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Grown- Up Girls, Part One
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
GROWN-UP GIRLS
by Some Sort of Dog
WARNING: This story is for those readers over 18 years of age who have
no objection to reading about young women's breasts getting bigger. It
is a work of fiction, of fantasy, even. Everyone lives happily ever
after. None of the events described in this story actually took place,
to the undying regret of the author. No sexual acts are described as
taking place between adults and minors. No young women explode. Nobody
gets raped or killed. If you get off on that sort of thing, look
elsewhere; I hope you find it.
None of the characters in this story is real. Their names, no matter
how ordinary-sounding and everyday, are fictitious. Any resemblance to
any real person, living or dead, is unintentional.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of the characters in this story have appeared
previously in other stories. Tanya's Grandmother, Trudy, you may have
heard of before elsewhere. (She was born and brought up in the United
States.) Tanya, who appears in this story as a young mother of
twenty-one, first became known to our readers as 'Big Little Sister'
when she was only ten, and again in the next episode of the same saga,
four years later. (She also made a special guest appearance in 'Fifth
Form at St Cat's.) At that time, a number of readers were clamouring
for more news of Tanya. We told them that the story had then reached
the present day, so there wasn't yet any more to tell. Well, we lied.
Authors, living as they do in a dream-world, tell lies rather too
often. Here's Tanya again, seven relatively uneventful years later, in
another story narrated (mostly) by her older sister.
GROWN-UP GIRLS
by Some Sort of Dog
Part I
Chapter 1: Remember Me?
You might not remember me, but you will almost certainly remember
Tanya. She's unforgettable! Even though she's four years younger than
me, she's been my BIG little sister since she was ten. We're a lot
older now. I moved out of our parents' house to live with my
boyfriend, Paul, and our three little kids. They grow up so fast, you
only have to turn around and, whoosh, they're off to school.
How old are they now? I have to stop and work it out. Victoria's ten
now, quite the little lady, and the same age that Tanya was when I
first told you her story. Pansy's eight. Those of you who had a chance
to read about our formative years will perhaps be interested to hear
that there is a family resemblance!
And what about Tanya's little daughter, Suzanne? She's three months
younger than Pansy, but if you saw her walking down the road you'd
think she was older than Victoria! It's something in our genes, we
know now. Ever since Mum showed us girls some old photograph albums,
we realised that our huge busts, and those of our daughters, 'run in
the family'!
Not that our Mum, although a well-developed woman, is anywhere near as
big as us. But she thinks *she* is the one who must be some kind of a
throwback, or freak, as *her* mother - our grandmother - also had a
gigantic pair of tits! Mum was quite pleased not to have grown as big
as that, she said, although she wouldn't have minded having a few more
inches, just every now and again!
We had never seen our Grandma Trudy, who was apparently born in
America. Of course that made her a distant, romantic figure to us
girls. We'd never even met a real live American, yet here was this
glamorous woman in the photographs, and she was our very own
grandmother!
We all laughed, the way you do, looking at those family photographs.
Amazing how fashions change. There were some photos of our
grandparents when they were first married. Grandma Trudy was a lovely
young woman; slim, yet with an enormous bust which seemed to stick out
miles in front of her. And I'm sure it wasn't just because of those
strange bras they used to wear in the nineteen-fifties!
Further on in the album, there were more photos of her. The ones that
really intrigued us were those that showed our Mum as a young girl
with her twin sister. In one, taken when she was eleven, her tits
looked bigger than they are now! Not as big as Tanya's had been at
that age, but of course, not many women's breasts are - not at any
age!
Mum explained to us that it was her tits that finally got her into
trouble when she was fifteen. Boys used to run around after her,
trying to sneak a feel of her lush, bouncy boobs. That's when she
wasn't running around after the boys! It was only a matter of time
before she started to explore the forbidden world of sex.
It was a forbidden world, certainly, but not an unknown one. Grandma
Trudy had sternly warned her twin daughters about men, and the things
they sometimes did to young girls, especially well-developed ones. But
Mum took all those dire warnings literally, being a young girl. The
warnings were about *men*, not boys, and when Mum became pregnant, it
was at the hands (if that's the right expression) of a
sixteen-year-old boy called Vaughan something who was obsessed with
her large fifteen-year-old titties.
And that, as Mum said, was that. Her father had shown her the door. He
had brought shame and humiliation on the entire Pym family. She had
gone with a no-good no-hoper of a boy, with no prospects and no
education, and not even the common sense to use a contraceptive. Well,
she had made her bed, and now she could lie in it. Four months
pregnant, she was thrown out of the family home to make her own way in
the world with Vaughan. Never, she had been told, darken this door
again. Grandad Pym was an English gentleman, Mum said, and he was
obviously not averse to using the odd cliche here and there.
As if that hadn't been bad enough, Mum's twin sister, Frances, went
off the rails as well. I think that was grandfather's expression, not
mine. She married a man who wasn't worthy of her. In fact, they got on
quite well until a few years ago, but by the time *their* twin
daughters had reached the age of thirteen, the relationship was
creaking under the strain of coping with two big-busted teenagers
flouncing about the house. Even sending the girls away to an expensive
boarding school couldn't save the marriage.
Vaughan, our Dad, had turned out to be pure gold. The couple had found
a place to live, Vaughan got himself a job, and I was born. By the
time Tanya arrived, we had moved to a bigger house with a garden, we
had a three-year-old (almost) luxury car and Dad had a job which
brought us every simple comfort we could wish for.
Mum had almost everything she wished for, but not a father. Ever since
he had thrown her out, Roger Pym had never mentioned his daughter's
name again. Then he followed that up by throwing out Frances as well,
and he never mentioned hers either! Mum and Grandma Trudy wrote to
each other from time to time, but letters could be no substitute for
the lost love of a parent. As Mum said, Grandma Trudy had told her it
was only her husband's stubbornness and pig-headed English pride that
prevented a reconciliation.
One of the end results of this was that we had never seen Grandma
Trudy, nor were we likely to, so long as Roger Pym - now *Sir* Roger,
apparently, after a lifetime of service to his country in some obscure
department of the Foreign Office - allowed his own precious public
image to come before his own flesh and blood.
The other result, Mum told us, was that she had a younger sister she'd
never seen. After she and Frances had been cut off, Grandma Trudy had
had another daughter. Maybe it had been a small sign of Roger Pym's
remorse that although he remained stiff and unbending about allowing
his daughters back into the family, he had made some amends by
fathering another child. Another daughter. Amy was the same age as
Tanya.
The Pyms had more or less retired now, and were living in the depths
of the countryside somewhere in Herefordshire.
**********
So, for the sake of those readers who are only interested (and
probably disbelieving) in the big breasts in the family, it's just the
way we are. There's absolutely nothing *wrong* with us, nor with our
busty girls, but you should try explaining that to the people who
stare at us when we take our kids out to the shops or to school.
People can be so horribly cruel. I get rude remarks aimed at me. As if
it was my fault that the girls are the way they are. Tanya says she
finds the same thing. She's a bit more forthright than me when it
comes to dealing with the snide comments and the stares and the
pointing fingers, and worst of all, the jeering laughter in the
street. Quite a few of these ignorant or thoughtless people have found
themselves on the receiving end of some pretty blunt advice from my
sister.
This ridiculous behaviour makes me more than glad that my third baby
was a boy. Daniel is four, now. I won't be having any more children,
but you can tell, Tanya would like another. A boy, she says. With all
the hassle she's had, both herself and now with young Suzanne, you can
hardly blame her.
What about me? I was flat as a board until I was thirteen. I almost
had the worst of both worlds, having been the object of scorn for
having no tits, then only a few months later, the object of derision
for having such big ones! I wouldn't wish that on anybody.
**********
Tanya's breasts had made their first appearance when she was eight. My
Victoria was very similar, and so was little Pansy. Talk about early
developers!
And Suzanne? *Her* little titties had arrived before she was even SIX.
I couldn't believe it when Tanya showed me them one evening in the
bath. I had dropped by to visit my parents, and Tanya asked me to come
upstairs and chat while Suzanne was bathing. She had something to show
me, she said. At that time, my little Victoria, two and a half years
older, had barely started developing, but her young cousin's nipples
were puffy little mounds, and the swellings on her chest already
covered an area as big as saucers and almost as deep. I stared at
them, fascinated, as Tanya soaped the child's growing boobies, and
wondered how long it would be before Suzanne was as big as her
vast-breasted mother.
Tanya, who was then nineteen, had an eighty-eight inch bust! She had
grown steadily for the whole of her teenage years. She says she's
about ninety inches now so she's probably just about as big as she's
going to get. It sounds strange, three or four inches either way on a
normal woman's bust would make rather a lot of difference. It's not
such a big deal when your bust measurement is approaching seven and a
half feet!
And what about mine? My bust is at the moment a 'mere' fifty-eight
inches. It gets bigger when I over-eat, like at Christmas, but my
normal size is never more than sixty! Mother told me that's about how
big Grandma Trudy had been when she'd met Mr Pym, my grandfather.
That memorable bath-night with Suzanne was only two and a bit years
ago. Since then, my own two girls have both grown steadily, and
Victoria's titties would not look at all out of place in one of those
men's specialist magazines that cater for the connoisseur of big
breasts. Pansy's figure, equally, could easily grace the pages of an
'ordinary' men's magazine. And what about Suzanne? Well, those
swellings I first saw in the bath when Suzanne was still not even six
years old, have since matured into a pair of breasts which any
fully-grown woman might be proud of. Certainly bigger than Victoria's.
Where is it all going to end?
Chapter 2:- Grandma Trudy
Thinking back again to that bathnight of Suzanne's, I can still
feeling the fluttery sensation I had in my stomach and pussy when I
first saw Suzanne's development. It was similar to the feeling I had
when Tanya's breasts were beginning to really grow. I remembered how I
stole her bra one night, and stuffed the cups with water-filled
balloons. And she caught me strutting round my bedroom in her new
clothes. I was mortified at the time, but from then on, Tanya and I
developed a very special relationship, which has become stronger as we
have grown older.
Tanya said she looked at my face while she was rinsing the soap off
little Suzanne's puffy breasts, and she knew what I was feeling. I'm
sure she knew how wet I was, too. Those days of borrowing Tanya's bras
and playing nasty games with her panties are long gone, although we
still have a shame-faced laugh about them from time to time. It would
take a pair of heavy-duty weather balloons to fill my sister's bra
cups now!
After that first sight of Suzanne's little boobies, I took every
opportunity to see Tanya and her daughter, and I was not disappointed
by the child's development. She had her first bra when she was six and
a half! You can't walk into a shop holding a six-year-old by the hand
and say to the assistant, 'my little girl needs a bra'. Well, you
*could*, but they just don't make them that size. So Tanya took her
straight to the woman who makes all our bras, Mrs Cooper, and showed
Suzanne to her. Mrs Cooper wasn't easily shocked, having known our
family for the best part of ten years, but she was quite prepared to
made an exception in little Suzanne's case. Shocked? That wasn't the
word for it!
Well, when she recovered, Mrs Cooper had to admit that Suzanne
certainly needed support. Her breasts were already heavy enough to
droop slightly under their own weight. But she said there was no point
in making a bra for her; knowing our family's history, it would be too
small in a month or two. So she fished out a B-cup, one with the
smallest body-band she could find, and put it around Suzanne's chest,
then took a few measurements. She ended up taking six inches out of
the back and sides of the bra. The cups were snug, but not too tight.
Suzanne was over the moon! A real woman's bra, at only six.
Mrs Cooper was right about Suzanne needing a new bra in a couple of
months. Just as Tanya had done, the girl developed steadily. She took
her to the doctor, the same one who had taken such a close interest in
Tanya's development. It nearly put a permanent end to his career when
the two of them walked into his surgery! (We heard later he'd had to
go into hospital with a heart problem. I think he's a bit better now.)
When they called again two weeks later, the new doctor was a young
woman, whose eyes nearly popped out when she saw Tanya for the first
time, and the tiny, slim seven-year-old girl with what was by then
probably a C-cup bust!
The child's breasts continued to grow, and became heavier and heavier.
They certainly kept Mrs Cooper busy! She stopped modifying existing
bras, and made her a new custom-built one every two months; each time
a tiny bit bigger in the body, and quite a lot bigger in the cups. The
shoulder straps became wider. There were more hooks.
A kid can't grow up looking like that without attracting attention at
school. Victoria and Pansy were the victims of catcalls and jeers from
their classmates. Victoria, fortunately, was big enough to take care
of herself, and Pansy as well. After receiving summary punishment from
Victoria, most of the kids learned their lesson, and confined their
remarks to those occasions when they were well out of range of
Victoria's dangerous right hook. (I'm sorry if that qualifies as
gratuitous violence, but girls will be girls.)
Suzanne, though, wasn't so lucky. Living with our Mum and Dad, she
went to a different school from my two. And the hassle she got was far
worse. Tanya said most days she came home from school in tears after
another barrage of cruel and foul-mouthed abuse, in school, and on the
bus home. She could have been perfectly happy with her body; her own
mother had probably some of the biggest breasts in existence, and
*she* was happy with hers! Suzanne simply couldn't understand how
other girls and boys could be so ignorant.
Things came to a head, eventually. One day, Tanya phoned me in tears.
It was so unlike her. She's the strong one in our family.
"Suzanne says she doesn't want to go to that nasty school any more! I
don't know what to do. I can't keep her at home."
"Why not send her to the one over here, my two are all right there. At
least, they are now Victoria's sorted them out!"
"It's ten miles, Sis. There's no bus at the right time, no school bus,
it's impossible." Tanya can't drive, for obvious reasons. I can,
having found a car with enough room for my tits behind the wheel (or
rather, below it), but it's not comfortable for long distances. "I
wish she was old enough for St Cat's. The twins were happy there, and
they were pretty big."
"If I remember, there were some other big girls at St Cat's, too,
weren't there. At the same time as the twins?"
Tanya laughed, remembering. "That's right. A whole bunch of them. I
met them when they were making a film for some holiday project. They
thought it was a bug they all picked up there. Imagine, a titty-bug!
It never was explained, as far as I know. Still, this doesn't solve
the problem of Suzanne."
"How about a private tutor, for a couple of years? St Cat's might take
her after that if she was up to scratch with her school work, she'd be
ten, near enough."
"Money, sis! It's all I can do to keep the kid in bras, let alone
having a private tutor in. Great idea, though! Maybe when we win the
lottery ..."
**********
It was Grandma Trudy who changed everything. Although she didn't know
it at the time.
I called in on Mum and Dad and Tanya one afternoon after school. I had
my three kids with me and they all went out into the garden to play
with Suzanne. They were playing some game involving a bat and ball and
ludicrously complex rules that had to be explained every two or three
minutes. It kept them happy. Mum and Dad were watching them, trying to
make sense of the rules, but failing absolutely.
Tanya was indoors, draped across an armchair and talking on the phone;
wearing a skimpy top and tiny shorts, she looked almost unimagineable.
All bare brown legs and arms and long hair and acres of cleavage! She
grinned up at me and waved her fingers, setting several yards of
breast in motion. It was like that tortoiseshell butterfly that flaps
his wings in Buckinghamshire and sets off a typhoon in the Pacific. I
still couldn't really believe the way my sister looked, even when I
was standing there looking right at her. After a while, she put the
phone down with a husky 'Baaiieeee!', and said, "Hi, Sis!"
"Hi, big sister!" The phone rang again immediately.
Mum hurried in, "Give us a bit of peace! It hasn't stopped ringing all
day. Get it Tan, darling."
A moment later, Tanya tossed the phone over to Mum. "For you, this
time. Some woman!"
We carried on our conversation while Mum started asking all sorts of
questions into the phone. "Who? What? Mother? MOTHER!"
We stopped and listened. Mum's mother? Grandma Trudy? The phone
conversation went on and on, and though we strained to hear, we only
got one side of it. But whatever it was about, Mum was getting more
and more excited. Finally, she signalled frantically for a pen, then
wrote a number down, before signing off in a flurry of kisses and
goodbyes. We stared at her, eager for the news.
"My mother! Calling from Herefordshire", as if that were on the other
side of the Universe. For all I knew, it might have been. "She wants
to see us all!"
"See us all?" why did we have to sound like a Greek chorus?
Mum explained it all. Grandad Pym was going to be out of the country
for a month. Something to do with his old job, Grandma Trudy had said.
He had retired, officially, but he had received a top-secret call:,
something about a crisis in the Balkans. (That was a pretty well-kept
top secret, I thought, Grandma's just told us all about it).
Anyway, Grandma Trudy was going to be on the lonely side for a whole
month. She apparently had Amy, her younger daughter, the first time we
kids had ever heard of *her*, but she had a job in the town and lived
away from home. The domestic staff could look after Grandma's needs,
but it wasn't the same as having her husband about the house. Why not
give her long-lost daughter a call, she thought, it would be the ideal
opportunity for a reconciliation, and she would be able to see her
grandchildren. Wouldn't she?
Well, wouldn't she?
"When is it? I asked Mum. "The school summer holidays start in three
weeks. We could all go down together, if it wasn't too much trouble
for her."
"Two weeks' time. Surely, you could get permission for the kids to get
off school a week early. It's a very special occasion, when all's said
and done. It could almost be a once in a lifetime opportunity."
Tanya was certainly all for it. Anything which took Suzanne away from
her torment for an extra week would be more than welcome, as far as
she was concerned.
"I'll speak to the head teacher tomorrow", I said. Whatever she says,
I'll get them off school. As you say, it's once in a lifetime."
**********
And so Mum called Grandma Trudy the next day, and said she could
certainly pay her a visit, and would it be all right if her two
daughters and her four grandchildren came as well? Silly question,
really!
Dad couldn't make it, (perhaps he still wasn't sure how he would be
received by Grandma Trudy, even after all this time) but he said we
could use his car as long as I left him mine. And on a Saturday
morning two weeks later, we all piled into Dad's Renault Espace and
set off to the West. It was a lovely day, the early mist just burning
off in the warm July sun. The kids asked 'are we nearly there yet'
after the first three miles, and amused themselves trying to say 'red
Renault, yellow Renault' and counting the number of legs in the names
of the pubs we passed.
It was just as well we did have a large vehicle. When we stopped for a
fuel and comfort stop, we almost caused a terrible accident as we
locked the car and set off toward the ladies' toilet. Three women with
a combined bust measurement of something like sixteen feet,
accompanied by a little boy and three unusually busty little girls
caught the attention of a disbelieving delivery van driver who
collided with the back of a parked car. As we drove away up the road,
a small fight had just broken out.
"Why are those men fighting, Mummy", asked Suzanne. "Are we nearly
there, yet?"
**********
"Is that her?" whispered Victoria.
"I don't think so, darling", I said, "I think that must be the
housekeeper." A large woman in a flowery print dress had just come out
of the front door as we turned into the drive. The house was huge, the
biggest the children had ever seen, close up.
"It's a *palace*", said Pansy, in hushed tones. "Is Nana Trudy a
queen?"
"Sort of, yes!" I told her. "But not a real queen, not like the
Queen."
"She can't be the Queen, she's American", said Victoria, sternly.
"Americans can't be Queens. They can only be Presidents. An *they're*
all men."
"Strange", mused Pansy, who wasn't really listening. She was trying to
count the windows. "Forty-six", she said at last, without much
conviction. Suzanne, meanwhile, was picking her nose and doing
something disgusting with the proceeds. I thought you ought to know
that.
"There she is", said Mum, with a bit of a choking noise in her throat.
"That's her!" She opened the window and called out to the woman who
had come around the side of the house carrying a wicker basket and a
garden rake. "Mother? Mother! MOM!"
Grandma Trudy turned, and saw the car, and her face lit up in a huge
smile. "May! May, honey! She called. The kids nudged each other and
giggled. Grandma Trudy really *was* an American!
She dropped the basket and the rake, and set off across the
neatly-trimmed grass towards us. Mum slowly got out and stood beside
the car door for a moment as Grandma Trudy approached, then ran to
meet her. They looked, both slowly shaking their heads as if not quite
believing it, then they walked straight into each other's arms, and
stood there, hugging silently for a long, long time.
Finally, they separated, and linked arms, and walked slowly back to
the car. Grandma Trudy! I'd have recognised her from the photo albums,
she'd hardly changed at all. Well, she must have done, those pictures
were taken twenty-odd years ago, but she was still the same woman.
Tanya was gazing at her. She was fascinated to see from where she'd
inherited her special attributes! The girls, too, were certainly
impressed by Grandma Trudy's magnificent bosom! After all, they
already knew a whole lot about being big girls.
And if the girls were impressed, so was Grandma Trudy! She looked at
Mum, slim but large-breasted, then at me, then at Tanya, unable to
believe her eyes. And as Victoria and Pansy and Suzanne were
introduced and shyly shook hands, she couldn't believe them either!
She seemed relieved to be able to say hello to Daniel, at least he
didn't have big tits!
"How old did you say these kids were?" she asked in disbelief as we
set off for the house, Pansy and Suzanne holding Grandma's hands, the
others clinging to us but not taking their eyes off their fascinating
grandmother for a second. We all went round the side of the house,
where Grandma Trudy had been working on the flower-beds. The French
windows stood open, and there was a heavy oak table and chairs on the
flag-stoned patio. The house-keeper appeared as if by magic.
"Maisie! This is my long-lost family, my daughter and my grown-up
grand-children, and even my grown-up great-grand-children!" Grandma
Trudy spread her arms to encompass the whole brood. "Do you think you
could rustle up some lemonade for this lot. We'll sit and enjoy it out
here."
Maisie looked as if she'd never seen so many such grown-up people in
her life. Her eyes were almost out of their sockets as she stared at
me and Tanya, then at the girls. "Yes, maam!" she muttered, and
hurried off, looking back as if she expected us all to disappear. We
didn't.
"Now, then!" Grandma Trudy settled back in a chair, the two younger
girls attaching themselves to her, one on each side. "We've got an
awful lot to tell each other. Where should we start?"
**********
The rest of the morning flew by. We had lunch, served by Maisie and an
extraordinary young girl called Clarrie, who could easily have been
mistaken for part of our family! "She's from the village, Roger
employed her about ten seconds after she came up for an interview!
She's sixteen, going on thirty-five, you know what these village girls
are like!" (I didn't, but from Grandma Trudy's tone it was clear their
lives were one long round of eating, sleeping and sex.)
By afternoon, the sun was blazing down on the patio. Grandma Trudy
suggested cooling off. "Who wants to go swimming?" she suggested, and
the kids went wild.
"We haven't any swimsuits with us", Mum reminded us all. Grandma Trudy
laughed.
"It's pretty private round here. I don't think it would offend anyone
too much if we skinny-dipped. But I bet we could find a costume or two
about the house if you're feeling bashful." And she called Maisie.
Half an hour later, we were all ready to take to the water. Maisie had
a stretchy one-piece swimsuit that more or less fitted Mum. The maid,
Clarrie, had supplied a bikini, which I could just about squeeze
myself into, although it might be a different matter keeping it on.
The top was overflowing and I had to keep pulling the bottoms back up
every three minutes. Tanya had no hope at all of finding anything to
fit her, so she dug out one of her sleeveless tops and a pair of
panties. Grandma Trudy looked staggering in her custom-made bikini!
The girls, especially Victoria, were shy at first, until they got used
to the idea, then they stripped off to just their panties. They looked
incredible with their big breasts bouncing around!
The pool was as big as our whole garden at Mum's and Dad's place. The
kids leapt in and ploughed up and down, squealing and splashing. In
one corner of the pool was some kind of water circulating device,
pumping the water out, filtering it and pumping it back in again. It
made a sort of jet that squirted upwards under the water. Tanya
discovered it first. I noticed her floating in the corner of the pool
with a dreamy expression on her face. After a while, she splashed
across to me and said, "try that corner over there, it's amazing!" I
did, and it was!
Eventually, Grandma Trudy shouted to us to come away from that jet,
you couple of horny grand-daughters, and we felt as if we'd been
caught jacking-off. We paddled over to the other side of the pool and
Grandma Trudy laughed at us. "That's young Clarrie's favourite spot,
that corner", she said quietly so the children couldn't hear her. "It
used to be mine, too, but I could be getting kind of old for that sort
of thing now!"
At last, one by one, we crawled out of the water and lay in the sun,
drying off. We made sure the children put their tops on and told them
to sit in the shade, but in no time they were frolicking round on the
grass, playing their favourite ball game. We watched them. It was
exhausting. Suddenly, we heard a car scrunching on the gravel drive,
then footsteps came round the side of the house. Grandma Trudy looked
up. "May", she said to Mum, "It's time you met your little sister,
Amy!"
Chapter 3:- Amy
Mum had jumped to her feet. She was staring at the sister she had
never seen. Until she'd had the phone call from Grandma Trudy, she had
never even mentioned Amy to us girls. Perhaps she thought it would be
kinder to us not to acknowledge her sister's existence at all, rather
than have her flitting around in the background like a ghost we knew
was there but never came right out and actually haunted us.
Amy was staring at Mum. She had heard about her older twin sisters,
but the version she got was always heavily edited, an authorised
version which would satisfy her father. Secretly, Grandma Trudy had
told Amy, a little at a time, how she would love to see her elder
daughters just once more, before she died, and Amy tried to imagine
what her sisters were like. She failed completely, of course! All she
really knew about our Mum was that she had got herself pregnant by the
village layabout when she was only fifteen!
The two women approached each other cautiously, then stopped, still
three yards apart. Grandma Trudy carried on: "These are May's
daughters ..." and she introduced me and Tanya to her, then she
pointed out the children, who were now engrossed in some sort of
litigation over who was the next one in to bat.
But I haven't described Amy, have I? I always have to be reminded to
describe people. I look at them, and I take in what I see, and I
assume everyone I'm telling the story to can see them as well ...!
Well, the family feature was there, all right! And I suppose that's
what my dedicated readers wanted to hear. Amy was a little taller than
me. Excuse me, she was Mum's sister, so I ought really to compare her
in appearance to Mum, but she was so close to us sisters in age that I
automatically thought of her as one of us, our generation, as it were.
So, taller than me, not by a lot, about five-five. Slimmer than me,
too, in fact, very slim indeed compared to Tanya, who has always been
quite a lot chunkier even after she lost the puppy fat in her very
early teens. Her hair was dark, Tanya's colour. Her bust ...
No, I'm getting ahead of myself. She was dressed for work, in a skirt
and blouse. The blouse was white and loose-fitting, not tucked in at
the waist, so it hung straight down from her breasts. I suppose she
did that to disguise them, or at least, to try to. We'd all tried, and
failed, at one time or another.
Disguise didn't work for Amy any better than it had for us. And as she
looked at me, then across at Tanya, she seemed to feel the wave of
sympathy flowing amongst the three of us, all similar in age and in
development, and she smiled at the same time as me, and Tanya grinned
at us both and bounced up off the patio where she was sprawled. Once
Tanya was standing up and Amy could see her figure, she gasped. For
the first time in her life she saw a girl with a bigger bust than she
herself had, although it was a close thing. I got up, too, and went
over to Amy, and she sized me up, too.
"Hello", she said. "Looks like we've got a lot in common!"
I'd heard of some uses for big breasts, but this was the first time
I'd heard of them being used to break the ice!
**********
We all got on like a house on fire after the first few minutes. Amy
lived in the town, and worked in a large office, insurance or
something, where she said she met a lot of men, but she wasn't seeing
anyone. From the way she said that, it felt as if she'd *never* seen
anyone. Men were scared of her, she told us as the three of us sat on
the patio in the evening sunlight, idly watching the kids playing on
the back lawn.
"How old are the children?" she asked. "I know you probably told me,
but there was so much going on I can't have taken it in."
"My three are ten, eight and four", I told her.
"Suzanne's eight", said Tanya.
"But wait a minute, which one's Suzanne?"
"The one with the biggest tits!" laughed Tanya, "in the yellow top."
"You know", said Amy, shaking her head, "that's what I thought you
said earlier, but I thought it would be rude to ask you again." She
watched the children for a few more minutes. "Gosh, they're all very
advanced, but Suzanne's really something else, isn't she?" she shook
her head in disbelief as Suzanne started jumping up and down on the
spot, stopping after a few seconds, holding her breasts still with
both hands.
Grandma Trudy had quietly appeared from the house, with our Mum by her
side. "We were just looking at some family photographs in the album",
she said, there are some of me when I was their age ..." she looked
out at the children, her eyes misty. "I looked just like that. God, I
had a fifty-six inch bust on my eleventh birthday, and it was up to
sixty-three long before I was twelve!"
Tanya shook her head slowly. "Did you just keep on getting bigger
after that, Grandma?" The word 'Grandma' sounded funny after all this
time.
Grandma Trudy's face clouded over. "That's a time I'd rather not talk
about, honey, even after so many years! For a long time, I remembered
nothing, but later, with Tim, that's my brother, I pieced together the
story. It was not ... not pleasant at all. All I can say is that I
went down to less than 80 pounds, what's that, I never could work it
out, less than six stone, and I was flat as an ironing board for
years!
We looked at her now, trying to imagine her weighing six stone and
flat as a board. Nope! I couldn't manage it, and nor could Tanya, by
the look on her face.
"But I put it all back on, and sheesh, it sure changed my life!" The
kids saw her, and came running over, their big titties bouncing like
great rubber balls. "You look after those kids, you hear!" she
whispered to us, and there were tears in her eyes as she gathered them
all to her bosom.
Chapter 4:- Climbing The Walls
Meanwhile, inside the house, people were climbing the walls.
To be precise, two people were climbing the walls. One was the maid,
Clarrie. The buxom teenager was deeply frustrated. The batteries on
her new vibrator had died. Already! Mr Pym had only given her the
thing just before he went away. Two days ago. Surely, batteries ought
to last longer than that. Mind you, Clarrie had given the toy some
pretty intensive use since Sir Roger had gone away, but even so, they
shouldn't have gone flat in *two days*!
She sobbed in frustration and lay back on her bed, her legs spread and
her black skirt up round her waist. Why did the Master have to leave
her like this? There ought to be a law against it. Cruelty to serving
wenches. Frantically, she brought herself to a fairly unsatisfactory
climax, then lay panting. Tomorrow, she would take the vibrator down
to the newsagents in the village and have Mr Patel fit some new
batteries. She'd ask for the ones that always lasted longer on the TV
commercials.
Meanwhile, there was a whole evening and a whole night to get through.
Clarrie had forgotten what it felt like to be without a man for as
long as two days. Sir Roger had kept her well serviced ever since he
had first employed her. In fact, even at the interview, he had given
her such a seeing-to that her knees hadn't stopped trembling for the
rest of the day. Since then, whenever she felt like it, which was most
of the time, Sir Roger had been only too ready to oblige.
She smiled at the recollection of how she had applied for the vacancy
in the first place. There hadn't even *been* a vacancy, come to think
of it! She had mentioned to her friend, Barry Overdown, that she was
leaving school, and was looking for a job. Barry was the captain of
the village cricket club, and knew just about everyone. "Give Sir
Roger a try, up at the house. Place that size, he'll always need a bit
of help. 'Sides, they reckon he likes his girls on the large side, if
you know what I mean!"
Clarrie knew what Barry meant. Since she had awarded her virginity to
the cricket club when she was fourteen, she had made the acquaintance
of quite a lot of men who liked their girls on the large side. She had
done her very best to please them. People still talked about Clarrie's
inaugural night behind the cricket pavilion, when she had taken on all
comers, single-handed. Somebody had even kept the score with the big
white numbers hanging on the scoreboard. By the time her father came
looking for her at midnight, young Clarrie had exhausted nine fit men
and three enthusiastic teenage boys. The rest of the playing members
had been dragged away home by their wives.
So, on Barry's suggestion, she had put her best clothes on, squeezed
herself into a bra that was six months past its best, unfastened the
top three buttons of her blouse and knocked on the door of the big
house. Maisie had opened the door to her, and gaped in horror at the
sight of the village bicycle standing on the front step with her tits
practically bursting out of her bodice. Maisie had her finger raised
ready to indicate the way home to the girl, when Sir Roger came out of
one of the downstairs rooms and caught a glimpse of a pair of enormous
young titties.
"Who's this, Maisie?" he had asked, raising an eyebrow as he came to
the doorway and took in the full picture of Clarrie.
"Her name's Clarrie, Sir Roger, from the village ..." She had been
about to detail Clarrie's recent spectacular history, that this was
the girl who had single-handedly cut a swathe through the pride of
Herefordshire's young manhood, when Sir Roger boomed, "Show the girl
in, Maisie, into my study, please!"
>From then on, the sex lives of the young men of the village and its
environs could return to something like normal. Clarrie was heartily
serviced right there on the top of Sir Roger's leather-topped desk,
and she started her duties at the house the next morning. Her mother
proudly told everyone who would listen that her big daughter was now
'in service' up at Sir Roger's. And 'service' summed up Clarrie's
duties more adequately than her mother ever imagined.
But now, for the first time, Clarrie was without her master for more
than a few hours. She ran her still slippery fingers up and down the
slit of her richly-furred pussy, giving an involuntary twitch as they
reached the top. She shuddered, and slipped her fingers inside again.
Ten minutes later, she was as horny as ever. A whole month of this? It
was only two days and she was climbing the walls in frustration!
Then, from a couple of rooms away along the landing, she heard the
most enormous crash. She sat bolt upright on the bed, then thought she
had better investigate.
**********
Clarrie had been climbing the walls in frustration. So was young
Davie, but he was climbing them literally. Until he fell off the chest
of drawers.
Davie was Maisie's only child. He was grounded for a week. He hadn't
*meant* to let down the tyres on the policeman's bicycle. It was Ben
Shakespeare's fault. Everything was always Ben's fault. Ben had bet
him he couldn't nick half a dozen apples, one for each of the gang,
from the display at the front of the greengrocers's shop on the main
street.
There had been no problem until Ben had hissed, 'look out, it's old
Growler', and given Davie a shove that sent apples, grapefruit,
cabbages and this season's almost-ripe nectarines rolling all over the
footpath and into the gutter. The boys had scattered, but Davie had
been last to get away and had to take shelter behind a dustbin down a
side alley. Sergeant Growler had dismounted from his bike with
ponderous grace, and proceeded into the shop to question why the
shopkeeper's display was rolling down the village street, causing h'an
obstruction to the 'ighway.
Davie peered out from his hiding place, and saw Ben's face looking
round a corner on the far side of the road. He was pointing at
something, and signalling frantically. After a couple of minutes of
miming, he gathered that Ben was suggesting that it might be a good
idea if Davie let old Growler's tyres down. The next thing he knew,
there was a heavy hand on his collar.
"In the old days, so they tell me, I could've clipped him round the
h'ear and 'ear no more about it", Sergeant Growler had told Maisie, at
the police station. "But that would be assault, nowadays. So have I
got to charge him, and fill in sixteen pages of paperwork, or are you
going to take the bugger home and ground him for a week?"
"Leave him to me, Dan", Maisie said, "I'll sort him out!"
She would, thought Dan Growler. He quite fancied Maisie, tasty bit of
widow, she was. And young Davie was all right, just needed
straightening out. Needed a Dad, poor little sod. He'd let him go, as
soon as he had pumped up both tyres, using a hand-pump.
This was the third day of Davie's imprisonment. "You'll stay in your
room until I say you can come out", his mother told him. "You can't
leave the house and gardens anyway for a week, but today you're
staying in your bedroom. The lady's daughter and her family are
arriving, and I'll be too busy to have you around creating mischief."
Davie had been lying on his bed. The devil, as ever, found work for
idle hands. He heard footsteps coming up the back stairs, and
Clarrie's bedroom door closed. He had become aware recently of
Clarrie, who he now realised was easily the most beautiful woman in
the whole wide world. She was decidedly plump and extremely pretty,
and had such huge boobies, he reflected, as he lay there, feeling a
warm, comforting throbbing building up inside his boxer shorts.
A faint buzzing noise carried to his ears as he fondled himself. What
was she doing. Shaving? Did women shave? Clarrie never seemed to have
any traces of a beard or moustache. The buzzing stopped. In fact, it
sort of died away. "Ooooh, Clarrie", he said to himself, trying out
the sound of the word. He liked it and tried again, and found his
erection becoming more throbby. He took himself in hand.
What was that? Girls' voices? Coming from outside. It must be the
lady's grandchildren. Sounded like a bunch of kids running around.
That's all he wanted, a house full of bloody *girls*! And him
grounded, so he couldn't even get away from them. Oh, shit. The
disappointing thought had caused his erection to get floppy. That's
what girls did for you.
Davie rolled off the bed and stood up. The kids were in the pool now,
he could hear them squealing and splashing around down there. He went
to the window. The servants' quarters were on the top floor, and the
rooms on this side of the house had dormer windows let into the slope
of the roof. By looking out of his window, he had a partial view of
the pool, cut off by the edge of the roof. Idly, he looked across that
way. What was THAT!!!
He had caught a brief glimpse of a woman, or a girl, with no top on.
Usually, women wore swimsuits or bikinis to go swimming. This, Davie
accepted, was only right and proper. He had tried, several times, to
imagine Clarrie without a bikini top, but failed. Therefore, he
concluded, women *ought* to wear something to cover up their boobies.
It seemed logical to him.
Now, down there, a woman was frolicking around in and out of the pool.
And, if his eyes weren't playing tricks, she wasn't wearing a bra. He
strained to see more, but couldn't. The chest of drawers beneath the
window was in the way. He clambered on top of it, and found he could
just see a bit more of the pool. There was the woman again, if he
squashed his face against the glass, he could just see her back, and
she wasn't wearing a top. Definitely!
His hand strayed to his shorts again, where there were welcome signs
of life. Oooh, that feels nice, he thought, taking a warm handful of
himself. There she is again, turning round. That's not a woman, that's
only a girl! But shit, she's big! Then she moved out of sight again.
Davie tugged at the window. It was an old-fashioned sash window that
slid upwards to open. But it had been painted over years ago, and
didn't open any more. Not easily, anyway. Frustration lent Davie extra
strength. The window moved a fraction, he heaved again, and the woman
or girl appeared once more. No, it wasn't the same one, this was a
smaller girl.
Oh, shit, no, not a little girl; he thought, then realised that *this*
little girl wasn't all that little. Her tits were even bigger than the
other one! One more heave, and the window would be open, and he would
get his head outside. That was when he fell off the chest of drawers
in a flurry of odds and ends, books, video cassettes, souvenirs and
the alarm clock. He hit the floor, still accelerating.
"Ouch! Me fuckin' ankle!"
He lay there, winded and damaged, checking himself for broken bits.
His erection was still working, he was relieved to discover.
"Davie, you all right?"
A voice from outside his bedroom door. Clarrie?
"Yes, thanks. I think so, anyway. I fell over."
Clarrie tried the handle and the door opened. Davie was lying in a
heap by the window. She looked around the room, the same shape as
hers, but a boy's room, full of boy things. And, if she wasn't
mistaken, full of boy! She hesitated, then went closer, bending over
him.
He was a big boy for fourteen, she thought, her eyes taking in the
well-defined shoulders revealed by his cutaway undervest, and a
distinctly promising bulge in his shorts.
"You sure you're okay, Davie?" she said softly, in the voice that had
seduced an entire cricket club in a single night. It was overkill as
far as Davie was concerned. His erection sprang to full attention, and
found its way out into the open air through the front of his shorts.
"My ankle hurts", he said, "can you help me get up?"
He hasn't even noticed his willie's sticking out, thought Clarrie. And
by the look of him, he doesn't need any help to get up. "Here, hold my
arm. Steady!" He was so strong! He'd nearly pulled her down on top of
him.
Davie couldn't believe what was happening. Clarrie was so close, he
could touch her. In fact, she'd told him to hold her arm. He did, and
she nearly overbalanced. Must be difficult balancing with those bloody
great things on your chest, he thought, realising that they were even
bigger at close quarters. Very close! His head would get lost between
those things. He could smell her, and it was nice. No, not nice, that
wasn't the word. The English teacher was right; 'nice' wasn't the word
to use here. He wished he could think of some more words to describe
the smell of Clarrie. Whatever, the smell was doing things to his ...
ooops! How did that get out there?
Clarrie could even smell her own arousal. She had come straight to
Davie's room without putting her panties on; and now that she was
squatting down, with her short skirt riding up, her moist pussy-odour
was distinctly noticeable. It even excited her, especially the
realisation that Davie could smell it, too, and it was affecting him.
"C'mon, let's get you on the bed, then I'll have a good look at your
ankle", she murmured. And an even better look at a few other things,
she thought. "I've done first aid", she said. It's a pity he doesn't
need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
This time, they made it. Davie stood up, his weight on Clarrie's arm,
and he half-hopped to his bed, then sat on the edge of it. Clarrie sat
beside him.
"There, that's better, isn't it?" she purred.
It certainly was.
She ran a hand around his back and felt the firm muscles ripple
beneath her fingers as they flirted with the broad elastic top of his
shorts. She brought her hand back the other way, slipping it into the
top of the cleavage between the taut cheeks of his boyish bottom. He
clutched at his cock, which tried to escape.
"Leave that alone", she said, sternly. "Anyone would think you'd never
sat next to a girl before. Or a woman!" Suddenly, she whipped her hand
up behind his back, tugging his undervest with it, and carried on
strongly to pull it up and over his head. Davie was too shocked to
resist. "Got to check for any broken bones", Clarrie whispered,
placing her mouth very close to his ear as soon as his head emerged
from the vest. Very close indeed. He could feel her hot breath in his
earhole.
"Now. Let me look at you, Dav-eee. Lie back!"
Feeling powerless, Davie slowly lowered his back on to the cool
bedclothes. His feet came off the floor and his knees automatically
drew themselves up to protect his genitalia. Clarrie laughed musically
and gently pushed them down again. Now he was bent backwards across
the bed, helpless as a sheep on its back. He felt Clarrie's soft touch
on his thighs, rubbing gently up and down the insides of his legs.
Then her hands were gone, and when they came back, they were round his
waist, ever so gently easing down his shorts. He resisted for half a
second, then raised his hips just enough to let the shorts slide down.
There was a brief delay as they snagged on some obstruction, then they
came free.
"Good boy! That's the way. You're getting the idea! Bloody Hell!"
The last bit was Clarrie's reaction to Davie's now completely-unveiled
cock, waving in the air above his belly. Impatiently, she ripped the
shorts down to his ankles then abandoned them, leaving him to kick
them off altogether. The boy was hung!
Although Clarrie knew perfectly well that it didn't matter how big it
was - after all, the cricket club had provided her with the full range
from five inches up to nearly nine - it was pleasant to find a nice
big one to play with while Sir Roger was away. And if she wasn't
mistaken, this one was even bigger than Sir Roger's!
She was kneeling beside Davie on the bed, now, and all she had to do
was lower her head and open her mouth. He slipped inside her, and as
she adjusted the angle of her head, they both felt him make contact
with the back of her throat. She slurped on him, her saliva cool yet
hot, her head bobbing gently up and down, her long hair brushing his
thighs and stomach.
Davie lay there, unable to move in case she bit it off and swallowed
it. Clarrie was still fully dressed, which he found enormously
exciting. Raising his head, he could see the girl's monster boobies in
the big black bra he had seen in the airing cupboard, the whole lot
hanging heavily downward inside her maid's white blouse. Closer to
him, her flared skirt was riding up over her thighs and hips.
Surprisingly, and excitingly, she wasn't wearing any knickers. He
thought all girls wore knickers. Maybe Clarrie had forgotten to put
hers on.
He reached out a hand and placed it on the cool, soft flesh of her
upper leg. Delight! It felt like an oven-ready turkey. She wriggled
closer to him, still sucking deeply on his cock, then stepped over his
body with one leg without so much as missing a beat. This girl was
fit, he thought. Now, he didn't need to raise his head to improve the
view. Just lying back, he had a grandstand seat of the finest sight in
the world.
Inches above his face, Clarrie's hairy bottom rose and fell. Every
time it came closest to his face, he received another whiff of that
incredibly sexy smell. But this was a girl's *bottom*! Surely, he
shouldn't be feeling like this. He thought about it for a while, and
realised he certainly did. Quickly, he reached up with both hands and
gripped Clarrie's broad, plump hips, heaving her down until her
steaming loins slopped all over his mouth and nose. Faintly, he heard
the girl give out a long, low moan.
Still not fully believing what he was doing, he put his tongue out and
found something unbelievably tasty to eat. Clarrie wriggled her wide
rump from side to side as she settled further down on Davie's face.
Was she trying to suffocate him? In a flash of panic, he realised, if
the girl wanted to, she could bite his willie off and suffocate him to
death all in one go. She was heavy enough, he'd never get away.
So, realising there was nothing he could do about it, he lay there as
this wonderful big girl fucked him with her mouth. It was coming, the
feeling. Oh, shit. He was going to do it. It would go in Clarrie's
mouth. He tried to shout a warning, but with his face where it was, no
sound came out, only a wet, bubbly vibration which seemed to send
Clarrie into a frenzy. Clarrie needed no warning, anyway! She knew
what was coming, all right.
Although, when it came, the quantity surprised her somewhat. She
swallowed most of it, but lots more dribbled out between her lips.
Meanwhile, down in the engine-room, Davie received a faceful of
something scalding hot and wet. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it
was. It wasn't.
Clarrie had turned herself round, her breasts now squashed massively
against Davie's chest as their mouths met. Davie's first real woman
kiss tasted totally unlike anything he had been led to expect. His own
salty semen, still drooling out of Clarrie's mouth, mingled with the
girl's own fishy juices as she probed his mouth with her hot little
tongue.
She raised her body up, her long hair still brushing his nipples.
"Oh, fucking hell, Davie, I've got to make the tea. Salmon sandwiches,
Maisie says!" She rolled off him and stood by the bed, smoothing her
skirt down over her thighs and fluffing her hair into some sort of
shape. "How do I look?" she asked, the way women always do. Davie
reached out for her, but she laughed happily and dodged backwards
toward the door.
"You watch that ankle, right? I'll come back afterwards and make sure
you're comfortable! I promise! See ya later!"
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