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From: downing@street.com (Downing Street)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Repost by Request:  "Harry Boobday" [1/2] (M/F, mc, magic, growth)
Date: Wed, 21 May 1997 11:41:39 GMT
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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.
(I fixed a couple of typos in this version)
     -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.


                              ---- 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 on 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.


From downing@street.com Wed May 21 07:46:13 1997
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From: downing@street.com (Downing Street)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Repost by Request: "Harry Boobday" [2/2] (M/F, mc, magic, growth)
Date: Wed, 21 May 1997 11:46:13 GMT
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                              ---- 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.


                              --- 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.


