Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/ft, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Humor, Petting, Lactation, Exhibitionism, Size, Body Modification, Big Breasts, Workplace, School, .
Desc: Humor Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is a sequel to both 'World Cup 98 II: Yashimoto's Daughters' and 'Editorial Licenciousness.' Miss Twizzell takes Virginia Mackerel to a convention of the International Association Of Independent Custom Foundation Garment Manufacturers (That's bra-makers to you and me!) where she meets old friend, Ursula Schouwenbrink, and Marietje - perhaps the world's biggest busted schoolgirl. But what is the South African film crew up to, and what is in the carton marked "Dried Egg Powder"?
Marietje wishes to point out that she still sells MarieMelk SupaGro ™, 250ml for €49.95, a singularly effective breast enlargement formula.
"This is the worst part, I always think. At least when we took off there was no time to worry about it, but coming down is horrible. I always think he's going to plummet straight into the ground." Miss Twizzell stared fretfully out of the window and whinnied as the plane wobbled in the turbulent atmosphere over the fast-growing landscape. It had seemed so toylike on the approach but now everything was much bigger, disturbingly solid-looking, and whizzing past at two hundred miles per hour.
"It's a she," said Virginia, not altogether reassuringly. "The captain told us her name before we took off. They always let the First Officer do the flying."
"A woman pilot? It can't be!" Miss Twizzell yanked her seatbelt even tighter and closed her eyes in silent prayer. Her assistant seemed unnaturally calm about the whole thing. Young girls these days, they flew all over the place the whole time, she supposed. "Have you done up your safety belt?" she asked her.
"Of course. By feel, naturally..."
Miss Twizzell was glad she had taken the window seat, or she'd never have been able to see the outside world past Virginia's bust. Even though Virginia was securely trussed up in what she called her special travelling gear, with the ingeniously designed low-slung bra, there was no getting away from the young woman's staggering development. It had been a master stroke, bringing Virginia to the conference, rather than one of Discoveries' top boutique managers. Miss Twizzell was looking forward to being the only delegate accompanied by such a hugely-stacked assistant.
The ground was whizzing past in a blur now, and the engines sighed and gave up trying to keep the machine in the air. There was a monstrous thud as the woman pilot slammed the wheels on to the tarmac as if she was determined never to let them come up again, then an urgent roar of reverse thrust. Within seconds, they lurched to the left, still travelling obscenely fast, and thumped across the uneven taxiway in search of somewhere nice and easy to park. There was a distinct relaxation of tension and the usual faint smell of fear from the seasoned travellers. Another One more flight closer to inevitable destruction. The aircraft had begun playing soft soothing sounds to them, like the music in an elevator.
Miss Twizzell was fiddling with her seatbelt with her nervous bra-maker's fingers. "You can't get out yet," Virginia reminded her new boss with a smirk. "We've got to let the plane stop first. It will be ages yet. How far is it to the hotel from the airport? I've never been here before. I know it's still Europe but it feels so different. I wonder how warm it will be. It looks hot out there."
"It's not hot in Holland. It's further up than London. I want a nice cup of tea. And I need a pee. Not necessarily in that order. There'll be a taxi waiting for us, they said..."
"We'll be first off. Business Class always gets off first. That's the other good thing about it." Virginia stretched as well as she could.
Miss Twizzell couldn't think of anything good about travelling Business Class, but there was little doubt that Virginia would have had extreme difficulty squeezing her bosom into one of the Cattle Class seats at the back, even for a brief up-and-downer across the North Sea.
"I wonder if any of these are going to the same convention." She looked round at the other passengers, some of whom were studying her disguised figure with decidedly ill-disguised non-professional interest. "They're all staring at me," she whispered suddenly to her employer.
"I can't believe you said that! Of course they are. Look at you! Even in that potato sack, you can't hide those things. Are you going to be able to walk?"
"Of course I can walk! I'm used to them. Although it does feel funny having them strapped down here in my lap like this. I know it's meant to make me just look fat, but I haven't got fat legs, nor a fat face."
"You're a walking advertisement for Discoveries."
"A waddling advertisement, maybe. Here we go, I'll have to let you get the bags down from the locker, I'm not sure I can reach up there without breaking something."
If Miss Twizzell was a poor air passenger, she was even worse in a taxi, especially in a strange foreign city where they drove on the wrong side of the road. "How can I read this brochure at this speed?" she protested to Virginia.
"It's no good complaining to me," Virginia giggled. She had slumped in the corner and brought one foot up on to the seat. It squeezed her breasts together in the middle and stopped them wobbling around. "Haven't you memorised everything in that brochure anyway?"
"I've forgotten it all again. What have we got tonight? They describe it as a get-together."
"Ah, that'll be where we all get together. Do you want me to wear one of my dangly bras again?"
Miss Twizzell looked at Virginia with surprise. "If you like. You've got plenty of choice. You'll be able to wear them all this weekend. We've got four nights, after all, although I don't really know how they expect to be able to talk about custom-made bras for four whole days!"
"Well, they've got bra-makers coming from all over the world: America, Russia, Italy, Israel. And all those Asian countries. You wouldn't think there'd be much demand out there..." Virginia stopped. She remembered Mr Yashimoto's staggeringly developed daughters, both of whom easily dwarfed her own vast bust. It would have been nice to have seen them again - at least, it would have been nice to see Miki again, Kimiko was okay, but only in small doses. There was no such thing as a small dose of Miki Yashimoto. Everything about her was considerably larger than life, including her twelve foot bustline.
"It's a pity we couldn't bring the water tank with us," Miss Twizzell mused. "I doubt if anyone else is using the flotation method to measure the more pendulous breast."
Virginia blushed and looked out of the window. 'The more pendulous breast' clearly included herself. Since finishing her first year of college, her bust had been hanging lower and lower. The cost of new bras was so daunting, it had been a pleasant surprise when Miss Twizzell had suggested that Virginia should come and work for her during the summer vacation. "I can't pay you much, but you can have your bras free. Swimsuits, too, if you need any. And it will be good experience for you, whatever you do for a career when you graduate. What are you thinking of doing, anyway?"
Virginia hadn't thought about it lately. At one time she had entertained thoughts of taking a year out and travelling round the world, but the way her breasts had grown had virtually ruled that out as impracticable. She simply couldn't go back-packing with tits the size of pillows hanging down her front. "Something with computers, maybe," she had answered vaguely.
"Oh, good. I can't get on with ours at all. Gerard usually looks after it, but he's over at one of our other branches all the time. And of course, you can learn the custom bra trade, too. When can you start?"
"Start? Ummm. Tomorrow?"
That had been three weeks ago, during which time Virginia had partially reorganised the Discoveries stock control system. The stores, scattered around the country, were holding enormous stocks of bras in absurd sizes, in a range of colours and styles. Even the most huge sizes were available from stock. Gerard was largely to blame. He loved counting his boxes, rearranging the stock in pretty patterns on the shelves. Sales weren't bad, but there was a tremendous amount of cash tied up in enormously unsaleable bras gathering dust in the stock rooms.
Virginia had mounted the step ladder in her first week. "Do we really need all these, Veronica?"
"All what, dear?"
"We've got five ... six ... no, seven black 30W cups. Is there really any demand for all those in Brocklehurst? We ought to have a centralised storage facility, and this database needs updating." She wobbled down the ladder and tapped a few keys at the computer. "The machine's showing no customers at this branch for size 30W. The nearest are a 30T and a 28X."
"I made them for a special customer we had. She was a 30Q, and she'd been growing steadily, so I worked out that she'd stop growing when she reached a W cup. And black was her favourite colour," Miss Twizzell had ended weakly.
"She got pregnant and shot up to a 34K2. How was I to know she was going to get in the club? She didn't even have a boyfriend. I mean, she obviously had one, but he didn't really like big breasts."
Virginia had grimaced and immediately e-mailed all branch managers requesting them to update their database entries forthwith. To her pleased surprise, she was able to get rid of all seven bras within two days.
Miss Twizzell was so delighted, she told Virginia of her decision to take her along to the Convention.
"It's in Amsterdam in two weeks' time."
"A whole week in Amsterdam? But what can bra-makers talk about for a whole week?"
"Oh, I don't know," Miss Twizzell said airily. "And it's not a week, it's only four nights and five days."
So here they were, pulled up in front of the hotel and wondering why the taxi driver was having apoplexy with a 100 Euro note in his hand. "Should I tell him to keep the change?" Miss Twizzell whispered.
"I shouldn't if I were you. Not on our first morning, or we'll be hitch-hiking home tomorrow." Virginia dug in her purse and found something smaller. So small, in fact, that the tip came to around twenty cents. If Virginia hadn't been so pretty and so intriguingly large-breasted, the taxi driver might have been quite annoyed.
"Over here to the window, Willy. Here's a couple of them coming in now."
"How do you know? You don't know them, do you?" Panic crept into Willy Voorskens' voice.
"No, just look at them. She's got to be the bra-maker, the older one. The kid's her model."
"The fat one? A model? Matti, you've been at the genever already?"
"Take another look. Ankles, arms, face? She's got them all. I may be wrong, but I bet that under that shapeless sack, there's a fucking great pair of tits! Disgusting."
The two of them stared down into the street in front of the Wilczkowsky Hotel on Dam Square, where the two women were surrounded by luggage, apparently arguing with the taxi driver.
"I bet they're English!" Matti sniffed and pursed her lips. Willy was scared when his producer looked like this. "It will be a pleasure making the English look stupid. Not that making the English look stupid is too much of a challenge. Pass me the list of delegates. And the script."
Willy glanced at the list as he handed it over.
INDEPENDENT CUSTOM FOUNDATION GARMENT MANUFACTURERS
"Why do they call them foundation garments?" he said. "What's wrong with calling them bras?" He noticed a pained expression cross Matti's face at the word. She had absolutely no need of foundation garments herself, so she preferred not to hear about them. It was evidently a wry joke on the part of one of the TV company's top executives to send her with a crew to produce a one-hour documentary about a convention of custom bra makers.
"The shareholders of the Wilczkowsky Hotel are going to wish they'd never heard of brassieres by the time this show goes on the air," she snarled bitterly. "In fact, they'll be wishing that by Tuesday night." She moved away from the window and studied the list of delegates' names. "Let's see. Miss Twizzell. That will be her. What kind of a name's Twizzell, anyway? Stupid English name, that's what. We'll see. She's got her show on Monday. Plenty of time before then. Are all the preparations in hand?"
Willy squinted through his glasses at his Production Manager's clipboard. "We're shooting the delegates touring the city tomorrow, Matti, and..."
"Not those preparations, fathead! The fucking crew can do that on their own, standing on their heads. Hansi can direct. It will be pissing with rain anyway. What about the preparations?"
"I'm not sure it's a good idea, Mats. It seemed a good idea back in Capetown, but now we're here, I'm not so happy about it. Can't we just shoot it straight and put a spin on it in the editing?"
"Balls, man! I've made my decision. The boys have been here a week, with the chemicals. Once they're ready, we can begin. Look at this program. Fashion shows on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and the big Grand Gala Night on the Wednesday. Imagine how that's going to go down when Fanie and Kepler get down to work. Have they completed their tests yet?"
Willy's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Just about. Fanie fed one of the bar girls last Monday, and she's just got a job as a model."
"A model? Here, for the convention?"
"Ja. When they started she had next to nothing to speak of under her shirt. Monday she had the mixture, Tuesday and Wednesday they took her out and stuffed her with pancakes and poffertjes. Today, she's out to here." Willy held his hands quite a long way in front of his chest.
Matti grimaced. "What about the side effects? You know... ?"
Willy looked uncomfortable. "Well, yes. They're still a problem. Kepler's still recovering but he's back at work this morning in the kitchens. And Fanie's back on room service. But it shouldn't be a problem as long as there are plenty of men around to keep the girls satisfied."
"Fifty girls? There are fifty big-breasted models..." Matti almost spat, "fifty of them, plus any of the special models the delegates might have brought with them. Like that fat bitch with Twizzell. Are Kepler and Fanie sure there are going to be enough men around to keep a hundred girls satisfied for five days and four nights? You were supposed to make sure all these side effects were eliminated."
"It's not five days and four nights. By the time the guys have administered the mixture to the girls, it will be another day before the effects start. Then a day of feeding..."
"One day? You're sure? Didn't you say the test subject took two whole days'-worth of pancakes?"
"Kepler's been able to increase the strength of the stuff now he knows it works okay. If we can get a dose of the mixture down the girls' throats by tomorrow morning, they'll have three square meals here at the hotel - you've seen the menu - and they'll be growing by bedtime tomorrow night, and busting their shirts by Sunday morning."
"It sounds encouraging," Matti admitted. "If only the guys had done something about the other effects. That could embarrass us."
"I don't know," Willy grinned for the first time. "I can always help out with the girls..."
The porter struggled out of the elevator with their baggage and Miss Twizzell and Virginia followed him along the carpeted passageway that smelled of warm hotels. "Miss Twizzell?" he intoned, stopping in front of Room 516. The door opened and he lugged most of the bags inside. Just one small suitcase remained on his trolley when he returned and led Virginia along to the next room. "517, Miss Mackerel?"
Miss Twizzell appeared at her room door looking anxious. "I didn't have any change, dear, perhaps you could..."
"Me? Okay." Virginia dug into her purse and found a handful of alien coins which she tipped into the porter's palm. The fingers closed resignedly when he realised that was all he was getting.
"Thank you, madam." He withdrew backwards, pocketing his tip while trying not to look too elated. Virginia gave up on working out how much she had given him. All she now had left in her purse was a wad of brightly-coloured Monopoly money. It was time to pass Go. She rapped on Miss Twizzell's door.
"We're going to have to try this on you," the bra-maker was holding up a fearsome contraption in black and purple satin with several areas of shiny leather.
"It's upside down," Virginia pointed out helpfully. "Not today, surely? Our show isn't until Tuesday night."
"You haven't even tried it on yet. It might need altering to fit."
"I'm not going near that thing until I have to. It's like something out of a mediaeval dungeon."
"This is the shape of the custom bra of the future," Miss Twizzell retorted indignantly. "BraPants are where it's going to be in a year's time."
"By 'it' I assume you mean my private parts. And in that thing is precisely where they're not going to be. When I need to get at them, I need to get at them in a hurry, for whatever purpose. I don't want to take my whole bra off to go for a pee."
"There's a flap down here," Miss Twizzell said, blushing furiously.
"How very thoughtful! I've got to pee through there?"
Miss Twizzell peeled back the velcro and waggled two fingers through the hole before realising that it probably looked obscene. "I could make it bigger..."
"The size isn't the problem. It's the whole idea of the thing. Especially in warm weather."
"It's not too warm here. And it's only for an hour or so. The rest of the time you can wear one of your travelling bras. They're comfortable enough, aren't they?"
"Yes, luckily. I can't try that thing on for a while, anyway. I've got to go out."
"Out? Where are we going?"
"We? Well, I need to go to the bank. After I paid the porter at the airport, I paid the taxi driver and I tipped the hotel porter. I hate to think how much I've just given away, but all I've got left is Bank of Toytown notes in huge denominations. I've got to get some small change." She held out her hand.
"Oh. I suppose you want to change some of my money, too."
"Unless you were thinking of papering the shop with it when we get home." Virginia snapped her fingers until her employer produced her purse. "Thanks. Now why don't you carry on with your unpacking and we can try the BraPants on when I get back. Then maybe we can go for a walk after lunch, do some sightseeing, ride on a boat?" Virginia looped the string of her purse round her neck and dropped it out of sight into the bottomless depths of her cleavage.
Miss Twizzell watched it disappear. "Okay. Don't be long, though."
"I won't. Meanwhile, you could call room service and have a nice cup of tea? If you want it with milk you'll have to ask for it specially."
Miss Twizzell raised an eyebrow. "Really? How extraordinary! It's almost like being in a foreign country."
Willy looked both ways then slipped into the kitchens through the service entrance. He spied Kepler, up to his elbows in greasy water. "Hi. I sneaked in the back way. Just a last check, is everything okay?"
"Near enough? What kind of an answer's that, for Chraassakes? Is the stuff ready?"
"It's okay. Just final tests and we'll be okay. When I upped the strength I overdid it. The girl got way out of control, although that might have been just her. We should have tried it out on a whole bunch of girls back home, but you didn't allow enough time. But it will be all right; we had it too weak, then I made it too strong, so all I need is to make it somewhere in between. We've got to try out the method of feeding it to them. I've slipped a batch to Fanie and he's going to test it in coffee. The other thing I want to work on is these side effects. I've got an idea that might just work, but I need to try it out. Next time I see you..."
"There won't be a next time, not before the event. I can't be seen down here talking to you. Any messages, get them to me through Fanie, okay?" Willy glanced round nervously. "I've got to go. You've got plenty of the stuff?"
Kepler dried his hands on a towel. "Shit, man, I've got enough mixed to enlarge the entire population of Amsterdam! And there's still a whole box of the concentrated stuff left. There's enough there to do the whole of Holland."
"Right, I'm out of here. Good luck, Kepler!"
Willy slipped out of the back door silently and unobserved, looking in both directions and simultaneously colliding with half a dozen garbage bins.
At the same moment, Fanie sailed into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. "What d'you know, Kep?"
"Great, man. Shit-head's just been in, checking up on us."
"Why does the dragon send her messenger boy? Why doesn't she come down here herself?"
"You can't be serious, man!"
"Mebbe not. But I bet she's a right goer once she's loosened up."
"I'm not about to try and find out. How's the testing going?"
"I've got a special batch ready to go into a pot of coffee. As soon as we find a suitable candidate, I'll slip it in and we'll see how it goes. The delegates have started arriving already, and the models are due in later tonight. Willy's laid on a special dinner for them all in the Stello Banqueting Room, so we'll be able to feed the brew to them all in one hit. They've even been told they can have breakfast in their rooms tomorrow morning, so we can make sure the treatment has started working. Did the extra pancakes arrive?"
"Just been delivered, and more coming in at six tomorrow morning. You'd better have another batch of powder in case we can't get together again." Kepler reached into a store cupboard and brought out a carton marked 'DRIED EGG POWDER.'
"Great disguise, man! Nobody would ever dream of opening a box of that stuff."
"That's the idea. Right, you know the amount to use?"
"No prob, man!"
"What else might we have forgotten... ? Ah, you've got plenty of these?"
Fanie laughed and accepted the package. "144 packets of three? That's a year's supply!"
"Better safe than sorry, man! Take it. I've got a dozen more boxes in case we run out. They're all standard, none of these rib-tickler gimmicks."
"As long as they're big enough, Kep!"
Walking wasn't easy for a big girl, even in the travel bra. But the disguise was total; nobody stared at her, at least, not for more than a few seconds. Virginia visited the bank and tucked a fat roll of smaller notes into her purse. She'd only walked a few hundred yards, but there seemed to be so much to see in this teeming, so alive city. Time to get back to the hotel, and then she'd come out with Twizz after lunch. Twizz! She wondered what the bra-maker would think of the nickname. She was a funny old thing, well, not old, just funny. And despite that fiendish BraPants thing, the woman had a way with stretchy fabrics. This travel bra was like wearing a few wisps of cloud. Of course, it wasn't at all uplifting; Virginia was now so extremely pendulous that she accepted the fact that she'd never be able to support her breasts at anywhere even approaching waist level. The best she could hope for was to stop them dangling too far below her crotch. At least, they'd stopped growing now she'd found a suitable diet. Even at that time of the month, she didn't experience much additional discomfort from her size. Mercifully, her periods were regular as clockwork and her celibate lifestyle meant that she didn't feel any need for the birth control pill, which would surely send her hormones into a flat spin.
"What kind of a name's Wilczkowsky, anyway?" she mused, entering the lobby and thumbing the lift button. "Just time for a cup of coffee before lunch..."
Virginia's room looked out over a busy street with trams clanging up and down. Down that way to the right was the quay where the canal boats started their sightseeing tours, and further along the street was the station, with the broad river beyond it.
"Room service, madam!" Did they take the trouble to find out that it was an English-speaking guest in the room, or did they simply use English by default?
"Come in." Not a bad-looking guy. A bit short, but chunky, and nice hair. "I only ordered coffee, not these..."
"Poffertjes, madam. With the hotel's compliments."
"But it's lunchtime in half an hour..."
"They're so light, madam, you'll hardly know you've eaten them." The man checked the items on the tray, pointing silently with his finger, as if making sure of everything. Not too difficult, surely: coffee pot, cup and saucer, cream jug, sugar bowl, spoon, great plate of those pofferty-things. Maybe he was new. He spoke excellent English. What was that accent, South African? Why not, there must be a lot of South African people with Dutch ancestors.
"Thank you. Oh, here..." She fished the purse out on its string and selected a suitable coin. No reason to overdo the tips, or room service would be queuing outside her door.
"Done!" Fanie whispered behind his hand to Kepler. "English girl in Room 517, name of Mackerel, for crying out loud! A bit fat, but she's got some tit on her! She keeps her purse on a string round her neck and it dangles right down between them. This tip she gave me's still warm!"
"Shit, man, concentrate on the job. Did you give her the stuff? And some food to give her the necessary bulk?"
"Right, she's got a normal dose in her coffee pot, and a great heap of poffertjes with the hotel's compliments."
"I'm still not happy about this girl, Fanie. If she's a fattie, how you going to see how much she's grown?"
"She's not huge, man, just kinda plump. Besides, I'll be able to see how much bigger her tits get. Tits are up here, not down there! I could quite fancy her, you know. Her face isn't fat, and she's got slim ankles and everything. She fancied me, I could tell. You always know when they're gagging for it." Fanie cackled. "Don't you wish you'd grabbed the room service job?"
"Huh! I'll be all right later on. I've got the penguin suit all ready on its hanger for tonight. I'm serving in the Stello room, so I'll be getting a good look down the cleavages of fifty huge-titted bra models! Of course, it helps if you're tall enough to look over their shoulders when they're sitting down!"
"Piss off, man! Right, I'd better get back to my hutch in case little Miss Mackerel - Big Miss Mackerel - needs anything. See ya!"
He'd gone before Kepler did a double take. "Fanie? Did you say she had a whole pot of coffee?"
Little Miss Mackerel didn't want anything; least of all, a pair of BraPants. But she stuffed the last poffertje in her mouth and dusted the icing sugar off the swelling slopes of her bodice. A last gulp of coffee and she was ready to face her boss.
"Come in, dear. Did you have a nice walk?"
Virginia pulled out her purse and passed a wad of notes to Miss Twizzell. "There you go. You can pay for the boat this afternoon out of that."
"How much will it be? Should we be splashing out on our first day, do you think?"
"We won't be splashing out, we'll be cosy and dry inside the boat. It goes all the way round the town. Let's face it, if we don't go today, we won't get another chance once the fashion shows start. You'll be wanting to see the models when they arrive, to make sure you've got enough bras in the right sizes for them."
"I've been worrying about that," Miss Twizzell confessed. "They said the models have been specially selected for their size, but other people's idea of big bosoms isn't necessarily the same as ours."
"The brochure says there will be a range of models from H cup upwards. That's big, isn't it?"
"I suppose so, dear. We'll have to see tomorrow. You're right about the boat ride, I'm sure it will be lovely. We could even have two trips if it's not too expensive..."
"I say, steady on, old thing! But I'll be a good girl and try on this fucking abortion!" Virginia held up the bizarre BraPants with distaste.
"Such language, dear," said Miss Twizzell, tutting absently. "It shouldn't need much alteration, it's pretty well adjustable in all directions." She watched her assistant unbuttoning her dress and working it up and over her head. "My God, I always forget how bloody huge those things of yours are!"
"Language!" Virginia's voice was muffled. "Help me out of this thing, will you?"
It took about half a minute before the travelling dress was tossed on the bed and Miss Twizzell found herself staring at the back view of Virginia in her elaborate but workmanlike bra. It was a familiar enough view; she'd been strapping the girl into increasingly large bras for some years now, trying to disguise the wonders in her bursting bodice. This latest creation was her masterpiece of disguise, she had to admit. What was the point in trying to defy gravity by hoisting those monsters upwards? Let them hang as low as they wanted - well, maybe not quite that low, but down to hip-level, anyway. Then why bother with a bra strap round the girl's chest? Put it round the waist, a bit closer to the action. Virginia's waist was almost as miniscule as it had been when she had first presented herself at Discoveries and shyly asked for a bra. Without searching back through her notebook, Miss Twizzell could recall that the girl's waist had been below the magic twenty inches and her hips below the even more magic thirty. They were a little more womanly now, sure, but only a few inches. And that twenty-two inch middle looked tiny, cinched in by the bra's ten inch wide body band - or more accurately, waistband. It was glossy black, stretching itself round the pale flesh just beneath the lower ribs, then swooping inwards like an hourglass before swelling out again to terminate on Virginia's hip bones. It looked even tinier by contrast with what surrounded it. The cups were attached to the sides, swelling straight out sideways. There was so much flesh-stuffed fabric that each side was as wide as Virginia's waist!
"It's not getting too tight, is it, dear?"
"No, why should it?"
"Oh, I just wondered." Miss Twizzell tried to insert a finger up beneath the back of the body band, then allowed her hand to stray momentarily sideways to where the cups were attached. Cups wasn't really the word for these giant bags, but even the most avant-garde bra designers have rules. "Turn round and let me see the front."
Virginia sighed and shuffled round. She'd much rather have been unhooked and liberated.
"Hmmm. Next time, I'll let the shoulder straps come closer together. Like this. It will stop that puckering. Not a bad fit, though, for a first attempt at a radical new design."
The shoulder straps were indeed far from conventional. There were the usual adjustment buckles, but as the straps were four inches wide at their narrowest point, the adjusters needed to be far broader even than the buckles on a parachute harness. The straps were attached to the top and the sides of the cups, and by ingenious design and clever cutting they bore the weight of the cups and their burden without apparent strain. The cups were designed to hold the breasts quite tightly together in the middle - Virginia was intended to look simply fat - and it was only by manufacturing each cup from a dozen separate panels, cut on the bias to control the direction of the material's stretch, that the twin masses of flesh were persuaded to follow a smooth contour down her body, not swelling noticeably to the sides nor, remarkably, to the front. Of course, you can't subject even the softest flesh to such restraint without changing its nature: you could rap with a knuckle on one of those bra cups and it was as unyielding as an oak door.
Miss Twizzell ran her fingers expertly up the shoulder straps to the top, feeling where they indented the girl's shoulders under their monstrous load. "Okay, turn round again and I'll undo you."
The straps came together high up on the back, to form a single four inch wide strap running down her spine to join the waistband. Rrrippp! The bra-maker wrenched the strap free and Virginia reached round to grab it until the rest of the fastenings had been released. There was no velcro in the construction of the waistband. It was secured by eighteen heavy-duty hooks, which Miss Twizzell began unfastening alternately from the top and the bottom, ending up with the two in the middle. Always one with an eye for detail, she had provided two handy loops at the sides where the cups were triple-stitched to the band. By tugging backwards and inwards on these loops, it was possible to take the strain sufficiently to release the last two hooks. At the same time, it took Virginia by surprise and the two of them tottered backwards to collapse in a heap on the bed.
"Why can't you warn me when you're going to do that? It happens every time!" Virginia was flushed, trying to gather up her wayward breasts now that they had virtually leapt out of the bra, which was hanging by the shoulder straps from her neck. "Ouch!"
"We're going to have to work out a better way. How do you do it when you're on your own?"
"With great difficulty. I usually lie down first so they don't have so far to fall. It is really a job for two..."
Miss Twizzell noticed Virginia's flush deepening further. She knew her assistant was attracted to other busty females, having watched the way she looked at the customers who came into the shop. She had the occasional boyfriend, too, but there was nothing permanent or even serious. Without a doubt, boys were as scared of Virginia as she was of them. The girl had sat up and shovelled her breasts more or less into her lap. She had a strangely preoccupied expression on her face.
"You okay? I'm sorry. Come on, try the BraPants on now. You can sit down for the first part."
"Oh? Oh, yeah."
"Oh, nothing. I just feel a bit woozy. Too much coffee, probably. I had a whole pot. Did you order your tea?"
"How can you forget to order tea?" Virginia reached for the phone.
"What are you doing... ?"
"Hello, room service? This is 516. Well, actually, I'm from 517. You what? You recognised my voice? No, a pot of tea. Strong, with milk. No, it's not for me. Oh, okay, then, but just a small pot this time, I don't need another huge pot like that last one..." She put the phone down with a faint smile on her lips, her face going red like a schoolgirl.
"You shouldn't have bothered, dear."
"It goes on the bill for the room. Your room, actually. It was the same guy that brought my coffee up. He's sweet."
"He'll think you're sweet, too, if you don't cover yourself up!"
"Oh, my God!" Virginia dragged the bedspread round her shoulders just in time as there was a tap on the door.
"That was quick!" Miss Twizzell opened it and in came a man with a tray. He found somewhere to put it then navigated his way to the door again, stopping to cough politely. "Oh. I think he wants a tip..."
"I haven't got my purse on me," Virginia shrugged beneath the bedspread, and Fanie's eyes widened. He never took his gaze off her, even while Miss Twizzell was placing a shiny five cent coin in his hand and ushering him out into the corridor. She turned and looked at Virginia. "Were you sitting there like that?"
"I haven't moved."
"No wonder he was staring at you then. You've got a nipple hanging out!"
"Where?" Virginia scrabbled round on the bed beside her thigh. "Oh, shit, why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't looking. Besides, what would you want me to say? 'Hey, Ginnie, one of your nips is hanging out?'"
"You could have waved or something. God, how embarrassing!"
"I'm sure they're the soul of discretion. They must see naked people all the time. And I tipped him five pence, so he won't say a word, I'm sure."
"How much? Five? That's about three pee!"
"That will be an awful lot to him. They hardly get paid anything at all, these hotel staff. What are these things? Wow, icing sugar!"
"Poffertjes. Are you sure he won't tell anyone?"
"Of course not! Who'd be interested?"
"Right down by her knee it was!"
Kepler continued chopping carrots as he looked up. "Oh, come on, man! It must have been something else!"
"It was a fucking nipple, I tell you! I know a fucking nipple when I see it. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with the bed sheet thing wrapped round her. Probably starkers underneath. But when I'd put the tray down I took another look at her and she'd moved, 'cos I could see this fucking great nipple next to her leg, right down by her kneecap! She fancies me, she's gagg..."
"You're fantasising again, man!
"Gagging for it, and she's got fucking huge tits! You know I told you about her ankles? Her legs are real skinny, all the way up. And this fucking nipple, it must have been..." Fanie set off round the kitchen in search of a suitable object for comparison.
"Like that? Who wants nipples like fucking boxes of matches?
"It wasn't shaped like this. But it was as long as the box is long and as thick as the box is thick. But more like... round?"
"Yeah, sure. Look, man, if they were down to her knees, she'd be a fucking freak!"
"They wouldn't hang down that far when she stood up," said Fanie, horrified. "Maybe not much further than her belly button. And that's hee-yuge, man! What a girl! And I tell you, she's got the hots for me!"
"I s'pose you realise what you've just done?"
Fanie stopped prancing round. "What?"
"You've only given a huge double dose of hormones to this girl of yours. And now you've given her an extra dose before the first lot has even started to act."
"What will that do?"
"That's just it. We've never tried it before. Firstly, we've never tried this stuff on a girl with breast hypertrophy. Secondly, we've never tried the effects of a double dose. And thirdly, we've never tried a triple dose. You knew it was extra strong stuff."
"You said it was all right!"
"Yeah, for one cup of coffee, not a whole family-sized pot. And an additional two-person size pot on top of that. Jeez, man!"
The BraPants were similar in principle to the travelling bra but they weren't designed with any notion of disguise or concealment. Apart from the pairs she had made for Mr Yashimoto's daughters, Miss Twizzell had not been called upon to produce any more. Virginia was certainly big enough to need them, as long as she wasn't aiming to hide her abundance from a startled public.
She sat on Miss Twizzell's bed and worked them up her legs, stopping several times to catch her breath.
"They have to be tight and stretchy like that, or they wouldn't work, dear."
"I know, but who's going to wear these things if it takes half an hour to get dressed in the mornings?"
"If it's a case of not being able to stand up, you'd wear the things all right. Can you walk around without a bra?" Miss Twizzell looked disapproving. "Exactly! And some girls are bigger than you. Put them on and stop making a federal case out of it."
Virginia blushed and ducked her head obediently. The BraPants were a horrible invention, but they held a strange fascination. She'd seen the Yashimoto girls wearing theirs, and they had looked astounding, but Virginia didn't think the garment was quite the thing for her. How could she possibly walk around with her breasts slung right out there in front of her, the way the BraPants were designed to support them? She wriggled her bottom into the stiff, stretchy pants, standing up to pull them all the way up.
"Ready? I'll hook the cups on."
The cups were the same size as the travelling bra cups, of course, but there the similarity ended. They hooked on at the waist in front, but a stiff support panel extended downwards from the waist, covering the whole front panel right out to the hips. This was intended to bear a proportion of the breast weight, carrying the load directly on the hips. The rest of the weight was taken by the shoulder straps, the same as her normal travelling bra, with the same broad strap down the back and attaching to the pants at the waist. But the back strap and the shoulder straps were heavier and stiffer than she was used to. She sat down gratefully.
"Ready again? You're all hooked together, I'll start lifting!"
And up came her breasts, lifted by the shoulder straps. The straps were double thickness: from where they joined the top of the vertical back strap, they passed down the front to thread through a broad nylon buckle on the top of each cup, then doubled back up and over the shoulders again to attach with heavy duty velcro to the back strap. Miss Twizzell heaved upwards, the nylon buckle acting as a pulley system to make the lifting easier. Once the breasts were at the proper height, the velcro held everything secure.
"Hold my hand and stand up, dear. Gently, it will take some getting used to."
It certainly did. Virginia's knees wobbled under the strain of simply standing up, the huge weight dragging her forward off balance so she felt herself tottering across the floor, clinging to the bra-maker's hand. The dressing table mirror showed her what she almost dreaded looking at.
"It's obscene! They stick out more than a foot!"
"Eighteen inches, actually. But considering that they hang down a lot further than that without a bra, eighteen inches isn't a bad compromise, is it? How's it feel?"
"Try standing on your own." Miss Twizzell let go and left her standing there with her arms out to the sides like a tightrope walker, swaying backwards and forwards without quite falling over. "Good girl. I'll just take a few measurements while you've got it on." She whisked around with the tape measure. "You've only got a 76 inch bust now. You see, it works! You could almost walk into a store and buy a blouse to fit you. Almost. Luckily, I've got one here that I made earlier. And you can wear any kind of skirt you like. The only thing you can't wear is trousers or jeans, the way the cups are supported by the front of the pants. But you don't want to wear jeans anyway, do you? Of course not!" Somewhere outside, a clock began to strike. "Gosh! Is that the time? We'd better go and get our lunch."
"We could have room service bring it up here..." Virginia suggested.
"We can't stay up here all day, we'll go down to the dining room. They might have something nice. Now, you can either wear a blouse and I'll just make this skirt fit you, or you can wear this..."
"It's a bit flowery, I know, but it will fit you. Come on, I'll just drop it over your head, and... there!"
It was like a tent! A flowered tent. Were they flowers, or cabbages?
"There is a belt, but you don't really need it, do you? No, it will look silly. All ready, then, come along. Those poffertjes haven't filled me up at all. Funny, I'm really hungry. What do they eat in Holland?"
"Hutspot met klapstuk," Virgina told her grimly. "I can't walk downstairs like this. Where are my feet?"
"We'll take the lift, dear. You'll soon find your feet."
"Can't I wear my other bra? Please?"
There isn't time. We don't want to miss it. And without a belt, everyone will just think you're huge and fat, so it's all right. If anyone talks to you, pretend to be American."
"Shit, man! I nearly bumped into them as they came out of their room. I ducked back round the corner and watched until they went into the elevator. Shit, she's gigantic!"
Kepler chopped savagely at some nameless vegetables. "What was she wearing?"
"Kind of a tent thing," said Fanie. "But even though she's fat, her tits still stick out a mile. God! You should get out there and see her."
"I can't leave the kitchen. Will she be at the models' dinner tonight?"
"How should I know?" Fanie peered around the kitchen door. "They're out there now, her and her bra woman. Jeez, she's more than gigantic! Her tits stick out halfway across the table."
"Don't exaggerate, man. If they stuck out halfway across the table she'd never be able to see what she was eating. She wouldn't sit like that, would she? She'd be used to it by now, unless she's just grown that big."
Fanie looked uncomfortable. "It wouldn't work as quick as that, would it? Besides, she'd notice, wouldn't she? And if somehow she hadn't noticed that her tits had grown, her bra-maker would know for sure."
"I guess so. Had they eaten all the stuff you took up to the room, and drunk all their coffee?"
"Yeah, all gone. The old biddy had tea, but the Mackerel girl drank all her coffee, again! If it's going to work, it's certainly going to work on her!"
"You'd better get out there and keep an eye on her. Come back and tell me if she starts growing, right?"
"There's that room service bloke," Virginia whispered, putting her soup bowl down on the table. The only way she'd been able to see her food had been to hold the bowl up in front of her mouth with one hand. "He keeps looking at me."
"Of course he is. You're an unusual girl. What is this stuff? I don't think I'm very hungry."
"Pea soup with bits of sausage and bacon. Mine's all gone."
"You can't have finished it already, surely. This soup's a meal in itself."
"It's meant to be. I'll have it if you don't want it. He looked at me again. He keeps going in and out of the kitchen."
"Surely you're used to men looking at you by now?"
"Yes, but not the way he's looking at me. Besides, with this bra on I stick out halfway across the table unless I sit sidesaddle. I look ridiculous. They stick out miles!"
"Eighteen inches isn't miles," Miss Twizzell sniffed. "It is quite tasty." She began attacking her soup bowl with vigour.
Virginia watched the soup disappearing with regret. She had been half hoping Miss Twizzell was going to offer it to her. "God, I'm starving! I'm not usually like this."
And there was something else Virginia was not normally like. She kept looking round at the kitchen door to see if the room service man was there. It wasn't just that he kept staring at her, she found herself fascinated by him. Admittedly, he was the only male member of the hotel staff she had so far seen, but that was beside the point. She got the shock of her life when there was a voice behind her. He'd crept up from the other direction.
"Miss Twizzell?" That strange accent again. South African, for sure. And he had a little plastic name tag pinned to his jacket. 'Fanie', it said. Virginia felt her face reddening.
"That's me," said the bra-maker, wiping up the remains of her soup with a chunk of bread and looking round for more.
"A lady was asking for you in the foyer. I told her I thought you were having lunch, but she demanded to see you."
"A lady? Did she give you her name?"
"No, ma'am. A large lady." He glanced at Virginia briefly and she looked away, blushing. "I mean, not large, just large."
"Oh, you mean large. Tall?"
"Yes, pretty tall. And big. Well, not big..." He was studying Virginia again.
"Yeah, just big. Did you ask her to wait?"
"I asked, but she didn't seem keen. She..."
A halloo-ing sound like a hunt in full cry startled the guests in the dining room, and Miss Twizzell and Virginia looked up to see a large woman wearing a small tent advancing towards their table.
"It's... is it... ?"
"Hey, Twizz! How's it going?"
"Ursula! Ursula Schouwenbrink."
"Of course it's me. This is Amsterdam, and I live here. Who's dis?"
"Sorry, this is Virginia, my assistant. She's going to model one of my special designs. The one she's wearing now."
"Fucking shit!" Ursula bellowed; Miss Twizzell and Virginia looked anxiously around the dining room in case anyone had heard. "Are those things for real? How can she walk?"
Virginia scraped her chair back. "I've had them a few years," she managed to say, her throat closing up. "I'll see you later. Excuse me."
Ursula watched her go, plodding ponderously but with surprising speed out of the dining room. "Was it something I said?"
"Young girls," Miss Twizzell sighed. "I'll never understand them. Maybe it's all the excitement. Now, how's business over here?"
"It's been quieter these past few months. I had a spell where I was making giant bras for three or four young women, enormous ones, but they've gone back home now. To England," she couldn't resist adding with a witch's cackle. Miss Twizzell's expression remained neutral. "But I do have a number of regular customers, all special sizes. And I still get plenty of emergency calls."
"Emergencies? Emergency bras?"
"Women tend to leave things to the last minute. What do they call it, denial? They refuse to believe that they're getting bigger, until one day I get a call saying their bra won't fit no more. My personal model is one of the worst culprits, although I happen to know she makes emergency calls whenever she has a school class she doesn't like."
"You've got a schoolgirl modelling for you?"
"She doesn't actually go to school any more, she's too big, so she has a private teacher who visits her at home. Either way, school's on holiday," Ursula shrugged. "And she's cheap. I can pay Marietje a quarter of what it would cost to employ a professional, and she's far bigger up top than any of them. She'll be modelling my latest bra at my show. Tuesday evening, just before yours. Actually, it's not really a bra, as such, it's more like a pair of pants with cups. And flaps so she can be milked..."
Miss Twizzell had hurriedly poured herself a glass of water and drained it in a single gulp. She spluttered and mopped at her mouth with the tablecloth.
"Milked? She gives milk? How big is this girl of yours?"
"Marietje? She's not as tall as your girl..."
"Not how tall. How big?"
"Well, now, that depends. The PantiBra is adjustable..."
"What did you call it?"
"The Schouwenbrink PantiBra. I thought it sounded better in English. BroekBeha isn't so easy ... Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. Where is Virginia? I hope she hasn't wandered off somewhere. You know what it's like in these uncivilised places..."
Ursula laughed. "She'll be okay. She won't have gone far."
"I'd better go and look for her. You'll be around the hotel later?"
"Of course. We can get together. Oh, and by the way..."
Miss Twizzell had stood up. She turned round to see the big Dutch woman examining her fingernails.
"You asked how big Marietje was. I thought you wanted to know."
"How big's your Virginia?"
"Oh, she varies a lot."
"So does Marietje. It depends on the milk, and everything else. You'll meet her soon, anyway."
Virginia advanced into the kitchen, Fanie backing away in front of her. Somehow he avoided colliding with half a dozen members of the kitchen staff bustling around with trays and huge sharp knives, but then he reversed into the stove which ran down the middle of the room. With a yelp he involuntarily shot forward, thrusting his face right between Virginia's breasts. It hurt. Any foundation garment capable of supporting a pair of breasts as heavy as Virginia's half a metre in front of her chest had to be made of substantial materials. While the breasts themselves were wondrously soft, Fanie's face came into contact with the heavily reinforced cups rather than their delectable contents.
Virginia felt the impact and stopped.
"I want you," she croaked in a husky voice, not quite sure where he was. All she could see of him was the top of his head.
Kepler had come over to investigate, still carrying his vegetable knife and a cucumber. He got his first close look at Virginia and dropped them both on the floor. The knife speared the vegetable and pinned it to the floor, but Kepler wasn't looking at it.
"Jee-zus!" he gasped.
"I want him," repeated Virginia, "but you'll do at a pinch. Who are you?"
"Kepler. Fanie's my friend."
"I'm horny," said Virginia. "I am so horny!" She set off across the kitchen again, bearing Fanie in front of her.
"Let's get you out of here," Kepler muttered, wheeling the two of them round and aiming them at the nearest door. Already the kitchen staff had noticed the intrusion. It was something they didn't see every day, for sure. The trio surged out of the kitchen door into a yard full of waste bins. Virginia was whimpering with lust, especially when Fanie detached his face from between her tits and scurried away to seek shelter behind a huge container full of cardboard boxes.
"She's gone crazy!"
"It's your own fault for giving her all that coffee."
"Coffee?" Virginia looked puzzled. "No thanks, too much coffee goes to my head. Head? I wanna give you head." She advanced on Fanie again.
"Oh, shit! Hold her back!"
"She's only a girl," said Kepler, although he stayed out of reach of the predatory female. This kind of behaviour hadn't formed part of their plans. "Shit, what did you choose this one for anyway? Look at the size of her. You want to make her even bigger?"
"I'm tired," Virginia decided abruptly, and she sat down on the ground.
"Oh, my God! We can't let her sit down here."
"Bedtime!" Virginia rolled on to her back and closed her eyes. Her breasts didn't subside noticeably, protruding skywards so they were more than knee-high on the two conspirators. They circled her cautiously.
"What are we going to do with her?"
Kepler looked around. "Whatever we do, the shit's going to hit the fan if we leave her down here. We've got to get her up to her room. Look, we'll go in at the other door at the end of the yard, then through the linen room and up the service elevator."
"How we going to do all that without anyone seeing us?"
"There's a basket outside the linen room. Shove her in there and we can take her straight upstairs."
They picked the girl up. She was limp and floppy, apart from her bust. "Woooh!" she murmured, and she was still murmuring it when they lowered her into the basket and closed the lid.
"It won't fucking close! Her tits are too big!"
The lid gaped open as they carried it into the mercifully empty linen room. "Here we go," said Kepler, grabbing a length of string and tying the lid down. Faint protests came from inside the basket as they lugged it through the double doors to the elevator and pushed the red button. From somewhere up above came a leisurely clanking.
A pair of buxom chambermaids appeared with armfuls of sheets and towels. They fluttered their eyelashes at the two men and giggled at each other, playing with their hair and becoming moist.
"Woooh!" said Virginia.
"Sorry?" one of the girls enquired with a wiggle of her substantial hips.
"Nothing," said Kepler. He began clearing his throat loudly.
Fanie joined in the throat-clearing, then the two of them began to sing something in Afrikaans. It might have been more effective if they'd both chosen the same song, but the elevator arrived at that moment and the doors slid open. The girls helped them shove the basket inside and they all crowded into the steel-lined box. There wasn't really room, so the chambermaids perched their plump Dutch bottoms on the basket, side by side.
The girls looked at each other, puzzled. They looked even more puzzled as the sleeping Virginia reached up and felt the inside of the basket lid, running her fingers across the wickerwork. The girls looked embarrassed and nudged each other.
"Was that you?"
"No, it was you, wasn't it?"
They both clammed up, angry with each other. Here they were, crowded in an elevator car with two fuckable boys, and the other one does a five second fart.
The elevator stopped at the first floor and both girls shot out.
"Bloody hell," said Kepler. "Thank Christ they've gone."
"Yeah," said Fanie with feeling. "I'm busting for a fart."
Miss Twizzell stepped back just in time as two men, one of them in kitchen whites, hurtled past her carrying a linen basket. They careered round the corner and down the stairs.
"Strange," she said. "That other one looked like the room-service waiter..." She looked round but the hotel employees had gone. With a shrug, she fished out her room key card and pushed it into the slot. Surprisingly, the door swung open. "I could have sworn I locked that..."
The second surprise was finding Virginia sitting up on the bed.
"Oh, hi! I must've fallen asleep." Then she rolled on to her side and closed her eyes blissfully. About a yard of cleavage hung over the edge of the bed.
"What on earth... ? Hey, wake up. You can't go to sleep in here."
It wasn't working. Virginia was limp and floppy. Before lunch she'd been complaining that she'd drunk too much coffee, but coffee normally kept one awake. What was sending her to sleep now, a bowl of pea soup? Whatever it was, Miss Twizzell was going to have to get the BraPants off her. It wasn't intended to be nightwear. She scurried round the bed, ripped the velcro apart and released the tension on the shoulder straps. Virginia sighed and snuggled down more comfortably on the bed.
"Come on, sit up!"
"Bedtime," the girl insisted, but she sat up, dragged into a sitting position until Miss Twizzell could prop her up with pillows and make an assault on the hooks securing the cups to the waist of the pants. It took twenty minutes of straining, complaining and foul language before the BraPants were off.
Then Virginia woke up.
"What time is it? I'm so hungry!"
"You can't wake up now!"
"Why, is it bedtime again? It's still daylight. I need food! Call room service..." She reached for the phone. "Call Fanie! Oops!" She put the phone down as if it were red hot. "Maybe not Fanie. Oh, shit, Veronica, what did I do downstairs?"
"In the kitchen. I went in there looking for Fanie. I remember he stuck his head between my tits, then I fell asleep and woke up in a basket."
"It's all a bit hazy. How did I get naked? Fanie didn't... ? There were two of them with funny voices, like South African or something. They didn't ... did they?"
"I doubt if they'd have had time, dear. I came up here looking for you five minutes after you left the table. Two men, you said? One of them from the kitchen? And a basket?"
"I think so."
"I nearly bumped into them, running away from here. They must have brought you up here in one of those big linen baskets. I shall complain to the management..." Miss Twizzell grabbed for the phone.
"No, hang on. I might have done something terrible!"
"Not as terrible as they did to you. Hotel staff aren't supposed to put guests in linen baskets."
"Guests aren't supposed to rape hotel staff either. I know, I don't know if I did anything to them, but I felt so... horny, I could have done practically anything!"
"Nonsense, you couldn't have overpowered two men..."
"Well, I doubt if they'd have been completely unwilling. Let's not say anything for now. If it happens again, I promise you can complain to the manager. Right now, all I want is food!"
"Dinner's in a couple of hours. We'll be getting to meet all the other delegates and their models. That Ursula woman, she's got a schoolgirl!"
"I can't wait a couple of hours. All I've had is a bowl of soup. I need something now. Pancakes. Send for some pancakes. And ... a schoolgirl?"
"She's cheap, Ursula said. And big. But she was telling me about a special design she's made for this model of hers. She calls it the PantiBra."
Virginia stopped rubbing her stomach. "Sounds vaguely familiar."
"It sounds as if she's had the same idea as I had. But she can't know the secret, I've only made one pair for you."
"And two more pairs for Mr Yashimoto's girls, remember."
"That was ages ago, and they were just prototypes. Besides, they took them straight back to Japan with them. Ursula's here in Amsterdam."
"Maybe Daddy Yashimoto copied the design and started making them."
"What for? There can't be many women who need a bra like that. It wouldn't be worth all the hassle."
Virginia returned to her theme. "I can't think straight without food. Let's send for something, then we'll think about it some more."
"It's her again," said Fanie. "Room 516. She's awake and asking for pancakes."
"You'd better take some up there, then. Maybe that's what she needs."
"I can't go up there, she'll eat me alive."
"Not while she's in her boss's room, she won't. Maybe that was the trouble last time, you gave her the mixture in her coffee but she didn't have any food with it."
"She had a plate of poffertjes."
"A plate of angel dust! You could eat a whole truck-load of poffertjes and not put on half a kilo. Pancakes she's asking for, pancakes she shall have." Kepler looked around for the chef but he'd gone off duty. "I can make pancakes, don't worry." He reached for the eggs and flour. "After this lot, she won't be able to move."
Twenty minutes later, a trolley arrived in Room 516, propelled by an understandably nervous Fanie. He raised the great silver dome to reveal a mountain of pancakes, accompanied by several flavours of syrup and a vast bowl of fresh whipped cream.
"We only wanted enough for one," Miss Twizzell protested.
"That's right," said Fanie. "Pancakes for one."
"There are just enough for me here," said Virginia indistinctly, already spooning cream on to her third one and drizzling syrup on top.
Relieved to see the dangerous young woman so fully occupied, Fanie escaped, not even waiting for his tip.
"You can't eat all that!"
"Can't I just? You just watch!"
"It's disgusting!" But Miss Twizzell watched, fascinated, as her model attacked the pile of food. The process didn't stop until the silver platter was empty, and Virginia wiped the last pancake round the inside of the cream bowl.
"Fuck me, that's better!"
"Sorry. I only had a bowl of soup for lunch. This will keep me going until dinner tonight."
"For which we'll have to start getting ready in an hour's time," the bra maker reminded her. "Which bra are you going to wear?"
"Let's make an impression, shall we? How about no bra at all?"
"Not really. It's a get together tonight. I'm probably the model with the biggest, dangliest tits. If they all see me tonight without a bra, just think how impressed they'll be when they see me the rest of the time wearing one. They'll already know how far down I dangle. They'll freak out."
Despite her misgivings, Miss Twizzell had to confess that the idea had a certain logic. After tonight, the whole convention would be talking about the girl who turned up for dinner with her breasts swinging around her thighs - then for the rest of the time that same girl would be supported in a range of increasingly efficient and mind-blowing designs, culminating in ... the Discoveries BraPants.
There was only one potential fly in the ointment: the Schouwenbrink PantiBra.
"We're not going to know if she copied the idea until we see what her version looks like," said Virginia, her thought processes now fully restored. "If we wait until the fashion show on Tuesday night, we'll get a good look at it, and if it's a blatant copy of ours, we've got her on toast." At the mention of toast, a look of longing crept over Virginia's face. "I don't know if I can hold out until dinner time..."
The effect, Miss Twizzell admitted, was little short of devastating. Provided Virginia didn't get arrested, she was going to slay them at the get-together dinner. The flowing, almost transparent white silk gown had always been intended to be worn over a 'moderate' version of the travel bra, and at first glance there was no great difference when it was worn with no bra at all. The sheer material swept down over Virginia's chest and continued on down past her waist, gradually swelling forwards and outwards the whole way.
Earlier, in the hotel room, they'd had a bit of a disagreement about panties. Miss Twizzell expressed the traditional view that ladies always wore them. "Anyone can see right through this material," she said, shocked. "they'll all be able to see if you're not wearing any panties."
"Only at the back," said Virginia, surprising herself with the lewd image which sneaked into her head and wouldn't go away; an image of herself slinking into the dining room virtually naked. "At the front, my tits hang so far down they'll cover up my bush."
Miss Twizzell blushed at her assistant's frank language. "You still need to wear them, people will be looking at you after you've gone past."
"But they won't see anything." Sitting on a chair in front of the dressing table, Virginia held up a miniscule pair of panties. "All you can see from the back is this narrow band of elastic round the waist. The rest of them disappears into the crack of my arse."
Miss Twizzell could imagine what she meant. "That can't be comfortable, can it?"
"You hardly notice after a while." Virginia pulled them on and wriggled her bum until she'd pulled them up as far as they would go. Then she stood up and allowed the dress to drape itself over her figure. "It's not worth wearing them, see?"
"I suppose you're right."
Virginia had grinned to herself at her victory and pulled the panties off again. But now, as she pushed Miss Twizzell ahead of her into the dining room, she tried to hide behind her boss. It didn't work. No sooner had she made her entrance than the bra maker was grabbed by someone she knew and whisked away.
"Hang on, this is my..." But it was too late. Virginia watched her employer being hauled off to join a boisterous crowd of women across the room, looking back over her shoulder, her mouth still open as she tried to make the introductions.
It was too late for Virginia to escape, too, and far too late to be having second thoughts about her dress. She edged around the side of the crowded room, not knowing which way to turn. If she faced the throng, she showed them her nipples protruding rudely through the diaphanous material somewhere below the level of her pudenda. If she turned the other way, she was aware that her buttocks were well and truly bare under the translucent white sheath, and it was all too clear that she wasn't wearing anything at all underneath it. Not that those shamefully abbreviated panties would have made much difference.
Crimson-faced, she sought shelter behind a large-leaved plant in an ornate pot. Everyone was staring at her, and after the noticeable hush which had fallen, voices were now raised in an excited babble.
"Ah, it's Virginia!" a voice boomed in her ear and a welcome shadow fell across her body. It was the large woman, Ursula. She was wearing a floral-patterned tent and carrying a parasol for some reason. Quickly she flipped it open and held it over one shoulder, blocking the view. "Your Miss Twizzell's run off and left you," she said a few decibels less loudly. "She's a naughty girl!"
Virginia was grateful for Ursula's presence. The big woman was effectively hiding her from inquisitive eyes. The hot redness in her cheeks subsided, replaced by an icy chill.
"You make sure you sit next to me at dinner, okay? I look after you. And you can meet my little Marietje. She's very young and shy, so you can talk to her. She speaks good English, it's all right."
"Where is she?"
"In the toilet, getting ready. I think she's scared of all these people. C'mon, if we move over by the door, we'll see her coming then both of you will be able to hide round that corner over there. A few people will still be able to see you but not everyone in the whole room.
With a protective arm round her, Ursula was already steering Virginia to safety. Over her shoulder, away in the corner, Miss Twizzell was still trying to escape the clutches of her circle of friends, who seemed to be Americans.
The double doors were propped open, admitting a cool breeze, and Ursula guided her to where she could stand without the entire room goggling at her. "Here's Marietje now. Come on, girl!" Ursula bellowed in English, attracting the attention of a shortish, extremely bulky figure in a dark navy maternity dress, carrying a large bag with a drawstring. "She's not pregnant, but it's not too bad as a disguise. And she certainly needs a disguise with this crowd of old buggers hanging round the hotel. They're holding a hotel shareholders' meeting this weekend. What a stupid time to hold a shareholders' meeting!"
Threading her way between groups of astonished-looking evening-suited shareholders, the girl waddled closer; her big eyes growing even bigger as she looked Virginia up and down. Rolling up her parasol now it had served its purpose, Ursula performed the introductions then rounded up the two young women like a sheepdog - or possibly a girldog - and hustled them round the corner of the L-shaped room. There was an ornate leather couch, presently occupied by a couple of plump ladies with bosoms like melons, prattling away in German.
"Excuse me," Ursula interjected, jabbing at the women with her rolled-up parasol. "This seat is taken."
"What?" The matrons opened their mouths to protest, but saw only Ursula's thumb indicating which way they would be well advised to go. Now. Pronto. "Well!" Then they took in the sight of Virginia with her practically bare danglers, and what appeared to be a terminally pregnant girl of school age. Slowly, they stood up, their mouths dropping open. Another jerk of Ursula's thumb, and they fled.
"There you go, girls. Take a seat. I'll go and tell Twizz you're safe. You'll be okay over here. If anyone tries to make trouble, just whistle, okay?"
"Just whistle," Marietje repeated, placing two stubby little fingers in her mouth and taking a deep breath.
"Not now, you fool!"
Ursula threaded her way out into the crowd. The girls could see her wagging her finger at various women, warning them to stay away from the couch, understand? The message was received and understood.
"Hi, 'Ginia," said Marietje as soon as her mentor had disappeared. "You don't mind if I get my tit out?"
But Marietje had opened her capacious bag and produced a large fluffy towel. Now she was unbuttoning the front of her dress and attacking the fastenings of a bra of truly stupendous proportions. "I gotta milk myself."
"Milk? You've got a baby?"
"No baby, just milk. Where can I squirt it? Into this plant pot? It's a hell of a waste. You wanna drink?"
"Me? Drink that?"
That was girl-milk, already dribbling and spurting from Maritje's left nipple into the towel, and she was leaning over the side of the couch to direct her flow over the leaves of a sturdy young rubber-plant. "I wonder what it will do to this little tree. There's plenty for you if you're thirsty."
"You can't do this in here!"
"Why not?" said Marietje, surprised. "Women breast-feed babies, and it's just the same as that, only without the baby. Maybe I ought to get one."
Virginia indicated the girl's generous figure. "You're not pregnant?"
"No, dis is all tit. Not bad for just a kid, huh?"
"Not bad, no!" The girl was staggeringly stacked. A nipple the thickness of a pork sausage was squeezing out of a flap on the front of the bra cup, and there was every reason to believe that there was another one just as big on the other side. "How long have you been giving milk?"
"Only a couple of minutes. Oh, you mean ... a year or so. It's good milk. I sell it in bottles. Ninety-nine guilders ninety-five for a quarter of a litre."
"That sounds rather expensive..."
"I won't charge you anything, you're my friend. But like I say, it's good milk. It works really well." Marietje leaned forward and placed the nipple in her mouth for a few noisy slurps, then she resumed feeding the rubber-plant again. "Try some... ?"
Virginia was tempted, but the thought of drinking milk from a girl in a public place was even more embarrassing than walking around without bra and panties in a frock made of nothing.
"Later, when they're all drunk and nobody's looking," said Marietje. "I tell you, you won't be sorry!"
Virginia was sitting next to Marietje at the dinner table. Miss Twizzell and Ursula sat opposite them, watching their models in something like amazement. Virginia and Marietje seemed to be engaged in a head-to-head eating contest. They had each had two generous helpings of first and main courses and were now attacking huge servings of chocolate gateau with whipped cream. They finished together and sat back in their chairs, gasping for breath.
"'Ginia, just loosen my bra, please?"
"Sure! Anything to oblige." Virginia leaned across and plunged her hand down the back of the girl's dress.
"It's that sticky stuff that makes a noise like wet farts," Marietje explained.
"That's right. Just rip it apart until I breathe, then stick it together again. Thanks."
Marietje appeared to have expanded at least a couple of inches. She released a belch and started looking round for the waiter. Apparently by telepathy he arrived with two more huge helpings of cake and placed them in front of the girls.
"I'm stuffed," Virginia admitted. "I'm not sure I can eat any more."
"I'll eat it," Marietje mumbled. "Don't worry."
"You're just a pig, Marietje," Ursula chided her girl.
"You don't usually complain when my tits get bigger," said Marietje. "And they're sure getting bigger now. My milk will be coming in soon, too!"
"She gets bigger than this?" Miss Twizzell said, aghast. Marietje had finished off her dish and rested her gargantuan bust on the table. She was immensely stacked. "How much bigger?"
Ursula winked at her. "You'll see soon enough! Not now, though. I think my little one wants to go and lie down for a while. Don't you, Marietje?"
"I tink so. You coming, 'Ginia?"
"Coming? Where to?"
"Your bedroom, of course. Come on!" Marietje was already out of her chair, dragging Virginia with her. "We'll get room service to bring our coffee upstairs. And maybe some more cake."
The guests gaped at the diminutive girl with the bust sticking out about a mile in front of her, already dragging that brazen half-naked hussy of Twizzell's out of the room. Miss Twizzell opened her mouth but no sound came out.
"Why are we going to my room?" Virginia demanded between gasps for breath as she was towed out of the double doors and threaded between the hotel's disbelieving shareholders to the elevator.
"We'd only be bored in there," Marietje said. "All they ever talk about is bras. All I want to do is take mine off before I have another emergency. It's so tight, and the milk isn't even coming in yet. I'm sure I've never been as big as this!"
Virginia thought this all sounded reasonable enough. She was so full of dinner she thought she'd probably have fallen asleep on the table if she'd stayed in the dining room. This girl was likely to offer far more fun. Interestingly, Virginia was starting to feel rather the same feelings as she'd had earlier when she'd tried to seduce Fanie and Kepler. Not quite the same, though; rather than trying to climb into bed with half the hotel staff she now felt quite submissive. She had an idea that if she simply made herself available to Marietje, the girl would prove an enthusiastic lover. Thinking of Marietje eating all that dinner - and winning their unofficial contest by a wide margin - Virginia found herself getting enormously turned on, for some reason.
"Are you still hungry? Shall we send for more food?"
"Of course!" Marietje said, shoving her into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed and the thing was on its way up to the fifth floor, she flung her arms around Virginia's neck and reached up to try and kiss her. "Fuck," she observed when her lips fell about eighteen inches short of Virginia's. "Fucking tits get in the way."
They almost ran along the corridor to Room 517 and burst inside. Marietje led the way into the room but to Virginia's surprise instead of dragging her on to the bed she turned sharp right into the bathroom. "Won't be a minute," she sang out, leaving Virginia feeling rather disappointed. She'd thought Marietje had been eager to get to grips with her, not busting for a pee.
A minute or so later, she came out, swinging her bag in one hand, her dress draped over the other arm. She marched past the astonished Virginia and dumped her belongings on the bed before turning round. "You like my bra?"
Virginia hadn't felt like this since the Yashimoto sisters. Her head whirled. A delicious scent of sex arose from Marietje's cleavage or her loins, or both. The bra wasn't quite all she was wearing, but it hardly mattered. Marietje's panties were not a significant item. Her bra, on the other hand, was. She swayed her hips as she moved sinuously towards Virginia until she could reach out a stubby finger and touch one of her nipples through the dress. "I'd better call room service," she purred. "Quick, so the man can come and go away, then we can take all your clothes off." She turned away and grabbed the phone, bending forward to dial the number.
Virginia was almost screaming with lust as she stared at the scrap of transparent laciness stretched across Marietje's plump buttocks and creeping out of sight into the shadows between. Then the material creased interestingly as she straightened up and began a lengthy conversation in rapid Dutch with room service. While she talked, she raised one knee slightly and pulled at her underwear where it was creeping into her crevices.
"Guess who that was," said Fanie, as he put the phone down.
Kepler came away from the service door where he was peering through the circular window into the dining room. "Room 516 ordering coffee? I saw them leave the dining room. I've never seen two girls eat so much. I thought they must have gone to the bogs for a dump."
"Oh yeah?" Fanie held up his little notebook. "I've just filled three pages with their room service order. Yeah, a pot of coffee, all right, but the rest of it's food. Mostly chocolate cake. The entire contents of the dessert cart. Look at this lot: coffee cake, chocolate cake, lemon cake, strawberries, peaches, prunes. Prunes? Prunes, more chocolate cake, more chocolate cake, more coffee cake..."
"What are you going to do?"
"Take it up there, of course."
"No, I mean, are you going to fuck them?"
"Both of them? Shit, man! Anyway, that little Dutch one's only about sixteen at the most."
"With tits like those? Get real, man!"
"I'll need some fresh coffee, anyway."
"You'll need some stuff in it, then. Here. Keep stirring it while I get some more milk out of the fridge."
"S'funny, they didn't want milk. They're having it black."
Kepler frowned. "You sure? Didn't Miss Mackerel have hers white before? You'd better take a jug up there with you."
"They've already got four of the biggest jugs you'll ever see up there in that room. And the Dutch kid said it three times, 'no milk, we don't want milk, don't bring any milk!'"
"Hmmm, they don't want milk, then. How are you going to carry all this load up there? I'd better come up and give you a hand. I'll push the wagon, you can pull."
"Shit, it's here! Let him in!" Marietje bolted into the bathroom and shut the door.
"I can't let him see me like this!" Virginia protested.
"You've got a dress on. All I'm wearing is bra and pants!" Her voice came through the closed bathroom door, along with a number of additional sounds.
Virginia went to the door. "Who is it?"
"Room service, ma'am."
Their order was wheeled into the room on a dangerously overloaded trolley, with both men taking cover behind it, ready to flee if Virginia tried to rape them again. They pushed it to the corner of the room, looking round in vain for the other occupant.
"Let me sign for that." Virginia began shepherding the staff to the door, remembering to pick up a few coins from the bedside table for a tip.
"Is that all for you, ma'am?" Kepler asked as he paused in the doorway, his fingers closing gratefully around his gratuity.
"Yes, it's my supper. Thank you, and good night!"
They heard a snorting giggle accompanied by a succession of embarrassing bathroom sound effects from Marietje.
"My friend," Virginia jerked her thumb at the closed door. "My girlfriend. She seems to have eaten something that didn't agree with her."
Kepler and Fanie raised their eyebrows and looked at each other. It was time to leave.
"Have they gone?" Marietje hurried across to the door, removed the Do Not Disturb sign and quickly hung it on the outside doorknob. Then she closed the door with a satisfied smirk and a decisive click. "Okay!" she purred, rubbing her hands together. "I wanna see your tits!"
"My ... tits?"
"Yeah. I've seen girls with bigger ones than me, but that was before mine were as big as they are now."
"I think yours are bigger," Virginia admitted.
"Take that dress off and we'll find out."
Virginia swallowed. "Are you a lesbian?" she asked.
"I can be if you like. Are you?"
"I'm not sure."
"We'd better find out, then. Take all your clothes off. I'll sit here and watch." Marietje perched on the bed and parted her substantial thighs.
"It's okay," said Marietje firmly after watching the striptease intently. "I've decided, I am a lesbian."
Preview Of Part 02
Virginia will order drawings and photographs of the BraPants from Gerard. These will arrive on the evening of the show, by Special Delivery - Franciscus.
Wendy will turn up, looking for him.