“You two beauties are going to be famous,” chuckled Dearie, lovingly nurturing Verd and Azu.

“Fuck, I thought they were already,” snickered Nash their carer, dabbing them softly with man sized tissues.

“Round there darling,” murmured twenty two year old Dearie hefting Azu and indicating smears of white cream under her left side, that’s Azu’s left side. “Just rub it in.” The wrap around mirrors behind and to each end of the bath enabled the loving mother to attend every aspect of the daily ablutions needed in comfort with such a large demanding family.

“I am always amazed at how big these are, when you think they get so big and of how they start ... I mean the actual connection is so small, but still produces them,” Nash chuckled.

Dearie shrugged happily and rolled her eyes.

“The fact you have kept your superb figure is stunning. Bit of extra flesh on your waist and hips, is nothing when you consider having one child and these beauties which have never stopped growing. I mean your legs are still slender and shapely, your arse is flat and yes there is a suggestion of a roll on your tummy but...”

Dearie Made and her partner, an unemployed Negro, Nash Dary, lived in a detached house in Brixton, London which had been specially adapted to cater for such demanding requirements. The chair Dearie was perched on was purposely constructed for her to be seated yet hang her two prime assets over the smooth rounded side of the bath. The staircase had been widened and had a handrail mounted each side. Nash had investigated a design for a stair lift, but was finding it impossible to allow for all three, Dearie, Azu and Verd to ascend or descend at the same time. He had left it to Standup Stair Lifts to find a sponsored solution.

The colour of a steeped Yorkshire tea bag, he watched Dearie, who was the colour of a Costa latte tweak the mahogany coloured heads of Verd then Azu, relishing the way they turned up and curled into their usual crinkled proportions and sensing the micro stream of shock waves from two of her extremities to one other - Verd and Azu being divided by a mammoth valley of finely wrinkled flesh.

“Do you think Floppy with be there?” asked Nash, helping Dearie to stand, which she did as he followed her across the landing, carrying the industrial sized tub of skin cream...

“I know she will be,” replied Dearie. “Steven told me about the meeting, which chuffed me - sort of being accepted, you know.”

“What about Gwendoline and Ursula – there too?” he responded with a nod that he thought she should be.

“Masster Bates always has a harem present wherever he roams Nash. I guess so.”

“I did read that Jordan has been refused entry on the grounds she’s all false,” added Nash helping Dearie to smooth more lotion into stretch marks that became evident in the sunlight filtering into their bedroom.

“You mean that Katy Price monstrosity? Think so too – silicon imposter and no way big ... I mean...” scoffed Dearie, leaning back against a pillow against the bed head, smiling down at her chest and beaming with pride and pleasure. “What are you doing darling?”

Nash was fiddling with a minute piece of white cotton and getting frustrated as he turned it, twisted it, flattened it, stretched it, finally handing it to Dearie’s outstretched hand.

“Trying to help you get ready my sweet and thought I’d get your undies out. How you girls work out the right way to put these thongs on beats me. It’s just bits of string.”

“Expensive string, cotton and satin to you matey. But you insist on buying them for me from Elizabeths Efforts online,” she giggled, gratefully. “You know I love your taste. I’ll put it on after my brassiere.”

“Verd and Azu are going to kill them all,” said Nash, loving her old fashioned but proper term. His confident smile continued as he dug into the one deep drawer piece of custom made furniture.

“Young Bates doesn’t operate like his dad The Master I understand?” queried Nash in a hesitant tone.

“No the Home for the Incurably Big-Titted was closed when he snuffed it and Masster just organises this annual get together, to keep the source. Don’t fret darling, no one is going to bugger me or make me drink piss and eat shit.”

“When you told me about those young girls having ... you know ... to be forced to do all that stuff I was worried...”

“Yes me too when I read about it, but everyone to their own - anyway you and I like a bit up the back passage now and then and so does Blossom,” Dearie answered, referring to their young, coffee coloured daughter. “I’m glad she’s going to stay with her grand-dad this week end, out of the way.”

“How can these ever be out of the way sweetie, and neither will she, she’s a darling,” Nash chuckled running his hands over her bosom. “ I guess it’s not a yoke today?”

He stood beside the bed, holding up two methods of support, both exquisitely made and decorated.

“On the balls as usual Nash, you’re right, they’re for home use as you know ... no it’s the fancy stuff ... that one please,” she giggled then pointed to a pale cream hammock.

The support for Dearie’s extra, extra mammoth jugs was made in satin, trimmed with two shades of cream Guipure lace round the top and a gorgeous blue bow between the buckets, made for her by the winner of The Great British Sewing Bee competition, Hugh Jundys a seventy three year old retired school teacher from Inverness. He had taken great delight in being paid to travel from Scotland and back at the broadcaster’s expense as one of his prizes, to measure Dearie Made’s jugs, which took all day – of course. He had insisted on a return visit the following day, needing to purchase a larger fabric dress maker tape and double check his three sheets of measurements.

With her sponsorship from the combined British dairies and milk producers, Dearie had also commissioned Hugh to fashion the hammocks, all four of them, in conjunction with two specialist wood carvers. Constructed out of aluminium reinforced Balsa wood, these had necessitated week long visits of course to Nash and Dearie’s residence. The final mock up and prototype was signed by Dearie and on permanent loan to the British Museum costume department.

Blossom came into the bedroom with a big toothed grin, proudly wearing a 48EE brassiere and nothing else, the call to help Nash with Dearie more important than getting dressed. She kissed her mother and father as Nash beamed with pride at not only at her spectacular breasts but also the forest of black curls over her pussy pouch. On the basis of Dearie’s and Blossoms hirsute pubic growth, the Great British Pussy in the Garden competition was being considered by - not the BBC - but by the Sun newspaper, famous for it’s page 3 depictions of near nude big titted girls, Dearie well known and used by them of course, but also for daring and what some people deemed as salacious reporting. Blossom was up for it, so Dearie had decided not to compete against her daughter so to set her up for a spectacular future.

Blossom skilfully hoisted Verd and Azu in turn as Dearie and Nash, manoeuvred each ginormous funbag into place. Dearie sensed as always that Azu was complaining that Verd was always first and also in the few times they were swinging free and unfettered, Azu would complain the Verd was knocking her about. Dearie knew that Verd was the slightly bigger of the two, but resigned to the fact she could do nothing about that.

Before emerging from her two handed lift under Azu’s pillow like mass, Nash cheekily fondled his daughter’s cunt once he’d located it’s sticky gash in the black forest and she squeaked as he playfully pulled some of her four inch long pubes – as he always did of course.

“Daaaddd,” she snickered pouting with her large fleshy pink lips. “Oh yes, it’s Saturday, you going to give me one?”

“Dead fucking right sweetie, not school day, course I am, wouldn’t miss that would I?” Nash chuckled winking at Dearie.

“Dad’ll be with me till Monday Blossom and didn’t you say you reckon you’re coming on?” Blossom’s mum queried, getting a nod in return as Blossom watched Nash make last minute adjustments to the two inch wide hammock straps.

“Well you know I don’t mind having a red top now and then,” he replied with a grin. “There - all sorted, lets get you finished darling.”

Blossom left to prepare for her back and shoulder exercise classes.

Dearie stood, stepping into the minute thong she’d handed Nash, the correct way round, Nash bumping his head on the lower cones of her udders which were nearly level with her mons pubis. He brought up the subject whilst down there and they discussed whether the healthy overgrown coppice that sprouted over the top of Dearie’s thong needed cutting back. She stood straight and decided they weren’t tickling her lower curves. Dressing was a solo job for Dearie and she chose a shiny bronze coloured leather smock, hung in a vast wardrobe along one side of their room. All her outer wear was sorted on specially made sliding hangers, allowing her to step into whatever garment she chose, once in them, a remote control released them from the hanger, needing little effort from her and she buttoned it up.

Nash and Dearie arrived at the venue on Saturday afternoon as virgins, their first time and were astonished at how little space there was to move around. To move between the thrusting, wobbling, bouncing, sagging acres of tit flesh even in the packed foyer was an exercise in itself requiring great care not to nudge, squeeze or knock any of the mountainous udders. Checking in and finding her room, he helped her unpack, did multiple checks then Nash gave Dearie a kiss, made pick up arrangements, patted her bum and left. Driving home he sniffed her exotic perfume pervading the car and wondered what would await at home. Nash had snickered to Dearie, they would win any competition and she reminded him there wasn’t to be one, the whole event was purely a get together for a chat, comparison and photo session.

She got got a call to attend the organisers room and sat facing him. His desk was stacked with event paperwork and masses of photographs, the tabloid newspapers were paying him handsomely for.

“Tell me Dearie, why did you enter as two names?” asked Masster Bates.

“Well Verd and Azu are both perfect milkers and I thought they needed their own names, I mean look at them,” she answered, swiftly un-clipping straps, letting her great breasts fall onto her lap.

There was gasps from Masster and the girl who had just entered the room.

“Masster, it’s just dawned on me ... fuck me!” announced Floppy Milkbags, baring her enormous bazongers, not to be outdone. “Verd is Verdant and Azu is Azure, don’t you get it, green and blue, the best milk produce. Say – how you doing Dearie heard a lot about you?”

There was a deafening clash of flesh slapping and near an earthquake and tidal surge when the two girls came together and hugged. They went off to the hall where everyone gathered, had felt the tremors and wind effects.

His father, a wholesaler of catering equipment as one of his business’ - Lokel Dary, as black as the Ace of Spades, opened the door, surprising Nash.

“I thought I was bringing her to you?” he asked, shaking hands and man-hugging the elderly Barbadian, as they do in Brixton. “Sorry dad, hello mate, how you doing? Sorry not expecting you.”

“Thought I’d catch Dearie before she went. Must have missed by seconds. I haven’t see her for two moths. How she hanging?”

“Even better every day, down here now,” Nash gestured across his crotch. “They’re going to be knocked out at the event.”

“I’ll bet, with Verd and Azu,” snicked Loke.

“Yeah, I mean like it was awesome what I saw and that was just in the foyer and corridors ... oh hello luv,” Nash greeted naked Blossom, who jumped off the second stair tread and hugged him.

“She’s been nekkid like that since I...” muttered Loke.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Her dad lifted her chin and examined the delicate bruise that was appearing where her tits had bounced up and hit her face. The girl shrugged the incident off as she grabbed his hand and Loke’s and climbed the wide stairs, leading them into her room.

“I want both of you, just for a change,” she giggled, undoing their belts and zips at the same time.

“Just for a change? ... it’s the first time,” exclaimed Nash. “You sure? And ... let’s see ... yes, there’s this,” Nash pushed her back on the bed, his jeans crumpled round his feet, opening her legs and pointing to her white tampon string. She shrugged as her grand dad peered at it.

“Sheeeet! That’s a lovely sight,” chuckled Loke, climbing on the bed and lowering his wizened seventy six year old face into the young girl’s crotch. “The white against her colour and all that thatch, isn’t it cool?”

Her gazed up back at his slightly doubting but aroused son, then to a grinning Blossom. He saw no objections so he parted her bush, flattening it so it pulled her neat cunt lips open and leaned in to gradually, inch by inch, pull the string out with his teeth. Nash stood by amazed but not only aroused but now erect. The first bud of her tampon soon appeared, dark brown red in colour and Loke stopped pulling as it was about an inch out. He grinned up at Nash, then Blossom who had taken over flattening her profuse pubic hairs.

“That’s a new one for me Dad,” Nash snickered. “You dirty old goat.”

“Want to finish it off son?”

Nash glanced at his nodding, grinning, young daughter and took Loke’s place, after casting off jeans and underpants. Blossom raised her lissome dark chocolate coloured legs high, holding them wide, now exposing an intricate pattern of wrinkles all radiating from the tiny puckered notch of her arse hole. She stared intently at her dad’s face. He was sniffing as he leaned his face into the warm hairy edifice between her legs. With his lips first, he worked up the string and then mouthed over the exposed inch wide piece of menstrual cotton. It was firm and sodden.

Blossom glanced towards Loke, seeing movement. He had stripped off his clothes and knelt beside his son and young grand daughter, slowly wanking his not inconsiderable dick. She had anticipated seeing and getting a load of it when she would stay with him – the treat just happened earlier. Nash sucked her roast pig coloured tampon out and she felt it’s exit from her snatch and grabbed it. Loke immediately took it and proceeded to eat it, without swallowing, purely gorging on the mangled sanitary item, chewing until the soaked meaty taste gave way to just cotton. Carefully he wrapped it in a tissue off the bedside table as Nash humped her vigorously. Blossom’s EE cup tits wobbled dramatically, topped with four inch circles of dark brown areolae.

“I love these babies,” Loke chuckled, fondling her walnut like teats. “They’re like ripe cherries.” He rubbed them gently between thumb and forfinger, sensing how they gradually stiffened, their own sturdy mass of wrinkles thrusting upwards. Nash came with a shout, his lean body trembling in orgasm as he pumped his seeds into his daughter’s tender little gash. He got most fucks with her during her period, he hated rubbers but didn’t want to get her pregnant. Slumping down on her for moments, he soaked in the mire of her young mott until his tool slipped out. He rolled off her. She reached for a mirror off the table and handled it between her legs admiring the sloppy red and cream mix seeping from her snatch and down over her sphincter. Her lady garden was a sorry slimey mess, but her ravaged twat bloomed through the tangle of Blossom’s incredibly wooly pubes.