RETURN OF THE GOLDEN GOOSE

by Some Sort of Dog
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 29:- All On A Sunny Morning


 
 
  Jacqui sorted through the newly-washed pile of baby clothes, holding them against her cheek to see if they were properly dry. Her mistress carried on as if she wasn't there.
"It's all very well for you, Maxwell, you don't have to face the wrath of the master. He'll throw me out, this time." Maxwell's expression gave nothing away. "He'll throw us both out." Maxwell suddenly looked concerned. He glanced at Jacqui, who lowered her eyes and blushed.
"It'll be all right, ma'am," the chauffeur had paused with his trousers round his knees. He now continued pulling them up and tucking in his shirt. "The master will understand. He knows you're a woman with unusual appetites."
"Huh." Charlotte was unconvinced by Maxwell's airy confidence. "He's my daddy. It was bad enough with the twins. He's not going to take it lying down this time. Is he?" She wanted genuine reassurance, not warm words and false hopes. It was no use. She had tried turning to Maxwell before for support, but he simply retired behind the shield of their mistress and servant relationship. Jacqui was a help, but neither of them was fluent enough in the other's language to talk deeply about such matters. "I'm going for a shower," Charlotte said glumly. "By the time I've finished, Daddy will have gone to the city. Are you driving him to the station?"
"Yeah. The eleven twenty-three."
"You won't say anything ...?" Maxwell's face was a mask. Charlotte gathered her dressing gown as far around her as it would go, and lumbered out to the bathroom, feeling distinctly unhappy.
Jacqui turned quickly and started putting the baby clothes in the chest of drawers.
"Non! She may come out."
"Nah, she's in the shower, listen." The water was running. Charlotte didn't sing in the shower these days, but she still liked to spend twenty minutes under the hot water. It was something Jacqui found mysterious. Showers were for her an essential chore, undertaken only in extremis.
"Ou, Short'ouse. Non!" She shuddered and relaxed in his embrace.
"C'mon, love. Just time for a quickie. Not in here, though." He looked round anxiously as if the mistress might indeed suddenly reappear, then took the nanny by the hand and dragged her out of the room, up the back stairs and into his own bedroom. Jacqui offered no more than token resistance. In fact, they both ran the last ten yards and she arrived first, hardly panting. In fairness, Maxwell had been trying to remove his trousers as he ran. She dragged him to the narrow bed on top of her, hiking up her skirt and spreading her legs in one practised movement.
"Mmmm! Short'ouse. Come inside me, quickly!"
After a lifetime of service, Maxwell knew the voice of authority when he heard it. He plunged down on to her and they coupled, efficently, like rutting animals. It didn't take long.
"'Ave we time to do it again?" Jacqui asked, already planning ahead as Maxwell humped against her in a last ragged rhythm and collapsed with his head on her flat chest, twitching slightly.
He panted, unable to reply. Despite her furious action over the past three minutes, Jacqui had scarcely broken sweat. Sweat was very much the operative word when it came to Jacqui. The nanny was an earthy girl. He slipped out of her, feeling her strong nanny's hand on him, milking the last drops. He suspected she rubbed his semen into the dense and spreading mat of her pubic hair rather than wash it off. Certainly there was enough hair there to soak it up.
"She'll be out of the shower in a minute. Come on back down to the bedroom."
They were barely in time. Charlotte emerged, wrapped in a huge towel, rubbing her hair with another. She found Maxwell and Jacqui still in the same positions as they had been twenty minutes before: Maxwell still apparently buttoning his shirt, Jacqui still folding baby clothes. There was a totally unmistakeable smell of recent sex in the air. Charlotte sat on the bed, and ran her hand across the sheet. It was quite dry, and quite cool. Perhaps she was mistaken after all. Becoming a suspicious old biddy.
"I'll be leaving, then ma'am," said Maxwell, reaching for his jacket and peaked cap. He bent and kissed Charlotte on the cheek, then silently left the room.
Jacqui put the last of the baby clothes back in the drawer.
"Come and dry my hair, Jacqui, please."
"Yes, madame."
Fortunately, Charlotte's hair was hanging down across her face when Jacqui discovered a trickle of Maxwell's potent seed coursing down her inner thigh. She moved quickly round behind Charlotte's back. Then she snared the drop of juice with a long finger and popped it into her mouth before the mistress could even suspect anything.
 
 
  Lucy quickly checked her appearance before she went to open the front door. It would have to do. Her T-shirt could have done with a bit more soapy water around the front, but the effect wasn't too bad overall. The yellow of the bra showed nicely through the soaking material. Her nipples were — she had to admit — beautifully erect. She tugged the hem of the shirt down a bit more tightly so it clung to her bottom. Her little bare feet pattered on the floor as she went down the hallway and flung the front door open, aware that she was lit from behind by the sun streaming in through the kitchen window.
"Mr F ... Buckmaster! Come on in."
Bert's eyes had widened instantly. He had long been an admirer of Laura. He had, in fact, been one of the first beneficiaries of Laura's payment system. He had seen Donna from a distance and stared at her, just as most people did. His dealings with Donna had always been strictly honorable. Now, the door had opened and he found himself on the front doorstep clutching his toolbag, not five feet from the biggest pair of tits he had ever seen in his life.
They thrust out at him like ... like ... like tits. They were beyond his comprehension. And they were attached to a kid who only came up to here on him, a kid with dirty blonde hair and a wet T-shirt clinging to her like a second skin.
On due consideration, they were probably not as big as young Donna's, after all. Not quite. Although he hadn't seen young Donna for a few months, not as close as this. And young Donna had been muffled up against the cold, not like this brazen hussy.
"Come in," said Lucy, standing aside for him, but not very far aside. Bert squeezed past. The girl was dripping soapy water, yet he could feel the warmth radiating from her enormous ... her gigantic tits.
"Isn't anyone else in?"
"I told you. Only me. And you, now. I'm soaked, Mr Buckmaster. Sorry!"
Bert went through into the kitchen and took in the scene. "You left it runnin'! The washin' machine."
"Yeah?" Lucy said as if realising her mistake. "It leaked at first, but after I rang you, it didn't seem to be coming out any more. So I left it running. It's full of my shirts and pants and stuff. My knickers." She stood before him with one of her breasts only just touching his leg, burning a hole in it just above the knee. He tried to back away, but the breast stayed right with him all the way.
"I'll have a look at your pipe," he muttered, sidling round her and kneeling down in the water to reach into the cupboard. Lucy followed, bending over to see what he was doing.
"If I watch you, I'll be able to do it myself next time, won't I? Is it very hard, Mr Buckmaster?" Her breast squashed itself against his shoulder. She jerked back as if in embarrassment, but a second later she was happily sitting beside him in the sudsy water. Any part of her shirt which had been dry before certainly wasn't dry any more.
"S'funny. Your pipe's not leakin'. How long did it take for this lot to come out?"
"Ooh, it was very quick," she answered honestly. "Only a couple of minutes. It was all dry, then suddenly it was all wet." She splashed closer to him and peered into the cupboard, seeing nothing she recognised, but feeling her bosom wrap itself around Mr Buckmaster's face. He emitted a bleating noise and backed out. Lucy looked at him around the mountain of her left breast. "Couldn't you see anything in there, Mr Buckmaster? Is the poor machine unhappy?"
He stood up and reached around the side of the washing machine, which was chuntering smoothly away to itself. If ever there was a happy washing machine, this was it. He pulled it forward, and it slid smoothly out of its little alcove without protest. Back on his knees again, he groped behind it, feeling for leaking hoses. The machine stopped chuntering and went into its spin.
"I like it when it does this," Lucy shouted over the machine's joyous howling. She placed both hands on top and pressed herself intimately against a corner of the wobbling, vibrating appliance.
Bert emerged from behind the thing, wiping his hands, to see Lucy with her eyes shut tight, rubbing herself up and down on the now frenzied machine. Her breasts rested on the lid like two prize pumpkins inside her sopping shirt, ablur with the motion. He reached out and hit the stop button. The machine slowed and stopped, and Lucy opened her eyes, blinking.
"It's stopped," she pointed out sadly.
"I stopped it. I dunno what you're playin' at, young lady, but I can't find nothin' wrong with this machine. It's sound as a drum. Tight as a bell." Neither seemed quite right.
Lucy pulled herelf together and undulated closer. "You can see all the water, Mr Buckmaster. Where could it have come from if the machine wasn't leaking? You think I poured it down there?"
Bert had no answer.
"You seem to have fixed it, anyway, Mr Buckmaster. You're ever so clever." She rested her rump on the machine, groped for the switch and turned it on. The revolutions mounted. "Oooh, it's working again. Lucy's clever, too!" She appeared to be enjoying the spin cycle as much as the machine was. Suddenly she stood upright. "I'm so wet. Look at me!" and she tugged the bottom of her shirt up, revealing the undersides of her mammoth yellow bra cups. Bert didn't know where to look. He tore his eyes from the bra, only to find them resting lower down. Lucy had neglected to wear panties this morning. "Sorry!" She pulled it down again. "All my knickers are in the machine. The sooner it finishes, the sooner I can make myself decent again. Do you want me to be decent, Mr Buckmaster?"
"I ... I ... I got to go. Mop the water up and tell me if it leaks again." He scooped up his toolbag and started to back out. He was sweating noticeably.
"But I haven't paid you yet." Lucy followed him urgently down the hallway. She squeezed past and leaned against the front door. "I ought to pay you, bringing you out here for a little thing like this."
"It's all right. It was nothin'. There's no charge."
"You can't work for nothing, Mr Buckmaster. I know I'm not very big..." She ran her hands down the hugely convex sides of her shirt. "But I am in business, though. It's taken you half an hour. You have to charge something for half an hour's work. An hour, maybe."
"No, I'll make it up on me other jobs. I'm very busy today. I 'ave to go."
Lucy didn't budge. "Maybe I could get Mrs Fielding to write a cheque and I could bring it out to your house. If you're not there, I could give it to Adrian. Or to Mrs Buckmaster, perhaps. I'll tell her how clever you were, fixing Lucy's nasty leaky wet pipe for her in only five minutes."
Bert groaned.
"Or I could pay you now, couldn't I?"
Poor Bert Buckmaster was only human after all.
 
 
  Lucy happily mopped the last of the suds from the kitchen floor and emptied the machine into the basket. Out in the sunshine, her T- shirt already almost drying on her warm body, she pegged out a sparkling row of extremely large shirts and decidedly small panties.
Who'd ever have thought it of Mr Buckmaster? Bert, she would have to call him, now they were such good friends. Who would have thought he would have gone in for such unusual practices as those? Not even Maxwell had showed her things like that. Certainly, Lucy still itched with unfulfilled lust — she would have preferred to end the session with a good, straight, brains-out, mindless fuck — but Bert had gone off home to lie down for a couple of hours, and Lucy had two crisp twenty pound notes tucked in her cleavage. Things could be worse.
She hung up the last of her panties and picked up the empty basket. Rachel followed her into the kitchen, content to come back into the house now it was no longer a place of such perversion.
There was a large cream cake in the fridge. She cut herself a generous slice and took a huge bite.
"Ouch, this bra's so tight," Lucy grunted. She peeled off her shirt and wrestled with the shoulder straps for a while, succeeding in getting some relief by lowering her breasts an inch or two. "It must have shrunk with all that soapy water."
But the itch between her legs was getting the better of her. She hurried into her bedroom, shut the door and after a minute or so of grunting, unhooked her still-damp yellow bra and laid it on the bed. Within seconds, juices were literally gushing around her busy hand.
 
 
  Charlotte dismissed Jacqui to see to the twins, then sat and wondered for a few minutes before picking up the phone. Perhaps Maggie would know somebody who could help.
"She's not here, Charlotte. This is Wilma. Can I help?"
Charlotte explained in a very few words.
"Charlotte, not again! Your bust isn't any bigger yet, is it?"
Charlotte tartly enquired whether 175 inches wasn't big enough for her.
"It was you I was thinking of, not just the readers of HUMUNGOUS! It's a lot of weight to carry round with you."
Charlotte said she appreciated the kind thought and asked if Maggie could possibly call her when she got in. In a foul mood, she bellowed for Jacqui.
 
 
  Lucy rolled over and sat up. It took three attempts before she could overcome the huge weight of her breasts. She counted on the fingers of her right hand. One, two, three times this morning in bed. Once on the washing machine, once at the front door and four times while Mr Buckmaster was doing what he liked doing. Then five times just now, including one absolutely major squirter. Fourteen comes, and it wasn't even midday yet. What was more, she hadn't really been laid yet.
"Wow! That was close! What if I had fucked Mr Buckmaster? I didn't take any pills this morning." She opened her dressing table drawer and took out the little packet. "Tuesday. Fuck it. No more Tuesdays left. Bugger that Trigger, using up all my Tuesdays." She thought about it for a while, then popped open one of the other days. She had plenty of Thursdays left. She slid the Thursday out of its hole and rolled it around on the palm of her hand. Then she dropped it into the empty Tuesday space. It fitted neatly and showed no discomfort nor objection. "Gosh, look! A Tuesday pill."
She took it out and swallowed it.
There might be some action down the pub of a lunchtime. The yellow bra was almost dry. She fastened all the hooks, twizzled it round the right way, and fisted her breasts into the cups. It really had shrunk. Have to have a word with Mrs Danby about using material that shrunk after getting wet just once. Those shoulder straps needed lowering another inch, and now quite a lot of flesh was visible at the top of the cups. She was showing loads of cleavage. All the better.
She chose a yellow shirt with a rather low neckline, and admired the effect in the dressing table mirror, adjusting the neckline so it revealed not too much of the bra. Her two twenty pound notes fitted neatly into her taut creamy cleavage. No need for shoes, putting shoes on was too much like hard work. All ready for the pub. After some consideration, Lucy went out to the back garden and selected a pair of yellow panties from the clothes line, bending down right there to put them on.
Shorts, or just the shirt? Back indoors. Donna had just the thing, a pair of green shorts.
"Oof, these are a bit tight, Don!"
All ready this time. There was a large Cornish pastie in the fridge. Pity to let it go to waste.
Birds sang and the sun beat down on her bouncing mounded bosom as she padded off down the road.
She had gone more than half a mile before she realised that this old bra of Donna's couldn't really have shrunk this morning. It must have been washed dozens of times before. So what did that mean?
 
 
  "She was horrible, Mum! I'm not going back to her again. She wanted me to have them chopped off. She didn't actually say so, but you could tell that's what she meant all the time."
Mrs Danby drummed her fingers angrily on the workbench and snorted like a war-horse into the phone. Kay could imagine the expression on her face. She felt better already.
"Chop them off, is it? We'll see about that. Who was it? Dr Who?"
"No, not him. Dr Parkinson. A woman. A woman of some sort, anyway."
"Don't see her again, dear. Go and see my doctor. I'll get you fixed up with him. He's a lovely old bird, and he knows my history, so he'll understand. Now, I haven't seen you for a week. How's it going? How are you in yourself?"
What a strange expression that was, thought Kay. "I'm fine!" She realised she was, too. "Never felt better. A bit heavy up top, but..."
"Yes, love, sorry about that. I'm just finishing your bras off now. I got so tied up with that young Lucy last week, I got right behind with the rest of my work. I was spending more time just driving out to Laura Fielding's place than I was actually working. And the poor kid was growing faster than I could make bras for her."
"So how's she managing now? Has she stopped?" Kay felt happier talking about someone else's troubles.
"No. They haven't called me, but Lucy's getting so big now, she's able to get into some of young Donna's old bras. We're all grateful that girl never throws anything away. She's still got every bra I ever made for her. Lucy will be okay until she catches up, God forbid."
"Are any of my bras any use for her? I've still got a few old ones."
"No, wrong size altogether. Donna and Lucy are both tiny things. In fact, although Donna's only four feet ten tall, Lucy's much shorter, but she's got a good bit more meat on her. But they are the same size body band, give or take half an inch or so. A good bit smaller than you round the chest. Mind you, Donna's up to over a hundred inches now, a hundred and six at the last count, so even if you had been as skinny as those two, your bras would be miles too small. Lucy's boobs are probably as big as yours already, and she was only ... you remember when you were up in the Lake District? She was a 26-W when I measured her that day. About forty-nine inches, there were then. They must be twenty inches bigger now!"
"They are?" Kay bit her lip. "How tall did you say she was?"
"I didn't. Only about four foot, four and a half. Funny little thing, like a pixie with giant tits. I quite like her, although you'd never think she was twenty. She's like a kid to talk to."
"Well, I'm sorry to be a burden to you at such a busy time, but I'm a growing girl as well at the moment. No belly yet, but..."
"Let me guess! Okay. If you're going to be in this afternoon, I'll drop these in on you. I'll grab a minute and see my doctor on the way round, and I'll give you his address and phone number." She held up one of Kay's new bras and inspected her workmanship. The cups seemed almost human in scale after working with some of Donna's and even Lucy's most recent one. Mrs Danby nodded, satisfied. "See you later, lovey."
 
 
  end Chapter 29