably sensitive too, Sir," she said, 
running her hands over the swollen globes. She pinched her nipples and thrilled 
at the feeling. "Mmmmm, that feels so intense. See how my nipples are all stiff? 
They're like that practically all the time."
"Now, Cecilia I, I order you t-to cover yourself this instant!" said the VP, an 
edge of shrillness in his voice.
Cecilia ignored him. "Look," she said, "I can even suck on my own nipple." She 
bent her head and used both hands to raise her left breast to her lips. She 
suckled noisily for a few moments, occasionally swirling her tongue around, 
mewing contentedly. "That feels so wonderful," she said, batting her long 
lashes.
"Cecilia, please..." the VP moaned.
She slid one knee up onto his chair. "Now you try."
"No, wait, you musmmphth mmmphth mmmmmmthm" The VP's pitiful protest died on his 
lips as Cecilia calmly thrust her tit into his mouth. Instantly his basic 
instincts took over and he began sucking and licking in earnest, all thoughts of 
discipline forgotten. His hands came up to encircle her breasts and he bobbed 
and nibbled hungrily on her boob while Cecilia soothingly stroked his hair. When 
after a long time his mouth slid off her red, wet nipple, it was only to 
transfer, panting, to the right breast and start over.
"Oh fuck but that feels good!" Cecilia exclaimed, eyes closed. Already her first 
orgasm was not far away.
Forty-five minutes later Cecilia stepped out of the VP's office into the 
deserted hallway, smoothing down her clothing languidly. The sweatshirt hid the 
shine on her chest where she had rubbed the VP's semen into her skin like rich 
lotion. Wonderful man, he had saved a second round for her. She looked at her 
watch. She was late for supper, again, and she had to get home to prepare for 
tonight's date. She headed for the door, pausing just long enough to toss a wad 
of late slips into the trash bin. A lone janitor was cleaning the floor and he 
gawked at her as she sauntered by, all tits and tights and fabulous blonde hair. 
Tomorrow, she decided, she would pay a visit to her English teacher.
 
The telephone rang several times before Lydia heard it over the vacuum cleaner. 
She turned off the machine and tripped over to the telephone table, her high 
heels silent on the carpet. "Hello. Oh, hello Mr. Barrett." She listened for a 
moment, idly examining herself in the hall mirror. Her mascara looked good.
"Yes, I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you about that," she said at last. "But 
I don't think I want to proceed with the divorce....yes, I know you've done a 
lot of paperwork already, but you see, David, my husband, and I have come to a 
reconciliation." What a funny word, she thought. She remembered the way they had 
"reconciled" on the diningroom table the day before and her pulse quickened. 
Only half-listening to the lawyer, she slipped one hand under her miniskirt and 
gently stroked herself with a red-nailed finger. David liked it when she didn't 
wear underwear at home. It was so convenient for quickies. "What's that?" she 
said to the telephone. "Oh, no I'm quite certain. Yes, you can, mmmmm, put the 
file aside. That's fine...if you have to bill for oooooh, time spent, then 
please go ahead. My, my husband will take care of it." She sighed. "He takes 
care of everything." She was using two fingers now. The lawyer rang off and 
Lydia turned her full attention to her thrusting fingers, watching herself in 
the hall mirror. A divorce was the last thing in the world she wanted now. Not 
after she had learned so much about being co-operative. She hoped David would 
come home soon.
 
It was late Saturday morning. Cecilia stood before her bedroom mirror, naked 
except for a pair of gaudy, mirror-black pumps decorated with long silver 
chains. The shoes were brand new, discarded after a few days by Cecilia's mother 
when she moved up to five-inch heels. Cecilia admired her image vainly, casually 
stroking herself with one hand. "Let's face it, honey," she told her reflection, 
"I'm a goddess. A fucking love goddess." Puckering her deep red, lusciously full 
lips, she blew herself a kiss. She ran her free hand over her super-sized 
breasts, enjoying their smooth feel and impossible roundness. Maybe her chest 
had finally stopped growing; she had measured herself three days running and 
come out with the same measurement: 44 inches, a little more when the nipples 
were hard, which was pretty much all the time. Maybe now she could start wearing 
a bra again. She snickered. "What the fuck for?" she asked her breathtaking 
reflection. Her breasts continued to flout the laws of physics, bouncing high on 
her chest and straining outward without the slightest regard for gravity. 
Perhaps that contributed to their almost hypnotic effect on men.
Her hair had stopped growing too, or at least it had slowed down a little. The 
colour of corn silk and shiny as spun gold, the thick coils cascaded over her 
shoulders and down her back, framing her smooth, impossible curves like a golden 
halo. The mantle of curls ended just above the crease of her ass. Cecilia had 
given up trying to keep it shorter when she noticed that the more she cut off, 
the faster it grew back. Only when it was at full bum-length did it slow down to 
something even approaching normal. Now she only had to cut it once a week or so.
With her fingers still teasing above and below, Cecilia made her way back to her 
bed. "Mmmmm this love goddess is horny," she murmured as she stretched out on 
the unmade bed, golden hair all around her and her enormous breasts pointing 
skyward like ballistic missiles. She had been out very late the night before, on 
a date that had blossomed very quickly into a backseat lovefest. The poor fellow 
had sprouted a hard-on within minutes after Cecilia got into his car.
Cecilia withdrew her hand from her lovenest and wiped her fingers on her nipples 
until they glistened wetly. She had moved her bed around so she could watch 
herself in the mirror while she played. The telephone rang several times before 
Cecilia noticed. Then she remembered that her mother would be out at her 
Saturday morning aerobics class. She rolled over on her side and lazily picked 
up the telephone by her bedside. "Hello."
"Ah, Cecilia, is that you?" said the voice.
"Yes, this is Cecilia." She brushed her right breast idly with a lock of hair.
"Oh, good, I'm glad I caught you. This is Dr. Bloomsworthy. We finally have the 
results of your blood work. I'm sorry it took so long, but the lab had to repeat 
some of the tests. The results are....unexpected."
"Oh?" said Cecilia, without much interest. Her free hand strayed downward. She 
was so horny this morning.
"Tell me," said the telephone voice, "have your breasts, uh, continued to 
enlarge?"
"Oh, yes, they're much bigger now."
"How... how big?"
She told him.
There was a long pause. "And your hair?" His voice sounded a trifle husky.
"Still growing," said Cecilia. Except on my legs, she reflected idly; she lifted 
one leg and ran her free hand down the smooth calf. She was still wearing her 
mom's high heels.
"Cecilia," said Dr. Bloomsworthy, "I think you had better come in and see me 
right away."
Cecilia's hand was busy between her legs again.
"Really? Why's that?"
"Your blood tests showed a massive hormonal imbalance. Estrogen levels 
especially are extraordinarily high, and growth regulators are off the charts. 
It's almost like you're going through puberty, except magnified somehow. Are you 
following me?"
"Wha? oh, s-sure Doc." She cradled the telephone against her neck so she could 
use both hands to stroke herself.
"I don't want to alarm you," the doctor continued, "but I'm sufficiently 
concerned about this that I think you should come in for some more tests without 
delay. Then maybe we can start thinking about a treatment-- Cecilia are you all 
right?" She was panting into the telephone.
"Sure, I'm fffffine doc, just oh oh, yes, just fffine," Cecilia gasped. "I'll 
call you back!" She hung up abruptly. Maybe she should be concerned about the 
hormone business, but she was too horny to think about that right now. And 
besides, why would she want to get treatment for her wonderful titties?
 
Dr. Bloomsworthy parked his car in front of the row of townhouses and checked 
the paper in his hand. Yes, this was the street. He climbed out of his Peugeot 
into the bright spring sunshine and surveyed the quiet street. The townhouse 
complex was a splendid example of insensitive development, plopped down square 
in the middle of an established, if inopulent, neighbourhood with only a token 
attempt to conform to the architecture of the older houses. Hadn't there been 
some sort of noisy protest when the development was proposed? It had made the 
papers for a while, if he remembered rightly. He looked about him. Most of these 
graceful old brownstones could be quite lovely if they were given a little 
attention. The big one at the end of the street was especially impressive, 
although its dark exterior and heavily shaded yard made it look forbidding.
Back to the matter at hand. Dr. Bloomsworthy checked the address in his hand 
again, and looked for house numbers. Where would unit 24 be? He had decided to 
make a house call on Cecilia himself, to see if he could convince her to come in 
for another examination. The results of the blood tests were amazing, to say the 
least, and if Cecilia's description of herself on the telephone had been 
accurate, she was a medical mystery of the first order. It was of course, 
medical curiosity that motivated him. That and concern for a patient's 
well-being. The fact that he already had a boner just from anticipating what she 
looked like was irrelevant.
The townhouse complex was bigger than it looked, and unit numbers didn't run in 
order. Dr. Bloomsworthy conceded eventually that he would have to ask 
directions. It was a fine Saturday afternoon and many of the residents were out 
in their doormat-size yards. Dr. Bloomsworthy decided not to disturb the young 
woman who was mowing the lawn in a bikini and high heels. A few doors farther 
along, however, he encountered an even more interesting sight.
The woman was petite, but her figure could only be described as lush. As 
curvaceous and perfectly proportioned as a spiral staircase, she was tending 
flowerboxes by her front door, her every move and gesture effortlessly smooth 
and sexy. She was dressed in bright, tight, red shorts and a matching athletic 
top that bared most of her deeply tanned belly, topped off with white canvas 
ankle boots. Curly brown hair framed a dimpled, high-cheeked face.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," Dr. Bloomsworthy said politely. "Could you tell me where 
unit 24 is?"
The woman looked up and a warm smile suffused her features. "Well, hellooo there 
handsome," she said, stepping down the front steps toward him. "What made you 
decide to brighten up my day?" Her perfect legs glinted as she walked and Dr. 
Bloomsworthy noticed she was wearing sheer nylons. Her every move radiated sex 
appeal.
"No, really, I just need to find unit 24, if you don't mind," said Dr. 
Bloomsworthy. This woman was doing nothing to relieve his hard-on.
"Pleasure to meet you," the woman cooed. "My name's April. What's yours?"
"Uh, Bloomsworthy. Edgar Bloomsworthy. I'm looking for a patient of mine, she 
lives in --"
"Ooooh, you're a doctor!" April gushed. "I love doctors. Would you like to come 
inside for a drink?" She looked up at him brightly.
"Uh, no, thank you, not right now; I have to find unit 24. My patient --"
"You know, as a doctor I bet you'd like to hear about me," April interrupted 
again. "I've lost 53 pounds in under four weeks. Pretty good huh?" She took a 
step backward and posed with her hands on her full hips.
Dr. Bloomsworthy accepted the invitation to stare at the intoxicating curves 
spilling out of her too-small top and shorts. "Fifty-three pounds! Are you quite 
certain? What kind of diet did that? You should be more careful; extremely rapid 
weight loss can be dangerous!"
"Oh I didn't go on a diet. The weight just melted away! And I feel splendid!" 
She slid her hands deliberately down her hips.
"Extraordinary" breathed the doctor, staring. "Altogether extraordinary."
April shuffled forward and took his arm. "Maybe you should come inside and 
examine me," she urged, pulling him toward the door. "I probably need a complete 
physical."
With some difficulty Dr. Bloomsworthy resisted the invitation. "No, wait, 
miss...uhm, April, I really can't right now." He unpeeled her hand from his arm. 
"I have a house call to make. If you could just tell me where to find unit 24?"
"If I tell you, will you promise to come visit on your way back?"
"Well...OK, all right, I promise," the doctor lied.
She diddled with his tie. "Three units down, the red door on the left side. And 
when you come back, I'll show you my new exercise program!" She blew him a kiss, 
then walked back to her doorway, one hand on her hip, the tight shorts, sleek 
nylons and block-heeled boots displaying her lush curves to maximum effect.
"Holy cow," breathed Dr. Bloomsworthy, watching her go. "Maybe I should move 
into this neighbourhood."
With April's directions it took only a moment to find the right door. He rang 
the doorbell and waited. After a few moments the unmistakeable tap of high heels 
could be heard from the other side. The door opened, and Cecilia's mother stood 
in the doorway. "Dr. Bloomsworthy!" she breathed.
The doctor's jaw dropped. He knew Cecilia's mother as a patient, but he had 
never seen her -- could not have imagined seeing her -- like this. She was 
dressed in a black satin corset with red laces up the bodice, tied very tightly 
in a big knot just below her protruding cleavage. Lacy red garter straps pulled 
sleekly over her black silk panties, connected the bottom of the corset to the 
top of black fishnet stockings, which in turn sleeked down her long legs and 
disappeared into a pair of calf-high black leather boots. The boots had red 
laces up the front, also tied very tightly, and about the highest heels the 
doctor had ever seen. She wore red satin gloves that ran up her arms well past 
the elbow, and a black velvet choker, inlaid with glittering, multicolored 
rhinestones.
After a long silence the doctor finally managed to stop gaping and attempt 
conversation. "Ahhh," he said blankly. He swallowed. "G-Good afternoon! 
Hu..how...how are you?" He noticed that her hair was done up in some 
complicated, elegant braid, and she was wearing carefully applied make-up that 
highlighted her eyes and lips.
Cecilia's mother looked down at the gleaming, pointed toes of her boots. "I've 
been bad," she whispered apologetically. "Please spank me!"
 
The familiar scent of candles permeated the livingroom as Nick Nomeda walked in. 
His mother looked up from her meditation and smiled at her only son. "Have you 
finished?" she asked.
"Yes Mother. I gave Cecilia a gift for her eighteenth birthday, as you asked 
me."
"How thoughtful of you. Did she enjoy it?"
"I'm sure that she does. I have given gifts to many of our other new neighbours 
as well."
"Excellent. Your father will be very proud of you." She rose gracefully and 
stepped out of the bright pentangle painted on the floor. "We didn't want that 
new building here, as you know, but your father thought it would have 
been...conspicuous to use our full powers of dissuasion. So now we must learn to 
get along with our neighbours. Were all your gifts accepted?"
"I believe so, Mother."
"Excellent," she said again. "You have learned your lessons well." She kissed 
his cheek. "I always knew you were a backward child," she said proudly.