II

"I'll be right over," said the chirpy female voice. Emma cursed herself for not arranging a proper appointment with the woman from ABC Creations. Bra or no bra, she was going to have to put in an appearance on this first morning at college. A determined knocking on the door didn't put her in a better mood. She was wearing her biggest and baggiest sweatshirt and it was suddenly too small. She jerked it out of the waist of her jeans and moved carefully to answer the door. A tiny grey-haired woman was standing there between a bulging suitcase and what was clearly a portable sewing machine.
    "Emma? I was just passing the gate when I got your call," she chirped as she bustled briskly inside with her baggage. She parked the suitcase on Dee-Dee's bed and opened up the machine on top of her chest of drawers. "I assume this is Dee-Dee's?" she said. "Wretched girl!"
    Emma was struck dumb. Not thirty seconds had elapsed since she had put the phone down and the bra woman had somehow materialised outside the room door, showing not the slightest sign of having climbed four flights of stairs.
    "My name's Bebe Buckmaster, by the way. How big were you before?"
    "Last night, you mean? A triple-D cup, actually."
    "You mean an F, actually," snorted Bebe. "There's nothing wrong with being an F. Forget all this DDD nonsense. Look at me!"
    Emma looked at her. The woman wore a kind of blue button-through overall, like a nurse, and there was a substantial bust in there. "Are you an F, too?"
    "Of course not! I'm an H. But if the bra stores had their way I'd probably be a quintuple-D. Anyway, you're a jolly sight more than that. Get that sweater thing off, whatever it's called." She watched as Emma climbed out of her sweatshirt. "Golly! You've grown a pair-and-a-half there and no mistake. How long did she rub you for?"
    "About twenty minutes, does it make any difference?"
    "That bloody girl needs a damned good spanking! You ought to give her one if she tries this monkey business again. Two minutes rubbing is the maximum; it's laid down in Regulations." Bebe had produced a tape measure and whisked it around Emma's chest without comment. She nodded and moved it up to the fullest part. "Hold still, dear. Thanks. I can probably do you from stock if you're in a hurry and you don't mind burnt orange."
    It was just like listening to Dee-Dee, the way this woman kept changing the subject. Back up a bit. "What was that about regulations?"
    "Not regulations, it's Regulations," the bra-maker said, writing down a figure of at least twenty digits in a small notebook.
    "What's going on, anyway? What is Dee-Dee, the Tit Fairy or something?"
    Bebe was already rummaging through her suitcase, tossing extraordinarily large-cupped bras in all directions. She straightened up and pursed her lips severely. "Oh, no, no, no! You'd better not let her hear you call her a tit fairy. She'd be most offended."
    "Offended? How do you think I feel, now she's given me these things?"
    "They're very nice ones. Don't you like them?"
    Emma felt confused. Her new breasts were admittedly gorgeous. "They're a bit big!" she sighed.
    "Of course they're big. You're fifty inches."
    "Fifty! That's ridiculous."
    "What's ridiculous about an N-cup?" Bebe asked, surprised. "They're lovely, aren't they!" she added, hoisting them in her hands. "I know Dee-Dee's a naughty girl, but if there's one thing she certainly does do well, it's producing a lovely pair of breasts. She's got a diploma for it, you know."
    "A diploma for enlarging breasts? What is she, then, if she isn't the Tit Fairy? Some kind of magician?"
    "Of course not, silly! She's an angel."
    "She doesn't look much like an angel to me," Emma muttered, remembering her room-mate's antics in the shower.
    "She doesn't wear wings and stuff, of course. She'd blow her cover. But she's still an angel. Just an ordinary one with a small A, nothing special like the Angel of Mercy or the Angel of Death, or anything."
    "How about the Angel of Tits?"
    "I suppose that's part of her job specification. She's very big on breast enhancement, and she probably saw you as being in need of a few extra inches. The only trouble with Dee-Dee is that she's never quite got her head round the idea that if a lot is just right, a lot more isn't necessarily much better. Boyfriends?"
    "I've got one, but he's not up to much..."
    "Good! I'll tell you what, you stick with Dee-Dee and she'll fix you up with something a bit special. She is an Angel of Love, you know, when all's said and done. She just needs a firm hand — preferably on her buttocks — to stop her giving you a pair of weather balloons on your chest. Try this one." She handed over a startlingly pink bra. "You'd probably prefer a front-loader but they're tricky to make in this size."
    Bebe watched critically as Emma fought her way into the bra. She felt all thumbs.
    "Easier if you dangle them into the cups then give them a good shake around before you try fastening it. Don't they teach girls these things at school?"
    "I must have been away that day. It fits, look, it fits!"
    "Of course it does," said Bebe in an offended tone. She was already packing away her samples and her sewing machine. "Now, you've got my number. I'll see you again soon. Sooner than you think, in fact."
    "Oh, God! How much is it going to cost?"
    "Well, since this is all Dee-Dee's fault for being a naughty girl, and since she's given you such a simply glorious pair, and since I had one your size in stock ... give me a fiver."
    "Five pounds?"
    "Four, then. You'd have the shirt off my back." She accepted the four coins and tipped them into a pocket. "Give my love to my niece, won't you."
    "Your niece is here, too?"
    "Dee-Dee, of course."
    "But if she's an angel, that makes you..."
    "Nothing special. I'm just an angel myself, but a little bit more senior. More specialised, too; I don't do the love anymore. Well, I do, and I'm pretty good at it, but not for a living."

The morning passed in so much of a whirl that Emma could scarcely take it in. Everywhere she looked were hugely buxom girls of all shapes and sizes, and it was with mixed feelings that she observed that even her wondrous new breasts were no more than average in size. True, there were many very well-endowed girls around the campus who couldn't measure up to her, but equally there seemed to be dozens who made her look underdeveloped. One of them, a music student called Julie Stockhausen, had such gigantic breasts she just sat around in the students' dining room and let other girls bring things to her. Emma had never imagined such things could possibly exist.
    But seeing all these busty girls about the place made her look at her own endowment in a different way. What was the point, after all, of having such big tits if they weren't the biggest around? If they weren't going to be the biggest, they might as well be the size they always used to be.
    "I'll have to speak to Dee-Dee about that," she said to herself as she toiled up the stairs at lunchtime. "If she's back from her mysterious trip, that is."
    The door wasn't locked, so Dee-Dee was obviously back. Emma burst in, already giving her room-mate the benefit of a few choice home truths.
    "Look what you've done to me," she announced for starters. No harm in making the girl think these puppies weren't welcome, even if she was an angel and therefore omniscient. "Oops, sorry," she said a moment later. "Wrong room!"
    But standing outside the door and reading her own and Dee-Dee's names on the label, she realised that she hadn't been mistaken. In that case, she'd better go back in. She needed the bathroom as a matter of urgency anyway but she was also anxious to find out what was going on. In fact, if her eyes hadn't been deceiving her, she knew only too well what was going on. She recognised the rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings well enough, although she couldn't quite understand why, if Dee-Dee was getting herself so comprehensively laid, she couldn't do it on her own bed. She thought back to what she had just seen. For a self-confessed novice, Dee-Dee was displaying a remarkably refined technique. She had her slender thighs wrapped around her partner's neck...
    Emma decided to give the loving couple a few minutes to finish what they were doing. At the rate the boy was pumping Dee-Dee, he couldn't last much longer. Sure enough, bedsprings and hoarse cries rose to a crescendo and an obviously satisfying climax for all concerned. Then silence.
    Emma gave them another twenty seconds and went inside.
    "Where did he go?" she asked.
    Dee-Dee was staring into the wardrobe and scratching her head. She turned round. "Oh, hi! Wow, look at your tits!"
    "Never mind my tits. Where's he gone?"
    "Who? Oh, Darryl? Bathroom."
    "You didn't waste much time. Where did you find him?"
    "I needed it urgently. He was cleaning the windows."
    "A window cleaner? Dee, that's disgusting!"
    "He's clean! And he was quite good in bed."
    "Yes, my bed!"
    "Sorry, it was closer to the door than mine. It will soon dry out. I just love your tits. They're excellent. Bring them over here..."
    "You can keep your hands off them," Emma warned her, but she had already stripped off her shirt and the new bra and walked across to press them into Dee-Dee's willing hands. "Oooh, that's so good!"
    "These are magnificent, Em! Some of my best ever." She applied her lips to Emma's nipples: left, right.
    At that moment the bathroom door opened and the recent window cleaner came out. "I should give it a few minutes..." he said. "Christ!" He found his trousers on the floor and began climbing into them, unable to remove his eyes from the two buxom girls who had just collapsed in a writhing heap, mostly breasts, on Dee-Dee's bed. He was far too busy watching the action to get another hard-on, and it was probably still a little soon after his previous one. And after a few minutes, he appeared to realise that he wasn't about to get an invitation to join in, so he left, closing the door after him and noting the room number.
    "Bebe said you're only supposed to do this for two minutes," Emma said shakily as she wobbled her breasts in her room-mate's face.
    "That's bullshit. Anyway, you want to be the biggest girl on campus, don't you?"
    "Yes, please!" Emma sighed. She hadn't really wanted any such thing until now, but with Dee-Dee massaging her breasts she reserved the right to change her mind. The feeling was so intense she knew she must be absolutely flooding her jeans, yet she didn't care. She felt like a total slut. She was going to see her tutor this afternoon with a huge wet patch around her crotch and her nipples sticking out into the next county — and she didn't care! The next county was either Bucks or Berks and she didn't care about that either.
    "That ought to do it," Dee-Dee said at last, and she disentangled herself. "Hey, you've got a huge wet patch round your crotch and your nipples are sticking out into the next county."
    "Oh, no! And I've got to see my tutor in twenty minutes!"
    "You could tell him you're sick and put it off until tomorrow morning."
    "Could I, do you think?"
    "You'd better. You'd need a shower before you see him anyway. You smell horribly cunty!"
    What a disgraceful word, Emma thought, clutching at her groin in lust. "Could I get away with not seeing him this afternoon?"
    "Yeah, you can tell him you're not well. Another thing, you'll be needing to see old Bebe again. Once they've started growing, your breasts become more sensitive."
    "I'd noticed..."
    "No, by sensitive I mean they become more sensitive to the enlargement process. How many cup sizes did you grow last night?"
    "How many? About eight, I think. From a triple-D to..."
    "An F, you mean..."
    "From an F-cup to about an N."
    "Bloody hell! Of course, it's not an exact science, but..."
    "What isn't?"
    "This," said Dee-Dee, still rubbing away cheerfully, pausing to stretch Emma's nipples to about six inches long. "But we do know that it becomes more effective the second and third time we do it."
    "But ... I'll end up bigger than you!"
    "Oh, easily! No problem. I'm not trying to prove anything. But much more important than that is making sure that you end up with the biggest pair on the whole campus."
    Emma's mouth opened slowly.
    "You said you wanted to be biggest, Em!"
    "Stop! Stop it!"
    "It's too late, it's done now. I've been rubbing you for half an hour. But never mind, they're such a lovely shape. I can't wait to see them tomorrow morning! Anyway, I can't sit here rubbing your tits all day, I've got things to do, people to see. Can I get you anything for this evening? Baked beans on toast? More clothes? Boyfriend?"
    "Boyfriend? You're the one who was asking all those naïve questions last night about boys. Then I come back here and find you shagging!"
    "Shagging? That's a nice word, Em. So much nicer than fucking. I'm not going to fuck any more. I'm going to shag! Twenty times a day!"

Emma had decided to send her apologies to her tutor. She lay on her back with her knees pulled up, trying to get the whole of one hand into herself. Her breasts were so full and so monstrously firm after Dee-Dee's rubbing that it felt as if her nipples were brushing against the ceiling.
    There was a soft knock on the door. Without really thinking things through, she called, "Come in!"
    "Oops! Sorry. You were making so much noise I thought you were Dee-Dee."
    Emma sat up and stared. "Who are you?"
    "Darryl. We met half an hour ago. Or maybe we didn't, come to think, you were busy when I came out of the bog. Hey, you've got huge tits! What's your name?"
    "Emma Foster." She thought of offering the boy her hand but she had four fingers deep inside her. "Fuck me, Darryl," she heard herself moan. "Shove that fucking great gun-barrel in me and blow me away. Fill me up with your sticky sperm and give me your babies!"
    "I've got to get back to work," Darryl protested weakly. "I've got the whole of this side of the block to do before it starts raining again. Besides, I just fucked Big Katie and I doubt if I could do it again for a while. Are you free at four o' clock?" He pulled a small blue notebook out of his top pocket and frowned as he flicked through the pages. "No, sorry, could you make it seven?"
    "Seven? That's fucking hours!"
    "It's a busy time, this early in the term. I might get a cancellation..."
    "Oh, fuck off!"
    "I'm really sorry, Emma..."
    "Get out!"
    Emma sobbed bitterly as soon as he'd gone. As if it wasn't bad enough with it coming close to that time of the month and that her tits felt like itchy balloons, she couldn't even get a good shag when she needed one.
    There was another knock on the door.
    "Go away!"
    "Ah, good, you're in," said Bebe, slipping into the room and dumping her sewing machine on the desk. "I've got appointments all evening so I thought I'd better see to you first." She approached the bed with brisk strides. "What's the matter, Emma? You're crying. It's not that bad, whatever it is. Oh, come on! Come to Auntie Bebe." And the woman sat on the edge of the bed and folded her gently but firmly in her arms. "Now, what is it?"
    "I – I'm turning into a slut!"
    "You, dear? Don't be silly."
    "I was playing with myself just now and I invited a boy into the room and begged him to ... to fuck me."
    "Darryl, was it?"
    "You know him?"
    "He's known to us. He's okay, but you can do far better. Can I send you a boyfriend for later? What time do you want him?"
    "I don't! I want ... I want Tom. No I don't, I don't want anything. I want Dee-Dee! No I don't!"
    "Never mind, love. Let's make you a nice new bra, shall we?"
    Emma thought about that for five seconds then began sobbing again. "It won't be any good. She rubbed me for half an hour! I wouldn't let her stop!"
    "Half an hour? The daft little cow always lets herself get carried away. Don't worry. Look," Bebe ran her tape measure round Emma's bosom. She breathed in sharply. "Right, you've gone up to fifty-six, so you're a T-cup. You've grown rather quicker than the recommended guidelines, so we're probably justified in taking some action. Now, if I were to max you out myself I doubt if you'd go much past a Zed. Trust me, I'm a corsetiere. You're strong enough to carry a nice pair of Zeds."
    "M-max me out?"
    "I can do it. Same as Dee-Dee does it, only different. When I learned, it was quite a while before Dee-Dee went to school. You know how these things are, they keep coming up with these new trendy teaching methods. But it doesn't matter, it still works every bit as well. You up for it?"
    "Up for what? What does maxing me out mean?"
    Bebe sighed. "What does it sound like? Every woman has a genetic specification which lays down all her physical parameters. Okay so far? They affect your height, the length of your tongue and your fingers, the size of your clitty and your pussy, how big your breasts are. In your case we're only interested in the size of your breasts right now. Now, there are two important parameters: their actual size, and their theoretical maximum."
    "You mean there is a maximum size above which I won't grow any more? So what is it?"
    Bebe waved her hands around airily. "It isn't an exact number of inches or pounds, there are a whole load of variables. One of the most variable variables is the rate of growth. If you grow naturally, your maximum is only a little bit above average and the only way you'll ever to reach it is if you have a baby and start giving milk."
    "So that's why most girls are a certain size and don't get much bigger. But I've grown far more than that already, surely."
    "Sort of. If, while your body is developing, you happen to develop very quickly, your potential maximum changes and gets bigger as well, which explains why little girls who develop very young and very fast tend to suffer from breast hypertrophy, the condition we in the trade call fucking huge great tits. Until yesterday, you'd grown much more slowly than that; you first developed at ... how old?"
    "Ten."
    "Okay, and now you're nineteen, right? You were nicely balanced, a normal very busty English girl like all the other girls at the college. Right, until now. How fast did you develop, by the way? Just kind of background information, you know?" Bebe had her notebook open and her pencil poised.
    Emma felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. "How fast? Does it matter?"
    "Don't worry! I just need a few cup sizes and numbers. You've read sexy stories on the Internet, haven't you?"
    "Not really," Emma confessed, hanging her head in shame.
    "How big was your first bra, stuff like that?" Bebe seemed to be breathing heavily.
    "My first real bra? That was a B-cup, I suppose. A 30B. I got it for my eleventh birthday."
    "Excellent! And did you fill it to capacity? Did its cups strain to contain your burgeoning fullness?"
    "I s'pose so," Emma admitted. "I was quite big."
    "Quite big?" Bebe wrote that down in her book. "Now, I bet you outgrew that bra very quickly?"
    "Well, I did have a 32C for my twelfth birthday."
    Bebe frowned. "Did your mother only buy you bras on your birthdays?"
    "Of course not," Emma giggled. She considered for a moment. "I don't think so, anyway. I had my first D-cup for my birthday, too. My thirteenth."
    "Very good, dear. And by then, did you have the biggest breasts in the whole school?"
    "You're joking, right? There were dozens of girls with bigger ones than me. Although I was wearing a 32F when I was fourteen."
    "You're sure you don't read sexy stories? How big's your boyfriend's cock?"
    "What difference does that make?"
    Bebe raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You're right! You really don't read sexy stories, do you! Anyway, you had an F-cup bust at fourteen, and until this lot happened to you, you've been the same size."
    "Apart from needing a size 34 now, yes."
    "You should be okay. You grew fairly fast, but nowhere near the danger level. If you'd grown a pair of fifteen-pounders in your first year, we'd have a real problem. As it is, we've still got a problem, but it's not quite as bad as if you'd been a hypertrophy case. But still, our impatient little Dee-Dee has triggered such explosive growth that she's upset the delicate apple-cart and increased your theoretical maximum size. The more — and the more quickly — you grow, the further your theoretical max moves out of reach."
    "So I'm going to keep on growing for ever?"
    "If you let Dee-Dee loose on your tits, yes! But if we max you out, so you actually reach that maximum size, that's it, you won't grow any more. There are side benefits — when Dee-Dee rubs your breasts it will feel even more fantastic than it does now, and you won't be growing to an inconvenient size as a result. The only snag is that if she can't make you grow, she won't want to rub your breasts any more, but that's not the end of the world. There are always boys, after all."
    "But Mrs Buckmaster, I don't understand how..."
    "It's Bebe. And I know what you're going to say. How can I max you out by doing precisely the same thing that Dee-Dee is already doing to you?"
    "Well, yes..."
    "Because I am more powerful; instead of causing fast but steady growth of the kind that Dee-Dee is giving you, I can grow you so quickly that you go straight to your maximum. Or whatever your maximum happens to be at this moment."
    "But you don't know how big that is? What if it's as big as Julie Schönberg or whatever her name is?"
    "Stockhausen. Unfortunate girl. She had a promising future as a cellist but now all she can play is the flute. But if you're going to be that huge, you'll get there anyway if you let Dee-Dee play with you the whole time. Not only that, the more she does it, the more your upper limit is being pushed back, so you could end up two or three times Julie's size. Not that I want to worry you or anything."
    "So let me work this out — you're going to make me as big as Julie, just to stop me getting as big as Julie?"
    "You probably won't," said Bebe without much conviction. "But at least you won't have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out how much bigger Dee-Dee can make you. Let me do it and not only will you be able to stop growing and wave bye-bye to buying bigger bras every day, you'll be as big as you're ever going to get — by teatime this afternoon."
    "I don't know..."
    "Suit yourself. You can carry on the way you are and let me make you a nice T-cup bra for you, but it will be miles too small by tomorrow morning. That's one hell of a price to pay for a bit of tit-rubbing and a few dozen orgasms."
    "How big will I get, Bebe? You must have done this before?"
    "It's always dangerous to guess. You're very firm at the moment because you've grown so fast. They don't hang much below your navel. Maybe ... oh, maybe they'd reach down to about here. What's that, around sixty ... seventy inches? Or maybe here. Maybe seventy-five, eighty at the most. Or eighty-five. Not more than ninety, anyway. Certainly less than a hundred. Or thereabouts."
    "Right down to there? That's below the hem of my skirt. I'll be like an old granny!"
    "Of course you won't," Bebe snapped crossly. "Anyway, you could always wear a longer skirt. And you won't be all saggy and floppy. The only reason you'll hang down to there — or maybe there — is that you'll be enormously full and heavy. You'll still have beautiful breasts, they'll just be extra extra extra big, that's all."
    "Oh, that's all?"
    "Look, it's no skin off my nose, whatever you do. I make bras, remember? I don't mind in the slightest coming in here making new ones every day while your tits roll around on the floor."
    Emma thought about her tits rolling around on the floor. Only for a brief moment did she think that Tom might enjoy them, then she realised how dreadfully inconvenient it could be. She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.
    Bebe rubbed her hands together with glee. "Sit on the edge of the bed and spread your thighs," she said happily, flexing her fingers and clicking her knuckle joints. "Wow! I haven't done this for ages! Now, it's going to feel pretty powerful..."
    "Just do it and get it over with!"
    Bebe applied her leathery hands to Emma's plump areolae and began rubbing in slow circles. Very large circles.
    "Ooo-wow!"
    The corsetiere took half a dozen paces back, mopping at the bodice of her suit. "Why didn't you tell me you were a squirter?"
    "I didn't know I was," said Emma, astonished at what she had just done, as well as how much of it. "Come and carry on rubbing me," she pleaded, grabbing a nipple in each fist and aiming them in Bebe's direction.
    "I'm getting myself a towel first. You young girls..."
    It was over all too quickly and Bebe straightened up, wiping her hands.
    "There you go," she said.
    "Is that it? When will I start growing?"
    "You've already started. By the time Dee-Dee finishes her class, you'll be up to max. I'll drop by in the morning. D'you need a boyfriend? Or two? I'd better bring three, just to be on the safe side."
    "Three boys?" Emma laughed. "What would I want with three of them?"
    Bebe shook her head. "They only last about five minutes each."
    Emma knew all about that, but it hadn't really been a problem before. "They soon recover though, don't they?"
    "Maybe I should have warned you about the other side effects of being maxed out. You know you've been ... well, hornier than usual since you arrived at college?"
    Emma blushed, and Bebe continued.
    "That's what happens when you get involved with Dee-Dee. Unfortunately, now I've maxed you out, you're going to be even hornier for a while."
    "Even worse than I am now? But I'm a disgrace already. I've just been begging a window cleaner to fill me up with sticky sperm and give me his babies. How much worse can I get? And for how long?"
    "There are a few variables. Five or ten times worse, perhaps. As for how long, it took me nineteen years to get over it. I went through four husbands in that time — just wore them all down to skeletons. You're sure you don't want me to bring you some boys? Dee-Dee will help you with them."

Dee-Dee came into the room and peered around as she hurried through into the bathroom. "Hello, Em! Having a wank? You're looking huge this afternoon. It doesn't usually work as quick as this."
    "Huh," Emma grunted unhappily as she mopped up the mess around her loins with an already saturated towel. Her room-mate came back in, pulling up her pants, her teats poking at her sweatshirt like wild strawberries. "Mrs Buckmaster's been, and she'll be coming back. She told me a few interesting things."
    "She's a bit of an old fart," said Dee-Dee. "You don't want to listen to everything she tells you. So how big are you now? Stand up and let's have a shufti."
    Emma struggled to her feet, feeling so top-heavy she clung on to the end of the bed. As soon as Bebe had left, two hours earlier, she had changed into one of Tom's rugby shirts and a pair of shorts. The shorts were now seeping gooey juices in the corner of the room while the shirt, built to withstand the rigours of a hooligan's game played by gentlemen, creaked at the seams under the pressure of a pair of prize pumpkins.
    "Fucking hell, Em! What size are those puppies?"
    "I don't know. They would have been T-cups two hours ago but that was then. This is now." Emma paused to slide a hand up beneath the hem of the shirt.
    Dee-Dee eyed her suspiciously. "Did Bebe do anything else while she was here?"
    "She may have done."
    "Yeah, just let me guess. She spun you a tale about me growing you too fast, right? Some bullshit about your personal maximum, and little girls with tits down to here?"
    "Something like that, yes."
    "You don't want to listen to her, Em. She's out of touch with the way we do things now. You didn't let her ... what does she call it ... you didn't let her try maxing you out, did you?"
    "What if I did?"
    "Oh my God, Em! It gets worse! The horny old cow makes a nice bra, but she still can't get enough. Anything to get her paws on a pair of big young tits! I suppose she told you everything would be under control, you'd reach a certain size then stop growing? How much have you grown since?"
    "Quite a lot. And there's the other effect she told me about, too. I've been touching myself continuously since she left. I've spent the whole afternoon coming and drinking water."
    "She tried the same thing on me when I first came down. Are you going to take that ridiculous shirt off or not?"
    "What for?" Even as she objected, Emma was wrestling with the shirt, trying to get either one of her breasts out of it. Without trying to complete the job and pull the shirt off over her head, she followed her nipples as they dived into Dee-Dee's hands.
    "Wow, Em, these are a fantastic pair!" said Dee-Dee, rubbing away enthusiastically, having first lubricated both hands with Emma's flooding juices. "They're bigger than mine now. Apart from Julie Stockhausens', these have got to be nearly the biggest in the whole college! They're taking Julie away in the morning, by the way."
    She failed to explain why and where. To say nothing of who and how.
    "It's a pity, really," Dee-Dee continued. "Julie had a lot going for her. It's a shame she couldn't carry on with her music. I wouldn't have minded being her 'cello, she had a pair of thighs as big as Chloe Vevrier's."
    "Who's Chloe Vevrier?"
    "You don't know? All right then, a pair of thighs like Stuart Pearce. They're about the same size. Come to think of it, if I couldn't be her 'cello, I wouldn't mind being her flute. You wouldn't believe what she does with that!"
    "Oh, that's disgusting!"
    "I suppose it does make it smell a big fishy, but she can always wash it in fresh water afterwards..."
    Emma felt the need to steer this conversation away from the unpleasant course it had taken. "But why are there so many busty girls at this college?"
    "Because it's all women, of course. We could hardly carry out our trials anywhere mixed, it would cause so much shagging there'd be a riot."
    "What trials?"
    "Just some trials. Once we've got the bugs out of it, we'll be ready for launch, and we're nearly there now. Julie Stockhausen's went a bit over the top, but yours were coming along beautifully until Bebe shoved her oar in. Letting a bra-maker have the secret of growing tits is like putting the fox in charge of the whorehouse. How does that feel?"
    "Ooooh!"
    "Good as that, huh?"
    Whoosh! Emma drenched Dee-Dee's shoes, then tottered back to collapse backwards on her bed, dragging her room-mate on top of her in a great soft collision. Emma was confused, but was too overwhelmingly horny to think straight. Bebe had spun her a complex but convincing yarn about personal maxima and rates of growth, but now Dee-Dee had said it was all a load of bollocks. But one thing that Bebe had told her was certainly true. She had become at least five or ten times as horny as she'd been before the bra-maker's hands-on treatment, and even before that she'd been imploring a passing window cleaner to give her his babies. Her sex drive was going to be simply unmanageable. No one in the college would be safe. No one of either sex.
    She felt her insides churn and she came again. This was something new; she'd already been coming continuously since Dee-Dee had started rubbing her tits five minutes earlier, but now she seemed to be having more than one orgasm at the same time. Was such a thing possible? Emma decided it probably wasn't, but she wasn't about to let that stop her.
    "What are you doing?" she asked her bestest friend.
    "Turning round so I can get my face into your big wet snatch," said Dee-Dee's muffled voice. "They call it a ninety-six."
    "Don't you mean sixty-nine?"
    "No, this is 39% better. Oh, golly, it certainly is!"
    The problem with being a foot taller than one's partner is that when she's got her face buried in one's private parts, you can't reach hers to return the favour. Emma raised her head and strained her neck, eventually succeeding in getting the tip of her tongue just within touching distance of Dee-Dee's angelic groin. The effect was immediate; the angel stopped chewing her various labia and started sawing away at Emma's love-cavern with her nose and chin as if determined to get her whole head inside. It seemed like a good idea to Emma, so she raised her hips off the bed, bucking against her lover's face.
    A casual observer entering the room at that moment would have seen a very well-developed young woman flat on her back, coming nineteen to the dozen while gathering up an armful of her own breasts and rubbing them all over her face. Probably just because she could, she had both nipples in her mouth at the same time. On top of her, with shapely thighs spread apart at an angle of almost one hundred and eighty degrees, sprawled a diminutive creature with a slender but muscular body glistening with honest sweat as she went down on her partner with total dedication.
    It wasn't a casual observer who came in at that moment, it was at least a dozen girls from various rooms within a radius of fifty yards who wished to register their disapproval at the noise and disturbance. It wasn't all the girls from various rooms within a radius of fifty yards, by any means, most of those with access to a willing lover had been so turned on by the screams, howls and rhythmic thumping coming from Emma and Dee-Dee's room that they had leapt into bed themselves. The girls who now flung open the door without knocking and crowded inside were those who had no lovers of their own. Some of them didn't do it with other girls. Some, incredibly, had never done it at all with anybody. They came to complain, but once they had gathered round the creaking bed, there was not one amongst them whose senses were not affected by the sight, the sound and the smell of what was going on in front of their eyes. Suddenly they weren't complaining at all. With politely murmured 'Excuse-mes' they made room for each other and settled down to watch. Within half a minute, there was not a clitoris being left devotedly unfondled in the audience.
    The entertainment went on, and gradually the watchers paired off and left the room wrapped in each other's arms and licking each other's tongues, drifting away to make their own arrangements for the rest of the evening.

The alarm clock went off and Emma opened a reluctant eye. It was daylight so she closed it again, then began an inventory of her various parts. She was flat on her back and alone in — or rather, on — her bed. Her pudenda felt numb and when she tried to move her legs there was an unpleasant sensation as if someone had painted her down there with slow-drying paint. She ached all over. The only change from what had become the normal waking-up feeling was that her breasts weren't tingling. On the other hand, they still felt appallingly heavy, and in a moment of near panic she realised that her arms were by her sides, and were trapped there by the weight of her bosom.
    "Oh, fuck!" she muttered, not daring to open her eyes and look down at herself. So she kept them shut and tried to sit up. In a way, she missed the now familiar tingly feeling in her nipples, especially now it had been replaced by a sensation of sheer weight. Her breasts rolled around like water-filled balloons as she levered herself into a sitting position and finally opened her eyes. "Fucking hell!"
    It didn't seem adequate, somehow. Suddenly it was important for her to know something. How far down did these things dangle? She shuffled her bottom to the edge of the bed, aware that she needed a shower in the worst possible way, then felt for the floor with her toes. As she cautiously pushed herself upright with her hands, she felt the mass of her bosom sliding and flopping downwards, stretching uncomfortably, bumping against her knees and thighs as she stood up and looked around for a mirror. The bathroom was nearer than the wardrobe, and she needed to go to the bathroom anyway, so she set off in that direction, reaching down urgently to stop her breasts swaying so heavily from side to side that they were threatening to swing her off her feet.
    "Fucking fuck. Oh fuck it. Fuck me!" she intoned as she stood in front of the mirror over the washbasin. Her breasts continued on way down past her tummy and disappeared from view below the edge of the cold porcelain. Clinging tight to the edge of the basin she took a step backwards. "Fucking things!" They reached down to the middle of her thighs, her nipples carrying on down from there but mercifully out of sight. A thought came to her, that she wouldn't be able to wear a mini-skirt ever again.
    The hot needles of the shower brought more rational thoughts into her mind.
    "I'll need a bra, that's got to be the first thing. At least, if they're not tingling, that means they must have stopped growing. Her further thoughts became less rational as she reached beneath her mighty floppers to wash away the dried love-juice caked all over her body, from her stomach to her thighs and all the way round the back and between her legs. Five rapid orgasms later she washed herself all over again then clambered out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
    Dee-Dee was in her own bed, asleep and snoring on her back.
    "Wake up, you!"
    "No!"
    It was remarkable how the love-angel's breasts stood straight up, and the nipples were visible poking through the sheet and a blanket.
    "You've got to get up."
    "Don't want to!"
    "Dee!"
    "Tummy-ache," Dee-Dee protested.
    "You've got to get up. I've forgotten Bebe's phone number."
    "Not telling you. She's a cow."
    "What's up with you, Dee?"
    "Piss off. Bring me coffee. I don't want coffee. Go away." Dee-Dee suddenly shot out of bed and wobbled her way to the bathroom, slamming the door and bolting it in a marked manner.
    There was a polite knock on the bedroom door, then it immediately opened wide and Bebe Buckmaster barged in, her portable sewing machine leading the way. She grunted as she lifted it on to the dressing table and plugged it into the wall socket. "What's up with Golden Girl this morning, as if I didn't know?"
    "She's got a tummy ache and she doesn't know what she wants."
    "Serves her right," Bebe growled unfeelingly as she rummaged through her suitcase. She looked Emma full in the chest. "That maxing-out treatment seems to have worked pretty well," she said. "And they only come halfway to your knees. With a decent bra I can probably get them up above your crotch, s'long as you don't mind sticking out a foot or so in front. What did that little madam tell you?"
    "She said there was no such thing as maxing-out. She said you were just winding me up so you could have a feel of my tits."
    Bebe was sewing at high speed round the side of a brassiere of such enormity it might have been custom-made for a dairy cow. "And you believed her?"
    "Sort of. We kind of got side-tracked after that."
    "Well, she's got her come-uppance. A little visitor. The Curse."
    "Her period?"
    "It's coming. She's going to be like a bear with a sore arse for a couple of days."
    "But we all have periods..."
    "Angels don't," Bebe interrupted. "We don't need them. That's why it's such an effective punishment. I'd stay out of her way for a day or two if I were you. Try this on." She handed the bra to Emma, who stared at it as it hung in her hands. It seemed to weigh half a ton.
    "It's enormous!"
    "So are you. But that's nothing to how enormous you'd have been if you'd let Dee-Dee carry on mauling those beauties for another week. They'd have been dragging along the floor. Oh, for God's sake, put the bloody thing on!"
    Emma did. "Wow! It feels incredible!"
    "Of course. Did you mention coffee just now?"
    "No. Anyway, it's in the bathroom, behind the Tampax..."
    "Eeeeuuuw, gross!" Bebe grated in an alarmingly American schoolgirl accent.
    The bathroom door opened and Dee-Dee appeared, having a bad hair day and scratching her armpits. She looked up, startled. "Mum!"
    Emma gasped. "You're her mother? You said she was your niece..."
    "It's nothing to be particularly proud of, is it! My little angel of a daughter, a liar and deceiver."
    "Wait a minute. If you people don't have periods, how can you have children?"
    "Mum, can't you stop her talking such filth! She's like this all the time!"
    "You've caused enough trouble round here, young lady. Get dressed and go to classes."
    "I can't. I stink."
    "Go and have a shower, then. And throw the coffee out here first. I've got to have a long chat with Emma before she qualifies."
    "Huh!"
    But the fallen angel slouched into the bathroom nevertheless, and the jar of supermarket's own brand Gold Blend Instant came sailing out a moment later, followed by two mugs which Bebe caught one in each hand without looking.
    "Qualify? Me? I've only been here two days."
    "We're not talking about English Literature, dear. You're now one of the rare specimens of British womanhood who are maxed-out and still mobile. So you qualify under our angel quota scheme. You'll be taking young Stockhausen's place, since lover-girl loused her up. Now then, you've got half an hour to get ready. The course lasts six months, and you won't be able to get home during that time, for obvious reasons, but don't worry, we do have some great parties at Christmas, however you fancy your sex — you know; with what and from which direction?"
    "Sex? Christmas? Where are we going?"
    "We're not going anywhere, dear. You're going on your own. But I'll be up for the Christmas party. Now, how are you on out-of-body experiences?"
    "I don't think I've ever really had one..."
    "It's okay, you'll soon get the hang of it. Just try not to bang your head on the ceiling and mind you don't snap that silver thread. It doesn't really matter a toss if you do, but silver thread is expensive and we have to account for every yard on the fourth of April."
    "But where am I going? What's this all about?"
    "Upstairs, of course. You're privileged; not many people get a return ticket. No, in six months' time, you'll be back down here, living the life of Riley. Wait a minute, that's wrong, you'll just miss St Patrick's Day, but all this Irish garbage is grossly overrated, I always think. You're going to be an Angel of Love, love! C'mere!"
    And she enveloped Emma in a most warm and affectionate embrace. It wasn't entirely motherly, as a certain amount of between-the-legs groping was going on, causing Emma to enjoy three orgasms at the same time. It felt pretty good.
    "You'll learn all about that in your first week," said Bebe, wiping her hands on the bedspread. "Now, it will be best if you get on your way before Dee-Dee comes out of the shower. She'll only get weepy, with it being that time of the month and all."
    "But if...?"
    "Don't ask! I know what you're going to say, and you're not going to die.
    "But how can I go to h ... go upstairs ... become one of the angels, without...?"
    "Shuffling off this mortal coil? Kicking the bucket? Popping your clogs? Going over to the other side? No, that always sounds so much like a penalty offence at rugby." Emma's eyes widened, but Bebe was in full flow. "Sorry, I've told you all I'm allowed to tell you. You can choose your specialist field when you get up there. Then when you come back down you'll be able to walk straight into the job of your choice. We're up to here with custom bra-makers, but there's lots of other things you can be without being a nurse, a marine, a firefighter, a priest, a celebrity television chef, a woman policeman, a cheap whore or an expensive whore. As you're such a big girl, they'll probably find you something rewarding in the field of tits. Of course, nobody down here will believe you exist..." She dragged a chair next to the wardrobe and wobbled it to see that it was strong enough to bear Emma's weight. "Right, let's have you on top of the wardrobe. You're going to be up there anyway, once you go out of body, and Dee-Dee won't be able to see you."
    "What about Dee-Dee! Where are you going to tell her I've gone?"
    "I'll explain. She'll understand soon enough, don't worry! Now, hold my hand while you climb up there. Careful! And mind you don't kneel on your tits."
    Five minutes later, Emma was curled up on top of the wardrobe, trying not to sneeze from the dust up her nose. She looked down on the room as Dee-Dee emerged from the bathroom and crossly confronted Bebe who was contentedly sipping supermarket instant decaffeinated coffee and beaming at her daughter. Dee-Dee's mood had not improved.
    "What do you mean, she exploded? Girls don't explode!"
    "Of course they do, it happens all the time! You must have heard the bang, dear! She just took a deep breath, and ... boom!"
    "You expect me to believe that? So what's next? Santa Claus?"
    "Ooh, thanks for reminding me. I've got to call your Uncle Saint Nick about the catering for our Irving's bar mitzvah..." She plucked her mobile phone from her bag and tapped out a number. From her perch, Emma watched fascinated as a slender silver thread extended itself from her navel, up between her huge tits, over the edge of the wardrobe and down to the phone's stubby antenna. Bebe winked as she looked up, and reached for her bra-maker's scissors.

The End