Something in the Water
Chapter 1: Job Description
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Humor, Lactation, Exhibitionism, Size, Big Breasts, Slow, Transformation,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Job Description - Something strange is happening in the little town of Skingsley. Why are some of the women there developing bigger and bigger breasts? And does it have anything to with an unsuspecting plumber named Colin?
I think this is called setting the scene. My name is Colin, and my job is installing water-softening equipment in people's homes. Exciting, right? It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.
Listen, I have to tell you about the job, it's central, pivotal even, to the theme of the entire story, a story which is so weird that if you had told me beforehand that it would happen, I would have suggested that you take more water with it. Soft water, of course. That's a typical example of a water-softener installer's joke. Which is a pretty good reason to make a point of not seeking out water-softener installers to see if they have had a similar experience to mine. And if any water-softener installers are reading this, and they have had a similar experience, they would be well advised to keep it to themselves.
I first hit the little town of Skingsley in the Spring, a couple of years ago. It's probably not worth looking up Skingsley in your road atlas, by the way, I changed the name to protect the innocent. It was - and by now is again - a quiet place, about ten miles from the nearest industrial city, which is where most of the inhabitants work. The sort of place where you sometimes tend to find husbands out at work during the day time, with any luck.
I checked into the local hotel for three weeks. The way we usually work, a hard-water area has been targeted by sales staff, and we installers are given a number of leads which amount to virtually certain sales. All we have to do is turn up, put on a courteous and sincere manner, answer all the right questions with the right answers, and fit the device in the lady's kitchen.
The softener, for collectors of such information, is a unique design of electro-chemical recirculatory catalytic water softener. I am forbidden to give more information than that to the general public, and I am certain you would not want me to. You want one? Look in the Yellow Pages.
The installation job takes between one and two hours, and we usually make a return visit after a day or so, to check that everything is satisfactory. Hence the idea of booking into the hotel for a few weeks. It has been known for some installers to find other accommodation, but the management of the company would prefer not to know about any such private domestic arrangements.
Okay? You could probably do the job yourself now: you know as much as I did when I joined the company two years ago.
Skingsley on a wet Monday afternoon is not likely to find its way into many guide books. I had two calls to make, my first two after arriving in the town that morning. The first job in a new location often seems to set the tone for the whole of one's stay. This one certainly did!
The customer's name was down on my job sheet as Woods. Usually that's all the information I get, a surname. I parked the van outside a neat little house with a white fence and a freshly-painted front door. The number 33 and the name 'Woods' on a small plate beside the door bell told me I had the right place. (We're taught to look out for little things like that.)
The bell echoed inside the house somewhere. I rang again. Still nothing. Not what we call, in the trade, a Good Start. Then I heard a noise from inside, and the door was opened. A small blonde woman was holding the door with one hand, a phone in the other.
"Sorry", she said in a soft, quiet voice, "I'm on the phone, would you mind waiting..."
Sure, I thought, not at all, and gave a little wave which might have meant Okay. She carried on for a couple more minutes, then put the phone down and came back to the door, full of apologies.
"The phone always rings at the wrong time..."
"Always! Mrs Woods?" I asked, adopting my standard courteous and sincere expression. She said she was.
"ACME Watersoftener Company", I said. Now, before we go any further, the company is not called the ACME anything. Surely, no company is, nowadays. I have changed the name etc, etc. Carry on.
"Oooh good", she cried. Some people can get very excited about a water softener. Sometimes I can be one of them. Mrs Woods was obviously another. "Ms Woods."
"It's Ms. Miss, actually!" The woman was turning an attractive shade of pink. It went well with her strawberry blonde hair which hung to her shoulders. The rest of her was slim and not very tall, probably about five feet nothing. Very slim, I noticed, as she glanced at the plastic ID card I was holding out to her and held the door wider for me to come in.
I picked up the cardboard carton which didn't have the words 'ACME Keeps You Soft' on all six sides, and stepped into the house. With my spare hand, I picked up my toolkit from the front step, and closed the door with my knee. Just the result of another day's intensive training at the ACME Corporate Learning Experience (ACCOLEX).
She led the way into the kitchen, where I sized up the layout at a glance. "I would like it over there, up against that wall", she said. Miss Woods was one of those women who could say things like that without noticing that it caused the eyes of the other person in the conversation to glaze over. I unglazed mine with an effort, and nodded my approval at her choice. Exactly where I would have mounted the little devil myself.
This would be one of the simpler installations, water supplies and electrical power were all readily to hand, and there was easy access all round. "Would you like a cup of coffee", she asked, "or would later be better, when you're working?"
"Well, as I will be turning off the water and the power, perhaps now would be better."
"Oh, yes! How stupid of me. I'll make it now, then."
What a nice lady. Pity about the tits, I thought, irrelevantly.
The installation was some sort of a record, at fifty-five minutes, and we celebrated with another cup of coffee afterwards, while she described the town and even gave me directions to a few of the more hard-to-find street names. The coffee was something Dutch. I can't remember the name. In fact, of course I can, but we can't have everyone rushing out to buy the stuff, can we? In fact, as Miss Woods told me, it was a very popular brand: the local shop had already sold completely out of stock within the first week. That shows the power of personal recommendation in a small, compact community.
It was certainly delicious, black with no sugar, as I took it, or white with one spoonful, as Louise Woods did. It was as good a way as any to celebrate the installation of a new water softener.
The other call that afternoon was a bit of an anti-climax after that. The only person at home was a man who wasn't at work because he had a broken wrist. He was a computer systems engineer, he told me at extreme length as I fitted his softener. It took ninety minutes, although it felt like one and a half days. You will be grateful that I have decided not to tell you in full and graphic detail about every call I made during my stay in Skingsley. It's not that kind of story. And for the rest of you, who are beginning to wonder why all the women's tits haven't started growing yet; it's not that kind of a story either. You will have to wait.
Fortunately, the hotel had a comfortable bar. I phoned Jessica at home, asked about the baby and the dog, then drained my beer before taking a leisurely dinner.
So, readers now know almost everything there is to know about Colin, not the ACME Water Softener installation man. He has a Jessica at home, looking after the baby and the dog, yet he is about to cut a lust-filled and unfaithful swathe through the women of Skingsley, after first inflating their breasts to the sort of proportions limited only by the imagination of the author and his readers. What about the much-publicised moral backlash against casual sexual relationships? What about the serious health aspects?
Jessica is my sister, who is looking after her baby and my dog, whose name really
is Acme. Jessica is at home, her home. I rang her because her husband died two weeks ago, and even with Acme about the place, she gets awfully lonely on Monday nights.
Don't we all?