Part 1

The camera crew from the local TV station Brilliantina West nosed intrusively among the couples on the dockside. Tears flowed incontinently as the camera weaved in and out of the broken conversations.

"Don't go, please!"

"I must! It's only a short trip this time. We'll be back by Christmas."

"It will seem forever, my love..."

"Cuddle the children for me, sweetness..."

"I shall! And I will write every day."

"And I'll write twice a day..."

"Three times..."

"Four..."

"Bye, Dolly, darling... !"

"Love you, Frankie... !"

"Come home to me soon..."

"Don't come home unexpectedly..."

Embarrassed and sickened, the camera panned away over the heads of the throng to the grey bulk of the ship and the splash of colour as the band of the Loyal Brilliantine Marine Corps struck up a rousing march.

'And as the Band of the Loyal Marines plays ... erm ... a rousing tune; so the last, loving, final farewells are made; this tremulous, tear-stained display of undiminished and uplifting uxoriousness must draw to a premature yet veritably forever inevitable conclusion. For this ... is Goodbye to BS Improbable, at least for the next few months. This is Branston Pickles, live for BWTV from the Brilliantine Grande Naval Dockyard... '

The Vice Admiral thrust the remote towards the screen and killed the picture. By now, Improbable would already be clear of the harbour and standing out into the Western approaches. A shake-down cruise for the troubled destroyer - an untried, under-strength crew, short of key petty officers and ratings; machinery still prone to mysterious breakdowns; a team of dockyard techies still on board to nursemaid the radars - an unenviable task for a new captain. Any captain. Even one of the best.

"How many adrift this time, Babs?"

The Exec gulped. When the captain called her by her first name, it usually meant Trouble. "Thirty-seven, ma'am. Here's the list."

Captain Goodbody scanned the sheet of paper at a glance, nodding once. "Any extenuating circumstances for these?"

"Husband trouble, mostly. Or boyfriends. One or two might be pregnant, ma'am. And the military police will no doubt have rounded up a few for fighting in the bars. The usual problems when sailors on a run ashore get a few too many drinks inside them and start squabbling over a pretty boy."

"We've all been there, Babs. I daresay we'll muddle through, as always." The captain straightened in her swivel chair and the Executive Officer's eyes widened. "Now, how about the new officers. I haven't had a chance to meet them yet. This new Sixth Lieutenant, what's her name, Brockenhurst? Promising?"

"She's settling in nicely, ma'am. She was at Greenmouth Naval College, specialised in high-speed data communications, she's in Gunnery at the moment, learning the ropes. Seems a bright young officer..."

"How big are her tits, Babs?"

The Exec blushed. "That's why I've assigned her to Gunnery, Captain. She needs to get a broad grounding in all departments before someone at the Admiralty notices her bra size. Young Busty Brockenhurst is on her way up, with a capital P."

The captain raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty big, Captain."

"How big, Babs? I'll find out anyway..."

"I haven't seen her naked yet, ma'am. And all her bras were already stowed away when I paid her a first-night courtesy call. At least an F cup, Captain. Comparing her with Stansfield, easily an F, in fact ... and still growing by the look of her." She paused significantly. "Puffy nipples."

"Curse these late developers. Why can't all girls be fully developed by the time they're sixteen, then we'd all know where we stood, promotionwise? It's not just water retention, I suppose?"

"I'll keep an eye on things, ma'am."

"Good girl, Babs. Nothing else for now? Hubby all right?"

Babs relaxed. "Barry's fine. And the boys. They help him round the house all the time. Hoovering, doing the washing. The elder one is even teaching Barry how to work the dishwasher. They're going to grow up into a fine pair of husbands for some lucky girls. Actually, I think Barry's probably been having it off with some woman or other, but men will be men. A girl comes round selling insurance, shows him a flash of nipple and he's climbing into bed with her. We're the most over-insured family in the street." The Exec stretched, surreptitiously easing the load on her bra straps.

"You're not growing again, Barbara?"

A blush greeted the captain's question. "Only an inch or so. Does it show in this shirt?"

"It looks more. Must be that bra. I really love it when a big black bra just shows through a white shirt like that. Where do you get yours?"

"I found a little place last time we called at Pompey. She makes all my bras, but her shirts are really flattering. Twizzell, her name. Veronica Twizzell."

"You mentioned it, now I come to think. Does she do mail order?"

"Mail order only in stock sizes, Captain. With respect, ma'am, you're way beyond any stock size."

"That's why I'm Captain of the pride of the fleet, Babs. Truthfully, though, I don't think these latest bras of mine are going to hold out much longer. Have a word with young Busty Brockenhurst and get her to contact this Twizzell woman. Might as well put the ship's comms systems to some use. Maybe if we can get enough measurements together, the Twizzell woman will be able to make half a dozen new bras for me. It will give you a chance to keep an eye on developments in Brockenhurst's shirt, as well."

"Aye-aye, Captain." The Exec replaced her cap at a jaunty and fashionable angle, took a huge breath and snapped up a salute.

"Thank you, Commander."

"Who cooks this shit?"

"Who do you think? How can you run a decent kitchen without men in it?"

"They've got a man chef in Insoluble, someone was saying."

"That was Incredible. And Indefensible has got a man in the engine room!"

"Not an officer?"

"How big are his tits?"

The girls of the Gunnery Department laughed at the absurd notion of a male naval officer. They pushed away their plates. "This is Inedible."

"What about the new Lieutenant, then?"

"Yeah, she's huge!"

"I swear she's growing, too. And she's only been in the ship three days."

"Must be her bra. Or she's sticking them out more now she's got more confidence. How big you reckon she is, Maise?"

"Must be an F or a G, at least. She'd nearly fill one of my bras."

The others looked at Maise's generously filled blue shirt where it rested on the table, shifting slightly as the ship rolled. Maise had a promising career ahead of her, with rapid promotion assured through the petty officer ranks. As long as she avoided getting pregnant. Babies had ruined many a promising career.

"So Brockenhurst is sure to be promoted? How come she's still only a lowly Lieutenant? She must be bigger than our Ms Hammersley."

A soft voice answered, and the girls turned curiously. It was one of the new girls. Not just one of the new girls. It was that new girl with the monster tits. "Maybe she's outgrown her ranking. She's ex-Greenmouth. Normally, by the time girls go through the college, they are more or less fully developed up top. If Brockenhurst developed late, or if she's still growing fast now, it will be a while before the system catches up with her. Then she'll get her promotion all in a rush."

"How come you know so much about it, Creamy?"

'Creamy' Coffey shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I applied for Naval College myself. I've got all the right equipment. But as you can see, I'm neither one thing nor another."

It was true. Creamy certainly had the equipment, with plenty to spare. Just above average height, she was gloriously well developed, her gigantically full, thick-nippled breasts thrusting dangerously at her massively overloaded shirt. Most of the others had cast envious glances at them, and at her taut little rump and almost microscopic waist. But she had been rejected by Greenmouth College. Not colourful enough. It must have been a close decision.

"Why didn't they just send you out sunbathing for a week? Tits like yours, you'd be a Captain by this time next year!"

"I dunno. Maybe it was the wrong time of the month for the Selection Board Captain. Whatever, she advised me never to apply again."

There were angry murmurings. All the crew knew of mixed race officers, some of them with paler complexions and much smaller bosoms than Creamy.

"The worst thing is, I can't be a petty officer, either. Not white enough. So, shit, it looks like I'm doomed to have the best education and the biggest, pointiest tits on the whole of the lower deck. It's the smoked glass ceiling, girls, and there ain't a damned thing any of us can do about it."

Lieutenant Belinda Brockenhurst sighed as she examined herself in the tiny mirror of her cramped cabin. It was so small she had to check out her image in easy stages. Bigger again. The tape measure didn't lie. She could only do so much to diminish the apparent ripeness of her luscious figure, walking around with her arms folded and her shoulders hunched. The sailors had already noticed the size of her bust. Sailors noticed such things. And in the wardroom, too, no amount of disguise could work for long. Especially as she was still getting larger. It must be the sea air giving her an appetite, but whatever it was, Belinda could never seem to get enough to eat.

There was another problem. Her newest bras were rapidly becoming too small. The quartermaster's stores carried a selection right up to H cup in the larger sizes, 38 upwards, but for some reason they had nothing of size 32G in stock. Her last three 32Fs were simply not big enough any more. She tried one on again, grunting as she engaged the four hooks and persuaded her breasts into the straining cups. No good. There was chocolate-brown flesh oozing out every which way. Sheesh! Even a G wasn't going to be big enough. She tore it off. Literally. One bra down, two to go.

Yet Naval Regulations were perfectly clear on the matter. Belinda knew Article 36M by heart. Any officer wearing an inadequate or ill-fitting bra - or infinitely worse - no bra at all, could be found guilty of Conduct to the Prejudice of good Order or Discipline. A white mark on her record. It was ridiculous: the very breasts whose development could assure her rapid promotion to the top of her chosen profession could also prove to be the stumbling block in her path. Just by growing so big that she couldn't find a bra to fit her anywhere in the BS Improbable.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Just a minute..." The shirt was an appallingly tight fit, and with nothing to restrain them, her breasts felt squishy as her fingers fumbled with the buttons. That would have to do. At least, she was off duty and in her cabin, so she couldn't be court-martialled for not wearing a brassiere. At least, she didn't think so. She arranged herself on her bunk and picked up a manual of torpedo fuzing and arming. "Come in!" The door opened. "I'm sorry, I wasn't decently dressed. Oh, it's you, ma'am!" Belinda slid off the bunk and stood rigidly to attention in the confined space.

It wasn't a good move. She was pressed nipple to nipple with her Executive Officer. And almost matching her, size for size.

"At ease, Brockenhurst. It's a social call."

The junior lieutenant backed away and sat on the bunk, her rebounding breasts coming to rest on her thighs. She felt distinctly undressed in the presence of her senior officer, wearing only a shirt and — she hoped — a pair of panties. Right now, she couldn't rightly remember. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to try and check. The Commander could see better than she could. She pulled her shirt down as far as it would go, but the insistent pressure of her breasts made it bounce right back up again.

"A social call?"

"Sure, relax!" The Exec looked around, picked up the chair from the writing desk, spun it round and straddled it. It was a position calculated to put the lieutenant at her ease. It might have worked, but for the fact that the Exec now found herself staring at Belinda's shapely thighs. And beyond. Or rather, between. It was a bit shadowy down there, but Lt Brockenhurst appeared to be quite a hirsute young officer. If there was one thing the Exec always found curiously arousing, it was hirsute officers. Hirsute young officers were even better. Hirsute young officers with breasts far too big for their shirts were better still. The Exec was a happily-married woman, but she was by no means immune to the charms of other women. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, she was a raving bisexual.

She experienced a spontaneous orgasm. A doozy.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Aye-aye, ma'am." Lt Brockenhurst was a well-brought-up young officer. She would go far in this woman's navy.

"How fuckin' big are those things?" The Exec had intended to phrase the question more delicately, but it had just kinda slipped out.

Belinda found herself glowing. "What, these?" She had meant to ask what things the Executive Officer had been talking about, but the woman was staring at her breasts so intently that she found herself cupping them in both hands like ripe melons and offering them up as if at a Harvest Festival service. They wobbled in her hands, and the top three buttons of her shirt let go one at a time. Six inches of deep jiggling cleavage revealed itself.

"Jee-zus!"

"Aye-aye, ma'am. Praise Her for Her bounteousness."

"Ay-wimmin!"

"Too big, ma'am."

"What?"

"I can't get my bra on. I just burst one of my last ones, and they're all way too small. They're F cups."

The Exec swallowed, and coughed as she came again, in a more controlled manner than the first time. "F cup? Why didn't you get the right size, instead of buying bras that were too small? You young girls are all the same! Trying to get a quart into a pint pot."

Belinda looked down at her bursting shirt. The Exec's estimate didn't seem too far off. Obviously she had years of experience in these matters. "They did fit, ma'am. But that was a whole month ago. I seem to be having a growth spurt. It's not unknown, ma'am."

The Exec had spotted the fly in the ointment. She had her finger on the problem. "You can't carry out your duties dressed like that, Brockenhurst."

"No, ma'am. My skirts still fit, ma'am."

"We can take your skirts as read, Brockenhurst. I mean your ... upper half. A properly fitting bra is mandatory. Regulations insist on it. You must buy one from the ship's stores."

Belinda shook her head. "I already tried. The nearest they can do is a 36E, which goes around me okay, but I'm so soft that my boobs fall out of the bottom of the cups, ma'am. I'm very soft, ma'am. Feel them!"

It was tempting, especially when Belinda ladled one fat breast out of the neckline of her shirt and held it in both hands, as steadily as she could. The Exec held out steadfastly for all of ten seconds. "My God, Brockenhurst!"

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

"We won't find a bra your size among the officers. I know that for an absolute fact. We'll have to try the PO's and the seawomen. Of course, there won't be any seawomen with breasts as big as yours, unless they've been demoted for being very very naughty girls indeed. It will have to be the petty officers' mess. I shall carry out an in-depth investigation. Meanwhile, you had better remain in your quarters. I will explain to the captain that you are temporarily indisposed. One of the wardroom stewards will bring you your meals."

"Aye-aye, ma'am. What about shitting, ma'am? How do I get to the heads?"

"My investigations should be complete within a few days, Brockenhurst."

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

In fact, the Exec was back the next day, carrying a basket of assorted foundation garments.

"There ought to be something here to fit you."

There wasn't. They tried every one of those bras. None of the petty officers was slim and stacked enough to match Belinda. In fact, she seemed to be even bigger than last time she'd tried, as a well-worn 36E removed, under vigorous protest, from a young woman in the radio shack wouldn't even fasten behind the lieutenant's back. "Sheesh, I've grown some more," she complained. "You'd better take those back, ma'am."

"Try this one again, Brockenhurst." The Exec held out a fearsome pink bra with an array of hooks down the back like the jaws of a shark. It belonged to the chief yeowoman of signals. "The cups look big enough."

Indeed they were, but the rest of it was big enough to fit round two Belindas back to back. She looked up at the Exec forlornly.

"It's not the end of the world. I'll get the sailmaker to have a look at it."

"We have a sailmaker on board a modern destroyer?"

"Of course. It's a fucking ship, isn't it?"

"But what does she do?"

"Dressmaking, mostly. But she's excellent with bras. She trained with a woman called Shaw over in the States. You should see the spinnaker she designed for the recreational dinghy. She'll shorten the straps on this bra for you, then you'll be able to get out of this cabin and have a poo. We've got to have you shipshape and Bristol fashion for two weeks' time."

"Two weeks, ma'am? What happens then?"

"The admiral comes aboard. Improbable is going to be her next flagship when Insensible is decommissioned. It's an enormous honour for him ... for Improbable, that is. Admiral Sybil Makepeace hasn't had a really modern flagship since Invisible disappeared. The captain is immensely proud. So we will need you and all the rest of the ship's company absolutely tickety-boo, as if you'd just stepped out of a band-box. Whatever that is. Stand easy, Lieutenant!"

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

"You look like a sack of potatoes, Lieutenant!"

"Aye-aye, Captain, ma'am."

"What's your name?"

"Brockenhurst, Captain."

"Ah, so you're Brockenhurst. I've been looking for you since we left harbour. You were going to order some mail order bras for me. Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"In my bunk, ma'am. Growing, ma'am."

The captain's eyes bulged dangerously. "Growing, Lieutenant?"

The Exec leaned forward anxiously. "Her bust, Captain. I had to place her under restraint in her cabin. She didn't have an adequate and properly-fitting brassiere."

"She still doesn't. What's that thing she's wearing?"

"It belonged to Chief Whittaker, ma'am. The sailmaker modified it, but Brockenhurst has grown again since, ma'am."

"I haven't finished growing, Captain," Belinda confirmed. "The ship's doctor says it's a major growth spurt."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, ma'am."

"Who ever heard of a woman having a growth spurt at twenty-one?"

The Exec turned to her First Lieutenant. "Who ever heard of a woman having a growth spurt at twenty-one?"

The First turned to the Second and the question passed on rapidly down the line, eventually coming to Belinda herself. "I'm having one, Captain," she said.

"She's having one," said the Fifth Lieutenant to the Fourth Lieutenant.

"She's..."

"Shut up! I heard her myself!"

The Fourth Lieutenant thought about passing this message back down to the Fifth Lieutenant, but wiser counsel prevailed.

"How big were you at Naval College, Lieutenant?"

"30D, ma'am. They told me if I developed a little more I could probably have my own little minesweeper by the time I was twenty-five or so. The sailmaker says I need a 32J cup now, Captain."

"A J cup? But that's..."

"Forty-two inches, ma'am. And counting. That's bigger than some of the other officers."

"What are you suggesting?"

"With respect, ma'am, I seem to be overdue..."

"She's pregnant, Commander!"

Belinda finished her reply. "Overdue for promotion. And I'm a lesbian, Captain. Bisexual, anyway. That's more fashionable. That's why I joined."

"I thought we joined the Navy to see the sea," the captain muttered to her Executive Officer.

"A lot of girls join for a good eating out, Captain," the Exec whispered. "The sex is very good, apparently."

"It was never like this in my day. How can fucking homosexuals fight a war?"

"Same as the rest of us. As the rest of them. The rest of you, ma'am."

The captain glowered but said nothing. She took three paces back. "Fall out Executive Officer and Department Heads. Parade, dee-yiiiis-miss!"

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" The captain paced up and down, her bust wobbling massively at each turn. "She can't see the admiral looking like that."

"Captain, the admiral is going to insist on meeting all the officers in person, isn't she?"

"We could hide her, ma'am."

"There's nowhere big enough."

"We couldn't hide her until Christmas."

Ms Hammersley coughed politely. "Permission to speak, Captain?"

"Yes, Guns?"

"With respect, Captain, Lt Brockenhurst is comfortably bigger than me now, so if the admiral sees her, she will be obliged to promote her into my post. So I probably have an axe to grind, but..."

"Get on with it, Guns!"

"But it will be far worse if the admiral discovers that we've been deliberately concealing the fact that there is a young officer in my department with bigger breasts than mine, ma'am. Worse for all of us, ma'am. We have to make Brockenhurst presentable."

"How you gonna do that, Hammers? Lower a bra-maker down to the ship by helicopter?"

The wardroom giggled girlishly.

"She was going to order some bras from England for me," the captain growled. "Same woman as makes the Exec's. Why can't she order some for herself?"

"There's been a communications problem. The lieutenant hasn't been allowed out of her cabin to send a signal."

"We might be able to find a presentable bra for her!"

The officers all turned to Lieutenant Commander Hammersley."

"What did you say, Guns?"

The Exec sniffed impatiently. "I've already searched the ship for suitable foundation garments. Even the PO's mess."

"With respect, ma'am, it doesn't have to be a petty officer's bra. There's a young sailor in my department. She has really, really huge breasts..."

"What's wrong with her?" the Exec asked hopefully. "Has she been a very very naughty girl? What's her name, anyway?"

"Creamy. I mean, Ordinary Seaperson Coffey, ma'am. She joined at the same time as Miss Brockenhurst. She hasn't been very, very naughty. In fact, she's very, very good."

"I suppose she's got a little curl..."

"Right in the middle of her forehead..."

"And when she's good, she's very, very good..."

"And when she's bad, she's..."

The Exec had spotted a flaw in the Gunnery Officer's reasoning. "If they're as big as that, why isn't she an officer?"

"Or a chief?"

"She's the wrong colour. She's sort of in between. But she's got monster tits!"

The two naked women stood to attention and peered at each other out of the corners of their eyes. "They seem to be very similar," the captain suggested. "Turn them round."

"Turn round, please, Lieutenant. Coffey, ay-bout tahn!"

The women turned through one hundred and eighty degrees and stood with their backs to their superiors, still eyeing each other warily.

"Fuck me!" the Exec blurted. "Sorry, ma'am. But begging your pardon, ma'am. She's got one hell of a figure on her for an ordinary Seaperson. Look at that sweet little bum! And her waist can't be more than eighteen inches. And those tits! If she was half a shade blacker, she'd have my job! Whooooh!"

"I beg your pardon, Commander?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I'm all better now, ma'am."

Belinda knew what the Exec's problem was. She risked a glance sideways at Coffey. The girl was hugely stacked. It was difficult to gauge her exact size, as she was several inches taller, but she was so slim and so wondrously developed, it had to be worth trying one of her bras for size.

"Did you bring a bra with you, Coffey?"

"Yes, Captain? On the floor, Captain, under my hat."

"Get it, please, and put it on the lieutenant."

"Whooooh!"

"I'm sorry, Commander?"

"Nothing, Captain."

Belinda could feel the tall sailor's warm breath on the back of her neck. A pair of rubbery nipples traced little circles round her shoulder blades. She could really fuck this one all night long, she thought.

"Bend forward, ma'am," the sailor said.

She bent forward from the waist, and felt her full globes immediately ensnared in a pair of accommodating and still-warm bra cups. Cool, expert fingers looped the straps over her shoulders and swiftly hooked the bra at the back. It was an unaccustomed feeling, a bra with room to spare in the cups.

"Did you bring a tape measure with you, Coffey?"

"Negative, Captain. I don't carry one, ma'am."

"Why not, damn it?"

"With respect, Captain, I already know my measurements. I'm forty-seven, seventeen, twenty-nine, ma'am."

"Whooooh!"

"Thank you, Commander."

Creamy's hands probed gently around the front of the bra. "Ma'am, there is still room in the cups for the lieutenant. I'd guess she is about forty-four inches or thereabouts."

"Jeez! She could be driving a minesweeper with that lot!" The captain collected her wits. "She will have to be promoted..."

"Not necessarily, Captain. Naval Regulations..."

"I beg your pardon, Coffey? What do you, an Ordinary Seaperson, know about Naval Regulations?"

"I've studied them, ma'am. There is an escape clause. A catch. 'A growing officer may have her promotion held in abeyance during the period of duration of her continuing growth, provided said growth exceeds one inch per week or part of one inch per part week, pro rata, ma'am.' Article 30M, Sub clause 19, ma'am. A recent amendment," she added, and Belinda, who had opened her mouth, closed it again.

"I never saw that amendment," the Exec muttered. "Whose responsibility is the decoding of amendments... ?"

"Mine, ma'am," explained Belinda. "But I've been..."

"It doesn't matter," the captain snapped. "It's our salvation. Coffey, you will measure the Lieutenant's bust every day, please, starting from today. Note the figures and report to me if she fails to grow at a rate of one inch per week."

"Or pro rata, ma'am?"

"Precisely. Get dressed and dismiss to your duties, Lieutenant Brockenhurst. You too, Coffey. Remember, we have one more week before the admiral comes aboard."

"Aye-aye, Captain!"

The Exec watched them go. "Permission to call the Mistress of Arms and have Ordinary Seaperson Coffey arrested, Captain?"

"Arrested, Babs?"

"Failure to wear an adequate brassiere, Captain!"

"Permission declined, Commander."

The admiral's barge came alongside within minutes of Improbable's anchor splashing into the sparkling deep green waters. Captain Goodbody was all a-twitter. She had inspected her officers and she was not entirely pleased. Seen from one end of the line, there was an unseemly projection close to the far end. It was Lt Brockenhurst's shirt. "Lieutenant Brockenhurst, take half a pace backwards!" That was better. She didn't stick out too far now. Trouble was, at the back of the line, there was a well-filled black skirt sticking out further than all the others. "A quarter of a pace forward, Lieutenant Brockenhurst!" Now she stuck out equally to the back and the front. Not good enough. And too late to do anything now, as bosuns' pipes squealed and the ship's company came to rigid attention. A magnificent array of womanly bosoms thrust out at the admiral as her dark chocolate upperworks hove into view above the rail. She was unmistakeably an admiral. Even the captain's jaw dropped at the sight.

"Good morning, Captain. A fine day, and a splendid turnout. I'm sure your girls will be anxious to get ashore and start getting some hot steaming cock up their juicy love-tunnels. I'll inspect them and have a quick word with the officers, then we'll dismiss the parade. We mustn't keep them standing outside in this heat. Girls always start to smell after a while. Even officers."

The captain gulped. The admiral was known for her forthright tongue, which was also said to be long enough to get into some most remarkable places. She strode quickly up and down the ranks of seapersons and petty officers, remarking on a smart turnout here, a fine pair of nipples there. Then she moved on to the officers. The captain knew she had a problem when the admiral paused at the end of the line and peered along it, first along the front, then along the back.

"One of your officers is protruding incorrectly, Captain Goodbody. You, Lieutenant, take a quarter of a stride forward."