The Priming for Bigger Things
By Helia Melonowski 2006



"You look really good tonight, Helia," he said as he sat across the table from
me. His eyes briefly scanned my face and hair and shoulders, then quickly
dropped and rested predominantly on my chest.

"Thank you," I said fidgetting in my seat under his steady gaze. It always
made me a bit self-conscious when guys point-blank just stared at my breasts.
Mr. Deboer, my boss, was no exception.

My boss picked up the rocks glass which his cocktail was in—a whisky and cola
I believe—and took a long draw from it. The drink was his fourth since we'd
arrived at the restaurant—3 at the bar while we waited to be seated, 1 at the
table while we looked over the menu. It had been only 25 minutes between
entering the posh restaurant and being seated. I suspected he was already
feeling rather toasty.

"Helia, can I be upfront and blunt with you," Mr Deboer said, talking to my
breasts which bulged between the edge of the table and me. It was often like
sitting with two big pillows wedged between me and the opposing object.

"Sure. I guess," I said almost fearing what he was going to divulge.

"You are very attractive," he said finally tearing his gaze from my breasts. I
was wearing a white sweater that slightly vee'd at the neckline, showing the
start of what was a long line of cleavage. My ugly industrial-strength bra
which gave me the best support of all my big brassieres really held my huge
breasts aloft. Breastflesh bulged over the rim of the cups and could be seen
rising like breaddough in the pan against the cottony sweater fabric. My
nipples, which never went down from their semi-erect state, could just be seen
over the curve of each protrusion, for me anyway—Mr Deboer probably got the
best view of my hi-beams.

"Thank you, Mr Deboer. You really flatter me," I said with a slight blush to
my cheeks.

"Call me Will," he said.

"UH...okay...Will," I said. I really was nervous now.

"Would you take offense if I mentioned something about...your breasts?" he
asked as if he may be walking on thin ice.

"Uh, no. I guess not," I replied.

It was hard to not be distracted by my breasts. At 98-inches, the massive
bosoms looked to be all there was between collarbone and abdomen on me. I
didn't have a long torso, kind of squat in fact, so my huge bosoms filled me
out substantially up top. They were very wide and very long. I couldn't see my
feet if standing upright, and even bending forward I'd be lucky to catch a
glimpse of my shoe tips.

"I've always found you very attractive...intelligent and very attractive," Mr
Deboer, Will, said as his gaze dropped back to my chest.

"Uh...yeah. Thanks again," I replied feeling really odd. Odd from all his
compliments.

"Do you enjoy being busty, Helia? I mean, well, busty in your case is kind of
an understatement...but, do you enjoy being, uh, as big as you are?" Will
asked with his eyes fluttering from my face to my chest.

"Well, I've always been big...larger than most. There are times I hate being
this big, but then I'd say most of the time I don't mind. I don't think much
about it...they've grown on me I guess you could say." No pun intended.

Will's right hand disappeared under the table and he fidgetted as if he were
trying to adjust himself from some discomfort.

"So you would say you enjoy being as big as you are?" he said.

"Um, well...yeah. I guess so." I said not knowing what he really wanted me to
say or what he was getting at.

"So you don't have a problem with your current size? I mean, you have to
admit, those---those things are enormous," he said as he stared, transfixed
again.

"I'm ME. So, I guess, no. I don't have a problem being this big. I mean,
sometimes it's a pain in the office, working at a desk, they get in the
way—but you've been more than accomodating in that area—giving me a special
raised work desk and an angled work station." I said as I placed my hands on
my boobs, on their immense bulging sides, and ran my hands over the expanses.

"Does your doctor have any concerns about your size?" Mr Deboer asked.

"No. Not really. He just wants me to watch what I eat. Cut down on fatty
foods. Make sure I'm not eating anything that has been
chemically-enhanced—that's why I don't eat meat, beef—he's afraid even a bit
of something that has been injected with growth hormones might eek out into my
system," I told my boss.

"Do you recall how big you were when you started working for me?" he asked. He
seemed to know but he wanted me to answer.

"Still pretty darn huge. I think around 68JJ—if you're measuring in bra size,"
I said recalling those days. That size seemed SMALL in comparison to now.

"And you've been working with us for how long now? Six years?" he said.

"Yup. About that." I replied.

"So you've roughly gained about 5 inches a year. Your bust has gained 30
inches in 6 years," he said.

"I never thought much about it but it adds up. Gosh, what perks—a job and
bigger boobs," I said trying to be funny.

The waiter appeared and we re-focused our attention to the menu.

"I'll take the chicken and potatoes," Mr Deboer said.

"As usual," the waiter smiled.

"Same here. I'll get what I usually get each year—the salmon steak and a
tossed salad with Ranch dressing," I said.

The waiter thanked us, took the menus and turned to put our orders in. He
probably wondered why we even looked at the menus because every year, when Mr
Deboer treated me to an end-of-year holiday dinner, we'd come here and order
the same thing.

"So you've gained 30 inches in 6 years. Does that concern you?" he continued.

"No, I guess I just think it's natural, just how I'm built, how I'm supposed
to be," I said looking down at my jutting breasts. "Heck, in another six years
I might be another 30 inches bigger. WHOO! I'd be stupidly huge! Could you
imagine?" I said, again trying to be humorous.

The waiter came by and Mr Deboer ordered another drink for himself and me.

"Listen, Helia, what if I told you your growth—your bust growth—wasn't all
just a natural thing? And what if gaining another 30 inches, or 40, or 50
inches to your incredible bust size wouldn't be that hard to do—but in fact,
you could attain those sizes shortly," Mr Deboer said getting a weird gleam in
his eyes.

"Huh? What are you saying?" I said resting my hands on my breasts again.

"What if I told you that I've always been attracted to you, to your bust size,
ever since you started. In fact, I had you hired the minute you walked in to
interview because of your already large breasts. What if I told you I had and
have always been in close contact with your doctor? What if I told you I was
at fault for making your breasts bigger," Mr Deboer said sounding a little
maniacal.

"I'd say it all sounds kind of crazy," I said as the waiter brought our
drinks.

We sat silent for a few, then the waiter brought our dinners.

"Lemon butter on the fish, darling?" the waiter said as he usually did. He
held a small vial with a yellow oily substance.

"Sure, but just a little. You always overdo it." I told him as he began to
pour. He dowsed the fish until the thing could swim in it. "Um, like you
usually do." Luckily the stuff was still deliciously edible.

We ate. As usual, Mr Deboer watched me eat every bite. Not a morsel f food
wasted. I never did—he was paying and I felt maybe he'd take offense if I
didn't clean my plate like a good little girl. He even made me sup up all the
lemon butter with a slice of bread. My plate hardly looked eaten off from by
dinners end.

"So, getting back to our discussion," he said as the waiter cleared our plates
and brought us more to drink. I was getting a good wine buzz. "What if I told
you it's my fault your bust is so incredibly big and that I want you even
bigger?"

I looked at him long and hard. Was he serious?

"Helia, the food you've eaten every year here has been dowsed and injected
with special growth hormones. The hormones keep telling, keep tricking your
body into thinking you're going through puberty—that growth stage—again. You
were aleady big and I wanted to see what would happen. When you just kept
getting bigger and bigger—I kept doing it," he said matter of factly. "What
would you say, no knowing what you know, if I said I want you bigger still?"

Again, I placed my hands on my huge boobs and said, "These aren't big enough?"

"Helia, my dear, if you weren't seemingly continuously getting larger. If you
weren't growing at all...I would say, yes, maybe you are big enough and not
destined to get any larger," Mr Deboer said reaching across the table and
taking my hands in his. He held them tight. He looked into my eyes. "But you
haven't stopped. You can get bigger. I believe you can get bigger."

I looked at where the waiter had gone wit my nearly licked clean plate. Was it
the fish?

"Wh-what have you done?" I said pulling my hands from his. I felt my big boobs
again, as if maybe they might be growing as we spoke.

"The lemon butter. It was full of the growth hormone—probably the heaviest
dose yet, probably equal to all the years you've ingested it right here at
this table," Mr Deboer said now casting a glance at my huge boobs again.

"Oh gawd! What have you done to me?" I cried.

His hand disappeared below the table again and when it came back up, he held a
small box. He opened the box as it thrust it into view. It was a ring box and
held a ring with a huge diamond.

"Helia, I know I am old enough to be your father, but I want to marry you," he
said as he took my left hand and slipped the ring onto my ring finger. "You
don't have to work anymore. I'll give you a substantial spending allowance.
You can live at my spacious home. I have servants who will cater to your every
need."

"You want me to be housebound so my boobs will get bigger. You want me
housebound so you can make my boobs bigger," I stammered and eyed the huge
gleaming rock.

"Not bigger...colossal, massive, monstrous, bigger than imaginable," he said.

"But I'm already going to get bigger now with what you've just fed me. I have
no real choice," I said slightly flustered, feeling slightly trapped.

"You can go home now but I can assure you in a few days you may not be able to
even dress yourself," he said.

"I'm—I'm going to be gigantic!" I sobbed.

"You're already gigantic, Helia...you are going to be unearthly huge," he
finished. "So what do you say—marry me and grow into a woman I want you to be,
that you can be—or go home now," Mr Deboer said with a broad triumphant smile.

I looked at my boobs, then at him, then at the huge ring.

"Yes. I'll be yours," I said.

END