Chapter 4: There's A Lot Of It About

This sort of thing can affect a man's concentration on his job. As well as going round visiting all of last week's new installations, I still had a crop of new ones to do. My relief at finding no further examples of unusual breast development - apart from Louise and Mrs Sargent's girls - was tempered by my alarm at finding that two of my latest batch of new calls had young girls about the house.

One was a slightly chubby teenager with a pair of over-ripe watermelons under her straining blouse. If they started growing any more, there would be Hell to pay. In the other house, there was a delightful and delicate little creature of about nine. Again, if Mr ACME Frankenstein got to work on her, it might please some perverted souls; but I would have been more content to let nature run its course.

Back at the hotel, I phoned the office. Had they had any complaints from customers about anything? No, of course they hadn't. What had I in mind? Oh, nothing in particular, just complaints in general. Well, it had been a long shot.

So I tried Davie, another installation man who had been on the same course as me. Had he heard of any unusual effects of the water softener, on women, perhaps? No? Oh, it was nothing, never mind. Yes, we ought to meet up for a drink sometime. Bring the girlfriend. What girlfriend? That was when I thought of Louise again.

No sooner had I put down the phone, but it rang. It was Louise. There's telepathy for you. One day, it might replace the telephone altogether. Meanwhile, they're still working on the system. They have bandwidth problems.

"Colin? Oh, thank God it's you. I couldn't remember which hotel you were staying in - I tried three before this one."

"It must have been important. How can I help you?"

"Well, I don't know how to put this. You know my ... my... ?"

Here we go again. "You mean your breasts?"

I could feel her going red over the phone. "Yes. How did you know what I meant?" How did I know? I had thought of little else all day. "Colin, you still there? They've grown some more!"

"Some more?" Not the most intelligent question, but on the spur of the moment...

"You know how big they were this morning?" I think that was what they call a rhetorical question, so I left her to carry on. "Well, I went out to buy a bra at lunchtime. I took my top off in the fitting room at the shop and looked in the mirror. They were bigger still. I didn't buy the bra. I rushed out."

"You didn't even get measured?"

"No, I know I should have done, but I was so embarrassed and confused. No, but that's not the point. They're even bigger now! I could just get both hands around one of them at lunchtime when I got home. Two hands aren't big enough now, by quite a long way. Please, I'm scared. Can you come round?"

I thought she would never ask.

Louise flung open the door as soon as I arrived on the doorstep. Her arms met around the back of my neck. Her tits were bigger; I could tell just from the feel of them. At last, I freed myself and held her at arms' length. It was worth it.

She was wearing a large blue man's work shirt. (He was probably the extra-terrestrial who had been reported on the streets of Skingsley earlier in the day. Students of English will recognise this as an example of a Misplaced Modifier). I wear a 44 and it would have fitted me quite nicely. But nowhere near as nicely as it fitted Louise. The top four or five buttons were undone, and the creamy slopes of her now generous cleavage peeped out. With an effort, I avoided ejaculating prematurely in my pants. (I can recommend thinking of the bank manager. It worked this time, but it was a perilous close-run thing).

Then I hugged her to me again. An hour or so later, we lay on her bed, panting.

"They feel even bigger now!" If that was an attempt to get me hard again, it was about ten minutes too soon. It was also a spectacular success! She lay on her back, but rolled towards me as I tickled her tummy, just above the downy pubic hair. In that position, her breasts completely filled the space available.

"We ought to measure them ... measure you ... for a bra. It will save time when you go to the shop tomorrow."

"I don't think I dare go back there again!" She sat up, her tits lolloping into her lap on the bed. "Oh, look at them, they're getting enormous."

I already was, and they were. "Have you got a tape measure?"

"Over there, in the dressing table drawer."

I fetched it, and helped her up from the bed. The result was remarkable. From being a slim, flat-chested girl of five feet nothing just a week ago, she was now a slim, huge-breasted girl of five feet nothing. She needed to find a 32G bra, and where was she going to find one of those in Skingsley? Her measurements were about 41-19-31. That put her well into Linda Shoesmith's league.

We dropped the tape measure after that, and our love-making was even more abandoned than last time. By the time we came up for air, it was dark outside, and Louise insisted that I stayed. She didn't need to insist very hard. What a night! It rained, there was a thunderstorm, and Louise clung to me until calm returned, both outside the window and in her double bed.

By morning, there was a fresh, rain-washed appearance to the crystal air outside. God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world. I took a deep breath at the window, then heard a scream from the bathroom. I ran. I don't often run, but I can move quite quickly at times. This was one of them.