

THE GOLDEN GOOSE 

 

by Some Sort of Dog 

 

 

This is a story mainly about large breasts. There may be a suggestion 

of explicit sexual activity between adults, but although some of the 

characters have not yet reached adulthood, they are not described as 

indulging in sexual activity with adults. The story is a fantasy and 

should not be read by anyone under eighteen, or whatever the age of 

consent is in the place where you live. 

 

 

 

 

THE GOLDEN GOOSE 

 

by Some Sort of Dog 

 

 

Chapter 1:- Unworkable, But Interesting 

 

"Here's another batch of readers' letters, BJ, the same old theme." 

 

BJ Cunis took a letter from the top of the pile and indicated an 

empty chair. "Take a seat, Will, this could take some time." The 

lined face looked no happier as he put the letter down slowly on his 

desk and picked up another. As he scanned the page, he shook his head 

sadly. "Are they all like this?" 

 

Wilma Harkness, the Editor of HUMUNGOUS! magazine, nodded silently. 

She reached across the desk. "Excuse me, BJ:" she plucked one letter 

from the stack of what looked like almost a hundred and ran her eyes 

down the neat handwriting. "They're not all so destructive; here's an 

interesting idea. Probably unworkable, but interesting." 

 

BJ took the large sheet of quality notepaper, and studied it. "Bit of 

a change from some of these things, written in the john with whatever 

came to hand." He read the first few sentences. "Hmm. Thought you 

said it was different." 

 

"It gets better halfway down the page." 

 

"What, you mean this bit here? 'Having read every copy of HUMUNGOUS' 

... without the exclamation mark ...'since it consisted of forty-

eight black and white pages, I feel sad that it shows signs of going 

the way of the opposition. There are more pages now, but more lurid 

phone-sex ads, too. And the models! They're either silicone cows - 

the same ones as in every other magazine - or fat chicks I wouldn't 

even want cluttering up my barn. What your readers want are 

attractive young women with large breasts. Very large, natural 

breasts. You published some in the past. Where are they now?' A nice 

line in rhetorical questions, Will, but what's he suggest we do about 

it?" 

 

"She's coming to that, BJ." 

 

"She, huh?" The magazine owner turned the page and read on in silence 

for a few seconds, then he lowered the letter in trembling fingers 

and looked long and hard at Wilma. "You mean this offer? Crazy? Or 

just dumb? Look at this ... 'My daughter, for example, developed 

enormously a couple of years ago. She is still not old enough to 

model; but looking forward two more years, at her present rate of 

growth, she could be the big bust model of the century! And by then, 

she'd be street legal.' Jeez! Who is this mother?" He scrutinised the 

signature. "Ah, the girl's mother, obviously! What's this?" he looked 

at the fuzzy Polaroid Wilma handed to him. "Why can these amateurs 

never get anything sharp?" he grunted. "Shit, she's a big'un, 

though!" 

 

"It's one girl, BJ," said Wilma, but it would only need a handful of 

girls like this ...," she watched as BJ reached into his desk drawer 

for a magnifier and studied the Polaroid again, "... to take us back 

to the top of the heap again!" 

 

"You mean, we're not top of the heap any more?" 

 

"I think we all accept that, BJ. We can't keep going on memories. 

We're running on empty." 

 

BJ ran his hands through his still thick but now greying hair. Wilma 

watched him tenderly. He didn't need all this hassle. He had every 

right to expect a quiet life. He had launched HUMUNGOUS! twenty years 

back, to cater to the big breast connoisseur, and had seen the 

magazine grow in size as well as in readership and reputation. 

 

As its first woman editor, Wilma believed passionately that the 

magazine deserved its place by virtue of its quality alone, but she 

knew, deep inside, that it was dying on its feet. Another few months, 

perhaps, and ... who knew? 

 

"What's causing this, Will?" The owner sat back in his chair and 

rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Is there anything we can do to save the 

ship?" 

 

"Too many glossy fat cats chasing too few models," Wilma summed up. 

"We still attract the top natural models, but they're disappearing. 

Even some of the natural-looking ones are implanted. You know which 

ones they are. We still have the best layouts, some of the best 

photographers, our fiction is second to none, we don't stoop to the 

tacky so-called gossip pages, the phoney interviews, the inflated 

measurements ... maybe that's it, we're too honest!" 

 

"Never! So what do you think about this crazy female selling her 

daughter for our centre-spread in two years' time? Is there a chance 

of finding a few more like her? Because if we could ... exclusively, 

of course ... we'd scare the shit out of the so-called opposition, 

once and for all!" 

 

"It would cost, BJ. Either even more ads, and risk alienating the 

readers even more, or another increase in the cover price ..." 

 

"Come on, say it! Or some more of my millions poured into the 

bottomless pit, okay?" 

 

Wilma looked down at her fingernails. "It's the only way, BJ." 

 

"And you think the magazine is worth it, don't you." 

 

She looked up, trying to stop her lower lip from trembling so much. 

She could only nod her agreement. 

 

"See what you can find out in a week! Contact this woman ... Mrs 

Fielding ... and ask her about her little Donna. That's the easy bit. 

You're going to have to discover half a dozen more Donnas. 

Preferably," he went on drily, "some that are old enough to model 

straight away, or at least, in less than a year. Good luck, Will, 

you're going to need it. But if anyone can find these girls, you 

can." 

 

Wilma swallowed hard. Would that she shared BJ's conviction! "And if 

... when I find them ...?" 

 

"We'll have to see about that. See the girls, their folks. But how 

about free medical care, private schooling, clothing - an important 

issue, that one - in return for exclusive rights to HUMUNGOUS! for 

their nude debut layout. And if they still want it, breast reduction. 

Afterwards. All they have to do is postpone the surgery for a year or 

two." BJ's eyes were alight. It was good to see him like this again. 

"I'll see you next week, same time." He stood up, gathered the 

readers' letters in a pile and handed them to Wilma, then in a 

strangely formal gesture, thrust out his hand. 

 

 

********** 

 

"Well, so far, so good." Wilma grinned up at her assistant as she sat 

down in her swivel chair. "Fix yourself an appointment with this Mrs 

Fielding, soonest. Make sure her daughter is available. Go down to 

her place, we don't want them coming here, it's too public." She 

reached for a phone directory. "And, Maggie? Don't give anything away 

on the phone. Non-committal as regards offers, but sound encouraging. 

Tall order, as usual!" 

 

Maggie adjusted her oversized specs which gave the appearance of a 

startled owl. "As usual, chief! I'll get on to her straight away." 

She returned to her own desk, as Wilma admired her assistant's ripe 

figure from astern. 

 

Mags could have been an ideal HUMUNGOUS! model, thought Wilma, but 

she's a little too much like the girl next door for our readers' 

tastes. Nice girl, shame about the face. Not that I can brag of being 

a candidate for a layout in my own magazine. I may be pretty enough, 

but these tits are a few cup sizes short of the HUMUNGOUS! threshold. 

 

Meanwhile, though, Wilma had another lead to pursue. She found what 

she was looking for, and picked up the phone. 

 

 

********** 

 

It was the next evening, and Maggie was driving slowly down a quiet 

lane in the country. "It's got to be down here somewhere," she said 

to herself. "I've been up and down this road three times ... ahh, 

what's that?" It was a gateway, facing the opposite direction. It was 

only a brief reflection of her headlamps off a sign which attracted 

her attention. She wound the window down and peered at the small 

wooden board on a rickety post. 'Fielding's Joinery Services' was all 

it said, in faded letters. "Gotta be the place", she grunted, and 

turned into the overgrown driveway. 

 

There was a light at the end of the drive, and a shack, or bungalow. 

"Needs a coat of paint," she observed, coming to a halt. The 

Fieldings fallen on hard times and selling their daughter?" 

 

The bell didn't work, and the door knocker only produced a barking 

dog somewhere inside the house. At last, Maggie heard footsteps. 

"Quiet, Rachel," ordered a woman's voice, and the door opened 

cautiously, restrained by a security chain. "Hello? Who is it?" 

 

"Maggie Wallace. Cunis Publications. The office called you 

yesterday?" 

 

"Oh, good. Hang on a second." The chains were unhooked and the door 

opened a little wider. Mrs Fielding was a good six inches shorter 

than Maggie, less than five feet. She looked past the assistant 

editor into the gloom outside. "You're on your own?" she asked. 

 

"Yes, only me." 

 

"You're braver than I am. Come in!" The door opened fully. "Sorry 

about the security. We feel vulnerable out here, just Donna and 

Rachel and me. My name's Laura, by the way." She held out a small 

hand. It was a confident handshake. "Come into the kitchen." Laura 

led the way along a passageway toward a half open door. Light, warmth 

and savoury cooking smells wafted out at them. "Ah, here. Take a seat 

while I stir this pot. You'll stay for a bite of supper, of course?" 

 

"Well ..." Maggie hadn't any intention of staying, but as Laura took 

the lid off the pot, she realised how hungry she was. "I'd love to!" 

she said. "I've had nothing since breakfast." 

 

"You girls never look after yourselves. Too busy, I suppose? Anyway, 

there's too much here for the two of us, Donna and me, so I hoped 

you'd help us eat it." Maggie watched as the little woman stirred the 

pot, then sipped from the spoon. She looked critically at the spoon 

for a few seconds, then beamed. "Most satisfactory! Another half hour 

or so. Donna will be back by then." She pulled up a kitchen chair, 

and to Maggie's surprise, turned it round so she could straddle it, 

resting on the wooden back. Laura had quite a shapely figure, it was 

noticeable. Nowhere near as well-developed as the Polaroid showed 

Donna to be, and not in the HUMUNGOUS! league, but slim and well-

curved. 

 

"You must think it's a bit strange, my writing that letter. In fact, 

as soon as I'd dropped it in the mail box, I was overcome by shame. I 

nearly tried to get it back. But, as you can see from the state of 

the house, we're desperately short of money. It's as simple as that. 

Since my Harry died, two years ago, we've kept going, just, but it's 

been a struggle. In fact, the letter was Donna's own idea!" 

 

"Donna's?" Maggie raised an eyebrow. "You mean, it was her idea to 

model for us? She's seen the magazine?" 

 

Laura smiled to herself. "Harry had a stack of them hidden away. I 

always knew he had them somewhere, but never found them, more's the 

pity. We could have read them in bed! Then, one day, I came home and 

found Donna reading one. She'd discovered them in a cardboard box in 

the shed. I didn't know what to think, but d'you know what she said?" 

 

"I wonder if I can guess what's coming!" 

 

"Probably, but it still amazed me. She said, 'hey, look at the women 

in these magazines I found. And I thought I had big titties!' And she 

actually said she'd like to pose the way those women were, just to 

try!'" 

 

"What did you say to that?" Maggie was fascinated by the mother's 

description of the scene. 

 

"What could I say? We sat down and looked through all the books. 

There were some real old ones, black and white pictures, you know? 

And Donna was enchanted by them. All the time, she was pointing them 

out, 'look at that one, look at this one, look at HER', and in the 

end, she said she wanted to pose like those, and make us all some 

money! I should have told her not to be so disgusting - I mean, she 

was still only fourteen then - but she wanted to do it for us." 

 

"So you didn't try to dissuade her?" 

 

"Sure, I tried. But once our Donna gets the bit between her teeth, 

there's no stopping her. She takes after her dad. As she said, she 

was certainly more than big enough, even two years ago. She was as 

big as some of the women in those magazines: bigger than some. And 

now ...!" 

 

"She's even bigger?" 

 

Laura giggled. "Tell me about it! Anyway, getting back to two years 

ago, I ended up taking those mags to bed with me, and I even read the 

stories, and thought, WOW! Do people actually write stuff like this, 

I thought! Little Laura's led a sheltered life." 

 

"People write those stories, and other people read them!" Maggie 

smiled. "They're reckoned to be the best fiction in any magazine. We 

pay well. For stories and pictures." 

 

Laura's face brightened. "You do? But Donna's still too young for 

another two years. That's what was worrying me, while I was writing 

the letter. I mean, I wrote without knowing if the magazine was still 

in existence. With the recession and everything? I thought, what's 

the use of doing this, building up our hopes, when even if they think 

Donna's pretty enough, she won't be able to pose for two more years! 

Although, to look at her, you'd never know she wasn't twenty-

something, at least." She ended wistfully, watching Maggie closely. 

 

"We're noted for our quality, our fiction, our pictures ... and our 

integrity," Maggie said with a slight shake of her head, and Laura 

understood. She stood up and took the lid off the cooking pot again. 

Silence fell, and stretched out. There was the faint sound of a car 

door slamming, engine noise dying in the distance. 

 

"Here's Donna now. She's been baby-sitting. It keeps her in shirts, 

although not in brassieres," Laura stirred the pot more vigorously. 

 

"Hi!" called a voice, as the front door opened and closed. "Just got 

to pay a quick visit," it said urgently. 

 

The two women looked at each awkwardly. "That dinner smells 

incredible! I didn't realise quite how starving I was," said Maggie 

to fill the silence. 

 

>From the hallway, the voice came again. "Is that car in the drive our 

new one, or does it belong to ..." Donna pushed her head round the 

kitchen door and smiled around, brightly but nervously. 

 

Maggie had imagined her as being taller. The Polaroid had been taken 

from a low angle. Donna, though, was even shorter than her mother. 

Certainly quite a bit less than five feet. She had her mother's long 

blonde hair, down to below the shoulders of her dark grey jacket. 

"You must be Miss Wallace," she said, her blue eyes clear and steady 

on Maggie's face. "I always wondered what a lady pornographer looked 

like!" She laughed, a happy ripple of sound. 

 

"We're fairly normal people, just the one head, two of everything 

else," chuckled Maggie, as she shook hands with the girl. 

 

"I'd better take my coat off," Donna said, withdrawing from the 

doorway for a moment. "That smells great, I'm half starved," she said 

as she came back in, and went over to kiss her mother. Then the two 

turned to look at Maggie. It was a difficult moment. Maggie felt like 

a farmer buying a prize pig. The prize pig and her mother were 

understandably nervous. 

 

The Polaroid hadn't been exaggerating, Maggie realised as she tried 

not to stare at the girl. Even in jeans and a chunky sweater, the 

sheer size of her bust could not be ignored. No bra, she thought, 

look at them, they're never still for a second. She can't go into a 

shop and just buy a ready-made one, that's for sure. 

 

"Dig some dishes out of the cupboard, love," said Laura, "this is 

ready." The girl brought three large dishes and placed them next to 

the stove. "God, Miss Wallace, I hope you're hungry. There's tons 

here. Or should it be gallons? I've over-estimated, I'm afraid." 

 

"We'll manage," insisted Donna, rubbing her hands and laying out the 

cutlery, her heavy breasts hanging freely inside her sweater and 

brushing the table as she bent over.



Given the circumstances, it could have been a strained atmosphere, 

but as Donna chattered away about her baby-sitting, they all relaxed. 

In no time, they were all convulsed, with streaming eyes, as the girl 

described an incident involving the children. Donna got up from her 

seat. "Anybody else need a glass of water?" she asked. "Mother's been 

a bit liberal with her seasoning again!" She mopped her face with a 

handkerchief. "Or maybe it's just me ..." 

 

"Is it hot in here?" asked Laura, and Maggie shook her head. "It's 

just you, Don, and no wonder, in that bloody great sweater!" 

 

"Can we do a striptease for free?" Donna asked, her head on one side. 

Maggie said nothing, but started to reach for her purse. "Here goes, 

then!" and the youngster fumbled briefly with the hem of her sweater. 

"I hope I remembered to put something on underneath!" she giggled, 

nervously. Then she pulled it over her head, and hung it quickly over 

the back of her chair. "There!" She glanced at Maggie nervously. 

 

Maggie realised her mouth was open. Donna was enormous, there was no 

other word for it. Well, there were one or two other words. Humungous 

would do for a start. With or without the exclamation mark. The girl 

sat down slowly, still looking at the assistant editor, who had said 

nothing. There was nothing she could say that would make any sense. 

She had a feeling of triumph. What would Wilma say when she told her 

this bit of news? 

 

She felt they were waiting for her to say something. "Donna," her 

voice was cracking. "I think you have the biggest breasts I have ever 

seen in my life! You are just the kind of girl we need." She 

faltered, afraid she might have committed herself too far before 

negotiating terms. "Of course, in a T-shirt, it's a little difficult 

to be certain. Perhaps after we've finished our meal ...!" 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2:- Donna 

 

The meal was over, and there was somehow a tension in the kitchen. 

Donna rose to her feet first. 

 

"I'm the one on trial here, but it feels as if you two are as nervous 

as I am," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's go in the living 

room." 

 

Maggie looked at Laura and they both shrugged, and started to follow 

Donna through the door to the hall. "I'll bring the coffee, you go 

right on in there, Miss Wallace," said Laura. By the time Maggie was 

into the living room, the busty girl was standing by the fireplace, 

shivering slightly. 

 

"I was too hot in there, now I'm feeling the cold," she said. Then 

she took a deep breath and said, "should we wait for my mother, or 

shall I take my shirt off now?" 

 

"There's no rush, honestly. In your own time. Perhaps we ought to 

wait until your mum comes in. We do really need to talk about the 

important thing, the money, first. Which doesn't mean I'm not 

consumed by curiosity." 

 

"They're nothing special, Miss Wallace. They're just big, that's 

all!" 

 

That's all! Maggie shook her head. By the look of them, they'd hang 

down way past her navel. In the thin T-shirt, the nipples were 

prominent. Prominent and low-slung. They pointed downward and 

outward, but they hung in the T-shirt like heavy vegetables in a 

string bag. 

 

"Would you mind telling me something, before Mother comes in?" Donna 

looked embarrassed. "The way you look at me ... at my breasts ... are 

you a ... do you prefer girls to boys?" 

 

Maggie thought about that. "Not necessarily," she said at last. "I'm 

as fond of men as the next person, but I don't restrict my activities 

to men. I appreciate a beautiful woman, too." 

 

Donna nodded, blushing. "I thought I could tell," she said, "But I 

don't know much about these things. Anyway, thanks for telling me! 

And just in time, here she comes now." 

 

"Still dressed then," said Laura, coming in with a tray. "I thought 

you wanted to do a striptease." 

 

"We waited for you," the girl said.  

 

"Much as it pains me," said Maggie, " we ought to talk about the 

terms of the deal before we go any further. In fact, Mr Cunis has 

authorised a figure of five hundred pounds." 

 

Laura's face bore a look of disappointment. "Oh. I see." 

 

"That's five hundred *a year* Mrs Fielding! From the time we sign, up 

to Donna's twenty-first birthday. Thus we will have exclusive 

modelling rights to Donna for the three years after she becomes 

eighteen. Up to that time, there will be five hundred a year as a 

retainer." 

 

"So we get nothing more after she starts modelling than we do now?" 

 

"Well, no. At the moment, she is doing nothing apart from waiting to 

reach eighteen, and Cunis is buying all her clothes during that time. 

Bras alone would be worth, God knows, several hundred a year more." 

 

"So it's worth two and a half grand, plus Donna's clothes. All her 

clothes?" 

 

"We will have to put a limit on the number of outfits you buy, but Mr 

Cunis won't be stingy. Donna is his Golden Goose, after all." 

 

Laura stirred her coffee cup, looking thoughtful. "It sounds okay, I 

suppose, but I had been hoping for a bit more. Will I get to meet Mr 

Cunis himself to finalise the details?" 

 

"You will certainly be able to meet Miss Harkness, the Editor. Mr 

Cunis is out of the country much of the time. Miss Harkness has 

authorisation to arrange the terms of your contract. My job is to 

pave the way. But that two and a half thousand is more like five or 

six thousand in real terms once you throw the clothes in as well. 

Payable up front, annually, of course." 

 

Laura had an old envelope, scribbling figures on it. "How about 

model's fees?" 

 

"On top of the rest?" 

 

"Sure! If she does a photo session, so much a time." 

 

"There will be a number of sessions written in to the contract. If 

she does more than that, we will pay extra." 

 

Laura considered, crossed out a few figures, did a bit of addition, 

then her face seemed to light up. "Right. Subject to contract, you're 

on! I suppose you want to see Donna now?" 

 

"Well," Maggie said with a wistful look at the girl who was looking 

from her mother to Maggie, her eyes narrowed. "I had rather hoped to 

see more of Donna, now you come to mention it!" 

 

Laura laughed. "Go for it, then, Don!" 

 

The girl reached beneath the hanging mounds of her breasts, and 

pulled the bottom of the T-shirt out from the waist of her jeans. Her 

breasts hung even lower. "Ready, then?" she said, and in one swift 

movement, began to pull the shirt up. 

 

"Stop!" Laura shouted. 

 

Maggie turned from Donna to her mother in surprise. 

 

"What's up, Mum?" Donna lowered the hem of her shirt again, covering 

her swaying, low-slung breasts. 

 

"I just thought of something. What if she grows?" 

 

"Grows?" Maggie felt uncomfortable, realising what was coming. 

 

"You are willing to pay five hundred for Donna as she is now. But you 

want really big-busted girls, don't you?" Maggie had to nod. "So what 

if she is a certain size now, but she is bigger in two years' time, 

when she's old enough to pose? And perhaps even bigger when she's 

twenty-one? Surely she is more of an asset to Cunis if she grows?" 

 

"You mean ...?" 

 

"So much an inch," declared Laura firmly. "We measure her before we 

start, using a standard method. We can do it when she gets her first 

custom bra. Then for every inch her bust increases after that, we get 

an extra so much a month." She checked her calculations and became 

more bold. "Let's say so much an inch for every month in which her 

bust exceeds her original size. Ten pounds an inch per month," Laura 

said confidently. "So if she puts on an inch every three months, she 

gets ..." she scribbled on the back of an envelope and looked 

pleasantly surprised, "she gets an extra three hundred over the year, 

and *you* get a girl who is four inches bigger!" 

 

Maggie's brain reeled. She glanced at Donna again. The teenager was 

already huge. It was unlikely that her bust measurement could get 

more than an inch or two bigger than she was already. Surely not! 

 

"Okay," she said. "Sounds fair enough." 

 

"Excellent. Take it off, then, Donna!" 

 

"Wait a minute," the girl complained. "You talk about me as if I 

wasn't here, you talk about me growing an inch every three months 

without a thought for my feelings in the matter. Now you want to see 

the goods? Bloody hell, these are my TITS you are talking about!" 

 

The two women looked at each other, perhaps a little shamefaced. 

 

Her mother spoke at last. "I'm sorry, sweetheart! You're right, of 

course. But it's for the best that we get all this business out of 

the way before you undress. You still want to do it, don't you?" 

Laura looked anxiously at her daughter. 

 

By way of reply, the girl grinned and grasped the bottom of her T-

shirt with both hands. This time there was no warning shout from 

Laura. She pulled it up and over her head. For a moment, it snagged 

on her hair, and she struggled vainly to unhook it, her elbows 

getting mixed up with her massively dangling breasts. At last, it 

came free, and she held the shirt at arm's length to one side, between 

two fingers. It fell to the carpet, and Donna stood with her huge 

breasts fully exposed. 

 

Maggie felt her cheeks reddening. This was unusual, and not at all 

what was expected of the assistant editor of a prominent men's big 

breast magazine! Fortunately, Donna didn't notice, she was bright red 

herself. 

 

"God, this is so embarrassing!" she murmured. "But you see what I 

mean about how big they are?" 

 

Maggie did, certainly. The great sack-shaped mounds were beautifully 

matched, hanging like great big soft eggs, reaching almost to the 

taut crotch of Donna's jeans. The nipples were large and erect, but 

the areolae were not very big at all by comparison, perhaps a couple 

of inches across, and pale pink, almost virginal-looking. The girl's 

breasts were heavy and full at their bottoms, stretching downwards 

under their great weight, so that they hardly seemed to start 

swelling out from her chest until they had passed her upper arms. But 

then they bulged outwards and sideways, and touched each other in the 

middle only for the last six inches of the endless cleavage. 

 

Laura stared at them as well. "They're even bigger, Don," she said. 

"But they're lovely! I wish I had a pair like those!" 

 

"You're welcome to this pair some days," offered Donna, "although 

some days, I feel quite attached to them!" 

 

Maggie sipped her coffee, still stunned by the sight of the girl. 

"How long have you had them? Oh, God, it makes them sound like 

something you went out and bought. When did they arrive? And that 

sounds no better!" 

 

"Oh, I was a bit of a late developer. There were loads of girls in my 

class who developed before me. I must have been thirteen?" She looked 

at her mother for confirmation. 

 

"But once she started - wowee!" 

 

"Wowee! One minute, nothing, the next? Well not quite a minute, but a 

few weeks. They just exploded. I went through about six bra sizes 

before Mum realised these things were getting beyond a joke." 

 

"Harry was really proud of them, though," Laura remembered, her voice 

husky. "He made a point of taking Donna everywhere, showing her off." 

 

"Whether I wanted to or not! Although after a while it taught me that 

my boobs weren't anything to be ashamed of. On the contrary, in fact. 

Daddy was proud of them, and so was I!" 

 

"I can see you're proud, but they can't be comfortable." Maggie 

stared at them helplessly. Had they drooped even lower? It looked 

like it. Maybe it was the way she was standing. 

 

"Have you tried hanging a 30-pound bag of potatoes round your neck? 

Well, you probably haven't, but if you ever get the chance, try it. If 

you hang them in a bra, the shoulder straps cut into your shoulders. 

But at the moment, Mum can't afford a bra to fit me. It's even more 

uncomfortable going braless than wearing one. But you must know how 

much these things cost!" 

 

"I've heard," admitted Maggie. "Makes me glad I don't need them. I'm 

a good old stock size. Well, if you can call an F cup stock!" 

 

Laura laughed at that. "So am I. Mine are a 32D. One pair of giant 

tits in the family is enough." She drained her cup and put it down 

with a rattle. "Well, Miss Wallace. We have a deal? I can come in and 

see your editor whenever you say." 

 

"It just needs to be finalised, the details and everything. But 

having seen Donna, like this ..." Maggie looked at the girl again, 

whose breasts seemed even longer and lower than ever, "there should 

be no doubts at all. Mr Cunis was most impressed with your letter, 

Laura. I have to report back to him and to Miss Harkness in a few 

days, and tell him, among other things, about you and Donna. He only 

had the blurry Polaroid you sent him, and although it gave some idea, 

it didn't do Donna justice, not by any stretch of the imagination. I 

will be able to describe Donna much more fully, now." Maggie started 

to get up. 

 

"Why not take another photo?" Donna suggested. "We've got the camera 

and some film. Take a few more of me like this. That ought to 

persuade him!" 

 

"It probably would, yes." 

 

And Laura fetched the camera. They took half a dozen shots of Donna 

in various poses, ending with a couple without her jeans. Her breasts 

reached down to well beyond the top of her panties. 

 

"Not for publication, of course," said Maggie. "But we'll keep them 

on file. Right, I really mustn't keep you any longer , but thank you 

so much for the meal and everything, and I hope to see you again 

soon. Especially you, Donna. You can even get dressed again now." 

 

 

********** 

 

"Wilma, what a pleasure after such a long time." 

 

"Five years, if it's a day, Jack. You're looking very fit. And 

prosperous." 

 

"Business isn't bad, you know. Even in England. Breast reduction 

isn't the craze it has reached in America, but I survive." 

 

Wilma looked around the sumptuous office. Jack seemed to be surviving 

well enough. "You know my line of business, now? A men's magazine? A 

specialised men's magazine." 

 

"HUMUNGOUS!? Not familiar with it, but I did my research after you 

called. Apparently it caters for the lover of larger breasts." 

 

"In a nutshell, yes. Which is why I wanted to see you, Jack. As a 

plastic surgeon with ... interests ... in this field, you were the 

natural person to see to discuss breast enlargement. That sort of 

thing?" 

 

"Enlargement?" The shadow of a painful memory crossed Jack's face. 

Wilma's eyes were steady on his, and he couldn't hold her gaze. "Yes, 

although it's not what it was, with women becoming aware of the 

alleged dangers. But there are techniques which carry less risk." 

 

"It's all right, Jack," Wilma said quietly. "It's not for me. Not 

this time, nor ever. How about reduction?" 

 

Jack looked relieved that Wilma had not pursued that point too 

forcibly. A promising relationship had been destroyed when he had 

made a certain suggestion five years ago. 

 

"Reduction? Not much in your magazine's line, I would have thought? 

But yes, I'm doing a little more of it these days. It's not always 

entirely satisfactory, although most clients are so relieved at 

having the load taken off their shoulders they are prepared for minor 

blemishes and imperfections. Rare as they are. Why?"  

 

"I wondered, entirely off the record, whether some of these women or 

girls with larger breasts might be persuaded not to have the 

surgery." 

 

"And do me out of business?" Jack laughed. "No, to tell the truth, I 

do try to acquaint them of the facts, the risks, the psychological 

factors, real or imagined. And yes, I have actually persuaded a few 

women not to have reduction surgery." 

 

"Still the same dear old Jack! How could I have guessed that you 

might try to stop some of your patients going under the knife? Some 

of the pretty ones, were they? The younger ones?" Wilma smiled thinly 

at the surgeon, whose face had reddened still more. She pressed home 

her advantage. "And would it be ethical to allow me to have access to 

some of these women? No, of course not, you will say. You are obliged 

to maintain confidentiality." 

 

"No, of course not. As you say, I am obliged to maintain 

confidentiality." 

 

"Even when they are not your clients, when you have persuaded them 

not to be your clients?" 

 

"I see what you mean. But it's still a breach of confidence." 

 

Wilma sighed and stood up. She wandered across the office and studied 

a picture on the wall, a rural scene with cattle wading in a reedy 

river. She turned suddenly. "Do you offer advice at all? About a 

suitable bra, or a manufacturer of suitable bras for larger breasts?" 

 

"What are you driving at, Wilma? I do, yes, or I have done. No harm 

in that. I usually recommend one of a list of women who provide a 

custom fitting service." 

 

"Could you recommend someone to me? It's for a friend, of course!" 

 

"I hope you're not going to do what I think you are." 

 

"Probably, yes. You know me!" 

 

"That's what I was worried about. You don't change, do you! Why not 

look in the Yellow Pages?" 

 

"But I'd much prefer a personal recommendation, Jack! Especially one 

coming from you." 

 

He sighed, reached into a drawer, and riffled through a pile of 

papers. He found the one he was looking for and copied a phone number 

on to a slip of paper. "Here you are. This one is local, and I have 

sent some women to her within the past year. And, yes, girls, as you 

call them. I thought the term wasn't strictly PC these days?" 

 

"It depends how old they are, doesn't it?" 

 

"Ah, I suppose so. How about fourteen?" 

 

"Hmm, yes, Jack, that is probably a girl. I bet she was pretty, too!" 

 

Jack was flustered. He thrust the papers back into his desk drawer. 

"Good luck, then, Wilma. I suppose there's no chance of us getting 

together for dinner one evening?" 

 

"Why, Jack, darling! How lovely. But not very ethical, surely ...!" 

 

 

********** 

 

Now, all Wilma needed was a willing assistant. Willing and well 

qualified. Who better than Maggie? "Another little job for you, if 

you care to do it. What's your bra size?" 

 

"Mine? You don't want me in HUMUNGOUS!, we'll lose all our 

circulation." She watched Wilma's face. "You're serious, aren't you! 

I take an F cup, although it depends on the make of bra. Some bras I 

can get away with an EE. With some, I can't even get them into a G." 

 

"That sounds ideal," said Wilma. She tried not to stare: Maggie 

seemed to disguise them well. Her shoulders were slightly hunched as 

if she was ashamed of them. "Here's what I would like; you don't have 

to do it, but ..." 

 

She explained the plan. Maggie's face gave nothing away until the 

end. She grinned at her editor. 

 

"Hee! It sounds like a great idea. A girl of fourteen, you say? A bit 

of a long way in the future, two years behind Donna. A regular little 

production line! But of course!" She clapped a hand over her mouth. 

"You haven't seen the Polaroids I took of Donna, have you? Are you 

sure you're ready for this?" 

 

Maggie pulled them out of her desk drawer and tossed them across to 

Wilma, then sat back and waited. Wilma did a double-take. "Jeez. Look 

at them! She's huge, isn't she! Mammoth! And only sixteen, too?" The 

editor realised the implications. Did you work out a deal with the 

mother?" 

 

"Not a bad one," said Maggie smugly. "Five hundred a year plus 

clothes, straight, until she's twenty-one." 

 

"Five hundred plus her clothes? You cheating little swine! BJ would 

have paid two thousand." 

 

"I thought I was driving a hard bargain, but so did Mrs Fielding. 

They must be more desperate than I thought for the money. Ah, there's 

a slight catch as well, but it shouldn't amount to much." Maggie 

described the breast growth clause. 

 

Wilma glanced up at Maggie, then picked up the photos again. "I 

suppose Polaroids can't really do her justice, but she's huge all 

right. No way she's going to grow any bigger than this." 

 

"I figured we'd be pretty safe, that's why I said yes." 

 

"Nice work, Mags. You want to see if you can do as well with this bra 

lady, now?" 

 

"I'm on my way!" said Maggie. 

 

 

********** 

 

The front door was open, and Maggie gave it a push. 

 

"Hello? Anyone at home?" 

 

A voice answered from somewhere toward the back of the house. Maggie 

followed the direction of the sound. 

 

"Mrs Danby? I called earlier, my name's Wallace." 

 

"I remember, of course. Come in, dear, will you. I'm on the phone, so 

excuse me."  

 

Maggie entered the back room, found a seat and looked around her. The 

workroom was cluttered with cardboard boxes and hanks of material. A 

businesslike sewing machine crouched on one end of the work bench. 

And Mrs Danby sat hunched on the other end, legs crossed like an old 

fashioned tailor. The telephone was tucked under her chin and she was 

scribbling furiously in a notebook. Mrs Danby put the phone down. 

 

"Sorry about that, emergency job. A bit of a catastrophe on the 

tennis court!" She perched on the edge of her bench and looked at 

Maggie with bright, bird-like eyes. "Now then, how can I help you?" 

She held her head on one side, which made her look even more bird-

like. 

 

"It's my bra. I can buy one to fit if I'm lucky, but I'm in between 

sizes." 

 

"No problem, dear. You seem to have less of a problem than some of my 

clients. In fact, I was just finishing a fitting at this moment ..." 

 

"Oh, no! I'm sorry," said Maggie. "I shouted and just barged in when 

I didn't hear anything." 

 

"Not to worry. I'd finished the fitting. Miss Archer is just dressing 

again." Mrs Danby waved airily towards a curtained cubicle in the 

corner. Maggie found herself wondering idly why Mrs Danby needed a 

private area for her clients to change their clothes, if in between 

times she was intimately handling their naked breasts. 

 

The little woman was still talking. "So your timing is perfect, 

really. We will have ages before my next appointment. I'll put the 

kettle on." She slid off the bench and scurried away into another 

cluttered corner where she busied herself with jars of instant coffee 

and sugar. 

 

Maggie watched the little woman, who was neatly built, compact; with 

taut, firm breasts about half the size of Maggie's. She was about to 

make polite conversation when the curtain slid back and a woman 

emerged. Instantly, all thoughts of polite conversation fled from 

Maggie's head. 

 

The newcomer - Miss Archer, she remembered - was taller than Maggie, 

about five feet eight. Her hair was long, soft and brown. But what 

stopped Maggie in her tracks was the woman's bust. Even in HUMUNGOUS! 

she had never seen anything like it. First young Donna, now this! 

 

It could have been a pair of soccer balls beneath her crisp striped 

shirt. They were supported magnificently at above the level of her 

slim waist, where the shirt became a riot of radial creases as it 

dived into the top of her elegantly-tailored skirt. But there wasn't 

so much as a hint of a crease on the breasts themselves. The fine 

blue and white striped cotton was drum-taut across the perfect 

spheres which bounced ever so slightly as Miss Archer came across the 

room. 

 

"Hello," she said, with a friendly smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't know 

there was anyone else coming. I've been chatting away, wasting Mrs 

Danby's time, without thinking. I'm Kay Archer." 

 

"Maggie Wallace, it was my fault. I came at short notice and just 

barged in." 

 

"It's no problem, Kay," shouted Mrs Danby. "You're about done, aren't 

you?" She took a close look at the fit of Miss Archer's blouse. "Oh, 

yes. It's lovely. Perfect." 

 

Maggie had to agree. 

 

"Your usual expert job, Mrs Danby. I wish I didn't need these bloody 

great bras, but there's no way I could even stand up without them." 

She held the vast spheres with both hands and shook experimentally 

from side to side. Things wobbled, but nothing fell off. You'll send 

me the bill as usual? Not that I can afford it at forty pounds a 

throw." 

 

"It will be in the post, don't worry." 

 

"So, no regular user discount, then? I'll be on my way in that case. 

I hope I can still fit behind the steering wheel." She made her way 

to the door, then stopped. "What's THAT?" She pointed to a pile of 

work beside the sewing machine. On top was something in bright red 

material. "Is that a bra or some kind of joke?" 

 

"It's a bra, what does it look like?" Mrs Danby laughed. 

 

"May I?" Miss Archer held it up and looked at it in astonishment. 

"Wow!" she said after several seconds. "And I thought I had 

problems!" 

 

"That's Charlotte Davenport's," said Mrs Danby. "Oops! Shouldn't give 

away confidential client information. But you'll have heard of 

Charlotte? She's always in the society gossip columns. Or she was 

until last year. She's dropped out of the scene lately. Probably 

something to do with these!" 

 

"You mean The Honorable Charlotte," Maggie put in. "My Edi ... my 

work colleague knows her from way back. Only the other day, she was 

saying she wondered where Charlotte had got to lately." She gazed at 

the immense bra, an idea beginning to form in her mind. 

 

Miss Archer put the bra down with a sigh. "I guess I'm lucky after 

all, only being the size I am. Right, must go. It will take me a week 

to earn enough to pay for this latest bra. Bye, Mrs Danby. Bye 

Maggie." 

 

"Bye, Kay." She watched the woman go, then made a decision. A quick 

glance confirmed that Mrs Danby was busy across the other side of the 

room. 

 

"Gosh, Kay left her cheque-book behind," Maggie exclaimed, standing 

up suddenly. "I'll try and catch her." She shot out of the workroom 

to the front door. Kay was just getting into her car. "Kay!" 

 

Maggie took out a card. "You said just now that you are finding bras 

a major expense. I have an idea which may help you. Here's my card. 

If you'd like to call this number later, like this afternoon, reverse 

the charges and ask for me, Maggie Wallace. I'll tell you what it's 

all about." 

 

Kay inspected the card and turned it over. "Cunis Publications? Never 

heard of them. What is it? A job offer of some sort?" 

 

"Not exactly a job as such. But it is work, and it will be to your 

advantage. I will explain," said Maggie. "Not now, though: it would 

take too long, and we need to discuss a few things. Meanwhile, Mrs 

Danby will be wondering what we're doing out here. Any time after 

two, okay?" 

 

"Okay." Kay looked at Maggie, mystified, but could glean nothing from 

her expression. She shrugged and grinned, then squeezed herself into 

her car. 

 

 

********** 

 

"I thought for a moment you weren't coming back. Did you catch her, 

or did you have to chase her down the road to the traffic lights?" 

Mrs Danby raised an eyebrow at Maggie. 

 

"Sorry! We started chatting. She's nice, isn't she?" 

 

"She's a sweetie," Mrs Danby agreed. Maggie had picked up the bright 

red bra again and was gazing at it helplessly. There were twelve 

heavy duty hooks down the back. It must take Charlotte Davenport ten 

minutes just to put the thing on in the mornings. What letter size 

were these cups? 

 

"Cup or mug?" 

 

Maggie came out of her daydream. "Sorry? Oh! A cup would be fine, 

thanks!" 

 

The little bra-maker stirred two cups briskly and tapped the spoon 

rhythmically on the rim of one. 

 

"Here you are. G cup?" said Mrs Danby. "Don't tell me. You can wear 

an F, but sometimes you need a G?" 

 

Maggie tried to adjust to the sudden change of subject. "That's 

right. It depends on the make." 

 

"Doesn't matter. So long as it fits. What are you wearing now? Better 

still, take it off, let's have a look at you. Come on!" She snapped 

her fingers and Maggie, startled, rose to her feet. To her own 

amazement, she found herself taking off her sweater. 

 

"You can keep your bra on for a while," said Mrs Danby efficiently, 

and performed a number of brisk evolutions with her tape measure. She 

departed and began heaving cardboard boxes around, looking for 

something. "One day, I'll sort this lot out ... ah, there it is!" 

 

She took up a flat box and opened the lid. Dust rose in clouds, and 

she blew it away. And from the box, Mrs Danby produced with a 

flourish a pink bra in delicate looking lacy material. She held it 

up. It looked less delicate held up. The cups were capacious, Maggie 

could see. 

 

"Try it. It should be your size." 

 

Maggie tried it. Mrs Danby watched her with interest as Maggie 

shrugged off her own bra and lowered her breasts into the pink one. 

She was astonished to find it fitted her perfectly. She had never 

felt a bra like it in her life. 

 

"Oh, me, oh my!" she exclaimed. 

 

"Comfortable enough?" 

 

"It's amazing! Magical!" 

 

"It's about an H cup, although that doesn't mean a lot. You've been 

squashing yourself into a size or two too small. How many did you 

want? I've got three more in various colours ..." 

 

"Yes, please. All four. I'll never find another bra like this. You 

made these?" 

 

"Sure! It's an unusual size. Most of my customers are in the custom 

range. I mean, *really* custom. Here, have a look ... at my style-

book." Mrs Danby took a fat scrapbook down from the shelf and blew 

the dust on to the floor. She began coughing helplessly and took a 

gulp of coffee. "I keep pictures of the best styles, to help people 

choose. That's why I've cut their heads off." 

 

Maggie turned the pages. Mostly the pictures were of women wearing 

enormous bras. The faces were missing from the pictures, but the body 

types ranged from obese to almost painfully slim. 

 

"I've never seen your adverts before anywhere," said Maggie. "You 

were recommended by a friend of a friend, a patient of Dr Henderson?" 

 

Mrs Danby betrayed no emotion. "Oh, yes," she said neutrally. "I know 

him, of course. Or I know of him. I don't need to advertise, most of 

my business is by personal recommendation." 

 

"Does he send you many women for fitting? Dr Henderson?" 

 

"One or two, yes. Shall I wrap those three? You'll be wearing the 

other ...?" 

 

"Thanks. There's no way I'm taking this off now." She stuffed her old 

discarded bra into her bag, then picked up the scrapbook again. "I 

wonder what it's like, being as big as this?" 

 

"The bra helps." Mrs Danby perched on the bench and looked down at 

the page Maggie was staring at. "That one there," she pointed at a 

woman at the top of the page. There were just the two pictures, of 

different women. "That one's young Charlotte Davenport again - the 

girl the red bra's for - probably the biggest I've ever seen for a 

slim girl. As you can see without her shirt, she's bloody enormous! 

And you can see the size of that bra. Serious shoulder straps, and 

twelve hooks!" 

 

"Are all these recent pictures?" Maggie turned over the next page and 

found no more pictures. 

 

"The last six months, these two. Jack Henderson sent me the other 

girl, as it happens. In fact, he persuaded her not to have a 

reduction. He does that to quite a lot of women, which is unusual for 

a plastic surgeon. It would have made the girls' lives easier, and 

brought him valuable business, but he told them to try one of my bras 

first. That girl, Lynda, the smaller one, is very young anyway, she's 

only fourteen. Chances are she would carry on growing after she had 

her operation." 

 

"And she was happy about not having a reduction? She must have gone 

to the surgeon expecting a mastectomy." 

 

"I don't believe any woman wants surgeons cutting her about if 

there's an alternative. And when they come to me, and try one of my 

bras, even huge girls like these can sometimes be persuaded." 

 

Maggie continued to stare at the pictures. 

 

"Even if they're as big as Charlotte?" 

 

"Charlotte? A reduction? Not her. The thought would never enter her 

head. She knows what she wants in life. Probably at the moment, a new 

car. She can't get her tits behind the wheel of her MG, not so 

easily. She's only been driving six months, and she's outgrown her 

first car already!" 

 

Maggie took a deep breath. "Look, Mrs Danby. Let me come clean with 

you. I did want a new bra, and now I've tried one of yours, I would 

recommend them to anyone. But that wasn't the reason behind my visit. 

I want to ask a favour of you." 

 

Mrs Danby looked intrigued. "What is it, then? I wondered what the 

real reason was for all the questions about Jack Henderson and 

everything. You'd better tell me what this is all about before we can 

even talk about favours." 

 

"I'm a writer," said Maggie, embroidering the facts a little and 

crossing her fingers out of sight beneath the scrapbook. "Freelance, 

mostly. I am interested in doing an article on women with very big 

breasts. All the problems, the backache, the taunts at school, the 

lot. And the solutions, surgery ... well, are there any alternatives? 

I confess that until I met you, I wasn't really aware that a bra 

could be a solution as such. That it could offer a quality of life, 

so a woman could show pride in herself the way she was made by 

Nature." 

 

"So you want to quote me, show examples of my work? Not an offer I 

can refuse, really, publicity-wise." 

 

"Of course!" Maggie began to feel a little desperate. It was 

beginning to look as if she would have to write this damned article 

after all. "But there is one other thing. I would be very interested 

to speak to some of your customers." 

 

"Well, I don't know if I ought to ..." 

 

"It wouldn't do any harm just to talk to them? If they had any 

objection, I wouldn't mention them in the article, nor bother them 

further." Maggie smiled encouragingly at Mrs Danby. 

 

"Did you have anyone in mind? Charlotte, presumably?" 

 

"And this one, the young girl. That way, I can show two different 

body types; one a young girl, the other one, Charlotte, who has just 

started getting dramatically bigger. What do you think?" 

 

Mrs Danby sighed. "I don't know if I should. It seems like an 

intrusion somehow, but ..." She stood up and went to a filing 

cabinet. "Here we are. Charlotte, and young Lynda. Speak to her mum. 

As I say, the kid's only fourteen. There you go, phone numbers only. 

No addresses. You can call them and work it out between yourself and 

themselves. Tell them you're a customer of mine." 

 

Maggie felt a surge of joy as Mrs Danby scribbled the two names and 

numbers on a scrap of paper. 

 

"Thank you so much! I'll talk to them, and I will get back to you 

about the interview and photographs." She rose and took up her bag 

and the three new bras in their wrapping. "I suppose I'd better pay 

you for these, hadn't I?" She took out her cheque book and began to 

write. 

 

"That's funny!" Mrs Danby was looking at her quizzically. "Kay Archer 

seems to have left her cheque book behind ...!" 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3:- Kay 

 

"You look different, Mags. What have you done?" 

 

Maggie sat at her desk and grinned self-consciously at Wilma. "I only 

bought a bra from that Danby woman. Well, four, actually. Her entire 

stock." 

 

"It's made a new woman of you. But you didn't need to buy the whole 

shop, you only went for a name and address." 

 

"I got it, too. But I had to try a bra on as part of my cover story, 

and once I tried it on, I didn't want to take it off. You'd never 

believe how well it fits. The only trouble is I'm now going to have to 

write an article for a woman's magazine about big tits and custom 

bras."



Wilma giggled. "Serves you right. You should have thought of a better 

story. Anyway, it will be good practice for you."



"Practice I don't need. Still, here are the names and phone numbers." 

 

Wilma studied the scrap of paper. "Two? I thought it was just the 

young girl." 

 

"Things have developed a little, if that's the right word. It all 

happened while I was at Mrs Danby's. The young girl, Lynda, is there, 

and she seems to be the one Dr Henderson mentioned. But when I 

arrived, there was already a customer there, and she'd just been 

fitted with a bra. A real big girl, chief!" 

 

"And this is her number?" 

 

"No, as she was leaving, I rushed out and gave her my card. She's 

going to call later. I think she will, she sounded intrigued. But 

this other number is a strange story. When Kay - that's the girl I 

was telling you about - when she was just leaving, she saw this great 

big red bra beside the machine, and she asked Mrs Danby about it. 

Without a word of a lie, it was the biggest bra I have ever seen. 

Bigger than anything. It was impossible. Ridiculous!" 

 

"Whose is it, did she say?" 

 

"That's the amazing thing. It's someone you know. Charlotte 

Davenport!" 

 

"Charlotte ... ? Lord Davenport's daughter?" Maggie nodded, eyes 

bright. "But she hasn't got huge breasts. It must be someone else. 

Charlotte is biggish, but she's not as big as you, even." 

 

"She is now. Apparently, she suddenly started getting bigger, and 

paid a call on Mrs Danby. And she hasn't stopped paying calls since! 

Honestly, that bra, it was mammoth! That's her number, there." 

 

Wilma glanced at the paper and nodded. "It's the right area code, 

certainly. Are you going to call them now?" 

 

"Lynda first. You want to come along to see her? And Lady Charlotte, 

as well?" 

 

"Yeah, if you can, arrange something for the next day or two. 

 

 

********** 

 

Kay Archer was having a bad day, and it was still only five minutes 

past two in the afternoon. 

 

She worked at home these days, so she no longer had to face the 

crowded train and the jolting, lurching bus every morning. It had 

been bad enough in the mornings, when Kay was still half asleep. It 

was ten times worse in the evening, after a day in the office, when 

her feet were on fire and her back felt as if she had been hewing 

coal all day instead of entering data at a computer keyboard. 

 

Sometimes she missed the noise and conversation of the office, and 

almost looked forward to the regular visits she paid every month. 

Almost. Every time, as soon as she got home and kicked off her shoes, 

she realised that she was better off out of it all: the gossip, the 

staring, the fresh crop of new boys, straight from school, gawping at 

her chest, making her feel practically naked. 

 

Working at home meant farewell to all that. 

 

But she still had her bad days, and this was well on its way to being 

one of them. 

 

"I wish I had never got out of bed," she grumbled to herself as she 

put the phone down and checked the list of items she had to attend 

to. Half of it had been done before by someone else, and done wrong. 

Why was it, there was never enough time to do it right, but there was 

always enough time to do it twice? And this was only Tuesday. The 

rest of the week stretched ahead of her like an endless tunnel 

punctuated only by blind corners. 

 

Having to visit Mrs Danby's this morning had set her back at least 

half a day. Mail had piled up in her inbox. Kay sat slumped at the 

keyboard and hit a few keys in a jaded way. The familiar form sprang 

on to the screen in front of her, its cursor nagging away, demanding 

input. Now. At once. 

 

Wasn't there something else she should do first? Like putting a bra 

on? She considered it, and reluctantly rejected the idea. Her new one 

was a little bit stiff in the cups, so she had taken it off. It would 

get better in time, she knew. Of her three old bras that still fit, 

two were in the wash, and the other one always seemed to have 

slightly smaller cups than the others. The last time she had worn it 

had been Friday, when she went out with Dan, and she had felt 

practically strangled by her bra cups all evening. It had been a 

miserable evening, one way and another, and Kay hadn't been at all 

sorry when Dan made an excuse and left at ten thirty, shortly after 

bringing her home to her apartment. 

 

He had called on Sunday afternoon, but Kay had let the answering 

machine talk to him. Dan was sweet sometimes, but better in small 

doses. And while he seemed to enjoy the idea of escorting a young 

woman whose figure was, not to put too fine a point on it, 

outrageously overdeveloped, he became jealous and sullen whenever 

another man so much as looked at her. 

 

"They're bound to look at me, Dan," Kay had explained for the 

umpteenth time, as recently as Friday evening. "I'm ... well ... 

different!" 

 

Kay had been different since she had been about fourteen. Until then, 

she had been a fairly ordinary kid, kind of dirty blonde, slim, 

almost skinny, and inclined to gawkiness with her above average 

height. Then her breasts arrived with a rush, and it seemed they 

hadn't stopped rushing since. She was still above average height, now 

around five feet eight tall, and still slim. Her waist never strayed 

half an inch from its regular twenty-three inches, nor did her 

thirty-five inch hips. Why, then, did she have to contend with a bust 

that had never stopped growing since several months before her 

fifteenth birthday?  

 

She gave a heavy sigh and decided against the too-tight bra. This 

morning's visit to the Danby woman had been her third in six months. 

Kay didn't know what her bust measurement was, which seemed to 

infuriate Dan, for some reason. But it was certainly over seventy two 

inches, as her last fumbling attempt to measure herself recently had 

shown her, she was bigger around than the tape measure was long. 

 

Under the shapeless maternity dress she wore about the apartment, her 

breasts rested heavily in her lap. Movement was uncomfortable, or 

actually painful if she wasn't careful, and there was no respite from 

the discomfort. Any attempt to get up suddenly caused her breasts to 

flop massively down to their full length, to rest eventually on her 

lower stomach. 

 

The phone trilled again. A bad day. Not Dan? Not during working 

hours, she thought. Sighing, she reached for the handset and picked 

it up. 

 

"Kay Archer, hello?" 

 

It was more work. Why did the office practically grind to a 

shuddering halt when she took a couple of hours off on a Tuesday 

morning? She decided to tidy her desk and make a fresh start. That 

was when she found Maggie's card. 

 

 

********** 

 

Kay's mind was spinning. It had started out as a bad day, but it had 

taken some unexpected turns. She stood by the bed, trying to get her 

thoughts into some kind of order. 

 

Her job was fine, as a means of bringing in a reasonable supply of 

cash. It kept her in warmth and relative comfort, in food, clothes 

and underwear. Underwear. She had to admit that the prospect of 

having to buy three more bras, or even one more bra, was a depressing 

one. Mrs Danby was not expensive, she had discovered after a few 

enquiries, but all these new bras were an alarming drain on Kay's 

resources. 

 

The visit from Maggie and the other woman, Wilma Harkness, had left 

her in a daze. She had called Maggie, more out of curiosity than 

anything else, and not half an hour later, the two of them arrived on 

her doorstep. Then out of the blue, an offer to become a model, of 

all things! It was ridiculous. Models were skinny lizzies with no 

boobs. It was only after Kay had expressed her astonishment at the 

whole crazy idea that Wilma had opened her briefcase and produced a 

glossy magazine. Kay had never imagined such a thing could exist. And 

it was edited by a woman! 

 

The two of them had even left the magazine behind. "Take a look at it 

later," Wilma had said. "See what you think. We're not asking you to 

rush into things. And give us a call if there's anything further you 

want to know." 

 

HUMUNGOUS! Crazy title. One of these American words. Published in 

London, but aimed at the American market. A weird idea in itself. But 

there had been nothing weird about the offer from Cunis Publications. 



Cunis. What sort of a name was Cunis, anyway? Neither one thing nor 

the other, she giggled. 

 

But in effect, as far as Kay could tell, the offer meant she would get 

two years'-worth of free clothes, dresses, outfits, underwear and 

bras, beauty treatment, massage and hairdos. Plus a tidy sum for 

appearing in the magazine itself. But why? 

 

Did it matter why? Kay would be able to continue her normal job, her 

day-to-day routine. Things would be slightly disturbed, naturally. 

She would have to cram beauty treatment and visits to the hairdresser 

into her daily schedule, and there would be trips into London to the 

studios ... 

 

But what was the point of fantasising about it? She wasn't going to 

go in for this idea. The very thought of appearing nude in a mens' 

magazine. Her poor mother would go into shock, if she hadn't been 

more or less permanently in that state already. And what would her 

friends think? 

 

What friends? The girls in the office? What did it matter what that 

empty-headed bunch thought, if they ever thought anything at all? 

 

It wasn't as if HUMUNGOUS! was widely on sale in this country anyway. 

Kay had never seen a copy until today. She picked it up, and sitting 

on the bed, leaned back against a mound of pillows and began to read. 

To her surprise, it made quite good reading. The editorial said 

something about the policy of the magazine, its promise to the 

readers never to sully its pages with inflated latex or silicone 

sisters - whatever they were - and its vow to bring only the latest, 

the biggest, the most beautiful and the best naturally endowed girls. 

 

Wow, thought Kay. Does that mean me? 

 

By the time Kay slithered down beneath the covers and laid the 

magazine on the bedside table, she knew it *did* mean her. Apart from 

anything else, it meant a measure of financial relaxation for the 

next two years. And then, if she wanted it, she could have a 

reduction operation, paid for by Cunis Publications. Thousands of 

pounds, the surgery would have cost to have it done privately, and it 

would bring her freedom from these ever-growing masses hanging from 

her chest. Or rather, as they were at the moment, resting on the 

mattress on each side of her body. 

 

Two more years, and Kay would be able to sleep on her tummy again! 

 

 

********** 

 

Even in the cold morning light, the magazine's glossy cover seemed to 

glow, luring her to open its shiny pages. The girl on the front cover 

was a pretty brunette, wearing an inadequate bikini. Kay tried to 

imagine herself wearing a bikini. The very thought was enough to 

start her giggling. Grunting, she placed her feet on the rug, picked 

up the magazine and lumbered off to the bathroom. 

 

An hour later, after the phone had stopped chirrupping at her with 

messages from work, she decided. As soon as she had cleared the 

immediate backlog of data entry, she would call Maggie's number and 

ask a few more vital questions. She couldn't think of any right now, 

but something would surely turn up. 

 

In the event, it was almost midday when Kay tapped the last numbers 

into her on-screen form and checked the incoming mail box for 

messages. Nothing. The guys at the office would be winding down for 

lunch. 

 

She opened the magazine again, resisting the temptation to leaf 

through the pages to the girl in the centre-spread, who was doing 

something intimate to herself with a glisteningly moist finger. 

Instead, she checked the phone number, tapped out the twelve digits 

and listened to the ringing tone. 

 

"Maggie Wallace, please." 

 

"Yes, you can certainly give her a message. Would you tell her it's 

Kay Archer, and the answer is yes! 

 

----------

end part 1

