The Power Of Prayer
By Axolotl



(c) 1998 Axolotl

Part II (Four Years Later...)

"I know you've been here a long time, Gabriel, but Heaven has to move with the
times." God looked somewhat uncomfortable, despite lounging in His executive
chair with His feet on the desk. He stubbed out His cigar in the ashtray. "You
may refer to it as a campaign to get rid of you personally, but you're seeing
it from a very narrow perspective. Actually, We're getting rid of a lot of
people, and you're only one of them. It's called de- layering."

The Angel Gabriel bristled. "You can call it what You like. It's legalised
robbery, that's what it is. I'm going to have words with some very important
angels. My dad..."

"Gabriel, it's no good bringing the Archangel Gabriel into this. He's got
plenty on his own plate these days since we promoted him sideways to look
after Sex n' Drugs n' Rock n' Roll, whatever that is. You'll get an excellent
redundancy package, five millenia's salary - the legal maximum - you can keep
your cloud and your company car..."

"A Ford Mondeo!"

"It's the top of the range model, and you chose it yourself. Air conditioning,
alloys, twelve-speaker stereo. It's only two years old. See the accounts
manager on your way out about your pension..."

"What about Puberty?" Gabriel grated as soon as he could get a word in.

"Puberty will look after itself," said God. "We're promoting Barnett to
Warehouse Manager and introducing a new computer system. Bill and Jesus are
looking after that aspect of it. There have been so many problems in that
area, we're starting again with a clean sheet of paper. For a start, a long
overdue division into Male Puberty and Female Puberty. Thanks in no small part
to your lack of organisational ability, boys have been steadily slipping
further and further behind in development for some years now. Young girls are
increasingly being forced to turn to older men. That's all going to change.
Any boys who fall short of the full pubertal development package by the age of
thirteen will from now on be entitled to claim compensation."

"Money? It will never work. The budget won't stand it.

"We're not talking about money. We're talking cock. Serious cock. Compensation
will be paid on a sliding scale, extending up to thirty inches. Or is that
centimetres...?"

Gabriel spluttered indignantly. "You can't go giving boys of thirteen cocks
that size! The whole structure of society as we know it would crumble to
dust."

"The whole point is, We won't need to hand out cocks of that size. The system
will run so smoothly, it won't be necessary to compensate anyone at all.
They'll all be perfectly happy running around with five inches each."

Gabriel opened his mouth again.

"We're standardising on five inches. Or is it five centimetres?" God tapped a
few figures into a calculator. "Inches. I knew I was right. I'm getting the
hang of this metric stuff now. The World Standard Penis. It will be issued to
boys on their twelfth birthday, and will remain..."

"Is that hard or soft?"

"What?" God looked puzzled.

"Is that five inches when it's hard, or when it's soft? Surely, Lord... surely
you know... penises, penes, aren't always the same size all the time."

"You mean they grow. Of course they do. Babies have little teensy-weensy ones.
Grown-ups have bigger ones. Teddy bears have none at all. That's another
thing..."

"Never mind about teddy bears. Cocks don't stay the same size all the time.
Surely You know that, even if You have led a sheltered life?" God looked
blankly at Gabriel. "Look." Gabriel fumbled beneath his robe, then swept a
clear space on the desk and carefully laid his cock on the polished mahogany.

"Where did you get that?"

"It's mine," said Gabriel modestly.

"Shit, it's enormous!"

"As Senior Manager of the Puberty Division, I was entitled to certain perks.
But that's not the point. Watch." Gabriel pulled God's keyboard towards him,
tapped a few words into it and hit Enter. An image of a particularly well
endowed young lady appeared on the screen. You're still watching?" said
Gabriel. "Not her! This!"

"It's getting even bigger!"

"I know. It's called an erection. Men get them. So do boys." A coffee cup slid
off the edge of the desk with a crash.

"Stop it! It's wrecking the place!"

"I can't stop it. That's the whole point!"

"We'll see about that," said God. "Nurse!"

"Rochelle, come on, love, it's time for school."

"Has she gone yet?"

"That's no way to speak of your twin sister, dear." Mother came into the
bedroom, absently picking up magazines and clothes. "Adele caught the earlier
bus. The one that's always full of boys from Marleigh. Come on, darling. It's
a lovely morning." She flung open the window and grinned at her daughter.
"Come on, get your arse out of bed!"

It wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say.

Rochelle began to cry.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry!" The statuesque and extremely bosomy woman hugged her
younger daughter - her younger daughter by seven minutes - stroking her
lustrous waist-length black hair.

"Sorry, Mummy. It's just... even after all these years. I've never stopped
praying, you know. Not since I was ten. Nor has Del. But sometimes I've
wondered if we're both praying for the same things."

Her mother couldn't answer. Her voice was too choked up. She rocked the girl
gently in her arms, then leaned back and looked into her face. The twins had
really become quite handsome girls in these five years since their dramatic
introduction to puberty. It was such a pity really that poor Rochelle's bosom
had never grown to more than a couple of tiny bumps. Adele had received far
more than twice her share, it seemed, and far more than twice Rochelle's share
as well. All Rochelle could claim as sign of her maturity was a considerably
more than generous backside. Even the fact that the twins were five feet ten
inches tall wasn't enough to compensate for Rochelle's 44 inch hips
measurement.

"You'll miss the bus, darling. Don't worry. I've got to go into town this
morning. I'll give you a ride to school."

The double-decker bus rocked along the twisting road to town. It was a Friday,
so the kids were in fine high spirits. The presence of Adele Murchison in the
upstairs compartment added to the atmosphere of celebration. On Fridays, the
school allowed students to dress as they liked, within reason. Adele liked to
push the envelope of reasonableness. Her jeans were dangerously tight,
stretched over the globes of her broad and swelling bottom. She was four
inches smaller than her twin around the hips, but north of the equator the
difference was rather more marked. Adele was so much larger than Rochelle, she
was almost out of sight. The boys gaped at the incredibly busty girl who had
chosen a blue denim shirt. On her, it looked more sexy than if she had
appeared on the school bus in a skimpy bikini. Her breasts thrust out more
than twelve inches in front of her chest. Nobody knew what her bust
measurement was, although there were many wild estimates.

The twins' classmate, Emily Thorpe, had been taken by her mother to see about
appearing as a Page Three girl. According to Emily, the photographer had been
startled by her bust size, but had taken a few hundred test shots and made a
booking for Emily to come back in nine months' time, on her sixteenth
birthday. Meanwhile, he had placed the test shots in his files, for use later.

Emily Thorpe's measurements were 45-22-35. Even so, Adele's bust was so much
bigger than Emily's, it was quite impossible to guess its true dimensions. The
one person who would be certain of the magical number was Veronica Twizzell,
who managed a custom bra franchise in the town. She made Emily Thorpe's bras
as well, as it happened, but for Veronica, a woman's bust measurement was a
secret between her and her corsetiere. She disapproved of Emily's boasting
around the school that she wore a size 34K cup.

"Whaddya doin' at the weekend, Del?" one of the bolder boys asked, leaning
over the back of his seat and gawping at Adele's improbably straining shirt.

Del bit her lower lip and fluttered her eyelashes. "I have to get ready for
summer. I need to do my legs and thighs."

"Do them? Howja mean?"

"Mum's got some special stuff to remove hair. You wouldn't believe how hairy I
get. You should just see the state of my bikini line!"

The boy's mouth fell open. "Oh!" he said, and slowly subsided into his seat.

"See, we made it in time, dear, the bus has only just arrived."

The last of the students were tumbling off the bus and jostling their way into
the school yard. Rochelle recognised Emily Thorpe amongst them. She hung back.
At least, Adele would have arrived ten minutes earlier so there was no risk of
bumping into her accidentally. She leaned across and kissed her mother.
"Thanks, Mum. See you later."

"Have a nice day at school, dear." She watched until her daughter was out of
sight, her shapeless smock dress billowing in the breeze that whipped around
the school buildings.

"Have You finished the revised Puberty Rules for Boys, yet, Jesus?"

"All done, Dad. Bill's incredible at that sort of thing. He insisted that we
removed the word 'soft' from the rules, though. Apparently it's a registered
trade mark now. We're using 'flaccid' instead. And he can't work on the Girls
this week. He's sorry, but he has some business to deal with down below. A
merger with FordMacintoshBenzBoeing or something. But I think I know enough
about girls to handle it on My own."

"Are You sure, Son?"

"I dealt with the Murchison twins case five years ago. They still pray every
night. Customer loyalty like that indicates a job well done."

"Have You looked at those two to see how they're getting on?"

Jesus paled. "I'm not going down there again, Dad. It's a nightmare down
there."

"Hmmm. How about Your mother?"

"The Blessed Virgin Mary? I know We're the only two inhabitants of Heaven who
are allowed to manifest Ourselves in human form, but how could Mother appear
in disguise at an English school?"

"Why not? She's an attractive girl."

"She's a virgin, Dad!"

"I see your point. Well, we could bend the rules and send somebody else.
Delegation, that's the name of the game. In fact, I know someone who's at a
loose end right now. You could send Gabriel down to check them out. A bit of
covert surveillance."

"Gabriel? How's he going to blend in with the scenery at a school? Even if he
could hide his wings under his shirt, he's got pretty distinctive features."

"He could have a nose job before he goes. We've got a few weeks before they
break up for the summer holidays. The job itself will only take him a week or
so. He'd have to check out the twins, get a couple of pictures of them in the
showers, and he could take a shot or two of Emily Thorpe while he's at it. I'm
quite proud of young Emily, actually."

"Page Three, apparently," Jesus nodded. "Some guy's already taken a few dozen
rolls of her and he'll be flogging those to the Sunday Smut for release just
before the Sun comes out with Emily's sixteenth birthday layout. Scandalous!"

"It ought to be stamped out," God agreed.

"The new Puberty Rules for Girls will sort all that, Dad. It will put an end
to early and late developers. All girls will develop at the same age. It will
allow us to make huge staff savings in Puberty Stores and Stock Control. And
there won't be any need for the Sunday Smut to release pictures of
fifteen-year-old girls; all girls will be fully developed long before then. No
more of those sleazy quotes, 'I'm still growing, so I don't know how big I'll
end up...!' All girls' breasts will start and stop growing at the same time."

"You feel strongly about this, don't You?"

"Quite right, too. It's a disgrace."

"My records tell me..." God consulted His monitor... "Those two Murchison
girls are still praying for bigger breasts, and of course, I'm still
sanctioning them regularly."

"Regularly?"

"Every twenty-eight days."

"Can You just imagine how much paperwork that involves, Dad? We'll be able to
rule that out at a stroke when the new system is introduced. Maybe one or two
more months, and that will be the lot. You'll still be able to answer their
prayers, but instead of bigger and bigger breasts, they can have useful things
like boyfriends."

"You mean they're sexually active? I thought they were only fifteen?"

Jesus looked at His Father. "Dad..."

"I wish you'd stop doing that, Del."

Adele switched off the razor. "Sorry, I can't hear you."

"That electric shaver thing. You've been playing with it for half an hour."

"I'm not playing with it. I'm tidying up my bikini line. It's important."

Rochelle rolled off the lower bunk and stood up. Her sister was looking at her
with an aggrieved expression. She was sitting cross-legged on the top bunk, on
a large sheet of newspaper, wearing only a pair of bikini pants. A
staggeringly huge heap of dark curls on the paper represented work completed.

"You've shaved all that lot off? Why can't you stop?"

"I've only done half of it." Adele spread her legs. One thigh was more or less
clean shaven, the other was still in its original hirsute state. "And I've
still got to do the top, where it goes up to my belly button. Should I do
under my arms, do you think?" She raised an arm, displaying a gorilla- like
bush.

Rochelle winced. "It hardly seems worth the trouble. Although once you've got
rid of all that lot, you'll be five pounds lighter."

"Wow, thanks!" Adele sniffed beneath her armpit and wrinkled her nose.
"Christ," she said. "Do I need a shower!"

"I don't know how you can blaspheme like that," said Rochelle sternly. "You
say your prayers every night..."

"And they get answered, too! Look at the size of these monsters! I'm going to
Miss Twizzell's this afternoon for my new bikini. Dad's given me the money.
Just think what you've got to look forward to when yours eventually start
developing."

She was talking to herself. Rochelle was already out of the room and stomping
downstairs.

"Still growing, I see, Adele."

"Yes, Miss Twizzell," said Adele proudly.

"You can call me Veronica, you know. You're not a kid any more."

"I suppose I'm not," said Adele, raising an arm and peering at herself in the
mirror. "Shel said I didn't need to shave under my arms. Maybe I should,
really. I'm like an ape under there. You should have seen how much I shaved
off my inner thighs..."

"Golly! Really!" Veronica went slightly pale at the thought. She flourished
her tape measure. "Waist still the same?"

"Twenty-five," said Adele.

"Check. Twenty-five. Hips, forty?"

"I'm afraid so. Still, that's better than forty-four, like my sister."

"Chest under the bust, thirty-two, as usual." Veronica tapped on her teeth
with her pencil, then tugged experimentally at Adele's well-laden bra. "This
one's holding up well."

"Two months old, this one," Adele confirmed.

"Let's go for it, then. Hold still." The tape went round the girl's bust.
"Hmm-mmm. You're an inch or so bigger than a month ago, but that's neither
here nor there, given how big you are. Take your bra off, and I'll measure you
in all the other directions." She watched critically as Adele unhooked and
unloaded herself, carefully lowering her breasts to their full length. They
rested low down on her stomach, wobbling softly. "You can choose your material
after I've done this. I've got some new stretchy shiny stuff that looks rather
nice in larger sizes. And you're certainly one of those. I wouldn't swear to
it, but this is probably the biggest bikini I've ever made."

"I shall disguise myself, of course," Gabriel announced loftily. "Angels
aren't a common sight around high schools. I'll have a word with
Transformations and see if they have anything my size."

"Can they do anything about your nose?" asked Jesus.

"He could go as a scaly anteater," suggested God.

"It's not a fancy dress ball," Gabriel complained. "This is a serious mission.
Apart from anything else, it will show You the folly of your dispensing with
the services of valuable members of Your organisation. What about cash?"

"Cash? Angels don't need money." "This one does. I'll be disguised as a mere
mortal. A school student. I will need lots of pocket money for Coke,
magazines, Chinese take-aways, CD's, tampons..."

"Tampons? You're going as a girl?"

"Of course. How else can I get close enough to the objects of my scrutiny. I
need to get right into their changing rooms, their bedrooms..."

"Give him fifty, Jesus..."

"Fifty won't keep me going for more than a couple of days. Make it two
hundred."

"One hundred."

"One seventy-five."

"One fifty."

Gabriel grumbled as he counted the grubby notes before tucking them under his
left wing. "I'll see You next week sometime."

"There's a new girl starting in our class today. I just saw her in the
office." Adele was chirping with excitement.

"Funny time to start school," said Rochelle. "We go on holiday in three
weeks."

"She must have just moved into the town."

"What's she look like?" Emily Thorpe wanted to know.

"I didn't get much of a look at her. Blonde, a big nose..."

"What about her figure, Adele?" Emily drawled. "Another skinny lizzie, or has
she got a body, like us?"

Adele looked the Page Three Star up and down. "Like yours, you mean, or like
mine?"

"How big are her boobs?"

"I couldn't see them," Adele admitted. "I was only passing the door. Miss
Ambrose said she was in our class and we'd be meeting her at ten o' clock."

"Another half an hour," said Rochelle, and added under her breath, "I hope
she's got a huge arse."

At that moment, Gabrielle was completing the formalities. "Mother's maiden
name was Gates," she improvised. "Pearl E Gates."

"Pearly Gates?" said the school secretary. "And you're Gabrielle Angelo? How
heavenly!"

"I suppose it is," admitted Gabrielle, who hadn't heard that one for at least
fifty years. "I hadn't thought of it before."

"No doubt your new classmates will enjoy the joke. Your classroom is 14E, over
in the next block. Miss Ambrose is your Form Teacher." She watched as
Gabrielle stood up, rather unsteady on her two-inch heels. The unaccustomed
footwear caused Gabrielle to stick out her generous rump in one direction and
her much more than generous bosom in another. "Golly," said the secretary.
"You've got a pair there! You don't get many of them to the pound. Are they
real?"

Gabrielle suspected she had overdone things a little in the voluptuousness
stakes. She'd asked Puberty for a decent set of breasts, and hadn't really
thought too much about it when she'd tried them on in the low-G conditions up
in Heaven. Down here, she realised, carrying a pair of melons like these was
no joke. They wobbled all over the place. She'd kill that Barnett when she got
back home. He'd insisted these were the standard breast equipment for a
fifteen-year-old English schoolgirl. They were at least three times as big as
any others she had seen in her first half hour at the school, and they were
infinitely bigger than the school secretary's. But then, Gabrielle reflected,
it was variety such as this that made life so interesting. When the management
had Its way, all girls would be the same size. Like identical twins. Well,
like some identical twins.

She found the classroom and paused outside the door. This was a new experience
for her, meeting a bunch of mortals for the first time. She looked down at
herself. Barnett had definitely overdone the breasts. A group of boys had
passed her in the corridor and their eyes had nearly popped out of their
heads. The school uniform consisted of an appallingly tight blouse, what
seemed to be a quarter-cup platform bra, a pair of panties that were doing
their best to crawl into every fundamental orifice she possessed and - just
about concealing them - a navy blue pleated skirt apparently tailored for a
girl no more than four feet tall.

And surely, Transformations hadn't got the footwear right. These heeled shoes
were designed to cripple her, and as for these black stockings with that
elaborate device to hold them up...

She was on the point of fleeing to call Heaven and get transformed into
something else when the classroom door opened.

"Ah, you must be Gabrielle! Come in and meet your new friends." There was no
escape. Gabrielle followed the teacher into the room, where a sudden stunned
silence turned into a succession of gasps, cries of astonishment, whistles and
catcalls. Not all of these came from the boys. She stood at the front of the
class looking round helplessly. The rest of the girls seemed far less
overdressed. Mystifyingly, they wore their shirts outside their skirts. Most
of them seemed to be wearing flat shoes and white ankle socks, although one
girl in the front row had black stockings on. She also had a very large bust,
which was a slight comfort to Gabrielle, but not much; despite being very
large, it wasn't remotely near as big as hers.

"Hi," the girl said languidly, "my name's Emily Thorpe. Are those things
real?"

Gabrielle was puzzled. How could they not be real? But this was God's
favourite, Emily Thorpe! He'd done a good job, Gabrielle had to admit. But
where were those twins? She looked further back in the classroom. Ah, there,
at the back. Two identical faces, framed by dark hair. Gabrielle recalled the
dark hair clearly. It had been an ideal opportunity to shift that surplus
straight black pubic hair that had been hanging around the warehouse for
months. And it wasn't completely out of order. The twins were, after all,
praying for secondary sexual characteristics. That included pubic hair.

"There's a spare seat at the back, Gabrielle," said the teacher. "Next to
Rochelle Murchison. Rochelle's the dark haired girl on the left."

Another disturbing thought occurred to Gabrielle. As Gabriel, he hadn't been
unduly concerned when Transformations had told him that there were lots and
lots of Asian families in England. He would blend in quite nicely, they said.
Now, confronted by this class of determinedly Anglo-Saxon youth, Gabrielle
wondered exactly where Transformations got their data. Gabrielle's appearance
was certainly Asian, but she clearly wasn't from the Indian sub-continent. She
was unarguably Japanese.

No wonder the class seemed surprised when this admittedly beautiful but
staggeringly well-developed Japanese girl suddenly appeared in their midst. A
blonde Japanese girl, too. Most remarkable.

Gabrielle sat down at the vacant desk. She was going to have some explaining
to do. So whose brilliant idea had this been?

They surrounded her at break time. Questions flew at her from all
directions...

"Where do you live?"

"Does your dad have a fish and chip shop?"

"Nah, she's Japanese, not Chinese."

"How can you tell?"

"Isn't Gabrielle a funny name for a Japanese girl?"

"Are those things real?"

Real or not, they were wretchedly uncomfortable. There was a chunk of wire in
this stupid bra digging into her tits. How did girls manage to carry these
things round all day? The answer to that one seemed to be that most of them
didn't. Only two girls in the class did. Emily's were quite a bit smaller, and
she seemed to have hers more or less tamed. The other pair belonged to one of
the identical twins - Shel was it? Or Del? And that was deeply worrying for
Gabrielle. The other identical twin had no tits at all. She had a bum like
twin pumpkins, but no tits. All those prayers, God's own hand signing the
requisitions, personal intervention by the Son of Man - and we had one
identical twin with no tits at all, and the other with a pair that was
beginning to make Gabrielle worryingly moist between her legs.

"That's all I need," she muttered. "Transformations have made me a sodding
lesbian!"

"We've got games this afternoon," they told her. "Did you bring your kit?"

"Nobody told me..."

"You can borrow some of mine..."

"And mine..."

"And mine..."

And so it was, after a seriously unappetising lunch, that Gabrielle found
herself in the girls' changing room, inspecting a musty pile of sportswear
donated by girls of a range of sizes.

"Are you going to get changed, or what?" Emily was asking her. "Last one out
on the field has to do a lap of the track."

"Running?" gasped Gabrielle, who hadn't run for a thousand years.

"Unless you can sprout wings and fly, yeah..."

Emily wasn't going anywhere until she'd seen the contents of Gabrielle's bra,
that much was clear. The buttons were tight, and they got tighter the more of
them she undid. The last three went 'brrrp' and ripped themselves open,
revealing Gabrielle's breasts supported on their absurd platform.

Emily went very red and turned away. The rest of the girls gasped.

The twin with the breasts came over. "You're enormous. I never thought I'd
ever see anyone nearly as big as me. My personal bra-maker says I'm the
biggest fifteen-year-old she's ever seen in her whole experience. I was the
biggest ten-year-old, too, and the biggest eleven-year-old, and the biggest
twelve-year-old, and the biggest thirteen-year-old and the biggest fourteen-
year-old, too. My bust measurement is..."

"Are you girls going to get outside?" It was the hoarse voice of the PE and
Games teacher. She burst into the rapidly emptying changing room and
confronted Gabrielle, fists on hips. There was a faint dew of sweat on the
teacher's dark moustache. Her nipples seemed to be boring holes in her shirt.
"What have we here?" she said. "A new girl? And such a pretty one, too." She
placed a hand under Gabrielle's chin and smiled menacingly into her face.
"Japanese, too." And to Gabrielle's horror, the teacher barked out a series of
the most terribly aggressive sounds. "Hai!" she concluded.

"I... I don't speak J... Japanese," she stammered.

"You don't speak Japa...? Get outside! At once!"

Gabrielle scrambled into a borrowed T-shirt and shot out of the door into the
blinding sunshine. Only when she was outside, with the Games teacher inches
behind her, did she realise that she shouldn't really be trying to run without
a proper sports bra on.

"Why didn't you wear a proper bra instead of that stupid platform thing,
silly?" It was the titless twin, leaning over Gabrielle as she sat sobbing in
the changing room. The other girls had changed and gone home. "My sister says
it's impossible even to walk without a bra, now. I know she's bigger than you,
but not that much."

Gabrielle looked up. The tall girl's huge bottom blocked out the light from
the window. "She's your twin sister?"

"We used to be identical," Rochelle shrugged. "I'm still waiting for my share.
Waiting, and praying. I sometimes wonder if Anyone's listening."

"Of course They're listening!" Gabrielle said with such vehemence that
Rochelle took a step back.

"You must have done a lot of praying for yours," she said. "They're enormous,
especially for a delicate little Oriental girl."

"I didn't have to pray, they just arrived. But you mean you've been praying,
too?"

"Me and Adele. Every night. All I've got to show for it is a huge arse. She's
got the biggest tits you ever saw, amazing nipples and enough pubic hair to
stuff a pillow. At least, I don't envy her that." Rochelle raised an arm and
displayed a tastefully neat little tuft of dark fur. "Where did you say you
lived?"

"I didn't." Another little detail neglected by Transformations. Gabrielle had
not been provided with a family nor a home to go to. 'Not really worth it for
a week, is it?' they'd said.

"You could come home to tea with me, if you like. Use our phone to ring home
and explain..."

"Tea?" Gabrielle screwed up her nose. "You drink tea?"

"It's more the name of a meal, really. Like dinner. It's Monday. We've got
shepherd's pie."

It sounded vaguely unpalatable, but Gabrielle realised she was quite hungry.
She'd had a plate of manna at breakfast time, and a glass of milk and honey,
but nothing since. "It doesn't have pork in it, does it?"

"Pork? I don't think so."

"Good! Okay, thanks." She loaded herself on to her quarter-cups again while
Rochelle watched.

"I bet Del's got an old bra that would fit you. You can try one on later.
Mum's picking me up from the gates in ten minutes. Come on!"

Gabrielle took the girl's big comforting hand. Giggling, they went outside.

"And this is our bedroom," Rochelle announced, flinging the door open with a
flourish.

"You pray from in here?" Gabrielle looked around the room, bright with posters
and trophies. "Where's Adele?"

"Probably out with the boys. She spends a lot of time with boys, these days."
Rochelle picked up the TV remote from a tangle of outrageously large bras on
the top bunk and switched on. An Australian soap appeared, with two
fit-looking schoolgirls wearing what seemed to be the uniform of supermarket
checkout operators. They were standing sideways talking to each other, taking
it in turns to breathe deeply.

"Does she sleep on the top bed?" asked Gabrielle. "Where do you pray?"

Rochelle looked at her curiously. "Down here. Side by side."

Gabrielle inspected the spot; holding up her hands to form a frame like a
movie director, she peered in various directions. "Should be all right. Is
that window double glazed?"

"Yes, they both are. Hey, what's this all about?"

"Nothing. Just checking." The angel knelt beside the bunk beds and checked the
view from down there. "You kneel on the left or the right?"

"The right. That way, Del's closer to the ladder. What is all this...?"

But Gabrielle had clasped her hands together, screwed her eyes shut and rolled
her head back to stare blindly at the ceiling. "Oh, Lord," she intoned, "This
is a test. Hello? One two, one two... Mary had a little lamb, it's fleece
was... stand by one, Heaven." She listened for a while. "Roger. We're
listening. Call You later." She scrambled to her feet and adjusted the
wrinkled knees of her black stockings. "How can you kneel down in these
things?" she enquired.

"We don't," said Rochelle faintly. "We pray in our underwear. Or our
nighties." She gasped suddenly and continued with sudden interest. "Are those
real stockings and suspenders? I thought they were when you were in the
changing rooms. We all wear tights." Rochelle giggled. "Those things are
really sexy! Where did you get them?"

"They're what I was given," Gabrielle protested. She lowered her absurdly
short skirt, which she had unthinkingly raised to make adjustments to the
crotch of her panties.

"That's a very short skirt," said Rochelle, her voice becoming sad. "It's the
shortest school skirt I've ever seen. I couldn't wear one that short. My
bottom's so huge."

"Big bottoms are sexy," Gabrielle assured her. "God's got a soft spot for
girls with really big bottoms."

Rochelle didn't have time to comment on this revealing statement as Mrs
Murchison called up the stairs. "Dinner's ready, Shel. Come on down. Wash your
hands first."

"Hey, Lord, You screwed up, bigtime!" Gabrielle knelt beside the narrow bed in
the spare room. "These Murchison twins of Yours, Jesus didn't sort them out at
all. He's made things worse. One of them's still flat as a board, and the
other one's got tits out to here and then some. This is just to tell You that
You can't implement the new regime until this lot's been put right. You can't
reduce the big one, Adele. You've got to get Rochelle up to the same size
before You can do anything. Okay?" Gabrielle tried to remember if there was
anything else worth complaining about, but decided against mentioning the
matter of Adele's pubic hair. She still shuddered at the memory of the waste
paper bin in the twins' bedroom, half filled with Adele's discarded fur. No,
nothing else to report. "This is the Angel Gabrielle, England, Earth, signing
off and clear, listening on this frequency for a short while then going to
bed. My tits are still sore. Laters."

"Well, what do You make of that, then?" said God, pressing the stop button on
the prayer recorder.

"Christ knows," said Jesus. "Gabriel's stores must have messed it up. All I
ever did was equalise these Murchison twins."

"Well, You obviously haven't equalised them. They're worse than ever, now."
His fingers longingly strayed over the recorder's buttons again. "Gabrielle
didn't mention any of the numbers, did she?"

"The numbers, Dad?"

"Bust sizes."

"No, why?"

"Pity. It's not important. Not really. I just like to hear the numbers, that's
all. There's nothing quite as arousing as a good old 52-25-37, I always
say..."

"She's got to be miles bigger than that now. She was fifty-two inches when she
was ten, wasn't she?"

"Wow!" said God weakly. "Miles bigger? Are miles bigger than kilometres?
Well," He pulled Himself together with an effort. "We'll just have to leave it
to the angel on the ground, and hope it works itself out. I'm not best
pleased, though, Son, let me tell you. It's a pretty poor show all round. No
wonder people are turning to Islam, left, right and centre. Still, I'd better
be making a move."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm seeing Allah for drinks. We'll probably end up trying all the pubs in the
Firmament. You know what He's like. Later. Don't wait up for Me. Just make
sure You do something about those Murchison girls. Tonight, okay?"

"Gabrielle's a strange girl, Del." The twins were undressing for bed. "I asked
her if she wanted to call her Mum, but she said she wouldn't be able to get
through. Something about the propagation conditions not being suitable for
reliable communications after dark. She said it would be all right."

Adele carefully eased herself out of her bra and massaged the broad red
strap-marks on her shoulders, concentrating deeply. "Has she gone home?"

"No, she said she was tired so Mum made up a bed in the spare room for her.
She went to bed at half past nine."

Adele was rubbing her enormous nipples, rolling them around and squashing them
with both hands into the resilient cushion-sized mounds of her breasts. "She's
got big tits for a Japanese girl. Funny, though, she doesn't sound Japanese.
She doesn't call herself Gabrieru, or anything."

"Yeah, and she can say Rochelle, too. It's funny..."

"What's funny?" Adele bounced her globes together and studied the effect with
satisfaction.

Rochelle tried not to watch as her sister lowered her breasts carefully to
their resting place. She was forced to shut her eyes when Adele apparently
changed her mind and lifted one of them up again, scratching her ear with the
protuberant nipple. Rochelle shuddered involuntarily. "She kept asking loads
of questions about where we said our prayers."

"And you told her?" Adele's voice was strangely muffled, and her twin knew
without looking that it was because she had a mouth full of nipple. "Whaddya
do that for? It will be all over the school tomorrow that we still say our
prayers every night. We'll be the laughing stock of the whole school."

Rochelle frowned. "No, Gabrielle says her prayers, too. She even knelt down
just there and said a little prayer herself. She looked so sweet: like a real
little angel."

"She was winding you up! What did she ask for? Bigger tits? She doesn't need
bigger tits."

"She didn't ask for anything. She was just... like... testing. Like she was
testing a microphone. One two, one two, Mary had a little lamb. Stuff like
that."

"You're so gullible, sis! You can't see when a girl's trying to wind you up."
She pulled her T-shirt over her head and stretched it across the swollen
mounds of her vast bosom. Her nipples stuck out as if there were a couple of
hitch-hikers in there with her. As she climbed the ladder, she revealed a
glimpse of hairy crotch which was within the bikini line and had thus evaded
the razor. Panting slightly, she sat on the bed, spread her legs in a somewhat
lewd gesture and, holding her mighty bust out of the way, brushed her pubic
hair into a black silken pony tail which she secured for the night with a pink
ribbon.

Rochelle regarded her with distaste. "Aren't you going to the bathroom?"

"I've been. I went as soon as I got in. I needed a piss after that lot. Those
boys..."

Her sister didn't want to hear about those boys. She grabbed her towel and
hurried out.

By the time Rochelle got back from her ablutions, her sister was sound asleep
on her back, snoring. She lay on top of the bed, uncovered. Her T- shirt had
ridden up, exposing her appallingly furry muff with its incongruous pink
ribbon. Her enormous breasts rose and fell like a pair of gas bags attached to
some elephantine breathing apparatus.

Rochelle was tempted to go straight to bed herself, but something stopped her.
She knelt by the lower bunk, bowing her head and closing her eyes. Then she
opened them, looked around furtively, and shuffled along to her left, in the
spot usually reserved for Adele.

At last, with a feeling of warmth and security, she turned out the light,
prodded Adele's bottom with a finger until her snoring stopped, and climbed
into bed.

Jesus turned off the recorder and scratched His head. It was strange. Only one
Murchison twin praying tonight. More or less the usual stuff, but delivered
with a lot more passion and commitment. He double-checked the absolute global
positional vector coordinates of the prayer-point. It had definitely been
Adele. The one with the tits, according to Gabrielle. Maybe the other one had
given up in disgust. He couldn't really blame her, after all.

Jesus had already pulled a pad of special requisition forms across the desk.
He paused. If it really had been the one with the tits, praying for even
bigger ones - in fact, according to the tape, praying for a set at least four
times as big as she already had - the girl needed to be taught a severe
lesson. Or maybe not. Maybe Gabriel - Gabrielle - was feeding back duff
information. Perhaps deliberately, to try and cover up the balls-ups in the
Puberty Department. It was a typical smart-arse Gabriel trick.

Fair enough. Two could play at that little game. Jesus picked up the pen and
considered briefly. He checked the database records one more time, then began
to fill in the form in a large, rounded hand. Ten minutes later, He selected a
rubber stamp, inked it and brought it down with an air of finality on the
completed forms.

URGENT

DEVELOPMENTAL

REQUIREMENT

The bell tinkled as Mrs Murchison closed the shop door. "She'll be out in a
moment, dear."

The girl stared around the minimally-furnished shop. A couple of scantily-
clad manikins stood in challenging poses. They wore sturdy yet alluring
brassieres with matching briefs. The girl found herself wondering if the
transparent crotch piece of those briefs wasn't perhaps just a little too
skimpy and revealing for a real woman. At least, the bras seemed capable
enough, like Adele's. Her mother smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

"Nothing to be nervous about, love. All girls have to have their first bra
sometime." The difference was that all girls didn't get their first bras from
a custom bra maker called Susan Shaw at Discoveries. It was to be expected,
Mrs Murchison thought with a sigh. Rochelle had waited a long time for this
moment, and she had a lot of catching up to do. Well, now she was doing it -
in spades.

"I wish I had a friend to keep me company," Rochelle sighed.

"Emily?" Rochelle shook her head vehemently. "Gabrielle, perhaps? Strange how
she had to go back to Japan after just a week. She'd have come with you. I
wonder where she bought her bras from..."

"She never said. She didn't really tell me anything about herself or her
family. It's as if she was never really here." The girl had an urge to lift
her skirt and scratch herself down below, and wondered if Adele felt as itchy
as this every time she'd shaved her pubic hair. Rochelle gasped. A door had
opened silently and an elegant woman had glided in.

"Mrs Murchison! Good to see you again so soon. And this must be the long- lost
Rochelle!" Rochelle blushed and nodded. The woman was looking her up and down
as if sizing her up for a meal. "Come through into the back room and we'll
take a few measurements. My, but you're a big girl, certainly. Larger in the
hips than your sister, but you're tall enough to carry it off. Up top, you
must be nearly as big as Adele already!"

"Well, not exactly," said Mrs Murchison hesitantly as they followed Miss
Twizzell down the corridor. "You see, Rochelle's had this sudden enormous
growth spurt, right enough. The trouble is, poor Adele's had a growth spurt,
too!"

The End