Chapter 1

Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Humor, Petting, Exhibitionism, Size, Body Modification, Big Breasts, .

Desc: Humor Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Nancy Bosomworth applies for a mysterious job. What's it all about? Well, when she arrives for her first day she finds she shares at least one thing in common with all her female colleagues. Or should that be two...? Wearing a D cup bra, Nancy wasn't used to having the smallest bust in any group of girls, but she certainly was here... NOTE: Some codes don't come up much but are included for accuracy.

Nancy Bosomworth applies for a mysterious job. What's it all about? This is a ridiculous fantasy, in which some unusually well-developed young women are strongly featured. Please don't attempt to read it if you are younger than the characters in the story.

"Just a few more questions, Miss Bosomworth," the young man's flat voice sounded tinny down the phone. He was reading from a script, filling in her answers on a form. "Confirm your age, please."

"I already told you. I'm still twenty-three."

"Thank you. Your height, please?"

"Five feet three, I think. But what's the relev... ?"

"And your weight? In pounds, please."

"I don't know. About eight stone, I think, but..."

"In pounds, please."

"Whatever eight stone is," Nancy snapped crossly. "A hundred and twelve pounds."

"Thank you. And your measurements? In inches, please."

"What?"

"Your measurements? In inches, please."

"What business is it of yours? If you're so interested, why not invite me for a proper interview? Then you can measure me yourself. If you dare!"

"Thank you. Your measurements? In inches, please. Hips first, then waist, then bust."

Nancy almost slammed the phone down. Then she caught sight of the ad in the local free weekly paper again. She needed the money. She needed this job, whatever it was. "Hips, thirty-four," she said, mentally paring off the odd half inch.

"Thank you. Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Waist, please. In inches..."

"Twenty-three."

The young man accepted this without comment. "Bust, please. In inches..."

"What did you expect it in? In feet? Yards?"

"In inches, please."

"Thirty-five. And my bra size is 32D, if you're bloody interested."

"Thank you. Kindly attend for a formal interview at our offices on Tuesday morning at ... ten thirty. Dress is informal. Thank you for calling, Miss Bosomworth. Good day."

Nancy stared at the purring phone. "Hello?"

Nobody there. Had it been a dream? A nightmare to be more precise. The stream of questions, as if the young man's voice had been a recording, barely reacting to her responses. A robot. A machine. And yet, it had reacted in a way, repeating certain questions, thanking her, moving on down the list...

Tuesday morning. Dress informal! A ridiculous image came to her of a line of interviewees waiting in turn in an outer office, in ball gowns and tiaras. She'd wear a skirt and blouse. Her only presentable blouse. The last time she'd worn it had been for that disaster of a date with Ronald. He'd tried to get his drunken hands into her bra in the taxi coming home, but had forgotten what he was trying to do and ended up being sick into her cleavage. Three months ago. At least, that taught her not to date one's boss; not to mix business with pleasure. Pleasure?

The ad wasn't very informative...

Young Ladies Wanted For Short Term Contract

(Initially six months)

Excellent remuneration package includes accommodation, meals and essential clothing. Applicants must be physically fit, well-spoken, independent, unattached, with clean driving licence.

No previous experience necessary but keyboard skills and familiarity with word processor and spreadsheet software would be an advantage, as would restaurant (front of house) experience.

Full on-the-job training available on site. This contract may lead to further employment of a highly lucrative nature.

Must have no objections to working with animals of various sizes, and children.

Sports facilities will be available to employees during the earlier part of the contract period only, dependent on employees' individual progress and circumstances.

Previously unsuccessful applicants and employees should not re-apply. Initial application by telephone, please, at ANY time.

Weird or what? Animals of various sizes? And that man who had wanted to know the answers to all those ridiculous questions. Her shoe size? Hat size? She never wore a hat, except for weddings, and she didn't seem to get invited to those any more, not now she couldn't afford toasters (Not Morphy-Richards!!!) and fondue sets and even crockery (chunky, hand-painted, in French farmhouse style).

Whatever it was, Nancy desperately needed the money. And maybe some of that highly lucrative employment that might come later. She'd have some of that, too. Whatever it took, Nancy was up for it.


"Do sit down, Miss Bosomworth. I'm Grenville Washington. First of all, let me apologise for that ghastly telephone interview. We're still refining Richard, I'm afraid." The tall, silver-templed and distinguished man smiled and pressed a button on a small console to one side of his desk.

A metallic voice boomed out. '... In inches, please. Are you sure? Your waist, please... ?'

Nancy stared. "It is a machine?"

"You guessed? Clearly it needs more work. But yes, a sophisticated machine, trained to recognise speech patterns from a wide range of female voices. It rejects males. And it can recognise all likely responses to its bank of questions. Most of them, anyway."

Nancy blushed, trying to remember if she had sworn at the young man on the phone.

"Now, Miss Bosomworth. Excellent name, by the way. Most appropriate, as you'll realise later. Perhaps I can call you Nancy? You'll have been wondering what this is all about?"

"Well, naturally, it's all a bit mysterious..."

"We have to be somewhat devious, to weed out undesirable elements. Anyone who gets as far as this interview is doing extremely well."

"She is?" Nancy felt a surge of excitement. Some anxiety, too. "What will I ... what will the successful applicant have to do?"

"There will be more than just yourself ... that is, more than just one successful applicant. We are looking for several young women who fulfil our requirements. You... they ... will be placed in a group who then progress through our initiation procedure. We expect the group to become smaller as time progresses." He seemed to consider this last statement for a while. "Let me put that another way. It won't actually get smaller, but there will be some inevitable wastage. Those who are unsuccessful will be returned to society, after being required to sign a commitment not to divulge anything of what they have seen. The aim of this interview is to reduce this wastage to a minimum. It is an expensive training course, so we do our best to hand-pick our teams. Yes, you'll be part of a team, Nancy. Still interested?"

Nancy felt part of this team already, although she hadn't a clue as to what game they'd be playing. "I'm still interested!"

"Good! Now, you gave your measurements to Richard, but ... would you mind standing up, please? Now turn round, slowly. Thank you. 36-23½-34½, and one hundred and seventeen pounds?"

Nancy gasped.

"A lady is entitled to a little self-deception. What's half an inch here or there? Or five pounds? Trivial, I assure you. Oh, excuse my rudeness. It's only for the purposes of your uniform. It will be specially tailored by our seamstresses, so we have to get it right. Given your relatively well-developed bust, the one-piece items of apparel, you will agree, might pose a problem. Black underwear all right? Fine!" Mr Washington picked up an expensive-looking fountain pen. "Now, how soon can you start? No pressure, but if you could make it by tomorrow morning... ?"

"Tomorrow? But I couldn't poss..."

"Of course. You have ties, relationships. Perhaps next Wednesday, then? We have another intake starting then." The pen was poised over the paper.

"Tomorrow would be fine," Nancy surprised herself. "What time?"

Mr Washington smiled to himself. "Eight o' clock, please. There is a bus journey involved. Excellent! Capital. Now, if you'd just sign here? And here. And this one. Not many more, this one here. And this. And this!"

"What will I need to bring?"

"Nothing! A book, if you like, a teddy bear if you sleep with one. Clothes, no problem, your uniform will be ready for collection in the morning. Everything else you will find when you arrive at your destination. In fact, we do insist on the bare minimum of luggage." He stood up and extended his hand, indicating that the interview was at an end. It had taken precisely fourteen minutes. There'd be another dozen girls to see before lunchtime. "Miss Bosomworth, welcome to the Washington Enterprise Experience! Enjoy your stay!"


There was a bus journey involved, as Mr Washington had told her. It wasn't a regular service bus, or a long distance coach. There was a minibus waiting, exhaust steaming, in the icy rain outside the office; a twelve seater, with a bored or half asleep driver picking his nose behind the wheel. Just inside the entrance to the office building, a disturbance was taking place. Three apprehensive girls, muffled against the weather, were standing numbly with their overnight bags while a tall, regal-looking creature was protesting about something in a painfully loud voice.

"Excuse me." Nancy tried to squeeze inside to find shelter, but she barked her shins on an enormous leather suitcase just inside the door.

"Do you mind?" said the tall woman, directing her ire at Nancy for a moment. "That is mine, you know."

"I'm sorry. I didn't see it."

"It's big enough! Are you blind or something?"

"It's too big," said a male voice from further inside. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. You were told not to bring baggage. You won't need it."

The three spectators rolled their eyes in close harmony and grinned at Nancy. "Nothing like getting off on the right foot," the nearest one whispered.

"Is that Miss Bosomworth?" asked the male voice, which now had some kind of an American accent. "Good, you're all here. You can start getting on the bus if you like." He appeared at last, a hunky PE-instructor type of person in jogging pants and a white rollneck sweater. His baseball cap was worn the right way round but tilted up at a perky angle. "Now, Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is, we can store your oversized cabin trunk here for you, or we can have it sent home, but we cannot and will not accept it on the minibus. Whatever's in it, you don't need it where you're going."

The tall woman drew herself up a further three or four inches. "Well, I never!"

The rest of the girls sniggered delightedly behind their hands. Nobody said 'Well I never', not even maiden aunts from Broadstairs. If this woman joined them at their mysterious destination, life wasn't going to be dull. Hell, perhaps, but never tedious.

"I shall report you to Mr Washington personally!"

"You will report me to Mr Washington personally, or you will report me personally to Mr Washington? Whichever, go right ahead."

"I certainly shall. What's your name?"

"Randall Washington. I'm Grenville's brother. Please excuse the colonial accent; I was brought up in New York. He sent for me to run this enterprise, and run it is what I intend to do. Now, Miss..."

"Taunton-Deane, as you know perfectly well."

"Miss Taunton-Deane. Lavinia. Six feet and half an inch. 42-23-38." The other girls exchanged shocked glances and the woman's eyebrows rose in outrage, but Randall continued without a pause. "If you'd care to unpack your trunk and choose a reasonable selection of its contents to take with you, we will provide a suitable container." And from behind his back he produced a Tesco Bag For Life. "Here you go, Lavinia! Tough, durable plastic. Recyclable. If the handles come off, take it back to any Tesco store and it will be replaced at no charge to yourself. I can give you..." Randall wore a rather pretentious stainless steel watch on the inside of his wrist. "Six minutes. Your colleagues will perhaps lend a hand..."

"They most certainly will not!"

"Up to you," Randall sighed wearily. "They'll wait for you on the bus." And he slid nimbly past the fuming Lavinia Taunton-Deane to the door. "Walk this way, ladies!"


Lavinia Taunton-Deane had maintained a snooty silence all the way here, on her own at the back of the bus, while the others gradually got to know each other and exchanged the odd pleasantry with Randall Washington, who was sat up front with the driver. Most of the time, they couldn't hear any of the conversation between the two men, although they could guess at its content from the regular cackles of laddish laughter. Randall leaned against the passenger door with one arm flung over the back of his seat, half turned so that without moving a muscle he could study his passengers; apart from the girl sitting directly behind him, and the sulking Lavinia at the back.

Nancy had read about men who undressed you with their eyes, but it hadn't really happened to her before, until now. Randall's amused gaze just passed straight through her sweater and was probably examining the clasps of her front-loading bra. Were the other girls experiencing the same feeling? She studied them once more as the bus toiled its way up a long incline.

To her left, and immediately behind Randall where he couldn't easily see her, was Caroline Rossiter. It was strange; she thought of all her new companions by their full names. There was a good reason for this, the name badges that Randall had distributed as they climbed aboard the bus.

"Pin these on," he had said, tapping the left side of his chest. "All our people wear a name tag all the time. These white ones are only temporary; you'll get your first proper badge this evening."

Wondering, and giggling foolishly, they had pinned the plastic oblongs to their sweaters, with Randall jokingly issuing directions to ensure that the badges were worn just so: on the upper slope of the left breast.

The upper slope of Caroline Rossiter's bosom was like an Olympic downhill skiing course. She was a big-breasted girl. In fact, they all were. Wearing a D cup bra, Nancy wasn't used to having the smallest bust in any group of girls, but she certainly was here. Caroline tossed her dark reddish hair back over one shoulder, rubbed the steam off her window and stared out at the increasingly snowy fields. Her breasts bounced softly but very heavily inside her dark green military sweater. She seemed reserved, a little shy. She had replied in a pleasant and friendly manner to Nancy's remarks, but had long since lapsed into silence.

Not that it was quiet on the bus. Apart from the coarse guffaws from the lads up front, the other two girls kept up a ceaseless chatter as if they'd known each other all their lives. They were younger than Nancy and Caroline, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Noisy and blonde, Marianne Featherstone was almost as tall as Lavinia, and was strikingly slender, with non-existent hips. Nancy wondered bitterly what kept her jeans up. But there was no doubt about what was inside her shirt. She seemed to be trying to disguise her full bust by wearing a blue work shirt, fussy with pockets, open at the neck to reveal a T-shirt underneath. Perhaps she was also subconsciously camouflaging her curves by teaming up with Susannah Shacklehurst. The bubbly little dark-haired girl had a massive pair of tits thrusting out at her sweatshirt in all directions.

God, she's big, thought Nancy, trying not to stare, but finding her eyes constantly drawn back to Susannah's hypnotic name badge, wobbling with every bump in the road. Why do we all have such long names? Mine's the shortest, and I've got fifteen letters...

Randall had joked about it as he handed out the badges. "You girls are going to cost us a fortune in engraving," he had observed.

"Our names aren't the only thing that's big!" Marianne had cackled, nudging her friend's bosom with an elbow and setting off a seismic disturbance that went on for twenty seconds or more.

The journey had already taken three and a half hours when the bus swung off the main road and negotiated a wrought iron gateway of the kind generally referred to as imposing. The narrow drive wound its way through rolling snow-covered parkland, climbed steeply through a dense wood and eventually turned sharp right to reveal the kind of mansion even Lavinia Taunton-Deane might have been proud to call home.

They all gasped, apart from Lavinia, presumably.

"Home sweet home," said Randall as the bus stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the front doors. Up here in the hills, the snow was now falling thickly, forming an unbroken carpet scarred by the wheel-marks of the bus. "Looks like we made it just in time. We could be snowed in for weeks! But nothing to worry about, we're all self-contained here, even if the helicopter can't get in with essential supplies. Now," Randall abandoned his bantering tone. "There are five of you in this group, and only three rooms available, so only one of you will have a room to herself. It will all be sorted out next week when we reallocate the accommodation. You'll be able to have a room each at that time. Meanwhile..."

Lavinia Taunton-Deane broke her self-imposed silence. "I ought to..." She stopped, apparently realising that by insisting on having a room of her own she might be deliberately punished by being forced to share.

The other girls looked at one another, realising that if they weren't careful, one of them might find herself sharing with Lavinia. The two chatterboxes had already put their word in. "We're sharing," said Marianne.

Nancy glanced at Caroline, who grinned and nodded. "So are we," said Nancy.

"Well, Lavinia," Randall laughed. "Looks like you're the lucky one. You got the Duke's bedroom." Randall deliberately pronounced it 'Dook', Nancy suspected, just to infuriate Lavinia. "It's where the old Duke used to be banished to when the Duchess wasn't feeling too frisky. He spent the best part of thirty years in there. Nice view, but only a single bed. In we go, girls. Let's hit the beach! Your rooms are up the stairs and along the corridor to the left. No porters, you just can't get the servants these days!"


Marianne stopped and turned round, giggling. "Who's going to be first?"

"First?" asked Nancy. "First with what?"

"First into our Randall's pants, of course!"

Lavinia gave a huge sniff of dismissal and sailed past, close-hauled on the port tack, looking less than dignified with her supermarket carrier bag.

"Not her, anyway," little Susannah sniggered, with a toss of her ponytail. It was immensely long, dancing round her pert little bum. Substantially less than five feet tall, her breasts were unbelievable, wobbling independently beneath her sweater.

Caroline had gone on a few paces, but now she stopped in front of a door on the left. "Here's our room," she said to Nancy, and staring at a couple of cards which had been slipped into brass holders screwed to the door. "Oh, my God, no!" and she covered the cards with her hand as the two giggling room-mates hurried past and burst through the next doorway on the right with schoolgirl squeals.

"What's the matter?" Nancy asked.

"Look at these cards. Isn't it dreadful?" And she moved her hand away.

Nancy took a look. "Oh, no! For everyone to see!"

Nancy Bosomworth

36-23½-34½

Caroline Rossiter

42-22-35

"It's so embarrassing!" Caroline slipped into the room, blushing deeply. "If that's their idea of a joke, I don't think much of it!"

"They do seem to be obsessed with our measurements, I must say," said Nancy, finding herself peering at her new friend's chest. Caroline was standing in a slightly hunched posture, but there was no hiding her well-endowed figure. A forty-two inch bust was as big as Lavinia's, yet the haughty aristocrat was five or six inches taller.

"Which bed do you fancy?" Caroline asked, placing her overnight bag on the one nearer the door.

Nancy went to the one by the window. "This one's fine. Hey, great view. It must be even better in summer. I bet you can see for miles."

Caroline was studying a letter. "You've got one of these, too. They would like to welcome us to the Washington Enterprise Experience, whatever that is."

Nancy bounced on her bed and read her letter. "Bathrooms are back along the corridor on the left. Make sure you go before you get into bed. Hey! We're expected for lunch at one thirty. Ten minutes' time!"

"How thoughtful. Come as you are! As if we'd even had a chance to have a shower and change."

"Change into what, anyway? I'm beginning to think Lady Lavinia had the right idea, bringing some clothes with her. I think I've got a shirt, somewhere..." Nancy jumped up and unzipped her bag.

Caroline watched her for a moment, then did the same. "How did they know, do you think?"

"Know what?"

"Which doors to put those cards on? We didn't even decide who was rooming with who until we were getting off the bus. Yet they've got the right two cards on the door, and the right personal letters on the beds."

"On the right beds, too! If that's not efficiency, I don't know what is!" Nancy turned back the covers and glanced at Caroline, to make sure she wasn't looking. The other girl was dipping into her bag for something, hiding it with her body.

There was a resounding racket outside in the corridor, followed by a pounding on the door.

"What on earth... ?" The door burst open and slammed against the wall.

"Wardrobe!" A young man in a grey overall came in, his arms full of cardboard boxes.

"Eeek!"

"Rossiter and Bosomworth?" The lad laughed. "Bosomworth! Bloody hell! That's a good one! Bosomworth! He-heee! Which is which?" Without waiting for a reply, he dumped three boxes on each bed and retired without a backward glance.

"What a nerve!" Caroline started to complain. "We might have been naked!"

"He'd never have noticed..." Nancy stopped, and stared at Caroline. Both girls were trying to conceal something behind their backs. There was a moment's silence, then they both laughed.

"What's yours called?" said Caroline.

"Bear."

"Very sensible. Mine's Edwin. He goes with me everywhere. Actually, it's the first time we've been anywhere."

They propped their teddy bears against the headboards of their beds.

Nancy straightened one of Bear's ears which had been flattened in the bag. "I wonder if Lady Lavinia's got one."

"Can you get ermine-trimmed bears? Let's see what they've brought us." She opened the top box. "Oh, my goodness!"

It was just like Christmas.


It was even more like Christmas when they had collected their sandwiches and hurried back to the room to play with their new clothes.

"Sorry it's such a frugal lunch," Randall Washington had apologised. "In view of the weather, we sent some of the catering staff home early. But if you'd like to take your lunch back to your rooms, you'll find the remainder of your wardrobes have been delivered."

"More clothes?" Lavinia had said, somewhat surprisingly. And she had grabbed her lunch in a most unladylike manner and hurried out. Even Randall was stunned.

"If the cook's gone home, what about dinner tonight?" Nancy asked him.

"Nothing to worry about. Chef lives here. It's just his kitchen assistants who've gone home. Mrs Washington is helping him out preparing dinner."

"There's a Mrs Washington?" Marianne's face registered dismay.

"Of course. And the kids. They're part of the reason ... hey, you didn't think ... Mrs Washington's not my wife! It's Grenville's wife and family, not mine!" Marianne brightened instantly. "Lil' ol' Randall's still footloose and fancy-free."

The first consignment of boxes had been taken away, leaving their new clothes laid out on the beds, and more boxes were now stacked beside each bed in an orderly pile.

"We'd better start hanging it all up," said Nancy, "but it's so much fun trying everything on! And it all fits!"

"So it should, too, since they know our measurements intimately." Caroline smoothed her shiny emerald green frock down across her bosom. "This is an amazing dress! I've never had anything that fits my top and my bottom at the same time."

Nancy was struggling with hers, in lustrous kingfisher blue. "Mine's a bit tight round the hips," she complained, blushing as she realised it was her own fault for the little white lies she had told about her own measurements. "Do we have to wear these for dinner tonight? I'll explode!"

"The letter says yes. Posh frocks on the first night, and once a week after that. The rest of the time it's more casual. I suppose we'll be meeting Mrs W."

"And the family. Somehow, I never thought of Grenville Washington as being a family man. He was the one who guessed so accurately at my measurements." Nancy pulled hopelessly at her dress, and tried to flatten her tummy. "I'm going to have to start working out, or something..."

"I've never had so many bras as this," said Caroline, wonderingly stuffing underwear into her chest of drawers. The right size, too. I really need a 34H cup. Isn't it terrible! An H!"

"I'm only a D." Nancy laughed shortly. "Only! I never thought I'd say I was only anything. But the rest of you are all so big up top, you make me feel flat-chested. It can't be just coincidence, can it? We must have been selected because of our bust size. It's a bit worrying. What kind of job is this? What are we going to be, strippers?"

Caroline had turned pale. "They couldn't make us be strippers against our will, could they?"

Nancy laughed at the ridiculous idea. "I don't know. If the money's right..."


Even without half the kitchen staff, the Washington Enterprise Experience could still turn out a magnificent dinner. If the newcomers had expected to meet the existing employees, however, they were disappointed. There were just the five of them, plus the two Washington brothers, and Mrs Washington who emerged from the kitchen just in time for the main course, apologising for her lateness and her red hands. Perhaps it was just as well there weren't more of them; the whole meal was served by the minibus driver, looking a little ill-at-ease in stiff white shirt and bow tie.

It would have been a jolly gathering had it not been for the brooding presence of Lavinia Taunton-Deane. She had an allergy, she claimed, which seemed to afflict her whenever she ate anything remotely enjoyable.

"But that's terrible, Lavinia," Randall coo-ed solicitously, wincing only slightly at the kicks being directed at him beneath the table by Mrs Washington. "How does it affect you?"

"I come out in the most ghastly disfiguring rash," said Lavinia, pleased for her martyrdom to be the centre of attention. "All over the backs of my hands, and the rest of my body." She looked hopefully at the backs of her hands, but she was mercifully free of disfigurement.

"What brings it on, Lavinia?" Mrs Washington asked.

"Oh, practically anything! Fresh cream, milk, cheese, any dairy produce; additives, man-made fibres, non-organic vegetables, unfiltered water, tea, coffee, refined sugar, eggs ... just about anything!"

"Golly! You poor thing! How did you discover what was causing it?"

"Oh, a friend recommended a book, and of course I read it, and started coming out in a rash almost straight away. Of course, the doctors are useless..."

"Oh, of course!"

"You haven't touched your vegetables," Randall pointed out.

"Pesticides," said Lavinia firmly. "Even though these are undoubtedly organic vegetables, the pesticides used by neighbouring farms drift on the wind and infect everything, no matter how carefully your gardeners look after the crops."

Grenville Washington had been following the conversation, nodding wisely. "Where are these vegetables from, Andrea?"

"I'm not sure. I think Beryl gets them from Sainsbury's in Hereford."

Lavinia went white and clutched at her throat, as the other girls tried not to laugh out loud.

"They're delicious, anyway, Mrs Washington," said Nancy, stuffing her napkin into her mouth.

"Would you excuse me, I'm not feeling too well..." Lavinia pushed back her chair.

"By all means, dear," said Grenville. "Although I had planned to use this occasion to explain what the job is all about."

"If she's feeling unwell, Gren, darling..."

"Perhaps. But it's not a problem. I can tell you all at breakfast. Seven-thirty sharp, by the way, then we'll make a start on your initiation at ten. Good night, Lavinia. I hope you're feeling better in the morning. A good night's sleep can work wonders."

"I hope so, Mr Washington. I can feel my rash coming on."

"Oooh, let me see!" Susannah was already half out of her chair, but Marianne pulled her back.

Things became rather quiet after that. Grenville excused himself, saying he had business to attend to tonight which he would otherwise have completed in the morning.

"Gren's very busy," his wife explained. "Gosh, is that the time already? I promised to help cheffy tidy up in the kitchen. You will excuse me..."

So the four girls were left alone with Randall. Marianne fancied her chances. Her chair was next to Randall's and her dress, a miniscule black number, displayed an alarming amount of cleavage. "More wine, Randall?" she sighed, leaning forward dangerously and resting her bust on the table so that her breasts were almost pushed up out of her bodice. He accepted half a glass, but kept his conversation general and politely directed to all four of the guests in turn. After quarter of an hour, he made his excuses.

"I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I have a few details to tidy up before morning, so if you will excuse me, I'll see you all at ten tomorrow. Do finish off the wine. I don't think it will bring you out in a rash."

"The bastard!" Marianne hissed fiercely after he had gone. "Who's he got lined up for tonight?"

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend," suggested Caroline mischievously.

"Maybe he's seeing Lavinia," suggested Nancy.

"He'd better not be! I hope you all realise this is my first night I will be sleeping on my own for over a year!"

"Sleeping?" said Caroline.

"You're not alone," said Susannah. "You're with me."

"It's not the same at all."

"I should hope it isn't," said Nancy. "I wish Lady Lav hadn't gone off like that. Now we'll have to wait until breakfast to find out what we're going to be doing here."

"I know what I'll be doing tonight," muttered Marianne. The others widened their eyes. "I mean, I know what I won't be doing!"

"Never mind, Mar," said Nancy. "A good night's sleep can work wonders."


The trouble with red wine is what it does to your head the next morning. Four girls sat in pained silence at the breakfast table, accompanied by an unnervingly sprightly Lavinia, whose allergies seemed to have deserted her. She was gulping coffee without any sign of disfigurement. There was something else different about her, although the others were perhaps too hung over to pay much attention to it. They toyed with the menu card with signs of nausea.

Then Caroline nudged Nancy.

"Ouch!"

"Look!"

"What... ? Oh! Wow!"

The others looked as well. A waitress had emerged from the kitchen and was heading for their table. She wore traditional black and white, with a black necktie. It was the tie that first grabbed Nancy's attention. It extended almost horizontally in front of her; not by any miracle of levitation, but because it rested on a remarkable shelf-like bosom.

"How about those, then?" sighed Marianne ecstatically, and the rest of the girls looked at her sharply.

"They're not as big as mine," pouted Susannah. "I don't think so, anyway."

The girl hip-twitched her way across the dining room and beamed at them. "Bright and early!" she remarked. "The girls don't normally have breakfast until nine. Mr Washington believes in letting them have their beauty sleep."

The waitress had a soft, West Country accent and she seemed to be managing perfectly well without much beauty sleep of her own. She was almost painfully beautiful, as well as stunningly well-endowed. The girls stared at her until she blushed and giggled.

"Would you like to order? Everything on the menu is available except the kippers, 'cos of the snow."

Lavinia put down the menu card with an air of decision, and briskly ordered what sounded like a bit of everything. The others followed suit with minor variations, except Marianne, who was closest to the waitress, and was still gaping at her.

"Ooh, sorry! I've just realised why you're all starin' at me! I ought to be wearing my badge." And she fumbled briefly behind her back - thrusting out her phenomenal breasts in the process - before finding her name badge from somewhere. Proudly, she pinned it to her shirt, and inspected it to see if it was straight. "I always pins it to the back of me skirt, see? You won't tell young Mr Washington, will you?" she asked anxiously.

Marianne hadn't stopped staring, although she now had something more specific to stare at. The waitress' badge was blue, with white lettering, and Marianne slowly read it out loud.

Zenobia Hills, 17

47-23-34

Zenobia winked at Susannah. "You'll 'ave to watch your girlfriend," she giggled. "She's got a rovin' eye!" Susannah blushed and gulped. "Oops, sorry! Don't your friends know yet? Never mind, I'm sure they're all broadminded! Made your mind up yet?" she asked Marianne, flourishing her order pad.

"Just toast," Marianne muttered.

"And some eggs?" Zenobia prompted her. "Go on, have some eggs. Poached is nice, or scrambled..."

"Just toast," insisted Marianne doggedly. The others looked at her with interest, as if discovering at long last the answer to the time-worn riddle, What Do Lesbians Eat For Breakfast?

Then they all had something else to watch as Zenobia wiggled away to the kitchen. As the door swung closed behind her they heard her voice raised like a foghorn, "Two scrambled, two poached, two fried, sausages, bacon..."

"Bloody hell!" said Nancy. "Where did they find her?"

They had plenty of time to ponder the question. Service was leisurely to say the least. As conversation flagged, appetite returned.

"I wonder if I could change my order," said Marianne. "I'm beginning to fancy an egg."

"They're probably still persuading the hens to lay them," Caroline suggested. "Maybe we ought to order tomorrow's breakfast now while we're at it."

At which moment the kitchen door swung open and Zenobia reappeared, juggling expertly with five plates, followed by another black and white-clad - and dark chocolate-complexioned - waitress with coffee and teapots on a tray.

"Full breakfast for Lavinia," Zenobia chanted, "Scrambled eggs and bacon for Caroline, poached with a bit of bacon and mushrooms for Nancy, fried eggs and overdone bacon for Susannah and just toast for her girlfriend. You're sure you don't fancy an egg... ?"

"No thank you," said Marianne, crushed.

"Bon appetit! I'll get out of Juno's way. Those things are heavy."

And it wasn't until Zenobia had sped away and Juno had borne her tray of coffee and teapots to the table that the girls realised the implications of Zenobia's parting words. Those things were heavy, all right.

"What did her badge say?" said Nancy. "I couldn't read it."

Caroline's mouth was still hanging open. "You'll have another chance. She's coming back."

Juno had forgotten the sugar. This time, Nancy got a good look at her badge.

Juno Grayson, 18

53-26-36

"Why the different colours?" she wondered.

"To match her nails?" Susanna suggested.

"Maybe it's to do with the size." Caroline looked at her own substantial rack, comparing herself with the others. "Although I don't see why we'd need different coloured badges. It's not as if people can't see how big we all are!"

"They've given us all white ones," Lavinia pointed out authoritatively. "It can't be to do with size if we've all been given the same colour, can it?" She sniffed regally in the general direction of Nancy.

Again, the conjecture was cut short, but not by the reappearance of waitresses. This time it was Grenville Washington himself. He came in from the opposite direction, taking them by surprise.

"Morning, ladies! I trust you slept well?" His amused eyes flickered across them, lingering for a moment on Marianne and Susannah, who instantly blushed crimson. "Now, I promised to brief you on what to expect in your first few days here. After breakfast, you may retire to your rooms while the other employees use the dining room. There are quite a few of them here, hence the two sittings. The problem is that we have a group of girls due to leave this week, but the weather has rather thrown the cat among the pigeons. As soon as the roads are clear, we'll get back to normal. Okay so far?"

Five heads nodded. Even Lavinia was in agreement with the rest.

"So, at ten this morning, you'll all see the doctor." He held up his hand to quell the gasps. "Don't worry! Nothing embarrassing or unpleasant. And you won't be kept hanging around. While the doctors are performing tests on some of you, others will be seeing our corsetières. You will all be accurately measured and weighed. After this, you will be issued with your yellow badges. You've seen the waitresses... ?"

More nods.

"Zenobia wears a blue badge, which comes next after yellow. Girls then progress to green, pink, red and gold. No logical order to the choice of colours; I'd have preferred to have gone in the order of the spectrum, but my brother simply picked the badge colours out of a hat. Any questions?"

There weren't any.

"You will progress through the colours as a group. You may have been wondering about the significance of the badges, perhaps about some connection between colour and ... how to put it delicately ... breast size? The short answer is that there is a connection, although not exactly the way you might think. In fact, the connection is that you can expect your breasts to become larger during your employment here."

Minor commotion broke out until Grenville put up his hand.

"We can't tell you how much bigger, that's all part of what your employment here is all about. Some of you will grow more than others. Zenobia was already pretty big when she arrived six weeks ago. She has added only a couple of inches. Juno was only thirty-five inches, and has done extremely well in her ten weeks! Over the next few days you will come into contact with other employees, some of whom have been here a long time, some only a few weeks. Their ages vary considerably, although almost all have left school, of course. Talking of which; eventually, but not yet, you will meet the other members of my family. I wish I could tell you more, but in time you will come to realise that there is method in my madness. More coffee, anyone? It will only be Juno again this time ... No? In that case, Randall will see you at ten in the main lounge. I'll see you from time to time. If you have any questions, my office is at the back of the east wing, overlooking the vegetable garden." He glanced significantly at Lavinia and grinned to himself. "But we will try to keep you fully briefed with daily memos." He moved away before the questioning could start. "Bye, girls!"


Nancy came out of the corsetière's office shaking like a leaf. "Your turn," she told Caroline who looked quizzically at her.

"What's the matter? You had a fright in there?"

"You'll find out." She blushed as she fumbled with her new yellow name badge. "Look at this."

"What about ... a new one? Why, what's wrong ... oh, I see!"

Nancy Bosomworth, 24

35½-26-35½

"That's not a bad figure, Nancy!"

"It's being reported to Mr Washington. I lied to get the job. I might get the sack."

"They won't give you the sack, Nancy. If they were going to fire you, why would they go to all the bother of engraving a new badge?"

That thought hadn't occurred to Nancy. She brightened a little, but only a little. "I'm still being reported. I've got to go for my medical. You'd better get in there and see him..."

"Okay. Him?" But Nancy had already closed the door behind her.

Seeing Marianne's face didn't make Nancy feel any better. The girl was white as a sheet.

"What happened to you?"

"He gave me an examination. Like at school, at the clinic. Right inside!"

"Who's in there now?"

"Lady Lavinia. She'll be going ballistic if he does that to her. Imagine it!"

"Have they done Susannah?"

"She was first. They've sent her to see the bra lady."

"It's not a lady. It's a man. And he's horrible!"

"A man? Measuring our busts?"

"And everything else. What do men know about measurements?"

"Is that a new badge they've given you?" Marianne peered at it and gasped. "They've changed your numbers!" She clapped a hand over her own, which informed the world that she was:

Marianne Featherstone, 18

38-21-31

"They probably change yours, too," Nancy predicted gloomily, but she didn't hear what Marianne thought about that as a door opened and Randall Washington appeared.

"Ah, Nancy. Would you come into the office for a moment, please. I'd like a word."

So this was it. Fired on her second day.

"Ah, they've given you a new badge. Excellent!"

"Mr Washington, I can explain..."

"Call me Randall, Nancy. You didn't give us the correct data we asked for, did you?"

"I must have made a mistake..."

"You may not think it's important, an inch or so, but believe me, it is. Once we start the treatment and you start becoming bigger..."

"Randall, I've been thinking about this. I don't agree with breast implants. They're not safe."

"That's a controversial point, Nancy. Greater minds than yours or mine don't agree. As it happens, if I were a woman, I'd probably feel less than happy about implants myself."

"Then how can you possibly even consider giving breast implants to a whole house-full of women?"

"We're not. Our treatment is entirely natural."

"You expect me to believe that black girl, Juno, is natural?"

"She's hugely developed, but her breasts are completely natural. No silicone, saline or anything in there at all."

"I don't believe you."

Randall sighed. "There's always one who refuses to believe the evidence of her own eyes! I thought it would be Lavinia, but I seem to have misjudged Lavinia in quite a few ways." He slid open his desk drawer and took out a photograph. "Look at this girl. It was taken six weeks ago."

Nancy looked at the picture. It showed a skinny girl, possibly Chinese. She looked to be barely in her teens, and slightly uneasy in white bra and panties. The bra was probably unnecessary.

"Lim's from Singapore. I confess that when I first saw her I thought she wouldn't be a suitable candidate. The first week proved me wrong. She's put on a huge amount of weight, all on her chest."

"An implant operation doesn't take a week to perform. I suppose you're going to show me another picture."

"No, I can do better than that." He pressed a button on the desk. Seconds later, the door opened silently and a nervous face looked in. It was the girl from the picture. "Come in, Lim. Nancy doesn't believe how you've grown. Come right in, please, and show Nancy your badge."

Nancy had to cover her gasp with a cough. Lim was stunningly endowed. She was wearing only a kind of T-shirt that came down to her thighs. Sinuously, she wiggled closer to Nancy and smiled shyly up at her with upturned eyes. Nancy's attention focused instantly on the badge.

Lim Chung, 26

43-18-28

"They could be implants," said Nancy, shakily.

"True, they could be. Take your shirt and bra off, please, Lim."

Lim stepped back and removed her shirt, posing briefly in her no-nonsense bra before reaching behind her to undo the hooks. Then it was off, as she slipped the shoulder straps down and allowed the cups to reveal more and more of her breasts. And still more. By the time the bra was dangling from one of Lim's hands, her breasts were hanging below her navel.

"Still think they're implants?" Randall laughed.

"How do I know it's the same girl?" Nancy blurted desperately.

"Oh, all Eastern girls look the same to you, do they? I wonder what Lim thinks of that."

"Western girls all look same to me, too," Lim said. "And all smell of sour milk."

"There you go, Nancy! That's put you in your place. Here are the rest of the photos, by the way, in case you still don't think Lim's the same girl. As you can see, she's grown remarkably, but not all in an hour; it's taken several weeks. Now perhaps you see why it was important for us to find out everything about you before commencing the treatment." He nodded to Lim who recovered her bra and loaded herself back into it as if she'd been doing it for years. "Now you'd better see the doctors. You're not a virgin, are you?"

Lim was giggling behind her hand. Nancy blushed. "No!"

"Good. I mean, thank you for your honesty. We'd have found out in the next few minutes anyway, of course..."


The girls, four of them, gathered in the lounge to discuss their shattering experiences. All four wore newly-engraved badges, which gave Nancy some slight consolation. Marianne had 'gained' half an inch on her waist and hips, and Caroline's bust was half an inch bigger than shown on her original badge. Susannah emerged from the bra fitting room to blushingly admit that all three of her vital statistics had changed, all in the same direction.

"I must have put on weight. I don't usually have as much dinner as we had last night."

"Are they going to report you to Mr Washington?" Nancy asked her.

"No. my hips and waist are about an inch bigger, but when I put on weight, it always goes to my tits. They said they wouldn't report me because my bust is so much bigger. Nearly two inches!"

It made an impression on the others, especially Marianne, who gazed at Susannah's shining new yellow badge with almost palpable lust:

Susannah Shacklehurst, 17

45½-28-38

"They're really big for your age, Susannah," Caroline remarked. "I know mine are whoppers, but looking at yours, they could easily be as big."

"You'd have to see them with my top off," Susannah said. "But I bet yours are a much nicer shape than these floppy old things."

"You can't go around taking your top off for everyone!" Marianne squeaked.

"I'm not! Not everyone. Just my friends! It's all right. You can see them, too."

"We'll all probably see more than enough of each other's bodies before we're through here," said Caroline. "Which reminds me. Where's our Lady Lavinia?"

"She was here earlier," said Susannah. "Randall invited her into his office."

Nancy grimaced. "Maybe she's getting a bollocking, too. I wonder what she's done wrong."

"That was half an hour ago. We haven't seen her since."

"We haven't seen Randall, either," Marianne reminded them.

"You don't think they've ... I mean, like ... got something going?" Nancy giggled.

"Already?" said Marianne.

"You fancied him last night. You'd have got into his pants by now if he'd been available. Maybe our Randall likes aristocratic English accents."

"He can't prefer that bitch to me!"

"There's no accounting for taste, Mar!"

"Anyway, they can't be doing it now! They're supposed to be at work. Nobody does it at this time of the morning."

Caroline grinned devilishly. "Oh, I don't know! Most of us would if we got the chance..." Her voice tailed away as the door opened, to reveal a smugly grinning Randall, holding the door open to admit Lavinia. Her hair was all over the place, her blouse was crumpled, her expression suggested that she had just been most majestically fucked. She blinked at her colleagues and smiled vacantly.

"Lunch in half an hour, ladies," Randall smirked. "In case you want to freshen up first..." He disappeared.

The girls stared at Lavinia with undisguised envy. She walked unsteadily over to an armchair, looking more than a little bow-legged, and subsided into it with all the elegance and grace of a sack of potatoes.

"You've got more buttonholes than buttons on your blouse," Susannah pointed out kindly. Lavinia looked dumbly down at herself and flapped her hands around uselessly.

"She's dressed in a hurry," Marianne snarled. "What's she been doing?"

"What do you think I've been doing?" Lavinia asked in an unfamiliar squeak.

"Fucking?" Caroline suggested.

"Such a coarse word," sighed Lavinia. "Making love is so much more descriptive..."

"She admits it," Marianne snapped. "The brazen bitch admits it!"

"We'd better get ready for lunch," Nancy suggested. "We've only got twenty-five minutes. It will take Lavinia that long to have a shower. Come on, Lavinia..."

"I don't want a shower," Lavinia cooed, rejecting Nancy's hand. "I want to eat my lunch in a haze of sexual juices. I want to reek of semen!"

The others recoiled in distaste. "You ought to wash it off, Lavinia," said Susannah. "It doesn't smell very nice."

"On the contrary, ma cherie! You girls go and 'freshen up', as Randy so quaintly put it. I'll join you. In fact, I feel so warm and comfortable and moist in this chair, I may just..." And to the horror of the girls, she hoisted the hem of her skirt upwards, spread her thighs lewdly and plunged a hand into the darkness.

"Oh, my God!"

"Look at her!"

"What's she doing?"

They looked at Susannah in disbelief. "Don't you know?"

"You mean she's playing with herself?"

"Of course she is, the cow!"

Lavinia was oblivious, her eyes screwed shut, panting embarrassingly.

"Come on, let's leave her to it," said Caroline, already heading out of the door.

"Whoever would have thought it?" Nancy gasped. "Lady Lavinia, of all people!"

"The bitch!" Marianne seemed outraged.

"Never mind, Mar," Caroline comforted her. "You're not missing much. Our Randy can't be a very satisfactory lover if Lavinia's got to bring herself off again five minutes later."


Lavinia had made a startling recovery by the time they assembled in front of the lunch buffet table. Although her colleagues maintained a suitable distance between themselves and the so-recently rogered lady of quality, they were bewildered at the change in her appearance. Not half an hour earlier she had been shuddering in an armchair with her flushed face screwed up in approaching orgasm, most of her fingers somewhere inside her. Now, she was miraculously transformed. Her hair was immaculate. She wore a pair of tan slacks and an extremely well-filled black silk shirt against which a gleaming new yellow badge stood out like a beacon.

Nancy moved closer, catching a hint of Lavinia's light, summery perfume. She had to read that badge. It was vitally important.

Lavinia Taunton-Deane, 20

42-23-37

With a little smile, Lavinia half turned to allow Nancy to read the information. Her breasts were full and heavy, yet they seemed to defy gravity. Was she wearing a bra? They seemed to shiver with every little movement, and they were crested by most noticeable nipples. To Nancy's astonishment, those nipples suddenly seemed to stiffen and double in size. Instantly.

"Randy, hi!" Lavinia turned away and slunk across the room to stand within Randall's personal space. Her eyes burrowed into his as she raised a chicken leg to her lips.

"Look at the bitch," Marianne hissed. "She's at it again. In public! Why doesn't she just take his pants down and fuck him right here?"

"Shhh, Mar," Susannah said anxiously. "You mustn't use rude words while we're eating."

Nancy wondered why that sounded so naughty.

"What did her badge say?" Caroline asked.

"How did you know I was reading it?" Nancy said, blushing.

"What else would you be doing, standing next to her? Did she reek of semen?"

Nancy had been about to bite a cocktail sausage, but had second thoughts. "She must have cleaned up after we'd gone. She's 42-23-37. And she's only twenty."

"Twenty? The way she behaves you'd think she was about thirty-five! Anyway, she won't live to be twenty-one if young Marianne gets her claws into her," Caroline whispered. "The kid's turning bright green!"

"If she wants a man, why doesn't she move in on Randall and offer Lady Lavinia a bit of competition?"

"She'd be out of her depth. Do you think she's doing it with young Susannah?"

Nancy looked uncomfortably at the room-mates. The thought of the two of them rolling about on the bed, snogging, was strangely disturbing. An image came to her of herself getting it on with Caroline.

"She can't be! Can she?"

"What do you think?" Caroline jerked a thumb at Susannah, who was gazing up into Marianne's eyes, giggling at something her room-mate had said.

"Gosh! Do you really think so?" Nancy tried to imagine kissing Marianne, then Susannah, then Caroline. And even Lavinia. Snap out of it, girl! She couldn't go around dreaming about sex with a bunch of busty girls. She began mentally comparing the others' breasts with her own: Caroline's whoppers, wobbling as she was towelling herself after her shower; Lavinia's suddenly-erect nipples; tiny Lim Chung, hanging way beyond her belly button...

"They're coming," Caroline muttered out of the side of her mouth.

"What?" Nancy looked up in alarm, in time to see Randall ease over to the buffet, select a stick of celery and sprinkle it delicately with salt. He wandered over to the group of girls, with the stiff-nippled Lavinia simpering in his wake.

"Ladies! How's it going?" He didn't wait for an answer. "We got a busy afternoon ahead of us."

Marianne looked interested. "Busy?"

"There are certain skills our staff need to acquire. One of the first we teach will always stand you in good stead later in life. Every woman should know how to wait at a dinner table."

"You mean, be a waitress?" Lavinia's patrician tones had staged a recovery. "That is totally out of the question!"

"'Fraid you don't have a choice, Lavinia, dear. When you get back to your rooms, all of you will find black and white uniforms on your beds. And shoes. All in the correct sizes, of course. Have any of you served meals before?"

Caroline put up a hesitant hand. "I've worked in an hotel. Nothing posh, but we did silver service."

"Excellent! Anyone else?"

"I've worked in McDonalds," Susannah admitted.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," beamed Randall. "Remember, if you can master these simple skills, you will always have a job. So as soon as you've finished your lunch, run away and change. We'll see you back here in ... let's see ... how about twenty minutes?"

It wasn't really a question. Randall crunched the last of his stick of celery, turned and stalked off in the direction of the kitchens.


Nancy pushed the bedroom door open and slouched past her curious room-mate's bed. "Ouch, my feet! At least we didn't have to serve anybody for real." She flopped on to the bed and kicked off her unrealistically high heels. "Four hours!"

"Just time for a shower before dinner," Caroline sighed.

"I don't think I'm interested in food any more. I'll be trying to catch hot potatoes with a spoon and fork in my sleep. And all those peas! A nightmare!"

"If you had been serving a real customer, he'd have been picking peas out of his shirt for the rest of the evening. And I hadn't seen that trick with the tartare sauce done before."

"Tell me about it. I'll never make a waitress. Maybe that's a blessing. Why do we have to learn that stuff, anyway?"

"Apparently we start serving in the dining room next week. Each group of girls has to do it in turn, Randall was saying. He told me when you went off to rinse all that crème brûlée out of your hair."

"Was that before the accident with the Baked Alaska, or after?"

"Before. They managed to stop the sprinklers pretty quickly. I suppose they get used to it. We have to serve all the girls next week, starting Monday. So he says we'll see everyone then, and we'll realise the significance of the different coloured badges. The full significance, he called it."

"Why all the air of mystery? Why don't they tell us how many girls there are here? We've seen those two at breakfast, and I saw that Chinese one..."

"The rest of us didn't even see her. But there must be dozens of girls if they bring in a new batch every couple of weeks or so."

"And what do they do all the time? They can't all be learning things like silver service, or we'd have seen them this afternoon."

"I can tell you what they're not all doing right now. They're not getting porked by Randall."

"I suppose not, unless they're having one hell of an orgy. But how d'you know?"

"'Cos Lady Lavinia's bonking him right now!"

"Now? Again? Where?"

"In his room. When I was on my way back here, I saw her skulking off round the corner. She was tiptoing, for some reason. Then she saw me and went red, and shot off like a rabbit down the passage. Right past Marianne's and Susannah's room, and right past hers. Randy's room's down that way."

"The horny cow! She's insatiable."

"She's also single-handedly occupying just about the only available man here. I bet apart from him there's only the bus driver and the lad who delivers the clothes, Stan, or whatever his stupid name is, and Grenville Washington himself. However many other girls there are at Washington Towers, they're not likely to be very impressed when they find out Lavinia's taken him over for her own personal use." Caroline rolled off her bed and padded to the window to close the curtains. "Typical stately home. The central heating doesn't. Hey, what's that out there... ?"

Nancy was still flat on her back. She opened her eyes. "What is it?"

"The minibus just drove up. It was hard to say, but I swear a bunch of blokes got out of it."

"Where?" Nancy bounced off the bed and shot to the window. "Where are they?"

"Who's a horny little tart now, then? I thought you were supposed to be tired! I told you, I didn't get a good look at them, 'cos they all disappeared indoors. But they were definitely male. And if you look at all those footprints in the snow, there must have been at least half a dozen of them."

"Maybe there's hope for us yet..."

"I didn't think you were interested in such things!"

"It's just Randall I'm not interested in. If we're going to be locked up in this baronial dungeon for the next six months, I'm probably going to develop one or two perfectly natural urges. In fact, I can feel them developing now." Nancy remained at the window, peering out with her nose between the curtains, while Caroline picked up her towel.

"I'll take a shower while you keep your vigil, then. Let me know if any more guys arrive..."


If the new recruits thought they were going to have a couple of days off at the weekend, they had another think coming. Their few hours of leisure time were spent crashed out on their beds with their aching feet up on cushions. What about the sports facilities mentioned in the advertisement?

"Not on your first weekend in residence," Randall explained entirely unsatisfactorily. "You are still under initial training. Next weekend, you will have so much free time, you won't know what to do with yourselves."

And so the five of them slaved away in the kitchens. Now, they weren't even learning how to serve reluctant vegetables with a fork and spoon held clumsily in the same hand. Most of the time seemed to be spent cleaning and preparing vegetables.

Even Lavinia was slogging away with the others all day Sunday. "Doesn't he want you today?" Marianne asked her acidly as she chopped rhubarb.

Lavinia snarled at her. "He can't have me," she muttered.

"Can't?"

"It's the Curse, damn it! Of all weeks..."

Caroline grinned at her without sympathy. "Never mind, old thing. Worse things happen at sea!"

Marianne put down her knife and brandished a stick of rhubarb. "Wait a minute! If you're on rag week, what's Randy doing? I'm available!"

"Maybe he's having his period as well, Mar," Susannah suggested, and the others stared at her wondering if she meant it.

"Maybe Lavinia's made him pregnant," said Nancy wearily. She was shelling peas, a punishment devised in Hell. What was the point in spending hours standing over a bowl, reducing a vast pile of soggy greenery to a pound or so of usable peas? Why not buy perfectly good frozen ones?

"I'm going to resign," Marianne stated firmly. At which moment, Randall appeared.

"Marianne, dear. If you've nearly finished that rhubarb, could you come with me, please? I have a little job for you."

Seconds later, she was flying out of the kitchen on wingèd feet for her first assignation with the management.


"I wonder how she got on," said Caroline later that evening.

"She hasn't come back yet," said Nancy. "Poor Susannah. Sunday night and she's all alone. Still, she'll be up early to serve breakfast."

"Serving Weeks Two and Four, Randall said. I suppose that's the yellow badges, same as us. Then as we go through the week, we progress through the colours right up to gold next Saturday. We get Sunday off."

"It's all so brutally efficient, like we're part of a Master Plan."

"We are, didn't you know? Busty girls take over the world. That's why we've got to stick it out. This time next year, you'll be the Queen of Sheba."

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Who is it? Come in; we're decent!"

Susannah put her head round the door. "C'n I sleep in your armchair? I'm lonely."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Nancy opened the door wide and the girl came in, looking around the room. "It's just the same as ours only the other way around." She plodded across to the window in her nightshirt, and Caroline exchanged glances with Nancy. The dark-haired girl was big. "Wow, you can see out the front," she enthused, her voice muffled by the curtains. "There goes the bus."

"The minibus?"

"Just going out. Loads of people got into it."

"What people?"

"Oh, nobody interesting. Just a bunch of men."

"Where?"

Caroline arrived at the window six inches ahead of Nancy, but the bus was already on its way down the snowy drive, its tail lights disappearing round the bend.

Another knock on the door.

"That might be Marianne," Susannah gasped, running to answer it. But it wasn't. It was Stan, the young lad who delivered things to the rooms. He held a couple of envelopes in his hand, and looked at Susannah, bewildered.

"You're in the wrong room," he said at last.

Susannah backed away. "I know. My friend's busy with Mr Washington."

"Busy? Busy! That's a good one! Busy! He-heee!"

"What's the trouble, Stan?" said Caroline.

"She's in the wrong room."

"That's right, she's visiting."

"She ain't got her badge on!"

"She can't wear a badge in her nightie, you fool! If it came unpinned, it would stick in her boob."

"In her boob? Her boob! That's a good one! Her boob! He-heee!"

Nancy joined the others at the door. "What are you doing round here, anyway?" she demanded. "Does Mr Washington know you're up here, looking at the girls in their nighties?"

"Nighties? Nighties! That's a good one! Nighties! He-heee!"

"What do you want, Stan?"

"Gotta give you these." He thrust an envelope at Caroline. "One for her, too, but she's in the wrong room."

"Oh, give it here, for God's sake. Good night, Stan!" And Caroline prodded the lad in his sunken chest and slammed the door.

Faintly, his voice came to them. " ... Wrong room. God's sake? God's sake! That's a good one! God's sake! He-heee!"

"He's an absolute nutter!"

"Where did they find him?"

"I'm in the wrong room," said Susannah.

"Never mind, love. Here's your envelope. They're probably both the same, anyway." Caroline ripped hers open and pulled out a single sheet of yellow card with a note stapled to the top. "'Your breakfast group'," she read with a shrug, then studied the card itself. "Bloody hellfire! Look at this lot!"

Breakfast
Monday

Week Two

Emma-Jane Carter, 21

41-21-31

Lucy Cockroft, 18

47½-25-37

Jane Goss, 23

39-22-34

Ruth Greenglass, 28

46-25-36

Melanie Rutherford, 19

52-23-35


Week Four

Sandra Abbott, 20

48-24-36

Jenny Kingston, 16

53-22-31

Shelley Mayne, 17

44-19-29

Debbie Potter, 17

61-27-40

Erika Knopfler, 22

49-23-33

Nancy stared at the list of names and numbers. "Jeez!"

"They certainly seem to get bigger the longer they stay here," said Caroline. "Only one below forty inches in Week Two!"

"And only one below forty-five in Week Four! Look at them; forty-eight, forty-nine. Sixty-one!"

"Mine's the same as yours," said Susannah, sinking into the armchair to study her card. "Wow! They must be fantastic!"

"They're real girls. We'll be serving them their breakfast in the morning."

"It's still weird," said Nancy. "They're obsessed with numbers and sizes." She scrambled into bed, carefully hiding her teddy bear from Susannah. "Do you think Stan's still out there, listening?"

"He's welcome to. D'you want a blanket, Suze?"

Susannah was snuggled right down in the chair, her feet pulled up on the seat and her big bottom swelling massively beneath her. "It's okay. I'll get one before I go to sleep. Hey, do you know? Our average age, of us five, is 20½? And our average measurements are 40½-24-35½."

"Oh, really?" said Nancy. The girl was obsessed with numbers.

"And assuming these numbers for Weeks Two and Four are correct, they're ... Week Two are 22 years old, and 45-23-35. And Week Four is 18½ years old and 51-23-34! Isn't that amazing?"

Nancy sat up and stared at Susannah. "So if we stay here until we're in Week Four, our average bust measurement will increase by eleven inches?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"And our average age will be two years younger," said Caroline.

"Well, maybe I got that bit wrong," admitted Susannah.


Lavinia looked more unhappy than usual. Marianne looked as if she hadn't slept too well. They all stood outside the kitchen door feeling Monday-morning-ish.

"How'd it go, Mar?" Caroline enquired sweetly.

"Susannah spent the night with us," said Nancy.

Marianne grunted. "With you?"

"In their armchair," said Susannah. "Under a blanket. I'm really stiff this morning."

"I bet that's more than Randy was," sniffed Lavinia.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, was he?"

Marianne chewed her lip. "Eventually."

"I rest my case," said Lavinia. "He couldn't get it up. How many times did he manage it?"

"I wasn't counting! Twice."

"Hey, not bad!"

Marianne gulped. "You mean he was just the same with you?"

"Mister Superstud. Twice in ten hours. The other morning, he couldn't even manage it once."

The other girls gasped. "You can't be serious," said Caroline. "We thought from the way you were going on, he must be hottest thing on three legs!"

Marianne grinned at her new ally. "Will you tell them, Lavinia, or shall I?"

"Let them find out for themselves," Lavinia laughed suddenly. "In fact, if they're think size really matters, Randall's not even in the same street as Stanley!"

"Stanley?" Caroline blinked at her. "You mean Stan? You haven't ... not Stan?"

"Why not?" said Lavinia, raising her eyebrows. "He brought me my list last night. He's got all the necessary equipment. And then some."

"But ... you're..." Nancy stopped in blushing confusion.

"Gosh, Nancy! So I am!"

"Look out," said Caroline. "Here comes Loverboy himself."

"Morning, ladies!" Randall beamed at them. "All ready for inspection?" The girls shuffled into line like reluctant soldiers, tugging at their tight black skirts and full white blouses. "Hair, Susannah, please. You look as if you've slept under a bush." He smiled as he studied her brim-full brassiere, her breasts wobbling heavily as she dragged at her hair with both hands. The others copied her. "That skirt's a little tight, Nancy. I hope you're not trying to seduce the girls of Weeks Two and Four."

Nancy tried to make adjustments, and failed totally.

"Your bum's too big for it," said Caroline without much sympathy.

"It will have to do," said Randall. "Right! Breakfast. It's simple enough. You take their orders and it all comes out of the kitchen already on plates, so there's no chance to show off your skills at serving vegetables. There are just the two tables with five each. One of you deals with tea and coffee. Susannah, that's you." Susannah opened her mouth to protest that she had problems carrying coffee pots on a tray. Then she closed it again. No doubt, remembering the measurements of the girls she would be serving, hers was a minor problem compared to theirs. "The rest of you; two to the Week Two table, the other two to Week Four. Take their orders, don't forget the toast. Off you go."

That was it. They were on their own, fully briefed. Randall had gone.

"No point standing around waiting for them to come to us," said Caroline. "Let's go and do it."

There were yellow cards on each table, announcing that this one was Week Two and that one was Week Four. Caroline headed for the more senior table, but found Lavinia and Marianne already there before her. A chorus of catcalls shrilled out from the girls. The waitresses stood, mouths open, goggling.

"My God, look at them!" Nancy spoke out of the side of her mouth.

"And ours are just Week Twos. Look at the others!"

"Never mind the others. Look at that one there!"

"Never mind that one there. Look at her!"

The girls were obviously overjoyed with the effect they were having on the waitresses. Wearing jeans and low-necked T-shirts, they giggled and laughed and took huge breaths and stuck out their improbable breasts, displaying acres of cleavage.

As if the distraction of all those wobbling tits wasn't enough, the customers seemed unduly restless at breakfast-time. A fork went clattering on to the polished floor and three of them got down to pick it up, with lots of exaggerated 'After you, ' and 'No, by all means, I do insist... ' And when they all sat down again, they had swapped seats. Over on the Week Four table, there was a similar commotion when the biggest, bustiest girl of them all somehow fell off her chair, and had to be helped up by the other four.

The waitresses escaped to the kitchen, their knees trembling.

"I can't read a word I've written," said Nancy.

"Nor can I," whimpered Marianne.

Caroline shook her head. "I got one or two orders, I think. But I don't know who's who. We can't go back out there and ask them again. They'll eat us alive!"

A huge cheer signalled some notable event in the dining room, then the door opened and Susannah burst in, looking pleased with herself.

"What are you looking so happy about?" Marianne growled.

"They said I was pretty!"

"We're all pretty," snapped Lavinia.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty and I've got the biggest tits. They said I ought to be in Week Four. Aren't they nice?"

"If you think they're nice, you'd better go back out and make sure we've got the right orders for breakfast," said Caroline. "We've screwed up."

"What's the matter? Didn't you write them all down?"

"How could we, with all that screaming going on out there?"

"Hang on a minute," said Susannah, screwing up her face with concentration. "I may be able to help ... let's see: we've got Week Two; Emma-Jane, wearing a yellow T-shirt? She wanted a full English breakfast; Lucy's poached eggs on toast, she's the one with short hair; Jane's the blonde, bacon and eggs with fried bread; Ruth, black hair, face like Barbra Streisand, just a bacon sandwich - is that right, do you think?" She shrugged and continued; "Melanie, the redhead, scrambled eggs and tinned tomatoes. Yuck!"

Caroline consulted her order pad, ticking off items with her pencil. "Jeez, she's got it right! She remembered them all!"

"Week Four," continued Susannah, clutching her forehead like a music-hall mind-reading act. "Sandra, green eyes, scrambled eggs, bacon and mushrooms; Jenny, she's pretty, isn't she? She's wearing her badge upside down and she wants three boiled eggs with wholemeal bread and butter. Shelley wears glasses, she wants just toast and marmalade; Big Debbie's was overdone bacon, burnt sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash-browns, baked beans, fried bread and sauté potatoes. No wonder she's got forty inch hips. And the German one wants sausages. Just sausages."

"How does she do it?" Lavinia gasped.

"And she's got huge tits, too," said Marianne, hugging her room-mate's soft shoulder.

"And she's prettier than any of us," said Nancy.

"How about these fucking orders?" bellowed the chef, banging a ladle down on the top of the stove and scattering the girls like sparrows.

But five minutes later, when the waitresses streamed out to serve the raucous employees of Weeks Two and Four, the taunts quickly died away when all the right orders arrived in front of all the right customers.

Only Debbie Potter complained, that she only had one slice of fried bread, but she fell silent as Susannah emerged from the kitchen with her tray of tea and coffee pots. As she passed Debbie's place, she carefully placed three more slices on her plate.


"They deliberately tried to screw up the orders," said Caroline. "If it hadn't been for Susannah, we'd have been a laughing stock."

"I've always been able to remember things like that," said Susannah. "I can't help it." She sounded sorry, as if it were a terrible crime.

"Sshhh, he's coming!"

As Randall came in, they all looked up anxiously from their loaded plates.

"Well, I don't know how you did it, but you seem to have carried out your first breakfast with complete success. No complaints at all. Well done, girls!"

"Thank you, Randall!" they chorused, curtseying.

"We'll see how you get on tomorrow, when you serve lunch to Weeks Six and Eight. Then Wednesday you'll do dinner for Ten and Twelve. Thursday's a rest cure; breakfast again for Fourteen and Sixteen, then Friday is lunch for Eighteen and Twenty. You can guess what Saturday's is.

Gloom had descended.

He stood looking at them for a moment, then shook his head. "Nancy, we need to do something about your skirt. Could you come with me, please?"

Marianne's face was like thunder. Caroline winked at her. Susannah looked confused. Lavinia grinned. She looked quite nice when she grinned. Nancy, heart thumping, went with Randall. To her surprise and not a little disappointment, he didn't head for the bedrooms. He opened a door and ushered her into a small workshop with a sewing machine on a bench. Also on the bench sat a little rabbit-featured man, cross-legged, sewing.

"You'll be Nancy," he stated without preamble. "Take it off!"

"What?"

"Your skirt. Off with it!"

"In here? Where's the changing cubicle?"

"You've got nothing we haven't seen before, Nancy. Get it off, there's a good girl!"

Humiliated, her face incandescent, Nancy wriggled the skirt down her hips. God, it was so tight! Had it shrunk? It was a struggle trying to avoid peeling her panties off at the same time, as they were a great deal less clinging than the skirt. It didn't help that the two men were watching the whole performance. The cross-legged tailor carried on with his sewing apparently without looking at what he was doing. Randall lounged against the bench with a simpering smirk on his face. Two pairs of eyes burned into her as she wrestled with the absurd skirt.

"We don't have all day, Nancy!"

With a sob, she yanked the skirt down while trying to grab at her panties with a free hand, but somehow they had caught in the top of the skirt. The whole lot came down together, with Nancy hopping around in circles holding her knees together in a hopeless attempt to conceal her pubic area beneath a blouse that only came down to just below her navel.

"Good girl," said the tailor briskly. "Hand it up here, please. No, you can keep your pants..."

And to complete Nancy's humiliation, he handed them back to her, holding them at arms' length between finger and thumb. She snatched them away but realised she couldn't put them on without revealing even more of herself to these two dreadful male animals. It didn't make it any more bearable that neither of them seemed to be attracted to her. They both looked on as if she were a circus act, like a dog balancing on its hind legs.

"Come on, then, Nancy," said Randall. "See you later, Reuben." And he spread his hands to shepherd Nancy to the door. She clopped away on her high heels, her panties in one hand, her blouse not even reaching the top of her bum. Where were they going?

Mercifully, the door led to an empty corridor. She'd have died if anyone saw her like this. What if a door opened and a bunch of curious big-bosomed girls appeared, staring and pointing and laughing at her? Or what if Stan should come round the corner, waving his cock in one hand... ?

"In here, Nancy. On the left."

It was another of these small rooms. These must have been the servants' quarters in the old days. A small window, high in the wall, gave a glimpse of leaden sky and admitted an economy of daylight, just enough for Nancy to carry out an inventory of the furnishings. There was a curiously ornate high-backed chair, like a throne. And there was a bed. She gulped.

"Sit down," he told her, twirling the chair round and straddling it the wrong way. That left the bed. She perched on the edge and leaned forward to conceal herself.

Randall stood up, looking down at her, paced around in a small circle then sat down again. "I guess you don't fancy me very much?"

Nancy declined to answer.

He sighed. "'Nuff said! Look, I'm sorry about the skirt and everything. You're sure you don't want to... ?"

She shuddered. He seemed to have an erection of sorts and he covered it with a strategic hand.

"Okay!" Did he seem relieved? "Plan B! The trouble with Plan B is that it involves swallowing..."

Nancy gasped and clutched at her throat. She shook her head but Randall continued doggedly.

" ... Swallowing quite a lot of nasty medicine." He inclined his head to the corner of the room, where there was a cardboard box with its lid torn open. "Well, not too nasty, but there's quite a lot of it. Luckily - luckily for me - Lavinia and Marianne preferred it the easy way. Plan A, the Easy Way! Coupla horny chicks, those two! I better explain, since you're the first this week to refuse my charms." He grinned suddenly, disarmingly. "Hey, I usually score no better than two out of five. This may take some time. If you're cold, why don't you wrap yourself in that blanket while I tell you all about it..."


"And so, there it is. The whole story."

"But what about this 'treatment', as you call it? A hormone treatment? Surely you can't go around making girls drink this stuff? Or ... injecting it into them... ?"

"It's an entirely natural substance, or brew of substances. Its production is rigidly supervised by our team of doctors. You know its effects already. It is... partially ... reversible, although you may not want to reverse it. Along with the enhancement it brings to your figure, it has certain side-effects that will amaze you! Trust me..."

"You're a doctor?"

"As a matter of fact, I am!" He got up and produced a bottle of white liquid from the box, and shook it vigorously. "It's a bit thick, unfortunately." He held it up to the light and stared at it. "I couldn't drink this stuff! You're sure you wouldn't prefer it the other way... ?"

Nancy regarded him nervously. "That 'other way'. How does it work?"

"Non-technically, I ejaculate specially modified semen."

Nancy's eyes opened wider.

"It's a pain in the ass," Randall admitted. "And a huge sacrifice! If I wanted to get married and have children, I'd have to avoid having sex with my wife for a year while the effects of the modifications wore off. Either that, or risk giving the poor girl huge boobs! But seriously, it's far more effective using the injection method as it goes straight to where it's most needed. Taken orally, you have to drink a whole bottle of this goop every day. Sooner you than me, Nance!"

She took the bottle and tried to shake it. It was thick and heavy, like double cream.

"I only ask one thing, if you don't mind."

"What's that?"

"When you rejoin the others, could you, would you not tell them... ?"

Nancy suddenly knew what he was trying to say. And despite her revulsion for this whole lousy business, she felt just a tiny feeling of sympathy for Randall. He must have been roped in, cajoled into this weird experiment - the real purpose of which she was still none the wiser - because of his medical research background.

"You want me to let the others think that we had sex?"

He looked like a scared puppy.

"It's not much. You don't have to lie, or anything. Just don't say anything about this conversation we're having, and let them assume we ... you know?"

Nancy looked at the bottle of cream. "You know, it's not too late to change my mind. I might prefer it the other way after all!"

Randall looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, I see," Nancy smiled. "You don't fancy me, is that it?"

"No, that's not it at all! I mean..."

"How many of these bottles do I have to drink?"

"One a day for a week. Then two weeks without anything. Then you drink more."

"And the other method? How often... ?"

"Twice. That's a week's treatment. Then twice again in Week Four..."

So that was why the Week Four girls were so frisky at breakfast! Or maybe not.

Nancy laughed. "Let's do it, Randall!"

Randall went pale. "We can't! Not now. If we were going to do it, we'd have had to start half an hour ago. We don't have time now. You've got to drink the stuff instead."

Nancy pouted like a teenager. "Randall!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Never mind. I'll drink this shit. And I'll play your little game, too." Randall sighed as if a great load had been lifted from his shoulders. "Just do one thing for me."

He looked startled. "What's that?"

"Stand up and come over here." Bewildered, Randall obeyed. "Now undo your belt."

"Nancy, no!"

"Randall, yes!"

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and let Nancy do it for him. She lowered his pants, fumbled around with his boxer shorts and found what she was looking for...

"You'd better get dressed again before somebody sees," she said. He dragged his trousers up and fastened his belt frantically. His face was afire. "Randall?" She stood up, heedless of her lack of underwear and skirt. He was taller than her but she could still reach around his neck to place a little wet kiss on his burning cheek. "Next time, okay?"

A single knock on the door and it opened. Reuben the tailor minced in holding a skirt. "I thought I'd better wait until you'd finished," he said, rolling his eyes. For the first time, Nancy noticed his slight lisp. "You'll find this will fit you better now. And it won't shrink like it did before!"


Caroline looked at her room-mate curiously. "Are you all right?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"You look a bit ... strained. What's that?"

"Just some medicine. One of the doctors gave it me. It's for ... for my blood pressure."

"I should think it is, too. What is it, double cream?"

"Something like that, yes."

"What do you do with it, rub it on your chest?"

"No," said Nancy uncomfortably. "You drink it."

"Oh. It looks the way I'd imagine bust developing cream would look, if there was such a thing. Has he told you anything about that, by the way?"

Nancy blushed. "Who?"

"Come on! How many men are there around here? Has he told you how they propose making our titties bigger? You must have talked about something in your post-coital afterglow."

"Not really." Nancy realised she was digging herself into a deeper and deeper hole.

"All right, don't tell me then! When are you seeing him again? And don't ask who!"

"I don't know. Why?"

"He saw Lavinia twice. Same with Marianne. I wonder when my turn is. It's good of him to save the best 'til last."

"You mean you, or Susannah?"

"Susannah's probably one of those virgins who turn out to be absolute ravers. If Randy likes big tits, that's probably why he's saving her up until last."

"Funny how she's the youngest of us, and her tits are the biggest," Nancy said, happy to move the conversation on to less dangerous ground. It was the same with those girls at breakfast this morning. The two biggest in Week Two were only eighteen and nineteen. And the two biggest in Week Four were sixteen and seventeen, and they were biggest by miles!"

"You're getting as bad as Susannah! You'll be quoting average sizes next. Or maybe you're going to wait until tomorrow's list arrives; the lunch girls, blue badges..."

"Maybe we won't get a list this time."

"You serious? Of course we will. And if I know anything about the Washington Experience, there'll be a knock on that door in the next three minutes, and it will be Stan."

Despite Caroline's confident prediction, both girls gasped when three minutes passed and there was a pounding on the door.

"I told you," said Caroline, somewhat shakily. She flung it open. "Not tonight, thank you, we've alre ... oh, it's you!"

"Who were you expecting?" Randall leaned against the door frame. "Do I have a rival?"

"C ... come in."

"I won't disturb you. If Nancy's there, I just need to see her for a while, that's all."


"Sleep well?" Caroline asked slyly. Lavinia and Marianne were staring at them with shocked expressions. Susannah looked confused.

"Very well, thanks!" Nancy replied chirpily. She spoke the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her. Randall had wished her a very good night and she'd had an excellent night's sleep in the little room in the old servants' quarters. The hardest part had been swallowing the last of all that double cream. "Sorry I didn't make it back to the room last night."

"Oh, no problem," said Caroline airily. "I wasn't lonely. And Stan brought me something. Some bedtime reading. Bedtime reading? That's a good one! Bedtime reading! He-hee!"

"Stan came round?"

"About a minute after you'd gone off with lover-boy. And I'll tell you what. Lavinia was right!"

Lavinia looked uncomfortable at being reminded of it.

"He brought the card round for today's lunch. You know what you said last night, Nance? You were right!" Caroline handed the card over.

Lunch
Tuesday

Week Six

Daran Armstrong, 20

49-25-38

Kelly Cook, 22

50-24-36

Luciana Corelli, 18

62-25-37

Zenobia Hills, 17

48-23-34

Jeri Keane, 16

59-22-33


Week Eight

Lim Chung, 26

46½-18-28

Helen Dunphy, 27

61-25-38

Maggie McLean, 20

54-24-34

Shandra Patel, 18

57-25-36

Nina Zacharias, 16

62-22-32

"It's incredible!" said Nancy. "That Lim Chung was huge! According to these figures, she's even bigger than when I saw her. And she's still the smallest one on the list!"

"I'm sure that Zenobia from Week Six was one of the waitresses on our first breakfast, and she's bigger, too."

"And she's nowhere near the size of some of the others. Like I said, the youngest are always among the biggest."

"Same as me," said Susannah with due modesty.

"Yes, same as you. You're our little mascot, Susannah!" Caroline grinned, and the others nodded their agreement.

"If I'm only a little mascot, do you want mine to get even bigger, then?" Susannah asked anxiously. "I'm sure I could if I tried."

Lavinia 's voice was like a nursery governess. "You can't make your boobs bigger just by trying, Susannah!"

"I don't actually mean trying. All I have to do is eat!"

"You eat already," said Marianne.

"I don't eat much. And there's stuff I don't eat. If I just started eating like the rest of you, I'd get huge. Not my tummy, either, nor my bum. They're pretty big for someone as short as me. But they don't get any bigger. If I really eat, I mean really eat, it all goes straight to my boobies."

"You mean they'd get even bigger than they are now?" Marianne's voice quavered.

"I put on two inches that first night, just from eating dinner. I could get miles bigger than that! Do you want me to? I could!"

The other girls looked at one another. Marianne licked her lips nervously.

"It wouldn't hurt to let yourself get a little bit bigger, Susannah," she said in a strangely high-pitched voice. "Since they seem to like big-busted girls round here, I mean..."

"Okay!" Susannah tinkled happily. "How big shall I make them?"

"You can't control it, surely," said Nancy, her throat dry.

"Not really, no," Susannah admitted. "When they first grew, they got enormous in about five or six weeks. I'd always liked games until then, but they got so huge, I couldn't play anything. They bounced all over the place."

"How old were you then?" Nancy croaked.

"About fourteen. They went right up to fifty inches!"

"Fifty? When you were only fourteen?"

"Yeah, it was ridiculous! But everyone was horrid to me. The girls laughed at them, and the boys were horrible. So I stopped eating so much and they gradually got smaller."

Marianne gulped. "Fifty inches! Fourteen! Susannah!"

"Shall I do it again?"

Caroline shook her head. "You ought to be careful..."

"Go on," said Nancy. "Let her! Just a few inches."

"It wouldn't do her any harm," said Lavinia.

"Let her grow as much as she likes," insisted Marianne.

"Okay, Mar. Could you pass the rest of that toast, please?"


"I've been eating all day!" Susannah confided with a blush. "Just look at my tummy! Isn't it dreadful?"

"Never mind your tummy," said Nancy. She tried to concentrate on the younger girl's waist, where a delicious roll of plumpness was pooching out, but her attention was inexorably drawn upwards. Improbable as it seemed, Susannah had been right. When she put on weight, it went to her boobies.

"That bra looks tight, said Caroline.

"It is," Susannah giggled. "I'm nearly bursting out of my top. Of course, I have been eating solidly since breakfast. It didn't show very much until I had those cream cakes this afternoon..."

"Nice work, girls!" Randall burst into the kitchen. "No problems there at all? You can have your own lunch now." He looked hard at Susannah for a moment, apparently making a decision. "When you've finished, load the dishwasher then the rest of the day's your own until you serve dinner tonight. Your reward for being so good! Caroline, if I might see you for a moment... ?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "What's it about, Randall?"

"Just an administrative matter."

"Should I change first? A tighter skirt, or something?"

"No, come as you are. Nancy will tell you where to come to. Try and make it by three o' clock, if you would." And he was gone.

"He left in a hurry," said Marianne. "Do you think he's taking it in turns to see us, girls?"

"When's my turn?" Susannah asked innocently. She stuffed a whole potato into her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

"Tomorrow, sometime, I'd guess," said Caroline. "When Randy's finished with me."

"Wow! I wonder how big I'll be by then."

"How big are you now?" said Nancy.

"This big!" Susannah opened her eyes wide and took a deep breath. A button popped open on her blouse.

"God, the girl's enormous!" Caroline shook her head in disbelief. "Hey, we've just got time before I have to go. Let's get this dishwasher loaded then go to the bedrooms and measure Susannah!"

"Who's got a tape measure?" Nancy asked in a strangled little voice.

"I have," said Susannah. "I always keep one in my bag. How much do you think they've grown?" She cupped her full breasts from underneath. Even encased in bra and blouse, they tried to wobble free of her hands.

Plates and dishes clattered as the girls hurried to load the dishwasher. Even Lavinia was rushing around, an expression of acute distaste under her nose, piles of crockery in her rubber-gloved hands. There was an air of barely-suppressed excitement in the kitchen. Only Susannah remained calm, quietly tucking in to a dish of spotted dick and custard.

She was eating the last of the apple pie, with an expression of total absorption, while the girls clustered impatiently around her.

"Hurry up, Susannah, I'm going to have to go soon," Caroline fretted.

"You can undress me while I finish my pie," came the indistinct reply. "Marianne knows how."

"We all know how," said Nancy. "You're just the same as us."

"Just bigger, that's all," said Lavinia, and Susannah nodded eagerly.

"Lots bigger!"

"Your skirt's so tight around the waist!" Marianne complained, her fingers refusing to co-operate. She flapped her hands uselessly and Nancy took over. She was no more successful.

"Gosh, let me do it!" Lavinia shoved them aside, spun Susannah around and hooked a hand inside her waistband.

"Ow, it tickles!"

"Hold yourself in, child!"

"I am holding myself in! If I don't, I'm as big as this!" Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed her muscles, effectively trapping Lavinia's hand inside the waist of her skirt. "See?"

"Come on, girl. Stop messing around and let me get this skirt off you. Now! At once!"

"Sorry," said Susannah meekly, and seconds later Lavinia was on her knees pulling the skirt down the chunky thighs. "Wow, that's better. Maybe some of it does go to my tummy, after all."

"It's five to three," said Caroline. "Where's your tape measure?"

"In the front of my bag. C'mon, girls. We've got to measure me before Caroline has to go and see Mr Washington." She stuffed the remains of the pie in her mouth and pulled her blouse undone with a single tug."

"Don't rip your blouse!" Nancy warned her.

"It doesn't matter. It's too small now, and it's going to be even too smaller by tomorrow." The spectators lusted over the plump shoulders and upper arms as the blouse fluttered away. Susannah's bra was so burstingly tight it looked as if they'd have to get it off with a can opener.

"Let me measure your hips, quickly," said Caroline. "What were they before?"

"Before what? Before breakfast or before lunch?"

"Before you started all this eating."

"It says thirty-eight on my badge..."

"Good grief! It's nearly forty now. I thought you said it all went to your bust!"

"I lied. I'm an extwemely naughty little girl. But it gets there eventually. Do my middle now. If you've got to go, we'll try and remember how big my bust is and we'll tell you when you get back from seeing Mr Washington."

"Hurry up!" Caroline looped the tape around the girl's waist. "Jeez! Twenty-nine!"

"Do her bust, quick," said Nancy. Somewhere, a clock struck three. Leave the bra on for now..."

"Forty-six, forty- seven! Susannah Shacklehurst!"

"Sorry, Caroline!" Susannah mumbled.

"I've got to go. He'll kill me!"

"Good luck, Caroline!"

"Break a leg!"

"Yes, one of his," said Lavinia.

"The middle one!" suggested Marianne.

"That would be wasteful," said Caroline. "There's a cock shortage round here as it is. Now, I'm going to see about getting some. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Do you think she meant that?" Susannah asked as the door closed behind Caroline.

"No, it's just a saying," said Nancy.

"Good! 'Cos I don't want to stop playing this game. You've seen mine, now I want to see yours!"

"We haven't seen yours properly yet. You've still got your bra on."

"If I take my bra off, you have to as well. All of you. First, before I take mine off."

The others looked at each other uncertainly. Lavinia seemed about to object, her nose already aiming for the ceiling, then Marianne threw the cat among the pigeons by practically tearing off her blouse and delving between her full mounds for the hooks of her bra.

"Golly," Susannah fluted. "Are yours getting bigger, too, Mar?" She offered her room-mate a pudgy little hand, and Marianne didn't object, her fingers fluttering indecisively like feeding sparrows until she decided to put her hands behind her head, out of the way. "Wow, I think they might be," said Susannah, liberating two creamy cupfulls. "I like the way your nipples get big when I do this." And she applied a wet finger to each of Marianne's brown nubs.

Nancy gulped and toyed with her own blouse buttons. Marianne's still-thickening teats looked good enough to suck. The room seemed suddenly hot and sticky. She undid the top button then gazed down in fascination as her cleavage began to appear, cradled in the D cups of her bra. Elegant carmine-nailed fingers danced over the buttons, releasing them swiftly and peeling apart the blouse. She groaned and closed her eyes ... then opened them again as she realised what was happening.

"Don't just stand there, Bosomworth," moaned Lavinia. "I've undone yours; you've got to undo mine!"

It was a direct order from Lavinia's aristocratic lips, lips which were now parted and moist with lust. Nancy had to obey. It was a straight choice between tearing off her own bra or getting a couple of handfuls of Lavinia's. No contest, thought Nancy, I must have a bit of a lesbian streak in me. How strange; you learn something every day... and she dived in with both trembling hands, fumbling with the taller woman's buttons. Lavinia's blouse was almost bursting with warm flesh, and once Nancy was through to the bra she could see that was bursting, too. It was a white bra with little pink and blue flowers embroidered on the cups. How disappointingly middle class, Nancy thought, almost tearing at the thing to get rid of it. At the same time, Lavinia's hands were clawing at Nancy's shoulder straps. Doubtless it would have been quicker and more efficient for each of them to have undressed themselves, but this way was more exciting. It certainly exhilarated Susannah.

"Wheee! This is a great game! Take them off, you two!" She hopped around like a six year-old, beating her little clenched fists together, the bulging contents of her overloaded bra threatening to explode at any second.

The sight of all that exuberant bouncing teenage flesh concentrated Nancy's and Lavinia's minds. They stripped off each other's bras to join Marianne in a panting semicircle, all three of them staring at the diminutive chubette who now stood before them in bra and panties, her pudgy little feet pointing straight ahead, one childish finger between her moist lips. She swung her extravagantly-developed upper body from side to side and peered up at them, big-eyed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It fell straight back down again.

"You've all stopped," she pouted, swinging her bum-length ponytail crossly from side to side. "You've still got your skirts on."

There ensued an action-packed fifteen seconds, followed by more panting.

"And your pants!"

The others were beginning to feel that their young tormentor was making up the rules as she went along, but ten seconds later, three pairs of panties joined the crumpled heap of discarded clothing on the floor.

If the three of them had been paying the slightest bit of attention to each other, they would have had plenty of new sights to see. Marianne's breasts still hadn't stopped bouncing, up and down and against each other, their nipples apparently still lengthening. Unconsciously, she was rubbing a long finger through the blonde-curled folds of her puffy-pink sex.

Although Lavinia wasn't in a position to notice Marianne's nipples, her own monster teats weren't about to be upstaged by this skinny blonde. In the past, she had been embarrassed when unscheduled nipple erection had betrayed her arousal at lofty social functions. At the recent Hunt Ball she had been the talk of the County when her spigots had made their improbable presence known despite the disguise of her posh frock, her most Rupert-proof brassiere, two wads of cotton-wool and a pair of broad strips of Band-Aid. Now, out in the open air, they were breaking all previous records.

'At least, with all this bare flesh about, nobody's going to be looking at me, ' Nancy consoled herself, allowing her fingers to roam southwards. To her astonishment and secret delight, she found a couple of long-nailed and decidedly moist fingers already there. The thought occurred to her that if Caroline was going to be otherwise engaged tonight, there might be a welcoming place for her in the Dook's bedroom. She wondered whether she ought to take her teddy bear along...

"I s'pose you want to see these now," Susannah cupped her bosom and waved herself in the general direction of their faces.

"Yes, please!" Nancy remembered her manners despite the ferocious attentions of Lavinia's cultured fingers to her flooding slot.

"You can't! I've changed my mind!"

"Susannah!" A great howl of frustration from three throats.

"Only joking!" Susannah giggled delightedly, dancing a ponderous little jig. "But you've still got to measure them. Properly, without my bra. Caroline did it with the bra on, and she was in a hurry to go and see Randall, so I don't think she did it properly. You'll do it properly, won't you?"

"Yes!"

"Oooh, yes!"

"Susannah, yes!"

"Who's going to do it, then? Someone's got to undo my bra. The hooks are at the back. I might ask the bra-man to make me one like Marianne's that fastens at the front. Only I'm so big, I might not be able to find the hooks. I'd need someone to help me get dressed in the morning and undressed at night! So someone's got to undo all my hooks." She moistened a finger and pretended to tick off the numbers in the air. "Then someone's got to measure me. And someone's got to hold my boobs up. My little hands aren't big enough to hold them. I'm getting so enormous now, we don't want them flopping all the way down to here, do we?"

"Don't we?"

"We wouldn't mind!"

"Why not let us be the judge of that, Susannah!"

"Come on, then. Judge how big they are."

Her three handmaidens hesitated until Susannah giggled again. "You're ever so funny. Don't be frightened of them. They're only my boobs!"

"Who's going to do what?" asked Lavinia. "Why can't you people make the simplest decisions?"

Marianne stared at her. "Why can't you?"

"I'll take her bra off," said Nancy. "We'll be here all night if somebody doesn't do something." In fact, being here all night didn't seem such a bad idea. She stole forward, while Susannah smiled gently and turned her back submissively.

"I don't think four hooks are enough, really," she said. "Maybe my next bra will have six. I used to have one with six hooks, when I was fourteen. Of course, I was monster then. I needed a 34P cup!" She turned to see how Nancy was progressing. "Haven't you done it yet?"

"No, it's so tight, I'm scared of breaking something. Or hurting you."

"You're ever so sweet, Nancy! You're all sweet. I'm glad we're all friends."

The fourth hook came loose and Nancy almost tore the bra off, gratefully burying her face in the warm, Susannah-scented, capacious cups. The sudden motion galvanised the other two into action. They both darted forward to support Susannah's rebounding breasts, found their owner already cradling them in both dumpy little arms, changed their minds and both went for the abandoned tape measure.

"Somebody come and hold these," Susannah squealed. "They're too heavy!"

The two rivals had an end of the tape measure each, holding an impromptu tug-of-war. Seeing her chance to help, Nancy hung the bra round her neck for later attention and dived in to grab a couple of generous handfuls of Susannah. After a few moments of confusion, Marianne and Lavinia decided to have one breast each, although Susannah's little hands were full and running over.

"Hurry up with that tape measure," she implored the combatants. "I can't hold this thing any longer." To prove her point, she juggled with the thing for a while, then spilled it with a pained grunt.

Marianne was closer than Lavinia, and she scooped up the stray breast with a little cry of joy, leaving her rival holding the tape measure. "Out of my way," Lavinia boomed, as if scattering the peasants off her land, and she waded in, cracking the tape like a whip above her head. "You two, hold one breast each. Hold them at the same height!"

Startled, Nancy and Marianne did as they were told, carefully gauging the height - up a bit, down a bit - until the young girl's spiky nipples pointed at the same spot on the wall.

"Ouch!" she complained, then pouted at Lavinia. "Tell them to hold them gently."

"Oh, for God's sake, child!"

Susannah looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "I haven't got anything to hold," she whimpered.

"Just hold your hands in the air, out of the way!"

Hesitatingly, the victim raised her arms above her head. "Woooh!" she exclaimed, wiggling her broad hips and forcing her breast-holders to take evasive action. "Wheeee!" And she began a hip-swaying, writhing dance. "Ai-ai-aieee," she sang, in an altogether most pleasant, fluting voice.

"Hold still, damn it! I'm trying to get this tape round you."

"Sowwy!" Susannah froze and went quiet for a few seconds, then softly started her song again, sotto voce. "Ai-ai-aieee," she whispered, sending Marianne into a fit of helpless giggles. Then she was silent again, as Lavinia fixed her with a glare. Susannah waited until she had turned her attention back to her task before sticking out her little pink tongue.

"What is it this time?" Lavinia demanded, as it was Nancy's turn to snort with helpless mirth. Both breast-holders assumed a rigid pose, biting their lips. "Right," Lavinia announced. "Who's writing this down? Forty-seven inches!"

"It can't be forty-seven," gasped Nancy. "She was forty-seven when she was scrunched up in that bra!"

"We could hold them out further than this," said Marianne. And she stretched her double handful a couple of inches further from the girl's body.

"Pull your side out, too, Nancy," Susannah cried excitedly. "Make me bigger! How big's that, Lavinia?"

Lavinia stretched the tape around the newly enlarged Susannah. "Fifty! Maybe a little bit more."

"Wow, I'm as big as I was when I was thirteen!

"Thirteen? You said you were fourteen."

"I lied. Thirteen sounded horribly young to have a fifty inch bust. Funny, I must have been a late developer. I was only thirty-nine inches when I was twelve. Make me bigger, you two. Stretch them out some more!"

"Fifty-two!" Lavinia crowed as her assistants heaved forward and Susannah leaned back.

"Stretch my nipples!"

"That would be cheating!"

"Who says? Stretching nipples isn't against the law! Grab them and pull!"

"Fifty-six!" Lavinia exulted.

"That's cheating, Susannah," Marianne insisted. "They wouldn't let you put fifty-six on your badge."

"I bet I can get up to fifty-six without stretching my nipples. Give me two weeks and I'll be there."

"You can't grow ten inches in a fortnight, Susannah!"

"Why not? I'm nearly three inches bigger now than I was yesterday. If I could keep that up, I'd be nearly a hundred inches in two weeks' time! I bet none of the girls here are anywhere near a hundred inches!"

"Of course they're not, Susannah! Nobody's that big."

"I want to be," said Susannah firmly. "I like having big boobs. When I was thirteen, if it hadn't been for the other kids in school all being rotten to me, I'd have really enjoyed having such big ones. They felt great bouncing around."

Nancy sounded a note of caution. "Maybe you shouldn't try eating too much, Susannah. You know they're going to make your boobs grow here anyway as part of the job. If you make them even bigger by eating, they might get too big."

There was a shocked silence as the girls loooked at Susannah and wondered just how big 'too big' was.

"Maybe it's all right, Susannah, after all," said Nancy after a while. "You're designed by nature to be bigger than the rest of us. You might as well be lots bigger."

"Lots," Susannah beamed. "Lots and lots and lots bigger! Can you put my clothes on again now, please?"

Normally, such a request would result in an enquiry as to what her last servant had died of, but the three hugely turned-on girls couldn't get enough of this chubby little sugar-dumpling. With a great deal of intimate touching and fondling, they flitted round Susannah until she was safely packed away in her skirt and bra, and her blouse had been stretched across her mountainous bosom.

"I love you all! I'm going to get a new bra now."

"You can't! Not just like that. You're supposed to wait until Randall sends you to the bra man."

"No, he said I could go and see him any time I needed to. Besides, Randall's talking to Caroline at the moment. He must like talking ever such a lot! What does he talk about?"

"Oh, just this and that," said Nancy.

"I'm no good at talking," sighed Susannah. "I'm really boring. I'll go and get my new bra now. See you all later?"

They all wanted to go with Susannah and watch while the bra man measured her, but none of them knew how to suggest it. If one asked, they'd all have to go.

Susannah Shacklehurst, 17

48½-29-39½

"I went and got it this afternoon," said Susannah. "The measuring man made me a new bra and a blouse from stock. The man who engraves the badges wasn't there, but the man who makes the bras knew how to engrave badges and he gave me one straight away." She blushed suddenly. "Oops! I don't mean he gave me one! He gave me this badge. I don't really like him. I don't like any of them. It was much nicer when you were all measuring me and making my boobs bigger. What did Randall want to see you for, Caroline?"

"Oh, just the usual..."

"Nobody ever tells me what the usual is," Susannah pouted. "Have you been with him all afternoon?"

"Mmmm, yes!"

"Has he made your boobs bigger yet? Marianne's are bigger. So are mine, of course, but that's just me doing that, not Randall. Three inches since yesterday. I'm going to see how big I can reach. I told the others I could probably get up to a hundred inches in two weeks. That's not too big, is it, Caroline?"

"What? Oh, no. I mean, it's very big, but not too big."

"Good! That's what the others said. Nancy only wanted me to get up to fifty-six inches, but I made her see sense. I'm so hungry. I haven't had anything to eat for nearly half an hour! I'm going to send for Stanley and see if he can bring me something to fill me up!"

Caroline looked at the young girl, but the little round face was totally innocent. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. But then she'd probably swallow it long before it could even start melting.


"Are you sure that isn't breast-developing cream, Nancy? You're definitely bigger than last night."

"I can't be!" Nancy felt a warm and comfortable feeling creep over her chest. Her nipples were throbbing so much this morning, the girls to whom they would be serving breakfast at nine-thirty, the Weeks Fourteen and Sixteen girls, were bound to notice them. "Am I?"

"Not much. I doubt if you need a bigger size bra, but you're looking fuller. The Randall injection method is working!"

"Oh? Oh, yes. I suppose it is. I mean, he told us it worked, didn't he?"

"How was it for you, Nance?"

"Oh. Excellent, you know?"

Caroline smiled. "Good. I'd give him five out of ten for originality, six for artistic impression and seven for effort. Could do better."

"Maybe you got him on a bad day."

"We'll see what Susannah makes of him. Now she's eating her way to bustiness, she'll probably eat him alive. God, she's a sexy little thing. She's enough to turn me into a raving dyke!"

It was nearly eight-fifteen. The breakfast waitresses were both girls from Week Four. The five relative newcomers were sorely tempted to fall off their chairs and swap seats, but it would probably have made no difference. Both waitresses were transfixed, their bulging eyes glued to Susannah's chest. To be fair, so were the bulging eyes of Susannah's friends and lovers. No doubt when Shelley and Sandra had plunged out of sight through the kitchen door, they were frantically discussing the chubby girl's brand new badge, and perhaps debating the truthfulness of that 48½ inch dimension. Susannah's friends didn't need to debate it; Susannah had already whispered to them that her new bra was so tight this morning that she'd had to leave half the hooks undone, and she didn't dare breathe in case something burst. It didn't stop her eating, though.

Even the unflappable Randall's jaw dropped when he came over to say good morning. "I ... I need to ... umm ... se-see you after you've served breakfast to the Pinks this morning, Susannah," he stammered.

Susannah looked proud to be invited, even if she had no idea what was about to happen to her. But her voice betrayed some anxiety. "Can I get a new bra first?"

"You had a new one yesterday."

"Did the man tell you? Wow! I'm sorry. It's too small already. I've been growing."

"You can make that bra last another couple days," Randall said sternly. "Change into something more casual and see me this morning at ten-thirty sharp. Caroline will tell you where to go. And he scurried away, uttering a sharp cry of alarm as he almost collided with the still-goggling waitresses.

"He wants to talk to me!" Susannah enthused. "Does my hair look all right?"

"He won't notice your hair, dear," said Lavinia.

"He won't be looking at my bust. He's a gentleman. Gentlemen don't stare at girls' busts."

Her audience were stunned by this outrageous statement.

"He wants me to change into something more casual. What should I wear? My T-shirts are all a bit too tight for me now."

"It won't matter much," sighed Caroline. "You won't be wearing it very long."

"Jeans, perhaps? And a sweater? I've still got a sweater that's nearly big enough. I'd better go and get ready. Who's going to help me choose some clothes?"

They were all in Susannah's room within thirty seconds.


"Did anyone keep the guest list from dinner last night?" Lavinia drawled.

"What for?" Marianne was reclining on her bed, still flushed from the excitement of the morning. First there had been the thrill of helping Susannah choose her clothes for her meeting with the management. Then came the interlude while they served breakfast to Weeks Fourteen and Sixteen. This had turned out to be somewhat frustrating as the ten girls were wrapped in bulky sweaters and outdoor clothing, ready to go outside and work in the grounds. Nevertheless, there had been some outrageous curves ballooning beneath the knitwear. It all acted as an appetiser for the main course; helping Susannah get dressed to see Randall. Marianne peered at Lavinia. "What do you want it for?" she repeated.

"She's horny. She wants something to read," Caroline laughed.

"I am not!" Lavinia retorted indignantly, but her pose in the armchair suggested otherwise. The others were becoming used to the sight of the aristocratic Lavinia sprawling in an armchair plunging a number of fingers into herself. It was an unnerving spectacle and they preferred to look elsewhere. There weren't too many other places to look. Marianne was rubbing the crotch of her shorts. Caroline was pacing around like a cat. Nancy was standing beside the dressing table, pressing her groin firmly against the corner of it.

"Where is it?" Lavinia demanded.

"She still wants that list," Marianne panted. "I knew Susannah can get off on numbers, maybe it's spreading to Lavinia as well."

"I do not get off on numbers, as you so crudely put it."

"No, she gets off on fingers," said Caroline. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a crumpled green card.

"Thanks." Lavinia snatched it from her and stared at it with her eyes out on stalks. "Did anyone get a copy of this morning's?"

"Read the one you've got," retorted Caroline. "You can't read two lists at the same time."

"I can! I want to compare them. If we're going to grow, I want to get an idea of how big we're going to get." Evidently the idea excited her, to judge by the wet noises coming from her armchair. Fortunately, the scent of female arousal in the room was already so heavy that even Lavinia's copious addition to it could only have been noticed by a true connoisseur.

"You should have put a towel on that chair," Nancy told her.

Lavinia wasn't listening. Her nose was inches away from the card.

Dinner
Wednesday

Week Ten

Amy Andrews, 18

49-23-35

Arabella Dean, 23

50-24-34

Melissa Exton, 16

66-23-32

Gail Morris, 17

50-21-33

Jayne Williams, 18

63-22-34


Week Twelve

Samantha Donaldson, 21

49½-22-31

Kim Fraser, 20

65-28-39

Pam Peters, 19

52-24-36

Sheri Rawlings, 17

59-27-36

Anna Weeks, 16

68-22-30

"How'd it go?" they all chorused at Susannah, clustering round and staring at her.

"Hello!" she trilled, with an infuriatingly self-satisfied grin. If ever a girl had obviously just been heartily rodgered for the whole of a morning and afternoon, it was Susannah Shacklehurst.

"Look at the nipples on her!" Caroline groaned.

"Oops! Sorry!" Susannah pressed a thumb against each one in turn. If it was intended to stop them sticking out, it didn't seem to be working. "It's this bra. It isn't really big enough but Randy told me it's got to last another two days. He didn't say I couldn't cut the ends off."

"The ends?" Marianne gasped. "The ends of your bra?"

"Of course! I wouldn't cut the ends off my boobs, silly! I borrowed a pair of scissors from that nice man who makes clothes and cut some big holes in the cups. Look!" she said, flicking a finger across the nubby points where they were almost piercing her T-shirt. "It feels ever so funny!"

"How was it... ?" Lavinia hesitated short of using a cliché. "With Randall?"

"He was nice. He didn't seem to mind that I wasn't wearing any jeans. I mean, my T-shirt comes down nearly to my knees when I don't wriggle. Well, halfway to my knees, anyway. You can't really see my bum underneath it, can you?"

"Of course you can't," they lied. The truth of the matter was, Susannah in her T-shirt looked positively obscene. Randall would have to be made of stone to have resisted her.

Nancy asked the too-delicate question they all wanted to ask. "Have you been ... all day? When you didn't come to lunch with us ... I mean ... and then all afternoon. Have you been ... all that time?"

"Oh no," laughed Susannah. "I had lunch with Randy. We had strawberries and cream! And he said you'd all be working in the kitchen this afternoon and I needn't help you, so I went and cut the ends off my bra then I went back to the bedroom."

"Our bedroom?" said Marianne.

"No, that special little bedroom of Randy's. He's so kind to let us use it. He'd left me some more strawberries!"

"He'd left you some more... ?" Caroline was bemused. "You mean he wasn't there this afternoon?"

"Of course not, silly! Randy's got his work to do, looking after all the other girls."

"So what have you been doing all afternoon?" Lavinia blurted.

"Eating, of course! I had a bit of a sleep a couple of times, but there was all that pudding left over from lunch, and all those strawberries, and I'd got that big jar of cream he gave me..."

Nancy felt an icy hand clutch at her vitals. "Randall gave you a big jar of cream?"

"For my strawberries, yes. It wasn't fresh dairy cream, but it was ever so nice and thick. I thought there'd be too much, so I put extra cream on my strawberries, but I still had plenty left. That's when I fell asleep, after that. But when I woke up, he'd brought me some more strawberries. He's ever so kind, isn't he? So I finished off the cream and then I had a pile of strawberries left over and there wasn't enough cream in the jar, so I had to open another one!"

"You opened another jar of cream?" Nancy quavered.

"There was a whole box-full in the corner. It tastes ever so nice. Like my mum always says, it kind of grows on you after a while."

Nancy began to wonder if Mrs Shacklehurst knew just how right she was. And she was the only one who had seen the significance of the jars of cream. It was now blindingly obvious: Randall had fucked the other girls - the injection method - but not herself and not Susannah. He had given the two of them jars of this special cream which would have the same effect. Obviously he had failed to reckon with Susannah's appetite, figuring that no girl would ever be able to consume a whole jar of this glop every day. Yet the insatiable Susannah had finished off her first jar in no time and was halfway through a second.

"I've never seen so many strawberries at this time of year," the girl was still rabbiting on about food. "They must grow them specially. They're not like supermarket strawberries, either; you know how you always get three great big ugly ones in a punnet, then there's three squashy ones, two green ones and only two proper strawberry-shaped ones? Well, these were all nice shapes, and all about the size of ... of Marianne's nipples! No, bigger than that, more like Lavinia's! Anyway, I finished off the second jar of cream. He told me he's getting Stan to make sure there's always a box of cream in my bedroom. And that's another thing! We've all got separate rooms..."

Nancy wasn't hearing any more. Two jars! The kid had eaten two jars of cream in a single day. If it worked - and Nancy could only assume that it did work, or what would be the point of giving it to them at all - what would be the effect of doubling the recommended dose?

"Separate rooms?" Marianne squealed, rudely interrupting Nancy's thoughts.

"Randy told me they've got two spare bedrooms now. I s'pose they managed to send two of the overdue girls home yesterday. Anyway, I'm getting a room of my own, and so are Caroline and Nancy. I suppose it will happen tomorrow..."

Nancy tried to take in all this detail. It would be nice to have a room of her own, but she had become used to Caroline's friendly company. Marianne seemed shattered by the news.

"But you can't move out, Susannah! Can't you complain or something?"

"It will be lovely having our own rooms, Mar! You won't have to put up with me eating and farting all the time, and you'll be able to have boyfriends in!"

"Boyfriends? What boyfriends? Where am I going to find boyfriends out here?"

"They bring them in for us later, didn't you know?" Susannah's eyebrows shot up. "Whole bus-loads of them. Randy told me. Didn't he tell you anything when he gave you your interview?"

He'd have been too busy screwing them to pass on such information, thought Nancy. She pondered, not for the first time, why Randall had so whole-heartedly applied his injection method to Marianne, Lavinia and Caroline, yet had singled her out for the jars of cream. Until now, she had assumed that Randall simply didn't fancy her, perhaps because her tits weren't big enough for him. But if Randall had also declined to screw Susannah, it certainly couldn't have had anything to do with inadequacy of breast. Nancy compared hers to Susannah's. The younger girl's were easily five or six times as big. And even though Nancy's boobs felt pleasantly full today; the way Susannah was eating - not to mention the way she was guzzling this special cream - the margin between them wasn't about to get any smaller.

"My new room's downstairs, next to the kitchen," Susannah giggled. "And Randy says if ever I need anything in the middle of the night, there's always a chef on duty..."

Nancy thought of the chef, a greasy and terminally sweaty Glaswegian in blue check trousers and a stained white jacket. She'd have to be pretty damned desperate in the middle of the night to turn to him for love and consolation. Then she realised that Susannah was talking about food.

When did the girl ever talk about anything else?

"I wonder what's for dinner," she said. "I'm starving!"

"You'll explode, Susannah! You've been eating all day!" said Caroline.

"Only strawberries and cream! That's not real food. I won't get fat on strawberries and cream."

"We've got Weeks Fourteen and Sixteen serving us tonight," Caroline told her. "The ones we served at breakfast. Do you want to memorise the card?"

"Wow! We'll see them in white blouses! You couldn't see how huge they were with those sweaters on. How big are they? I love all these numbers!"

"How can you love numbers?" Lavinia asked. She had conveniently forgotten her own post-breakfast frigging session.

"I just do, that's all. Especially these." She took the card and read it, her eyes getting bigger and bigger. "Wow! These are unreal!"

Breakfast
Thursday

Week Fourteen

Emily Bailey, 20

55-25-38

JenniferDeeley, 28

50-24-36

Sandi Gross, 18

62-25-37

Shauna Martin, 17

72-23-34

Danielle Phillips, 16

50-20-32


Week Sixteen

Gina Evans, 22

71½-20-29

Heather Harris, 21

62-24-35

Stella Ogilvie, 17

56-22-34

Mavis Tonkin, 19

71-22-31

Eleanor Vincent, 16

67-22-30

"Three of them are over seventy inches!" Susannah gasped. "They must make my little things look like a pair of poached eggs!"

It was true enough, the other girls thought. Every one of the Washington employees on that pink card was at least an inch bigger than Susannah, and three of them were at least twenty-one inches bigger. The thought was truly mind-boggling.

"They average thirteen inches bigger than me up here," she enthused, wobbling her bosom with both hands. "And their waist and hips are six inches smaller than mine, too. I bet they make me look like a roly-poly pudding on legs, with poached eggs instead of tits! I can't wait!"

Lavinia couldn't wait, either. This flood of numerical information had engulfed her and she had subsided into an armchair, her mouth open, her eyes staring, her thighs parted, expertly but helplessly finger-fucking herself. Her colleagues were getting used to it by now, but they were still nervous.

"Lavinia, stop it. What if someone comes in?"

The only response was a sobbing moan as the haughty features of her ladyship contorted in climax.

"Why does she do that?" Susannah asked innocently, and Lavinia, who had been slowing down, started all over again. The others had to forcibly restrain her, dragging her limp body out of the chair and hustling her away.

"We've got to dress for dinner," Caroline told her. "And you need a shower. You smell like a high class brothel on a Monday morning."

"How do you know?" Nancy asked her.


"How can they even manage to walk?" Marianne whispered when the waitresses had disappeared back into the kitchen for the last time, leaving the five newbies with their coffee. Slightly disappointingly, only three of the Week Fourteen and Sixteen girls were waiting on them, but the effect of those three in dreadfully tight black skirts and massively-bulging white blouses was enough to reduce the girls to gibbering wrecks.

"And just to think, that Eleanor's only sixteen," Nancy said.

"So is Danielle," said Caroline.

"They chose the three youngest to serve us."

"The older ones must have refused to do it. They pulled rank on the young ones." Lavinia was pressing the heel of her hand against her groin but wasn't getting much satisfaction through her tight skirt.

They were all silent, none of them even daring to mention the name of Shauna Martin, whose six-foot bust was biggest of them all. Her breasts were supported at a level about six inches below her tiny waist, and they arrived everywhere while the rest of her was still fifteen inches away. As she was incapable of carrying a tray, she took the orders, then made one or two token journeys in and out with the odd plate or dish. The other two girls did all the work, and since one of those was herself only five inches smaller in circumference where it mattered, poor Danielle ended up carrying all the meals and vegetable dishes in and out. She only had a fifty inch bust, after all, she could do such things.

"How did they get so huge?"

"They must eat a lot," said Susannah.

"I don't think so," Caroline said. "They're so slim."

"Maybe it all goes to their busts."

"And to think, we're going to be like that!" Marianne said in a husky voice. "I wonder which of us..."

There was no need to finish the sentence. They were all wondering the same thing. Which of them would have a seventy inch bust in three or four months' time? Susannah, certainly. The others?

Caroline was inclined towards caution. "Maybe none of us will get quite that big. We're all older than those girls, and it does seem as if it is only the very young ones who are the most affected, for some reason."

"Yes, why is that?" Nancy was having occasional doubts about the desirability of toting a vast pair of tits around everywhere she went. True, the money might help make it all worthwhile, but tits that size couldn't be very comfortable. Maybe, if the 'injections' - or the cream - had less effect on older women, she might end up in the middle to high forties, which would be highly spectacular without being over the top.

"I'm still hungry," Susannah complained suddenly. "My tummy's rumbling. Do you think I could ask for some more?"

"You've eaten twice as much as any of us," Marianne reminded her.

"I'm going to ask," the buxom girl decided, pushing back her chair impulsively and striding heavily in the direction of the kitchen.

"She can't possibly want more," said Lavinia.

"They won't give her any." Marianne watched the kitchen door, still swinging slightly to and fro. "I bet she'll come flying out of there in the next ten seconds."

In fact, it was nearer twenty minutes when the door opened again and Susannah came out, stuffing a hunk of cake into her face and carrying a basket covered with a cloth.

"Bedtime!" she announced. "G'night, girls!" And before the others could react, she was off to her new bedroom, just ten yards away. The door slammed and they heard a bolt being drawn.

"The sneaky little bugger!" said Marianne. "And she's supposed to be my bestest friend."


"Ouch!" Nancy sat up in bed. It was still dark outside. "Caroline? You awake?"

"What is it?"

"What's the time?"

"You woke me up just to find out the time?"

"Sorry. My breasts hurt."

Caroline's bedside light came on.

"They hurt? Do they look any different?"

"I don't know. I haven't looked."

"Look at them then! Get them out."

"I don't know. I'm scared. They're bigger, Caro!"

"Don't be silly! If they do get bigger, it won't happen just like that. Let me see." She swung her legs out of her bed and watched wide-eyed as Nancy cautiously pulled the bed covers down. "Wow, my goodness! I thought you were kidding!"

"They are bigger. They felt bigger, but I thought it was just this old T-shirt getting too small. They are bigger." She stared at her friend. "It's a good job you're still in here."

"Yes, it is," Caroline agreed. "Come on, get the bloody things out and let's have a proper look at them!"

Nancy was wrestling with her T-shirt. "This thing's so tight!"

"Hang on. I'll cut it off. You won't be able to wear it again." And before Nancy could protest, she felt herself being firmly twisted round on the bed and an icy-cold pair of scissors going snip, snip up between her buttocks, past her waist and on up her back. "It seems a terrible waste of a T-shirt, but it's easier this way. There!"

"Thanks."

"Go on, then!"

"I'm scared to look. You do it for me, Caro!"

"Oh, for God's sake, you're such a baby. Anyone would think you'd never grown a pair of tits in the first place. Oh, bloody hell, Nance! Look at the fuckers! You're fucking enormous!"

There was something in Caroline's voice that struck terror into Nancy. She looked down at herself. "Oh, my God! Is that all me? Ouch! It is!"

"Of course it's you. Stand up and show them off properly."

"What are you doing?"

"Finding the tape measure. Shit, where is it? Ah ... stand still. Now, then ... how big were you before?"

"You mean before I came here, or before?"

"What are you blathering about, girl?"

"I lied, remember? I said I was thirty-six, but they measured me and I was only thirty-five and a half..."

"You can forget that. You're thirty-nine now."

"Thirty-nine? That's impossible. I can't have grown three and a half inches overnight."

"You probably haven't. You looked a lot fuller this morning. So overnight you've only grown two and a half or three inches. You grew the other inch last night. You didn't notice because you weren't wearing a tight nightie. You're certainly much bigger now. Hey, young Randall's injection system works! For you, anyway! The question is, why isn't it working for me?"

"Mine's a differ ... I mean, I don't know. We're all different, aren't we? Yours will grow in a day or two. Hey, what size bra am I now?"

"Jeez, talk about a schoolgirl! What were you wearing? A 32D? It depends, you might need a G cup now. It's just as well you don't have to find one ready-made. You'll be seeing the corsetière in the morning."

"It's morning now."

"It's four o'clock. Morning isn't for another four hours." Caroline yawned expansively. "I can't believe I am doing this. Measuring my room-mate's bust at four in the morning! I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me up. At least, not unless you grow again. No, forget that. Don't wake me up unless you pass fifty inches."

"Don't joke about it. I'm huge!" Nancy hopped experimentally around the bedroom. "They're ever so firm, but they bounce!"

"Of course they sodding-well bounce. They're G cups, you daft loon. Now get back into bed before you catch your death of pneumonia."


"Nice breasts, Nancy!" Randall grinned at her and she turned scarlet. "See the bra-maker after breakfast. What are they now, forties?"

Nancy tried to be off-hand. "Thirty-nine, I think. But they might have grown some more since then."

Randall looked steadily at her for a few moments more. "Where's our little sugar-dumpling this morning?"

Caroline jerked a thumb in the direction of Susannah's bedroom door. "She hasn't appeared yet. We haven't seen her since last night."

"She took a basket in there with her," said Marianne. "Food, probably."

"Probably," Randall agreed. "The treatment is making her hungry. It affects different people in different ways..."

He broke off as Stan appeared and hammered on Susannah's door. He knocked again, pressed his ear to the woodwork, bent down and peered through the keyhole, then listened again. Finally he opened it and went inside. He had a heavy cardboard box under one arm. Moments later he came out again, grinning all over his face, carrying a similar box, with the top ripped off, piled high with discarded wrapping material and paper napkins. It rattled and tinkled as he took it away into the yard behind the kitchen.

"What was all that lot?" Caroline asked.

"Empties," said Randall. "She's going through that cream stuff like there's no tomorrow. She's a good girl. She should be out to breakfast any moment now. See ya later, girls!" He left them staring at Susannah's door, willing it to open. Strangely, it didn't, but Stan made another appearance, carrying a heavy basket. He knocked once and burst straight in. A couple of minutes later he came out, with the empty basket in his hand, laughing at something highly amusing and telling Susannah not to do anything he wouldn't.

"Well, I never!" Lavinia sounded shocked. "She's had breakfast in bed. I hope she's getting up some time this morning. We're serving lunch to the Reds. If she wriggles out of that, I shall complain most bitterly to the management. There are only five of us, we are grossly overworked, and if one member of the team isn't pulling her weight, it is the rest of us who suffer. It is really too, too, much to expect that if..."

"Lavinia." Caroline spoke sharply. "For fuck's sake, shut up!"

To everyone's surprise, she did. Her mouth carried on, but there was no voice attached. And with perfect timing, to overcome what might have been an awkward moment, Susannah's bedroom door opened and she appeared, drifting out like a vision in a diaphanous nightie.

"My God!" Marianne gasped.

"It's an angel!" said Nancy.

"Where did you ever see an angel with tits that size?" said Caroline.

Lavinia said nothing. She had completely forgotten her complaint about Susannah. The other girls had become used to Lavinia's displays of helpless arousal at mealtimes. This time, Lavinia didn't even get a chance to get her hands inside her skirt and panties. With a choking cry, she came, instantly and totally.

Anyone could see why the sight of Susannah had such an overwhelming effect on Lady Lavinia. The girl had been at the strawberries and cream again, big-time. She'd obviously eaten two basketfuls of food since dinner time last night, and there was absolutely no doubt where it had gone. Okay, some of it must have attached itself to her waist and hips, but there was no way to see that when she was draped in flimsy silk from her shoulders to her ankles. The only thing the spellbound, watching girls could see was that the material of Susannah's nightie swept outward and downward to the jiggling peaks of her immense breasts, and hung straight down from there. Their immediate impression was that Susannah must have had major difficulty getting through the doorway.

She glided as if on wheels in the direction of the kitchen, absently waving a hand to her friends.

Marianne rubbed her eyes. "Did I really see that?"

"You did," said Caroline. "And so did Lavinia."

Lavinia was practically steaming as she sprawled in her chair, legs apart, arms flung back, mouth agape. Her eyes were wide open, too, in case she missed anything, but in every other respect she was unconscious, dead to the world.

"And to think," said Nancy shakily. "I thought my bust was bigger this morning."

"It is, dear," Caroline touched her tenderly on the arm. "But there's bigger ... and there's bigger!"

"I've put on three and a half inches," said Nancy. "How much bigger is she?"

"We'll find out later," said Caroline comfortingly. "Although since she's gone straight to the kitchen for her breakfast, she may be even bigger by then!"

Marianne was still staring at the kitchen door. "Do you suppose this is how those girls who have been here sixteen weeks got so big? It might explain it."

"It doesn't explain the special mystery ingredient in Randall's spunk," said Caroline. "And why it's had so much effect on Nancy and Susannah. That boy must have pumped you up to the eyeballs with cum. What's your secret, babe?"

"I don't know," Nancy admitted. "Maybe it's nothing to do with his cum at all..." She stopped. She'd said too much already. A promise was a promise. She glanced up at the clock. "I'd better run back to the room, something I've forgotten. Go to take my medication. See you guys later..."

"I shouldn't run, if I were you," Caroline winked lewdly at her. "The way you're overflowing out the top of that bra, you'll give yourself a couple of black eyes!"

Nancy didn't run, but she did walk briskly. It felt as if she needed to visit the bathroom as a matter of some urgency. Her tummy was in a turmoil, partly, she admitted to herself, as a result of Susannah's outrageous appearance. Was it possible for a pair of breasts to grow that much in a couple of days? She closed the bedroom door behind her and almost ripped off her blouse. Well, there was one answer. Her own breasts had ballooned enormously in just two days. And if she wasn't mistaken, they were even bigger now than they had been at four in the morning. She unloaded them from her bra and her suspicions were confirmed. Randall was probably right in his estimate. Damned experts! Forty inches was probably right on the button. She thought of finding the tape measure and confirming it, but told herself not to be so stupid.

"Even so, I've got to force this jar of cream down my throat today." She thought of Susannah guzzling the stuff, two jars a day, or even more, and grimaced. You'd think they could have made the cream a little less unpleasant. Shuddering, she reached into the carton and pulled out today's jar. "Strange, what's this?" She turned the little business card over and read the other side. 'Bon Appetit' it said. Somebody's sick idea of a joke, no doubt. But then she looked in the box and something red caught her eye.

"Strawberries!" A large dish covered with cling-film, piled high with bright red fruit, all perfect little strawberry-shaped ones, no big ugly misshapen ones at all. She smiled, remembering Susannah's description. "They must grow them in the hothouse," she thought, peeling back the film and taking a bite out of the top one. And before she knew what she was doing, she had upended her jar of breast enlarging cream over the dish, sat cross-legged on the floor, and eaten the whole lot. In fact, there were too many for a single helping, but as she came to her senses and stared at the empty dish she realised that she had polished off at least half of a second jar of cream as well as her first. "I can't leave this much in a jar," she mused, and glugged the rest of it down as well. Somehow, the strawberries made it taste far nicer. If she hadn't been feeling quite so bloated, she'd have gone to the kitchen in search of some more.


The knock on the door was unexpected. If it had been Caroline, she would have come straight in.

"Who is it?"

"Me," came a husky whisper. "Susannah!"

Nancy's tummy did a half-roll. "Come in!" She piled her breasts back into her bra, shoved the latest empty cream jar back in the box and pushed it out of sight under the bed, then realised that she had forgotten to hide the rest of the evidence. What the hell, anyway? Susannah would have found out sooner or later that she wasn't the only breast enlarging cream addict in the little group.

The girl had changed out of her nightie into jeans and a sweater. "Hi," she said breathlessly, looking round the room. "I was on my way to see the bra man and I saw Stan and he asked me to bring you some more of these." And she handed over a plastic container of strawberries. "Stan said he'd brought you some already and you'd probably like some more. He didn't mention cream ... oh, you've got some already!"

"Oh ... yes. I ate a jar with the strawberries. They go nicely together."

"Yeah. I've had loads since last night. What do you think?"

"Think?"

"Of my bust! It's lots bigger, isn't it? I mean, yours are much bigger, too, but look at mine! I was never this big even when I was thirteen! They're vast! Do you want to see them?"

Nancy thought that might be nice.

"You've got to show me yours, too," Susannah insisted. "Fair's fair."

It seemed like a bargain to Nancy. Just one of Susannah's was miles bigger than both of hers. She was stripped down to her bra anyway. She unhooked it and faced her buxom friend; heavy-breasted, topless and perky.

"Wow, look at them!" Susannah squealed, grabbing at Nancy's nipples. "They've really grown!" And she played with them for a while, totally absorbed. "Wait a minute," she exclaimed suddenly, and Nancy opened her eyes. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Mine have grown because I've been stuffing myself with food and strawberries and cream for days. What about you? You haven't been eating as much as me. Hey, it must be that cream! It must be special cream to make boobs bigger!" She giggled. "Wouldn't it be great if there was such a thing? I'd be able to guzzle gallons of it. Like this!"

And before Nancy could stop her, she grabbed two jars from the box and unscrewed the caps.

"One for you, and one for me! Ready, steady go!"

Seconds later, Susannah beamed at Nancy, put down the empty jar and belched.

"You've got lots more. Let's share the rest and eat your strawberries before Caroline comes back."

"I don't think we really ought to, Suse."

"Go on! Find another spoon while I take this sweater off. It's so tight!" She stopped trying. "It doesn't matter; you'll see my boobies when we go to get measured for our new bras. Let's eat instead!"


The Reds must have been on hunger strike. They didn't show up for lunch.

"They ought to be disciplined," Lavinia stormed. "We've slaved our butts off for them, serving all these meals..."

"You haven't slaved your butt, or anything else, off," Caroline reminded her. "You've been waiting for your nails to dry." The others nodded in agreement.

"She only wanted to stay in the kitchen so she could gawp at Susannah's tits," said Marianne.

Susannah had stayed in the kitchen because she couldn't carry a tray, and anyway, if she could, she didn't have a white blouse to fit her. "I couldn't serve lunch in a sweater," she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate pudding. The staggeringly developed youngster was doing her best to eat all ten lunches provided for the girls of Weeks Eighteen and Twenty.

"They could have found a blouse for you," said Caroline. "They must've got huge ones in stock."

"They haven't, 'cos I asked the man when he gave Nancy and me our bras this morning. Blouses over fifty inches are issued on special order only, signed by Mr Randall. And he's gone out," she ended triumphantly, stuffing the last of the pudding into her mouth, practically choking as she had a fit of coughing. Tears poured down her round cheeks as Marianne pounded her on the back until she farted resoundingly and her ex-room-mate retreated out of range.

"How big are you anyway?" Lavinia asked the question they all wanted to ask except Nancy, who already knew the answer.

"Shan't tell you," Susannah retorted. "You were horrible to me."

"She's right," said Caroline. "Serves you right, Lady Muck!"

"She's more than fifty inches anyway," Marianne joined in the fun, taunting Lavinia.

Nancy bit her lip as she attacked the floor with her mop and bucket. She knew just how much more. Susannah knew, but Susannah wasn't telling. She was too busy to tell; having finished the pudding she was prowling round the kitchen looking for more. Finally, she inched closer to Nancy, pressed one phenomenal breast against her arm and whispered, "Come to my room. We can have some more strawberries and cream!"

Nancy glanced anxiously around the kitchen. The other girls were at the sink, gloomily contemplating the piles of washing up. Even though none of the Reds had turned up for their meal, a teetering stack of dirty plates had somehow appeared, to say nothing of a small mountain of pots and pans. "Strawberries? There aren't any. We finished them all off."

"Trust me," Susannah smiled sweetly. "Come on, while they're all doing the washing up."

It was as good a diversion as if it had been planned. Marianne and Caroline had half dragged Lavinia over to the sink to make sure she didn't get away without doing her chores. Obviously, Susannah couldn't get anywhere near the sink, so they ignored her for the time being, and they knew Nancy was occupied with the mop. Perfect! Grinning like conspirators, the two strawberry-girls sneaked out of the door.

"There, I told you. Stan brought me some more!" There were two big dishes, which made Nancy wonder how Stan had known there were going to be two of them in there, but once Susannah had poured a jar of cream over each and handed her a spoon, she was too busy to care. It wasn't just the delicious pleasure of stuffing oneself with the sweetest strawberries ever grown, there was an element of danger about it; they were wolfing several times the daily recommended dose of breast enlarging cream.

Susannah babbled constantly away with her mouth full. "You know what? I'm pretending this is special breast enlarging cream, like we were dreaming about in your room earlier. Then you'll grow bigger than forty-one and a half, and I'll grow even bigger than fifty-four and three quarters! Probably by tomorrow morning!" And with those words she popped two more jars of cream. "I reckon I'm bigger than that anyway. I feel enormous! Even this new bra feels like it's cutting me in half." She turned her badge round so she could read it. "This is going to be ancient history by tomorrow!"

Susannah Shacklehurst, 17

54¾-30-40¼

"So's mine," sighed Nancy. In a bloated stupor she looked at her own badge with its near-fantasy numbers:

Nancy Bosomworth, 24

41½-26-36

Who would ever have dreamed she could have a figure like this? And just how much more would she grow? She was supposed to have just one jar of cream each day, and by sticking religiously to that amount - in fact, she had been throwing half of it away - she had added a whopping six inches to her bust since starting the treatment. Now, today alone, she had already scoffed five jars of this potent stuff. Five, was it? Or six? If that lot didn't burst a few bras, nothing would.

"Shall I take it off?" Susannah's voice penetrated Nancy's thoughts. "Nancy? Wake up! Shall I take my bra off? It hurts too much to keep it on. The only thing is, I'm so heavy now, I don't know if I can walk without it."

Nancy forced the words out at last. "Where were you thinking of walking to?"

"Nowhere. I just want to sit here and eat strawberries and cream until my tits get too big to get out of the door. It wouldn't matter if they did, would it? You wouldn't mind, would you? Do you want to see how big I can get?"

"Yes."

"Good. I thought I'd seen you looking at them. The other girls like looking at them, too. Marianne used to lick the ends when she shared my room. The ends of mine, that is, she couldn't lick the ends of her own, not both at the same time, anyway. She couldn't lick the ends of both of mine at the same time, either, could she? They're too big for that. I could lick both of mine at the same time when I was twelve, and I remember licking one on its own on my eleventh birthday. Do you like licking Caroline's? Isn't Lavinia funny? She's always got an itch. I reckon she's got fleas."

Nancy couldn't stop her jaw dropping. Susannah seemed so innocent it just wasn't true. She was playing with the bottom of her wildly over-stuffed sweater with one hand, one finger of the other between her full, moist lips. Then she apparently made a decision, crossed her arms in front of her, grabbed the hem of the sweater and pulled upwards.

She paused. "You don't mind if I take it off, do you? You won't be embarrassed?"

"Only a little bit," Nancy laughed shakily. She was beginning to realise how Lavinia must feel. She needed to sprawl in an armchair and bury all four fingers of each hand in her appallingly wet pussy.

"You're sure?" A finger between Susannah's lips again. They parted and it slipped inside, to emerge glistening after just a few seconds to toy with her lower lip. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Nancy was as uncomfortable as she'd ever been. Juice seemed to be gushing into her panties in torrents.

"Okay. Stop me if you get embarrassed, won't you!" And this time there was more than the tempting glimpse of the swollen undersides of those massive satin-holstered gourds. The sweater came up, higher and higher, revealing the full extent of Susannah's problem bust. The girl was incredibly stacked, especially from Nancy's viewpoint. She had a close-up view of the enormous yet still overflowing cups. The bra was not intended to be a three-quarter cup style, but that was the way it turned out. There was so much of Susannah flowing over the top of the cups, Nancy couldn't help comparing Susannah's bra with her brand new 32G cup model. The buxom young girl could easily have filled it with what she had left over when she'd finished filling her own mighty white bra to capacity. "There," she said, straightening up and looking at Nancy. She patted the sides of her breasts with both hands, setting everything jiggling. "Wow, I'm so wobbly! Look at me!"

"I am," Nancy pointed out.

"Would you like to help me take it off now?"

"Yes, please!"

"I have to undo the hooks and then lower my boobies down carefully, 'cos they're so heavy. Which would you rather do?"

"Either, it doesn't matter!"

"You can undo the hooks, then. Six of them. Six! I haven't had a six hook bra since I was thirteen. Maybe you'd rather I undid the hooks and you can stand round the front and take it off? You've got to be careful when you let them down. I don't know how many pounds they weigh, but you'll be really surprised once you try to hold them. Marianne tried, and she dropped one. Wummppp! That was before they were as big as they are now. When I was thirteen, boys used to try and hold them. Boys' hands aren't really big enough. It took two."

"Two hands? I'd have thought they're bigger than that."

"Not two hands, silly! Two boys! Come on, then. Hold tight, while I unhook myself. Or shall I take my jeans off first? Would you like to see my bum? You know it was getting bigger? I think it's getting smaller again, or at least, staying the same size."

Susannah was away again, her mind zooming off at a tangent on to another subject. Nancy couldn't keep up with her. Sure, she wouldn't mind seeing all of Susannah revealed so she could inspect her lush body at leisure, but first things first. And the first things Nancy wanted to see were those mind-numbing breasts, released from that too-small bra and dangling in front of her eyes. Was that the right word, 'dangling'? Would they dangle, or would they hang? Or not hang? Would they sway and wobble without drooping downwards more than a few inches... ?

"Nancy?"

"Yes, Susannah?"

"You didn't say if you wanted to see my bum." She was about to bend forward to remove her jeans, a couple of fingers tucked inside the waistband, sinking into the soft pale pink flesh of her belly. With some difficulty as her jeans were decidedly full of girl and she couldn't have seen what she was doing in a thousand years, she managed to undo the top button and ease the zipper down a few inches. Then she pulled it back up again. Pouting, she complained. "You're not saying anything. You've got to tell me what you want to see first!"

"All of it," Nancy wailed. "I want to see your big bottom, your soft wobbly tummy, your creamy thighs, your big bushy wet pussy, and your fucking great tits!"

"Wow! You really do, don't you! I knew some girls liked looking at other girls, but I didn't know you were one. I thought it was just Lavinia and Marianne and Caroline. And me, of course. Well, now I know that, I'll show you everything."

She stood there, grinning quietly.

"What are you waiting for?"

"You've still got to tell me which part you want to see first!

"Susannah! I want to see everything! What does it matter which comes first?"

"It does!"

"Okay, then. I want to see your big bum!"

"What's wrong with my creamy thighs? Or my pussy? That's a rude word. I don't think I want to show my pussy to a woman who uses such rude language. And certainly not my huge tits. I'm not going to call them what you called them, 'cos that was an even ruder word... Ow!"

Susannah almost leapt in the air as Nancy's hand landed with a resounding thwack across the taut seat of her jeans. "Take them off!" she howled. "Take every fucking thing off!"

Susannah blushed and giggled. "I'll let you do it," she murmured. "I'll just watch. No, not yet! You've got to take all your clothes off first. Fair's fair! Last time, you only took your bra off. C'mon! Everything this time!" And she watched with interest as Nancy practically ripped her clothes off. A striptease it wasn't: she was naked in front of the younger girl within twenty panting seconds.

Bang, bang!

"Come in!" Susannah trilled, and before Nancy could even react, the door burst open.

"Nancy!" Caroline giggled. "We've been looking for you everywhere. Randall wants to see you urgently. You'd better get dressed first. I doubt if it's quite that urgent. And..." she tossed her friend a towel. "You'd better wipe all that girl-juice off your thighs first!"


Frothing with frustration, Nancy was still buttoning her blouse as she flew in the direction of Randall's office. What did the fool want? He'd already seen her once this morning and hadn't said anything apart from congratulating her on her tits and telling her to see the bra-maker. Perhaps he wanted to inspect the evidence. The horny bastard. She was in a mood to tell him what to do with his new bra. Uncomfortable, scratchy thing, it was way too tight...

Too tight? It hadn't been, earlier. It had been a perfect fit; if anything, a little generous in the cups. Now, there was no doubt at all, the thing was tight, too tight. She knew she tended to feel a little fuller when she was aroused, and Susannah's shameless teasing had certainly brought her to boiling point, but she had never felt as full as this. Thinking about it, she must be a couple of inches bigger than she had been when she first put the new bra on. And that was patently ridiculous. It had only been a couple of hours; three at the most. She couldn't have grown two inches in three hours.

On the other hand, she and Susannah had both been guzzling Randall's cream, far exceeding the recommended amount, and Susannah was undoubtedly bigger. Visibly bigger. She stopped outside Randall's office door and cupped her breasts. Oh, my God! Unable to believe what her hands could feel, she looked down at herself. All this growth recently, and it was still going on! She now filled that new bra so completely that flesh was bulging out of the top of the cups. Her fingers sank into the resilient flesh, but no way would they even make an indentation on the drum-tight material of the bra itself. It was absolutely crammed full. A shudder ran through her and she clamped her knees together. There was still time to flee, to bolt away to her room. She could tell Randall she'd never received a message...

"'Ullo, Miss Bosomworth! Christ, look at the size of your tits!"

"Stan!"

With a lascivious grin, the messenger knocked on the office door and immediately opened it, almost shoving her inside. He followed her in, clutching a cardboard box, recognisable as another of those boxes of cream. Without ceremony he dumped it on Randall's desk.

"Where is the daft bugger? Randall? Mr Washington?" He disappeared round the corner and Nancy considered escaping while she could. Too late. Stan was already coming back, calling over his shoulder. "Don't keep your Miss Bosomworth's waiting! She's standing 'ere with tits like a pair of bloody melons, and she's so turned on I can practically smell 'er!" And before the outraged Nancy could protest, he cackled crudely and slid out, slamming the door behind him.

"Dirty old bugger," Randall chuckled as he came in, drying his hands on a towel. "God, he's right, though! Look at the size of those things under your shirt." He avoided mentioning the more embarrassing question of Nancy's all-too-noticeable state of arousal. "Sit down, Nancy." He took a seat and watched her as she squirmed into a chair. "Now, what have you been doing to yourself?"

"Nothing!" Nancy blushed like a fourteen year-old.

"Good. Because if you can grow a pair of tits like those by doing nothing, you ought to produce excellent results when we change you over to the new grade of medication." He indicated the box on the desk. "I'd better not give you the whole box, in case you get addicted to it. You'll find that it tastes much nicer than the first batch you had. I don't know how you could force that glop down your throat. You obviously have, though!" He tore the top of the carton open and took out six jars, lining them up in an orderly row. "Now, take the rest of this box to your room and don't tell Susannah you've got it, okay? That's most important. Have you any of the original cream left?"

"A few jars," Nancy admitted, hanging her head in shame.

"Okay. Finish those off first, then start on this new stuff. One jar a day, remember! Don't mess with this new stuff, it's dynamite! Especially since you seem to be a sensitive subject."

Nancy Bosomworth, 24

44-25½-36

Nancy turned the badge around and read it again in disbelief. Forty-four inches! Her breasts felt so outrageously full as she lay naked on her bed. Her stiff nipples felt as if they were almost scraping the ceiling. For what seemed like the umpteenth time today, her fingers sought her crotch. It didn't take much seeking. Good grief! She was so hot, it felt almost as if her whole hand was being sucked in.

At least, she no longer shared a room. Caroline now dwelt in state in their old room upstairs. Nancy's new abode was smaller, with a less inspiring view from its window - but it was next door to Susannah's. The thought that the buxom teenager was just the other side of the wall was enough to stoke the furnace of Nancy's arousal even more than ever. What was happening to her? She seemed to have been perpetually horny these last few days, ever since her breasts had started to fill out. Nancy wasn't complaining, but it was a worrying trend. What if her breasts continued to grow? If they kept on at this rate even for another week, she'd be immense. In what seemed like no time at all she had spurted to the silver medal position in the little group of five new recruits, a couple of inches clear of Caroline and Lavinia, and probably six inches ahead of Marianne.

Spurted. What an apt word! She was now permanently sopping wet, and almost her every thought brought more juices gushing out of her. She had read somewhere that men thought of sex every eight seconds. Nancy now found herself in the same position, with the added complication that each of her sexy thoughts seemed to last for a minute and a half.

Meanwhile, over on the chest of drawers were two cardboard boxes. The top one contained the last few jars of the original breast enlargement cream. She was going to have to finish those off before she started on the new dynamite batch. She knew she should really stick to one single jar a day, especially when she eventually came to try the new stuff, with its improved taste. The trouble was, that was several days away, and she felt as if she simply couldn't wait to try the new cream.

The answer defied all logic but it made perfect sense to Nancy in her present condition.

She rolled off the bed and stood up, shuddering. Then she squelched her way over to the chest of drawers and took a jar out of the top box. There were more left in there, but she didn't count them. The object was just to get rid of them as quickly as possible, without throwing them away.

"It would be easier if I had some strawberries," she sighed, unscrewing the top of the jar and giving the repellently viscous contents a cautious stir with her spoon.

The knock on the door was followed by Stan's immediate entrance. "Strawberries," he announced before stopping in his tracks to stare at Nancy's nudity. "Oops, sorry, love!" he cackled insincerely, looking her up and down. Then, keeping his distance, he circled round her with unblinking gaze, and placed a family-sized container of strawberries on her bed. "Your tits are getting huge! Forty-fours!" he sniggered before leaving with as little ceremony as he had arrived with.

"Well!" Nancy was still rooted to the spot. Uselessly she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Stan would have seen everything, including the glistening smears of juice down her thighs. Were there no secrets here at all?

She sighed and shrugged. It was too late now; he'd seen her. No doubt he was in the habit of barging in on all the girls in the place, and there would be no point in complaining. As long as he didn't try anything with her, it was all right. This thought was followed instantly by a vivid image of Stan straddling her on the bed, waving a member which appeared to be something in excess of fifteen inches long. It was such a lifelike thought that she staggered back to her bed and narrowly avoided sitting on her strawberries.

"Well, since I'm down here, I might as well make the most of it," she gasped, tearing away the top of the plastic container and plucking the biggest strawberry off the top. She dipped it into the jar and stuffed it into her mouth, then spooned half the jar in after it. "This is going to make me gigantic!" she whimpered, realising after a minute or so that the jar was empty. She dipped two fingers into it, scraping up the last traces of cream, transferred them to her mouth - then changed her mind and plunged them into her aching pussy instead. "Oh, my God!" she screamed, hearing the echoes ringing around the room. The whole house would have heard that. "What the fuck," she gabbled, her slick fingers caressing her clitoris as if trying to drag it out of its sheath and pluck it out by the roots. "Let the horny bitches hear what they like!"

And ten seconds later, taking her box of strawberries with her, she got up and wobbled determinedly across to the chest of drawers.

More cream, Nancy!


"Hello, stranger," said Caroline. "I didn't know you with your clothes on."

Nancy mumbled something and slid into a dining room chair.

"Aren't you hot in that sweater?"

Nancy was hot all the time, in that sweater or out of it. She'd borrowed it from Susannah, then fled back to her room to put it on in time for dinner. She didn't feel much like dinner anyway; not that she wasn't ravenously hungry, but that she didn't feel up to meeting her friends. She hadn't seen them since lunchtime, apart from Susannah, of course, and her brief encounter with Caroline, and she was sure there would be comments about her slipping away to avoid the washing up. Besides, after her dramatic expansion to fill one new bra, it felt as if she was now well on the way to bursting another. It seemed unlikely, but this new one had been a good if snug fit to start with. Now, it was feeling tighter than she'd have believed possible. Of course, she'd wolfed most of a large pack of strawberries and three jars of cream only two hours ago. She admitted to herself that the strawberries wouldn't have any effect on her bustline, but the cream seemed to have started working already.

"You're tits are getting huge, Nance!" Caroline stared at her frankly. "How big are you now?"

In reply, Nancy showed her the gleaming new badge.

"So don't tell me, then, see if I care," Caroline grinned. "If you expect me to believe those monsters are only forty-fours, you must think I'm still wet behind the ears."

"Is it as bad as that?" Nancy asked anxiously, lowering her voice. "I'm scared, Caz!"

"There's nothing bad about it! Tits like yours are good. They're excellent. But if you're shy about the others seeing them, you'd better sit in the corner before they arrive. Here, swap seats with me." They hurried to change positions. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything earlier, barging in on you like Stan. Susannah's enormous, isn't she! I reckon you might be catching her, though."

"I know."

"Don't worry. You've got a long way to go before you reach the size of the Super Reds."

"You haven't seen them? They didn't show up after lunch?"

"No, they didn't need to. I've got their numbers here." She slid the card across the table.

Lunch
Friday

Week Eighteen

Dale Antony, 17

68-26-37

Maggie Dunlop, 20

69-21-38

Sue Hammond, 16

72-24-33

Katie Perry, 18

70-27-36

Jane Vincent, 16

77-20-31


Week Twenty

Jennie Boxer, 20

72½-22-33

Genevieve Fox, 19

72-23-36

Mandy Pullar, 17

85-23-34

Lyn Stewart, 15

80-22-31

Viv Walters, 16

77-22-29

"They're all kids!" Nancy was touching herself beneath the table. The oldest one's only twenty. And can you believe the size of them!"

"It figures. The youngest have been the biggest, all the way through. Now that we've got a whole group of youngsters on one card, I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that they're all so big. The only surprise is that the youngest girl isn't the biggest on the card. It's close, though!"

"If only they'd come in to lunch, we'd have seen them!"

"We'll see them. Some of them, anyway. We're supposed to have them serving us breakfast in the morning."

"How? None of this lot could carry a tray!"

"It would be nice watching them try. Quick, give me the card back, here comes Lady Lavinia. She'll want to take it away. She's getting worse. She's becoming obsessed with sex, and tits, and playing with herself..."

Lavinia's eyes were darting everywhere as she approached the table. "Who's serving us tonight?" she said as she slid on to a chair. "It's not those Reds, is it?"

"No," said Caroline. "We've got them for breakfast. The timetable says we've got the Blues again."

"Zenobia and Lim Chung?" Lavinia had total recall of the girls from Weeks Six and Eight. "The two smallest on the list." She looked hungrily around again. "Have you seen a list of the Reds yet?"

"Yes," said Caroline truthfully. "One of the other girls borrowed it."

This was stretching the truth to the limit, and Nancy had to hide her grin with her hankie. Lavinia looked at her with suspicion. "How big were they?" she asked.

"I haven't seen them," Caroline insisted.

"You know what I mean! You've seen their measurements. How big are they? And how old? I mean, how young?"

Caroline counted them off on her fingers. "Two are twenty. One each nineteen and eighteen. Two seventeen and three sixteen." She winked at Nancy.

"That's only nine," Lavinia complained after an extraordinarily long pause while she sat with her lips moving silently. "What about the other one?"

"Oh, you mean Lyn?"

"How do I know? Who's Lyn?"

"She's got an eighty inch bust. She's 80-22-31, in fact..."

"Eighty? But how old is she?"

"Lyn?"

"Of course," Lavinia seethed.

"Oh, she's not the biggest, of course. Mandy's are eighty-fives. Mind you, she's two years older."

"But you said the oldest one's only twenty!"

"That's right. Well done, Lavinia! You're working it out nicely. Of course, Mandy's not the oldest. In fact, she's not even in the top four, if you're talking about age..."

"She's seventeen," Lavinia's mental arithmetic skills were bcoming attuned to the rules of the game. She stopped, blushing bright red. "But that would mean Lyn's only... fifteen... ?"

Caroline's face was blank. Lavinia looked at Nancy, who managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds before letting out a snort and subsiding in her chair with a fit of the giggles. Caroline joined in, while Lavinia inevitably started fumbling with her pudenda.

"What's up with you lot?" said Marianne, rushing into the dining room. "I thought I was late. Where's Susa... ?" She came to a halt, goggling at Nancy, whose giggles had got out of control. "Nancy, your tits!"

Lavinia jerked her head round and stared at Nancy, realising at last what had looked different about her. "My God, look at them! How big are they?"

Nancy tried to think of a rude reply, then she changed her mind and slowly stood up behind the table, finally raising her arms above her head and rotating her upper body from side to side, slowly at first, then faster.

"Nancy's been growing," said Caroline. "Mind you don't swing yourself off your feet," she added as Nancy swayed a little too far and had to clutch hurriedly at the table. She sat down, panting. Caroline studied her, resting her chin in her hands. "You'll get used to them soon enough. As long as you can keep up with them. Is that badge still accurate?"

"Forty-four, yes." Nancy was trying to avoid breaking out in a broad smile as she mentioned the magic numbers. Lavinia's and Marianne's faces were a picture, gaping at her open-mouthed. She rested her breasts on the table and purposely took a deep breath. "Of course, Susannah makes me look hollow-chested!"

"Where is the girl anyway?" Lavinia whined. "I'm hungry, and I bet those Blue girls are waiting until she arrives before they take our orders."

"What are you looking at me for?" Nancy asked. "I don't know what's keeping her."

"You've been seeing more of Susannah than we have," Marianne pouted. "That's her sweater you're wearing."

"So what if it is? It doesn't fit her any more."

Lavinia moaned softly. "It doesn't? How big is she now?"

"I honestly don't know," said Nancy. "The last badge I saw her wearing said she was 54¾-30-40¼." She felt a stab of satisfaction at Lavinia's gasping reaction to these ridiculously precise figures. "But when she got that one, mine said I was only 41½. If I've grown two and a half inches since then, she must be bigger as well. After all, we've been guzzling strawberries and c ... I mean ... we've both been eating lots since then."

"So she might not come in to dinner?" Marianne's voice was despairing.

"Susannah wouldn't miss her dinner," said Caroline.

"Maybe she's fallen asleep," Nancy suggested.

"Maybe she's exploded," giggled Caroline.

"Maybe she's having sex!" said Lavinia.

They all stared at her. "Sex? Susannah?"

"Who with?" Nancy said.

"Stan?"

"Randall?" Lavinia was serious. "We all know the effect of having it off with Randall, don't we? If Susannah really wants to grow bigger breasts, making love to Randall has to be an easier way than stuffing yourself with food, eating so much between meals that she's got no appetite left for her dinner."

"Easier, perhaps, and probably more pleasant," said Caroline. "But Susannah's method seems to be quite a bit more effective than Randall's 'injections'. In fact, it's only Susannah who's showed any growth at all. Apart from Nancy, of course!" And she turned accusingly to her ex-roommate. "It seems to be working pretty well for you, doesn't it?"

"Er ... yes. Now you come to mention it, I suppose it does. Maybe yours will grow later. Perhaps you're all late developers. After all, I'm older than the rest of you."

"Yes, and Susannah's younger than the rest of us. So at least, her growth seems to fit the pattern of the Washington Experience."

"S ... so's hers!" Lavinia stammered, staring over Caroline's shoulder.

The waitress half glided, half lumbered up to the table and the girls turned round, looked up at her, looked away again, then performed a simultaneous double-take. The waitress wasn't fazed by their staring. She was obviously used to it.

"Is your friend coming? 'Cos cheffy says it's all getting cold and there's nothing worse than cold vindaloo. Or is it biryani? I can never tell the difference, it all gives me the screaming shits. Anyway, is she coming or not?"

"W ... who are you?"

Caroline took over the interrogation from Lavinia who had both hands under the table and an expression of acute discomfort. "Our friend means we didn't see you last time the Blues served us."

"Blues?" The waitress shrieked with laughter. "I'm not a Blue! When did you ever see a Blue with tits like these?"

"Erm ... well, yes, that's what we were thinking. But if you're not a Blue..."

"We bunked off. At lunchtime. We was s'posed to come in to lunch but we went on strike. Protest, it was, against the cooking. But ol' Randy found out. This is his idea of punishment. Your two Blues 'ave been given the night off and yours truly gets to serve din-dins all on her own to you lot. So by the time I've carried all your plates out here one at a time, it's gonna be freezing cold anyway."

"Wait a minute. You bunked off lunch? That means you're a..."

"A Red, that's right." And the girl retreated a few yards so they could actually see the whole of her face rather than glimpsing bits of it past her epic bosom. She was staggeringly pretty and dark-haired, and only about four feet ten or so, but her bust was something considerably more. "You can't read me badge, of course, 'cos it's on top of me boobs. But I'm Lynnie."

"Lynnie?"

"Lyn Stewart. They only pick on me 'cos I'm the youngest."

"God," Lavinia croaked. "It's her! How big is she?"

"I just told you how big she is, she's 80-22-31."

Lyn looked at them with her head on one side. "You were talking about me before I came out of the kitchen? Wow!"

"You're really eighty inches?" Lavinia babbled.

"Depends how you measure them. They come down to here without my bra."

"And you're only fifteen?"

"Nearly sixteen. I wanted them to put sixteen on the records, in case the Government came and took me away. They might try to make me go back to school. Can you imagine me in a school uniform?"

"We could try," said Caroline. "How'd you get away with leaving school and getting this job, anyway?"

"I didn't go to school. I had to leave when I was thirteen and I had the baby."

"Was it having the baby that made your breasts grow?" said Caroline.

"No, the other way around. Having such huge tits made me have the baby. The boys all wanted to fuck me." She sighed sadly. "And of course, I wanted to fuck them. We didn't stop at wanting to, we did it. All the time. And once I'd had the baby, that's when they got really big. So my mum said I didn't have to go to school no more, and she got this special teacher to come and teach me at home. She was horrible. I wanted a man teacher, really, but my mum didn't think that would be a very good idea. She's funny like that."

The girls sat and stared at Lyn as she developed her theme. She was really a most extraordinarily attractive young woman, if you concentrated on her face, but it wasn't easy to concentrate on her face, or anything other than that mammoth bust. That was the word for it, too; Lyn didn't have breasts as such, in the plural, she had a bust, a bosom, a singular thing that stuck out in front of her like a pillow stuffed down the front of her blouse.

"You've all gone quiet," she said at last.

"We were listening to you," said Marianne.

"And watching me, too!"

"Sorry," said Caroline. "We didn't mean to stare..."

"I've never seen a girl with an eighty inch bust before," said Lavinia.

"You still haven't," said Lyn. "I'm only about seventy or seventy-two!"

"What?"

"It's this armoured bra they've given me. It's like a strait-jacket. Can I sit down a minute? Until your friend arrives?" She took a seat and rested her armoured bosom on the table with a sigh. "Even strapped in like this, it's still fucking heavy. When I take it off, it's like ... amazing! It squeezes them in so much. I can breathe, but only just. They're miles bigger than this when I'm not wearing a bra."

The others tried to imagine the concept of anything being miles bigger than this mountain of blouse right in front of their faces.

"That's why I couldn't go to school. When I started breast feeding, I went up from about fifty inches to nearly sixty, in about three days. So even if I hadn't been looking after baby, and if it hadn't been the summer holidays, I still wouldn't have been able to go to school, not with a sixty inch bust. It's not allowed." Lyn seemed convinced. It was the law. Girls with sixty inch busts didn't have to attend school. It might well be the law, the others thought, it wasn't the kind of law you'd expect to hear very much about, after all. "Anyway, when I came here, I was about sixty-two inches. We've all grown since then, especially in the last few weeks. We're having a contest to see who can grow the most. I'm second biggest, but none of the others had sixty-two busts when they started here, so they're all catching up with me. Some of them were only thirty-something when they came here! Imagine it!"

Thirty-something inch Marianne shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I bet you'd like to see me topless," Lyn half-whispered, blushing. Her eyes flickered around the table, coming to rest on Lavinia. "The rest of the Reds are okay but they're not really interested in sex and stuff. They're like ... just not interested. I'm bisexual, I suppose. Although I've never done it with a girl. I haven't even done it with a boy since I came here. They won't let me! I've had a baby, and they still won't let me fuck! Of course, you're all new, so they won't have let any of you fuck yet, apart from Randall. He won't fuck me, either. I'm nearly sixteen, I've had a baby, and I've got these monsters! And he won't do it with me!"

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "But if he won't fuck you, how is he giving you the breast growth injections?"

Lyn rolled her eyes. "They must put something in my dinner," she said innocently.

"Talking of dinner," Nancy was anxious to change the subject, "it doesn't look as if Susannah's coming. Won't the chef be expecting you back to give him our orders?"

"He'll come charging out with a carving knife and find you sitting here talking to us," said Caroline.

"No, he won't," said Lyn confidently, although she got up from the table with a grunt and moved ponderously away in the direction of the kitchen door. "He's not cooking tonight, is he! They always get the Indian food from the take-away down in the village. Majid brings it up in his van."

Four pairs of eyes watched her boyish rump disappear through the kitchen door, and a few seconds later a howl of Scottish wrath shook the windows.

"Chef's not happy about something," said Nancy.

"Lyn forgetting to take our orders might have something to do with it," said Caroline. "Although I'm suddenly not quite so hungry as I was five minutes ago. I'm almost tempted to give it a miss, like the rebellious Reds."

Marianne was horrified. "Walk out, you mean?"

"Why not? The Reds did."

"But they've been here four months. We're brand new."

"Brand new or not, they can't feed us cold Indian take-aways and expect to get away with it. Even on a Friday night. Especially on a Friday night. I feel like fish and chips."

Lavinia screwed up her patrician nose. "How totally working-class!"

Nancy winked at Caroline. "Lavinia doesn't feel like fish and chips."

"Doesn't matter. Lavinia smells like fish and chips! Anyway, who's with me? You in, Nance? Marianne?"

"What are you going to do?" said Marianne.

"Nobody's about. Let's just walk out, call for a taxi and find a chippie."

"We can't leave here!"

"Why not? We're employees, not prisoners."

"How can we call for a taxi?" Nancy asked. "The only phone I know of is in Randall's office."

"There must be more phones than that in a place this size."

"So we start skulking around looking for a phone? There are at least sixty other girls somewhere around this mansion, although we've never seen more than ten of them at any one time. That's probably why we're discouraged from roaming around. They don't want us to mingle with the others. If we did somehow bump into any of the other employees, I get the feeling someone's going to get very mad."

Caroline shrugged. "You don't have to come. If you're not hungry..."

"It's not a question of being hungry..."

"Of course, you've been stuffing yourself with strawberries and cream all day, haven't you? Lavinia and Marianne haven't. Are you two coming?"

Marianne looked at Lavinia uncomfortably. "They'll give us dinner here, won't they? It's not as if..."

"And I've got lots of things to ask Lyn," said Lavinia.

"No spirit, any of you!" said Caroline angrily. "Okay, sit on your arses and eat cold vindaloo, see if I care."

"Where are you going?"

"For fish and chips. On my own!"

"We ought to stop her," said Nancy, as Caroline stomped out of the room.

"How?" said Lavinia. "She seems pretty determined. I don't know how anyone could get so worked up over fish and chips." She remembered Caroline's unkind remark about her alleged personal problem, and her hand automatically slipped into her lap again beneath the cover of the tablecloth. "And Lyn will be coming back soon."

Lyn came back sooner than expected. There was a sudden increase in the volume of Scottish oaths as the kitchen door opened, and the lone waitress was plodding as quickly as she could across to their table, a heavily-laden paper carrier bag in each hand.

"We've got to get out, chef says. We're running late, and the Blues are due in here for their dinner in half an hour. I've brought your dinner and you can take it to your rooms. Your friend hasn't turned up yet? And where's the other one gone... ?"

"She got tired of waiting," said Nancy. She inspected the two fragrant bags. "What have we got in here?"

"Let's take it to my room and share it out," Marianne suggested.

"I'm sorry I took so long," said Lyn. "Messing up your dinner and everything. At least, I'm off duty now."

"We've got lots here," said Nancy. "If you're free, why not come along with us to Marianne's room. There's plenty here for you, too."

"Well, I did miss lunch..."

"Yeah, come along, Lynnie!" said Marianne.

Lavinia gulped, her hands busy in her lap.

"You coming, Lavinia?" said Nancy.

Lyn stared at Lavinia with interest. "What's she doing?"

"She's just horny. She'll come with us."

"Do you get horny, too?" Lyn asked. "Lots of the girls do, but I didn't think it happened until they'd been here a lot longer."

"Does it happen to you?" said Nancy.

"Wow! Does it! Ever since I started the treatment, I've been so hot!"

"Maybe they've been giving Lavinia the treatment without telling her," Marianne suggested.

"What treatment?" Lavinia's awareness was returning slowly.

"It doesn't matter," Nancy told her hurriedly. "We're all going to Marianne's room with Lynnie. There's loads of food. And rice makes you feel sexy..."


"Why are we here, Lynnie?" Nancy asked as Marianne cleared up the debris of the meal and dumped it in one of the carrier bags.

"It's our job, of course."

"But we don't actually do anything!"

"We're learning things."

"Learning how to be a waitress! That's not a job. And it's no reason to bring us here, pay us a salary and feed us - after a fashion. Besides, you're only fifteen, you're not even old enough to have a job yet."

Lyn turned pale. "You won't tell... ?"

"Tell who?"

"Anybody. I'd get taken away. It would be horrible. I'm not the only one either, there are younger ones than me, up in the Golds."

"It's all right, Lynnie. Nobody's going to split on you. We just thought you might know a bit more about why we're all here, since you've been here five months."

"Well ... if I tell you, you won't tell anybody?"

"Of course we won't."

"Okay. You're all nice to me. Well, it's Mr Washington's daughters."

"What about them?"

"You haven't met them yet?"

Lavinia spoke for the first time in ages, surprising the others. "Not until Sunday, Randall said."

"Hmmm. You might meet them then. Or maybe one of them. Sometimes they don't like to meet the new girls. They're a bit shy."

"Why?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? The way those kids are built, they're bound to be shy, aren't they? I mean, they..."

It was always the same at this place. As soon as anyone was about to say something interesting or important, someone came along and banged on the door. Stan, usually. Like this time.

"It's Stanley!" Lyn gasped. "I've got to hide!"

"What for?"

"Quick, before he comes in. Under the bed!"

"You'll never get under there with your tits," said Marianne.

Lyn was already halfway under the bed, and was already wedged tight. Nancy and Lavinia grabbed her ankles and pulled her free.

"Oo's in there, answer the door!"

"In the wardrobe," suggested Marianne.

"Too small," said Lavinia. "Get into bed and pull the covers over your head. Quick!"

"I sh'll come in!"

"What's stopping him?" said Nancy. "He usually barges straight in anyway. Quick, Lyn. Into bed!"

They covered her up with the duvet as Stan stopped playing games and burst into the room. "You've been eatin' Indian," he accused them.

"Of course we have," said Nancy. "That's all there was for dinner. An Indian take-away."

Stan seemed to be counting heads. It might have been more accurate to count tits and divide by two, but Stan's arithmetic may not have been up to the job. "Oo's missing?"

"Missing?"

"Oo's not 'ere? Oo's in the bed?" He advanced on the huge hump beneath the bedclothes where Lyn was lying on her back.

"That's Caroline," said Nancy. "She wasn't feeling well."

"Don't look like her," said Stan suspiciously. He made a grab for the corner of the bed covers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Nancy. "I said she's not feeling well."

"So what?"

"If you lift the covers off her, we'll all have to make a run for it."

"What?"

"Caroline's got a bit of a problem."

"Problem?"

"Curry. Problem. You know?"

"Curry?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Lavinia snapped. "Stop pansying about. Stanley, Caroline's suffering from extreme flatulence. Wind. Farts. Like this." And to the girls' giggling delight - and Stan's horror - she raised a daintily aristocratic leg and released a fart like the last trump.

"You filthy pig!" Stan jabbered, backing away. "All of you! Pigs!"

The door slammed behind him.

"Wow, Lavinia!"

"At school I used to be our senior dormitory fart champion. We used to set fire to them after dark, but mine were always too dangerous. We'd better tell Lynnie it's safe to come out."


Lunch?

Week Twenty-Two

Geri Blencowe, 19

72-36-42

Penny Howe, 18

79-21-29

Suzy Inglis, 14

81-23-33

Louise Umber, 16

79-25-34

Emily Watts, 16

77-20-31


Week Twenty-Four

Anne Amiss, 20

88-30-40

Veronica Box, 15

88-22-36

Shawn Dunphee, 13

100-24-34

Fliss Harriman, 14

90-17-26

Sam Williams, 15

115-23-33

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