“You two beauties are going to be famous,” chuckled Dearie, lovingly nurturing Verd and Azu.
“Fuck, I thought they were already,” snickered Nash their carer, dabbing them softly with man sized tissues.
“Round there darling,” murmured twenty two year old Dearie hefting Azu and indicating smears of white cream under her left side, that’s Azu’s left side. “Just rub it in.” The wrap around mirrors behind and to each end of the bath enabled the loving mother to attend every aspect of the daily ablutions needed in comfort with such a large demanding family.
“I am always amazed at how big these are, when you think they get so big and of how they start ... I mean the actual connection is so small, but still produces them,” Nash chuckled.
Dearie shrugged happily and rolled her eyes.
“The fact you have kept your superb figure is stunning. Bit of extra flesh on your waist and hips, is nothing when you consider having one child and these beauties which have never stopped growing. I mean your legs are still slender and shapely, your arse is flat and yes there is a suggestion of a roll on your tummy but...”
Dearie Made and her partner, an unemployed Negro, Nash Dary, lived in a detached house in Brixton, London which had been specially adapted to cater for such demanding requirements. The chair Dearie was perched on was purposely constructed for her to be seated yet hang her two prime assets over the smooth rounded side of the bath. The staircase had been widened and had a handrail mounted each side. Nash had investigated a design for a stair lift, but was finding it impossible to allow for all three, Dearie, Azu and Verd to ascend or descend at the same time. He had left it to Standup Stair Lifts to find a sponsored solution.
The colour of a steeped Yorkshire tea bag, he watched Dearie, who was the colour of a Costa latte tweak the mahogany coloured heads of Verd then Azu, relishing the way they turned up and curled into their usual crinkled proportions and sensing the micro stream of shock waves from two of her extremities to one other - Verd and Azu being divided by a mammoth valley of finely wrinkled flesh.
“Do you think Floppy with be there?” asked Nash, helping Dearie to stand, which she did as he followed her across the landing, carrying the industrial sized tub of skin cream...
“I know she will be,” replied Dearie. “Steven told me about the meeting, which chuffed me - sort of being accepted, you know.”
“What about Gwendoline and Ursula – there too?” he responded with a nod that he thought she should be.
“Masster Bates always has a harem present wherever he roams Nash. I guess so.”
“I did read that Jordan has been refused entry on the grounds she’s all false,” added Nash helping Dearie to smooth more lotion into stretch marks that became evident in the sunlight filtering into their bedroom.
“You mean that Katy Price monstrosity? Think so too – silicon imposter and no way big ... I mean...” scoffed Dearie, leaning back against a pillow against the bed head, smiling down at her chest and beaming with pride and pleasure. “What are you doing darling?”
Nash was fiddling with a minute piece of white cotton and getting frustrated as he turned it, twisted it, flattened it, stretched it, finally handing it to Dearie’s outstretched hand.
“Trying to help you get ready my sweet and thought I’d get your undies out. How you girls work out the right way to put these thongs on beats me. It’s just bits of string.”
“Expensive string, cotton and satin to you matey. But you insist on buying them for me from Elizabeths Efforts online,” she giggled, gratefully. “You know I love your taste. I’ll put it on after my brassiere.”
“Verd and Azu are going to kill them all,” said Nash, loving her old fashioned but proper term. His confident smile continued as he dug into the one deep drawer piece of custom made furniture.
“Young Bates doesn’t operate like his dad The Master I understand?” queried Nash in a hesitant tone.
“No the Home for the Incurably Big-Titted was closed when he snuffed it and Masster just organises this annual get together, to keep the source. Don’t fret darling, no one is going to bugger me or make me drink piss and eat shit.”
“When you told me about those young girls having ... you know ... to be forced to do all that stuff I was worried...”
“Yes me too when I read about it, but everyone to their own - anyway you and I like a bit up the back passage now and then and so does Blossom,” Dearie answered, referring to their young, coffee coloured daughter. “I’m glad she’s going to stay with her grand-dad this week end, out of the way.”
“How can these ever be out of the way sweetie, and neither will she, she’s a darling,” Nash chuckled running his hands over her bosom. “ I guess it’s not a yoke today?”
He stood beside the bed, holding up two methods of support, both exquisitely made and decorated.
“On the balls as usual Nash, you’re right, they’re for home use as you know ... no it’s the fancy stuff ... that one please,” she giggled then pointed to a pale cream hammock.
The support for Dearie’s extra, extra mammoth jugs was made in satin, trimmed with two shades of cream Guipure lace round the top and a gorgeous blue bow between the buckets, made for her by the winner of The Great British Sewing Bee competition, Hugh Jundys a seventy three year old retired school teacher from Inverness. He had taken great delight in being paid to travel from Scotland and back at the broadcaster’s expense as one of his prizes, to measure Dearie Made’s jugs, which took all day – of course. He had insisted on a return visit the following day, needing to purchase a larger fabric dress maker tape and double check his three sheets of measurements.
With her sponsorship from the combined British dairies and milk producers, Dearie had also commissioned Hugh to fashion the hammocks, all four of them, in conjunction with two specialist wood carvers. Constructed out of aluminium reinforced Balsa wood, these had necessitated week long visits of course to Nash and Dearie’s residence. The final mock up and prototype was signed by Dearie and on permanent loan to the British Museum costume department.
Blossom came into the bedroom with a big toothed grin, proudly wearing a 48EE brassiere and nothing else, the call to help Nash with Dearie more important than getting dressed. She kissed her mother and father as Nash beamed with pride at not only at her spectacular breasts but also the forest of black curls over her pussy pouch. On the basis of Dearie’s and Blossoms hirsute pubic growth, the Great British Pussy in the Garden competition was being considered by - not the BBC - but by the Sun newspaper, famous for it’s page 3 depictions of near nude big titted girls, Dearie well known and used by them of course, but also for daring and what some people deemed as salacious reporting. Blossom was up for it, so Dearie had decided not to compete against her daughter so to set her up for a spectacular future.
Blossom skilfully hoisted Verd and Azu in turn as Dearie and Nash, manoeuvred each ginormous funbag into place. Dearie sensed as always that Azu was complaining that Verd was always first and also in the few times they were swinging free and unfettered, Azu would complain the Verd was knocking her about. Dearie knew that Verd was the slightly bigger of the two, but resigned to the fact she could do nothing about that.
Before emerging from her two handed lift under Azu’s pillow like mass, Nash cheekily fondled his daughter’s cunt once he’d located it’s sticky gash in the black forest and she squeaked as he playfully pulled some of her four inch long pubes – as he always did of course.
“Daaaddd,” she snickered pouting with her large fleshy pink lips. “Oh yes, it’s Saturday, you going to give me one?”
“Dead fucking right sweetie, not school day, course I am, wouldn’t miss that would I?” Nash chuckled winking at Dearie.
“Dad’ll be with me till Monday Blossom and didn’t you say you reckon you’re coming on?” Blossom’s mum queried, getting a nod in return as Blossom watched Nash make last minute adjustments to the two inch wide hammock straps.
“Well you know I don’t mind having a red top now and then,” he replied with a grin. “There - all sorted, lets get you finished darling.”
Blossom left to prepare for her back and shoulder exercise classes.
Dearie stood, stepping into the minute thong she’d handed Nash, the correct way round, Nash bumping his head on the lower cones of her udders which were nearly level with her mons pubis. He brought up the subject whilst down there and they discussed whether the healthy overgrown coppice that sprouted over the top of Dearie’s thong needed cutting back. She stood straight and decided they weren’t tickling her lower curves. Dressing was a solo job for Dearie and she chose a shiny bronze coloured leather smock, hung in a vast wardrobe along one side of their room. All her outer wear was sorted on specially made sliding hangers, allowing her to step into whatever garment she chose, once in them, a remote control released them from the hanger, needing little effort from her and she buttoned it up.
.... There is more of this story ...