World War 2 ended September 2nd, 1945 when the Japanese made their official surrender to the Allies. Only a handful, not including President Truman and other world leaders, knew that it really ended on August 31st, 1947 in a series of chambers underneath a dry lakebed in Nevada. Special Agents Tabitha Wilcox and Lydia Parlor had together stopped a threat that surpassed even the atomic bomb. Along with other special agents, Tabitha and Lydia tracked, located and then destroyed a secret base operated by an alliance of Moon Men and diehard Nazis. Together both groups were building war rockets and boiler robot troopers in a feverish bid to conquer the world. After two hours of combat it was all over, and in the main assembly area of the wrecked Moon Men base the two female agents looked upon their work and felt satisfaction for a job well done. It wasn't often that one had a direct hand in saving the world.
Well, they were almost satisfied with everything. During the battle both agents were struck by ray blasts fired by a funny looking old man, the kind with lots of money to spend in some of Nevada's exclusive brothels. Already favorably compared to Mae West in regards to the chest, both Tabitha and Lydia's breasts expand to such an extent that their blouses busted open with much energy. The little old man was now gone, his ray gun found smashed under the bulk of a fallen boiler robot. With tommy gun in hand in case of still-active robots Tabitha picked up the broken device and examined it. "Well, I don't think Sparks can get this gadget back in working order. I doubt there was even a reverse switch to begin with. Looks like were stuck with our new pneumatic wonders forever."
Unlike Tabitha, Lydia still had a shred of good girl modesty and tried to cover the front of her bust with her left arm, her tommy gun also out in case of trouble. "There's no way we'll ever get field assignments again. Look like they'll put us in some out-of-the-way station for the rest of our careers. We're even bigger than our cousins back east."
Tossing the ray gun back onto the ground, Tabitha looked around the chamber, tipping up her fedora. "I hear they're going to open a new Forest Service office in Coeur d'Alene. They'll need a support staff. I have family there, so I'm sure our boss is going to strongly recommend that I take the job offer. It's back to being an overpaid secretary for me."
"Idaho?" Lydia said optimistically. "I might as well apply for that post, all things considered. No way I can go back to Washington like this. You think they'll give us at least a hefty bonus for saving the world?"
Tabitha smiled and shook her amplified bust. "They damn well better, after all the work we done here, not to mention all the groping and pawing we had to endure beforehand. Together we can also demand a housing bonus. If we're going to be exiled in Coeur d'Alene then we'll get new houses for our trouble. That's the price they'll have to pay for keeping the world ignorant of what happened here today."
Lydia agreed with a nod. "New houses will be a surprise for our husbands. If the grapevine is right they'll be coming home from occupation duty in Japan at the end of October."
"Won't they be surprised," Tabitha said with a impish grin, attempting to push up her right breast with her free hand. "Adam is going to break down and admit to every little affair he had in the Land of the Rising Sun when he gets a gander of these babies."
"Likewise for Dennis," Lydia chimed. "I'll contact the rest of the team for a head count."
"Hopefully the jamming has cleared by now, Lydia. I'll see if I can find some big, clean shirts or overcoats that don't have bullet holes and blood all over them. No one but our doctors and husbands deserve to see our naked boobies."
"Tabitha! Language! You can speak so raunchy sometimes."
"Feeling better, Frankie? Do you want me to lower the lights?"
Francine looked at her boyfriend Darrell. A senior on the UNLV Rebels football team, Darrell stood an imposing 6'6" and had the weight and muscles to match. In comparison Francine was a tiny 4'10" and had a mostly slender frame. "No, the lights are fine. The headache is spinning down. Did you got back to see if that guy was still there?"
Darrell shook his dusky colored head. "He's gone, and the house is empty. There's even a For Sale sign on the lawn."
"In one day? Damn, we shouldn't have been distracted. I would've taken the embarrassment involved in having the police come over right then and there."
"Well, we couldn't help ourselves, remember?" Darrell's boyish grin provoked Francine to throw a couch pillow at his head, the fluffy missile careening off the top of his head.
"Not helping! I'm still trying to put this all together." She resisted the urge to chew the ends of her flowing platinum blond hair. "For extra credit in my senior journalism class I had to interview a centenarian. A 102-year-old fart that turned out to be Nazi, no less. Herr Klink then creeped me out by commenting on my 'fine Aryan features' and that he finally had his ticket for admittance to Schwarze Sonne, whatever the hell that place is. When I tried to leave he whistled up a robot straight from a 1930's serial except that it had linoleum knives for feet. Then Klink brought out a cheesy looking raygun and blasted me, making my lungs gigantic." Though wearing Darrell's sweatshirt Francine's breasts underneath were so big that it was absolutely snug, the lettering stretched to form a curve instead of a straight line. "If you weren't waiting in the car I don't know what would've happened next."
"Well, you gotta agree the rescue sex was unique." For that Darrell got two more small pillows thrown at him, though Francine's aim was off due to her endowments.
The enhanced woman moved her hands over the sweat shirt's lettering. "Just what am I going to tell everyone about this, especially my parents?"
For the risk of having another pillow thrown at him Darrell had to comment. "Tell them that you got your own special version of the Freshman 15 three years late."
Francine looked playfully indignant. "For that remark, my private giant, you won't get to play with the twins until after I get my bra fitting tomorrow." With so many big boobed women in Vegas it was relatively easy for Francine to locate a custom bra maker in less than 24 hours. "Now go get the pizza and diet pop."
"Well, can't I get something to tie me over until then? I do rate some special treatment for saving you and all," said Darrell, pretending to be crestfallen.
"All right, you baby. Come here." Once Darrell was down on his knees Francine reached out and pulled his head down to her covered cleavage, giving him a good 30-second smother, and kissed his forehead. It was heaven for Darrell, and from that moment on UNLV for him stood for Universe of Love.
The interrogation room was divided into a dimly lit half with the other having very bright focused lights shining down on two human forms tied up to chairs built into the floor. On the right was Gloria Wilcox, a Forest Service Ranger. Jasmine Parlor was on the left, a newly-minted detective in the Coeur d'Alene Police Department. Both were wearing curve-complementing black and grey bodysuits that were pulled down to their waists, exposing their more-than-generous bosoms. Though it hurt to look due to the bright light both had to see their tormentor in the dimly lit part of the room. "You're wasting your time, Colonel Dork-Heimer," Gloria said righteously. "We won't cooperate."
Initially next to the door, a figure trundled closer to the light, the sound of the treads conveying a sense of resentment. "Frau Wilcox, for the last time its Dornheimer, Colonel Gunther von Dornheimer of the SS! Var from wasting my time, it is well spent. Soon you will appreciate the circumstances Fate vas given you."
"That's bull, you clockwork Nazi," Jasmine said, her words also seething with righteousness. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."
"Vrong, Frau Parlor. I know vhat I have gott in front of me." Coming closer, Dornheimer's bulky and tread-equipped life support cube became more visible. The only human part showing was his scarred and apparently hairless head. He was wearing a cap of a SS colonel that looked as if it came straight from its package. His left eye had a patch while the right sported a cyber-like monocle, its micro-motors humming. "Both of you were raised by your urgroßmutters, and I have the veeling vey told you about destroying my base in Nevada and how they saved the vhorld from the 4th Reich."
"They sure did, you washing machine man," Gloria said with pride. "Great Gran Tabby only regretted not finishing you off when she had the chance."
"Ja, and for that oversight the vhorld will die! The 4th Reich vill..."
"Oh, please, stop with the accent!" Jasmine said, her limit finally reached. "I get it! You're a decrepit, encrusted fart that's only alive because of his overwhelming desire to rule the world. Come on, WW2 ended 73 years ago and you've spent all that time in this lunar shanty town..."
That got Dornheimer riled up for his monocle fell off his face. "Schwarze Sonne is not a shanty town! It is a bastion of the Ayran people! You're only alive for two reasons. For Americans, both of you have very fine Aryan features. Once everyone on Earth is dead, including your husbands and kinder, you will become muthers of the blood and give the 4th Reich healthy kinder with which to repopulate the world. I'm glad that the last Moon Man ray gun still worked. Now you two have brüste even bigger than those of your urgroßmutters!"
Gloria looked and felt bored. "And the second reason?"
Dornheimer moved closer, his cube almost touching the front of Gloria's very pneumatic teats. "How in Hell did you get access to a Flying Bell, much less fly it?"
Looking the practically comical villain in the eye, Gloria spoke her mind, breasts heaving with conviction. "After your goon squad abduct my brother a little old man came forward and gave the Bell to us. He said it was his way to make up for dealing with you fools during the war."
"Oh Gott! I thought I've killed him so long ago. So the rumors are true! But it won't matter. Even he can't live through the holocaust I plan for rest of humanity!"
"You sure do like the sound of your own voice, Kraut," Jasmine commented. "You should be more concerned with your well-being."
"Mind your tongue, Frau Jasmine. I do not need you to speak for you to bear sons for the Reich!"
Gloria smiled. "Oh, Dorty! She's right, you know. When you had your goons stun me and Jasmine I heard what you said about Tabitha and Lydia. No-one, not even a Tonka toy Nazi like you, insults our great grans, God rest their souls."
"Oh, really Frau Gloria? Just what are you going to do about it?" Dornheimer's sense of superiority melted when he noticed both women were unnaturally composed.
"For one, Dorty, you're all alone in here with us. Also, you should've binded our legs, and third.... whoever tied our hands did a piss-poor job." In a flash Gloria's hands gripped the front edge of Dornheimer's cube and, in a prodigious display of acrobats that defied the mass and size of her breasts, flipped over her Nazi tormentor, knocking the cap off his head in the process. Jasmine lashed out with a savage kick, knocking the stunner Dorty had in his cube's left hand.
Now behind Dornheimer, Gloria turned around so fast that her naked bust threatened to send her spilling to the floor. She grabbed the machine man's head and ripped it off like it was offending follicle between her eyebrows. Still not satisfied, she next tore off Dornheimer's mechanical right arm and used it as club to bash the cube like a pinata.
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Hold that noise, girl!" Jasmine exclaimed. "That's enough Brock Samson action for one day!"
"Fine." She spat at the cube and tossed the arm. "Like I said, no-one insults our great grans and gets away with it."
Jasmine inspected the stunner and liked what she saw. "We're going to need more guns and a plan, Gloria, if we're going to something meaningful here."
After making a futile attempt to close up her bodysuit's front Gloria tied the empty arms around her waist and put her hands on her slim hips, making her war face. "We're going to rescue my brother and whatever prisoners these lost-in-time Nazi have here, destroy Schwarze Sonne, and return to Earth. Once again, a Wilcox and a Parlor are going to save the world."
Jasmine kissed the little crucifix she kept around her neck that the Nazis failed to remove. "That'll work, Gloria, but I think we should find some new suits that'll fit us first."
"Agreed. We can't have our twins bouncing every which way. Now I can really appreciate what our great grans had to deal with every day."
"So, is there anything I can do to persuade you fine jade maidens to stay?" asked the little old Chinese man that operated a Fat Panda Chinese Food franchise in Memphis, Tennessee, circa 2009.
"We've had it, Mr. Sèzhītú," said Jocelyn Wilcox, her southern accent making the pronunciation of her employer's name a treat for the ears. "This is the last night for me and Ramona as Fat Panda employees. With all the unwanted attention we're getting we can't do our jobs properly as delivery drivers."
"You can work the counter full-time instead, and I can increase your salaries by 40%," the old man ventured. "You two have increased my business to warrant such a generous raise."
"It'll be worse at the counter," said Ramona Parlor, her bust threatening to break out of the China shirt that comprised part of the Fat Panda work outfit. "The reason business is up is because all those college boy oglers and grab-asses have been going through the serving line again and again just to see me and Jocelyn breath in these tight shirts. As delivery drivers we had a fleet of those knuckle-draggers follow us and taking cellphone videos and pictures. All those car accidents were caused when they tried to overtake us for better pictures."
The man sighed. "I see. Both of you will be missed like a day among three years. I'm leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow. Turn in your spare uniforms in the morning before opening. At that time you both will receive a $500 bonus along with your final paychecks." Both 20-year-old college sophomores beamed with delight and appreciation with so much vigor that the buttons on their china shirts busted, exposing their paramount breasts. Blushing profusely, they covered their abundant charms with their arms, thanked Sèzhītú quickly, and made for the small employee room to change into more sturdy clothes.
Underneath his disguise one Mr. Big was smiling. The immortal little man and his accompanying servant Albert arrived in Memphis a year earlier to stake out and eventually rob the Rock'n'Soul and Fire Museums. Assuming the identities of Chinese entrepreneurs, the duo bought a Fat Panda franchise to enhance their secret identities. It was dumb luck that Jocelyn and Ramona happened to be attending the University of Memphis at the time and applied for jobs at the newly-opened Fat Panda six months ago.Not quite believing his luck, Big decided to have some fun.
At odd times during those six months Big added a special ancient Chinese compound to both girls' lunchtime meals. The compound, according to legend, increased the most prominent aspect of the person that ingested it. In this case, naturally, it was breasts. Both girls were petite at 5'1" and were naturally buxom with 42" chests. In fits and starts, depending on when they ate the tainted meals, the girls added an additional 10 inches of sweet shirt meat. Spying on them like the untouchable voyeur he was Big knew the girls' boyfriends had come to like Friday nights, making a ritual of measuring their belles' chests and then engaging in more measurements of an intimate kind.
Before closing shop Big had to giggle. As Wilcox and Parlor women Jocelyn and Ramona should've known something was up when they started to work at Fat Panda. Big's fake name, Hào Sèzhītú, was actually one word, Hàosèzhītú. In Chinese it meant dirty old man. Had they known that, and employed feminine intuition that led to the downfall of several of Big's other capers in the past, then Big would've robbed the museums earlier and in a much more direct manner. That they hadn't meant that Big could now get the more choice artifacts easier.
It struck Big just then that the girls deserve one final gift. Tomorrow, still as Mr. Sèzhītú, he'll give them small bowls of rice laced with the rest of the compound. Big figured that the concentrated doses would increase their breasts by an additional 15 to 20 inches in two weeks time. If the girls linked to rice they received to the fresh, aggressive expansion it wasn't much of a concern to Big. In two days Big and Albert would've completed their robberies of the museums and head for a secret lair in the Canadian Rockies. He spared a few moments to think what kind of lives the girls would do when they had busts almost big around as they were tall. If they remained focus and determined like their predecessors then they could still become police officers as they were criminal justice majors. However, if they forget to remain careful just one time with their boyfriends then they'll become beneficent matriarchs, the heads of large, loving families. Big felt just a bit jealous of whatever babies the duo would eventually end up having, suckling from such beautiful, life-affirming teats.
"As you know, ma'am, remotely piloted vehicles have proven themselves indispensable in Iraq and Afghanistan. The MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper drones will soon be joined by the MQ-12 Ambush, a jet-powered drone with three times the speed of the Reaper yet has the same loiter efficiency and low observable values."
"Yes, so I have been told, Major Scale," said Agnes Chase, representative from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. "I have also been told that an Ambush cost twice as much as a Reaper. Just why is that?"
Scale was expecting this. "In addition to the sophisticated electronics and avionics suite the Ambush, in the hands of its controller, can engage other drones, helicopters, and even slow-moving manned aircraft."
"Hmm... Sounds like Ambush is a perfect name for this program," Chase announced. "The Air Force gets a new expensive toy and expects to have those craft lost in combat replaced just as easily. As you said the MQ-12 is jet powered, and therefore faster. That means the remote control systems have to be that much more sophisticated and just as expensive. So, who pilots them?"
"Fighter pilots, ma'am. Mostly volunteers."
Chase harrumphed. "Expensively trained pilots that draw equally fat paychecks and ultimately receive outrageous retirement pay. Retirement pay that's used to buy boats and golf club membership while the 'retired' pilots earn hefty salaries as commercial airline pilots."
"The Air Force is addressing the issue, Mrs. Chase. Next year is the last one in which we'll be taking actual pilots. All future operators will be trained from the onset as such, thereby reducing costs. We had to take care of a legacy issue in regards to pilots who are unable to resume flight status for manned aircraft."
Behind thick rimmed glasses Chase raised an eyebrow. "Is that so, Major Scale. Are these pilots overweight, have substance abuse problems, or decided to ride the gravy train without putting their taxpayer supported butts into danger?"
Scale looked indignant. "That's unfair, Representative Chase. You clearly shown your ignorance on the subject. I can introduce you to some of those pilots right now."
"Do that, Major. I want to see." Chase made a mental checkmark against Scale's name to be used later.
After a few minutes both Chase and Scale entered a single-story building on the base. Past the initial entry area they were in the flight control room. What Chase saw almost made her glasses fall off. There were six rather attractive female pilot officers, all with short-cut hair as if they were expecting to put on a flight helmet at any moment. All had the regulation skirt and sneakers on, but the short sleeve shirts were... were... huge! Each pilot had a bust that filled their laps completely and then some, making the ability to reach forward difficult and normal typing impossible. Their keyboards were split in half and were within reach of their respective hands as well as the dual control sticks. On their heads were headphones with an attached voice mic. They could issue voice commands that could control the drones as well as using the sticks.
Seeing Chase flabbergasted, Scale filled her in. "These fine ladies were active fighter pilots just seven months ago. Then, during a briefing held by an old, short man posing as a defense contractor, they were given a substance that cause the radical increase in breast size you see now. Having lost flight status, they were given the opportunity to fly drones to keep their pilot pay and wings. Otherwise, they would've been retrained for other duties and receive a disability allowance. These six are know as the Valkyries. Perhaps you heard of them if the mainstream media mentions them at all. For the last five months their remote piloting and targeting saved hundreds of lives in the combat zones. If only those soldiers and marines, as well as everyone else, knew their fire support is provided by these women. Women that have to be careful not to crush the wind out of their husbands and children every time they hug them.
"So yes, Congresswoman Chase, I'd say the costs are well spent. Why should we let good talent go to waste after all the time and money spent to train them in the first place? They want to serve their country, and they're not going to let their pneumatically enhanced breasts prevent them from doing so."
"I... I see, Major," Chase finally admitted. "Your point is well taken."
The preparations for the party were complete and the grill was primed, with the thawed meat wrapped up in foil to keep the flies away. 20-year-old Neha Parlor was pleased. She only got permission from her parents to hold the pool party at the house, located in a posh section of New Darwin, by swearing that there would be no alcohol. Doing a last-minute inspection Neha made a discovery. "Harley, why are you wearing a thong?"
"Lime green isn't my color," the long-hair blond said, lying on her stomach on an outdoor recliner. "I'd rather show Nathan my bottom instead."
"Harley, we all agreed to wear the bikini bottoms. There are some spares on my bed. Now hurry up and put one on before the boys arrive."
"Okay," Harley said reluctantly, getting up and walking into the house via the kitchen's sliding glass doors. The bikini bottoms and the accessories Neha and the other girls wore were gifts from a friend of the family, a very popular fashion model on Outback. Neha knew the boys were expecting the usual 'swimwear'; won't they be surprised.
In a group the girl's boyfriends arrived and entered the backyard via a side gate. What they saw stunned them stupid for a moment. While wearing regular bikini bottoms the girls had the very popular 'No Strings Attached' brand of waterproof pasties on their nipples. These were the 'high end' model in that the pasties were also display screens, capable of playing back thousands of preloaded messages and images, even videos with sound. All the girls agreed to show the same message initially. When the boys moved closer they were able to see the words 'if you can read this/you're not close enough' displayed on the right and left pasties respectively.
Sebastian, Neha's boyfriend, tried to quell his loins at the appearance of his nearly-naked girlfriend. A hot-blooded young man from Terra attending New Darwin University, Sebastian meet Neha last year and fell instantly in love. A beautiful face and honey Aussie accent were treats for him, and the body more than sealed the deal. While the other girls at the party were the average F-cup size of Outback women Neha was more than twice as big, earning her the nickname 'N-Cup Neha.'
A bit frisky, Neha slipped her fingers down the top of Sebastian's swim trunks and gripped the hem, using it like a leash and pulling the huge boy like a reluctant puppy. "You said you can cook genuine Texas bar-b-q, Sebby," she said after depositing her beau in front of the grill. "If you do a good job I'll let watch part of yesterday's football game," she pointed to her pasties, "on these."
Everyone agreed afterward it was the best damn bar-b-q they ever ate.
Jacqueline 'Jackie' Collins was tired. Thanks to the late delivery of the new HD cameras and projectors it was only now, at 1 a.m., that everything was set for the client. It wasn't uncommon for Jackie, an a/v technician, to work late hours either setting or striking a/v. What was different this time was that the hotel's a/c had broken down earlier in the day and had only just been repaired a few minutes earlier. She appreciated the influx of cold air she felt on her face and neck. Earlier she heard the client berate the hotel staff, telling them she expected the ballroom to be cool by 7 a.m. that morning when the first attendees arrived.
All that remained was to adjust the cameras and projectors. She had dismissed all but two of her fellow technicians an hour ago to reduce the amount of overtime. Carl, the camera operator, asked Jackie to get behind the podium so he could perform a white balance. As the only one wearing a white short-sleeve company shirt she obliged. While doing this she noticed that male employees of the late-shift hotel staff, as well as the three techs she dismissed earlier, were by the tech table. No-doubt they were ogling her ample bust, part of which was resting on the podium top, on the big screens. She came to expect this everytime she happened to end up on camera. That she was very good at her job and earned accolades from company clients made a her a prized employee. In her three years with Mr. Big A/V no less than six junior and one senior employees had to be 'let go' for improper behavior towards Jackie. The old man who ran that particular office, while a character himself, doesn't cotton to harassment.
Jackie heard an unsuppressed snigger from one of the oglers. About to say something, it was the confidence monitor that caught her eye. Someone had changed a setting on the switcher, so instead of seeing the practice power point slide she saw the camera output. Her ire rising, she quickly turned to view one of the big screens before Nate, the other technician on the clock, could change it. For three seconds she saw it, only confirming what was on the confidence monitor. Having worked up a sweat, thanks to the lack of a/c earlier, her white workshirt clung to her breasts as if she had just come out of a pool. While bad enough, the HD equipment showed much more detail. Instead of wearing her normal work bra Jackie had one of her lacy half-tops, the kind she treated her boyfriend with during movie nights at her apartment. Thanks to the now active a/c, her little nipples were pert, and the top half of her small rosy-colored areolae could be seen, though muted by the bra lace and sweat-wetted shirt.
The male hotel staff scattered like cockroaches when they saw Jackie's dagger eyes on the giant screens. Likewise the three off-the-clock technicians drifted towards the exits and slinked away. They knew they weren't going to be in trouble with the boss. Poor Carl and Nate looked like deer caught in the headlights. From the way Jackie spoke into the active podium mic it might as well have been their respective mothers on stage. "There's nothing I can do about cell phone videos those hotel set-up guys might've taken, or those three delinquents who waited an hour for what just happened. I will collect the HD tapes and burn a DVD from the hard disks recordings you made tonight. Yes, I'm looking at you, Carl. Count your blessings that the client wasn't here to see this. You'll be lucky if the boss lets you off with a warning, but God help you two if you kept a recording for yourselves. If you post it to You Tube you'll never be employed in the a/v industry again. The boss will see to that."
Whatever voyeuristic please Nate and Carl felt disappeared like a cube of ice in an oven. They knew they were so dead, only wondering if Mr. Big will allow them to leave without having the door hit them on the way out.
Dharma’s father returned home just in time for Christmas, coming from an archeological dig in the Thar Desert of India. With him he brought an ancient manuscript written in a variation of Vedic Sanskrit. A bright, inquisitive and intelligent college junior that shared her Hindu mother's gift to read old Indian languages, Dharma waited until her parents left for their wedding anniversary skiing holiday before sneaking into the den, opened the safe, and began reading the manuscript.
After a few pages Dharma got the impression that the manuscript was a collection of spells. When she came to a set of words she couldn't work in her head she spoke them out loud. Almost immediately she felt her body shutter, and noticed that the room seemed to be expanding around her. Looking down, she knew instantly that the room wasn't growing but that she was shrinking. Keeping her head, Dharma went to the front door as fast as her ever-increasingly baggy clothes would allow and unlocked it. Next, she put her cell phone on the floor and called her boyfriend Logan. She had no idea how small she was going to get, so having the cell phone where she could still get to it was a good idea.
Half an hour later Logan arrived and was understandably taken aback by Dharma's appearance. Now using a hand towel to cover her slim athletic body Dharma told Logan what happened. A science nerd and master of the obvious, Logan suggested that further study of the manuscript might lead to a way to counteract the spell. Dharma agreed, and for the better part of the night the two studied, for Logan also had a talent in reading ancient languages. Working up her courage, Dharma recited what she hoped was the reversal spell. To her shock she found that she was shrinking again, going down from 16 inches to 8. She cried herself to sleep on Logan's lap, covered in the hand towel that was now more like a blanket.
In the morning, after a hearty breakfast cooked up by Logan and an impromptu bath in a glass bowl, Dharma went over the text again. In the afternoon she felt brave enough to try again. Logan tried not to laugh at the sound of Dharma's now-squeaky voice, but felt anguish as she slipped up on a word. Instead of shrinking four inches Dharma went down by six. She didn't cry as long as before, but once done she wrapped herself up in a piece of cloth Logan provided her, making a sari like her mother wore on occasion. For the rest of the day she stayed in the den and kept reading, sending Logan out for a few hours. He didn't have the heart to refuse.
Coming back, Logan was afraid that Dharma had tried to restore herself and shrunk ever more. Thankfully she hadn't, though she was still stuck at her two-inch height. Proving his handiness, Logan made a bed for Dharma out of a used cigar box and a cloth napkin. Since it was hard to hear Dharma's voice, Logan made an adjustment to the den's computer. Using a long-neck microphone and adjusted software, the tiny woman's voice coming out of the speakers sounded like a fully-sized woman. She didn't sleep all that much on the second night, but Logan kept her company like a protective giant.
There was a brief bit of excitement the next morning when the parents called to check in on Dharma. Without batting an eye the now real-life Thumbelina spoke into the computer microphone like nothing had happened, her parents completely fooled by believing it was a bad connection. She kissed her Logan on the cheek, making the bashful man blush. After lunch Dharma hoped she had the right spell and spoke out loud in her squeaky tiny voice. Instead of getting taller her breasts grew and grew, busting out of the sari much to her consternation and Logan's carefully hidden approval. After making a bad joke of 'getting close in the right direction' Logan was banished to the living room while Dharma inspected her new bust. There wasn't all that much sensation of added weight, much to Dharma's relief, but the breasts were so big she could only reach her nipples by pressing her arms into the sides of her soft, supple boobs. After letting Logan stew in his lusting man juices Dharma called him back into the den and made him fashion a new sari. He also had to make a new bed, taking into account Dharma's new mass.
On the fourth day it was a marathon session. Between tiny specs of pizza and thimbles full of diet root beer Dharma believed she found the answer to reduce her bust while simultaneously restoring her height. Logan, however, was adamant. It was better to restore her height first and then worry about shrinking the breasts. Besides, if a mistake was made now then it could result in Dharma being 1/2" of an inch tall and breasts the size of grapefruits.
Watching TV in the living room, Logan waited for Dharma's call over the computer speakers. He was beside himself with glee that he convinced Dharma to hold off on the breast restoration spell. A faster reader with quicker comprehension, he found the spell that would return his sexy, slim, varsity volleyball playing girlfriend with warm brown skin back to her normal height. He wasn't, however, one of those deviants that would keep Dharma small forever, or, heaven's forbid, eat her. Tomorrow was New Year's Eve, and late in the afternoon another attempt would be made. Making her utter the spell with the required diction, Logan would witness Dharma grow in height with her now righteous breasts intact. More than life itself, he wanted to get his head between Dharma's life-affirming lungs.
At 5 p.m. on the last day of the year Dharma, standing on the floor of the den, spoke the spell and was rewarded with her normal 5'4" height. Together with Logan, the duo had their own special New Year's celebration. With the large screen TV playing in the background they provided their own fireworks that climaxed both before, during, and after the ushering in of the New Year. The next morning Logan made breakfast, only stopping when Dharma squeezed into the kitchen, clad in a towel that only covered her legs and waist. She told him that she decided to keep her new bust as it was the most wonderful thing that happened to her. When quizzed by Logan on how to explain her new additions to her parents, she said she'll tell them that it was an extremely rare reaction to the flu vaccination shot she received just before Christmas. With a seductive smile, she asked Logan to keep the secret, and in exchange she'll happily take him as her 'hubby-dubby.'
It took Logan five minutes to pull himself out of Dharma's cleavage to say 'yes, I do' clearly.
With the other well wishers gone it was only Tobias Eddings keeping his wife company. He pulled up chair and sat next to the hospital bed. "Either way you decide, Sammy, I'll accept and support your decision."
Commander Samantha Eddings, Commonwealth Space Navy, closed her eyes as she involuntarily recalled the battle. Four months earlier the Stroud, while conducting an anti-piracy operation, was ambushed by pirate destroyers. They were defeated but at the cost of severe damage to the ship and 25% casualties, including the death of Captain Pavone. Having lost her right leg and sustaining multiple lesser injuries it was a testament to her will that she survived to receive extensive care in a groundside hospital. Regeneration of the right leg was complete and all other physical wounds healed. Now she looked forward to months of physical therapy. "I've made enough sacrifices for the Navy. Now I want to do something with my life that'll give me much, much more time with you."
"So, it's not because of those?" Tobias said with playfulness as he waved at the mass underneath Samantha's sheets.
Samantha blushed profusely. "Oh, Toby, you know better than that. It's not a matter of getting special dispensation for this... side-effect." It was an understatement. Several years ago, as one of the hundreds of female naval personnel affected by a breast enlargement potion courtesy of the late Mr. Big, Samantha was the recipient of basketball-sized breasts. Thanks to that potion her breasts couldn't be altered or shrunk by nanites and possessed remarkable self-healing powers. However, when it came to the regeneration treatments the breasts decided to tag along for the ride. The naval officer now had a 122-inch bust, a heavy burden eventually to be lessen with enhanced ligaments, stronger muscles and enhances bone and cardiovascular structures. "The doctors agree that once I make sufficient progress I'll be allowed to go back home. Speaking of home, we'll need to refurbish the first guest room."
"Oh? Why?" Toby missed the subtle hint, completely clueless.
Samantha helped him by moving the bedsheets so as to expose her left breast, then had Tobias place his hand on the exposed, luscious tit. "That first night we're home together is going to be a blast, my hubby. I have the belly hunger real bad, and I want to raise a family without the distraction of work. You're going to do your manly duty and make a baby with me, the first of several I hope." As she talked she moved Tobias' hand over the breast, finally ending on the nipple. It hadn't grown along with the rest of the breast, for if it had it would've been too big for a baby to breastfeed from.
Now it was Tobias' turn to blush. "Well, I would've broached the subject myself had the battle not occurred. It was getting close to the time where you would've been given a groundside assignment anyway."
Beaming with joy, Samantha drew her hubby closer for a kiss. "That's enough talk for now, my geeky, foolish, wonderfully handsome devil..."
Tobias put a finger to Samantha's inviting lips. "Hey, don't overdo it. You got me at geeky."
pic by Woot
Piper Wilcox adjusted her outfit, determined to get it to fit right. "Kurt, can't you just use a filter and do this, like, when it's warmer?"
"It won't be the same," the photographer said from somewhere outside the tent. "The reflection of the morning sun off the sea is exactly the light I need. After all, natural light-"
"-is the best light," Piper finished. "Well, can I at least wear sneakers to keep my feet warm for these initial shots?"
Kurt poked his bearded head though the tent flap like an nosy camel. "No. Wear the slippers that go with the outfit. In the time it takes to remove sneakers, and redress the shot, my perfect moment may slip by."
Piper sighed deeply, sending a geyser sized plume of frozen breath into the chill air. "Fine." She took off the sneakers and put them on top of the portable dressing table, then placed the slippers on her feet. Then she turned and lifted an admonishing finger at her pet dachshund, Pitch, whose head was peaking out from underneath a doggy blanket near the flap. "Those sneakers were a gift from grandmother Lynnae. You better not get any ideas about chewing on them like you did to those dress pumps, you little rat." The black and tan animal merely gave Piper a lazy look before going back to sleep. Pitch wasn't a morning dog.
The photo shoot was on a stretch of beach along the Bass Sea, southwest of New Darwin. Kurt had scheduled the shoot in late Fall, a period of relatively clear weather. But it was cold, and it took Piper's total focus to ignore it, especially in the skimpy outfit she wore. The only solid portions were the bottoms, the slippers, and a vest which couldn't hope to cover her ample bust. Her legs and chest were covered in a diaphanous fabric which the wind blew right through, while her small nipples were covered by metal pasties that made the low temperature feel even lower. Piper sat down on a decorative rug that was laid out on the sand and picked up the brass bottle to use as a prop.
"If I was a real genie," Piper said as she waited for Kurt to ready his cameras, "I would wish for some summer heat."
Kurt took a moment from his work. "No more talking, Piper. Your frozen breath is messing up my frame. Besides, the humidity in summer would've made that top cling to your chest."
Piper grinned. "All the better. We'd sell more magazines that way."
After a particularly intense long-distance race, crossing the scrublands on the main continent of Sydney on Outback, Ginger Parlor found herself walking towards the winner's platform. This marked the second time Ginger competed in the Kangaroo 500, a race in the motorcycle division of PERF, the Petrol Engine Racing Federation. Not only did she complete the 500km course but came in first place over last year's winner. PERF security kept the throng of newly-minted fans at bay, having to be content with taking pictures and videos.
First thing's first, Ginger had to pose for a photo op with her sponsors. One of them was a cosmetics company of all things, and the product Ginger was promoting was called PERFume. It was a scent that mixed new car and the sweet smells of hot asphalt and melted rubber that racing fans found invigorating. Going for the maximum sell, she opened the front of her racing suit, exposing much of her Parlor cleavage and applied a liberal dose of PERFume. The professional photographers made her do several captivating poses to the accompaniment of catcalls and whistles from the crowd.
At the platform's steps Ginger was greeted by her great aunt June. A motorcycle enthusiast and PERF board member, the former New Darwin police detective wasn't alone, having brought her pet miniature dachshund Hog. The little dog, already happy to see Ginger, was positively a bundle of energy when he caught the scent of PERFume from the short woman. Hog squirmed out of June's arms and launched himself into Ginger's cleavage, plunging into the fleshly valley like a skydiver with a failed chute. With breasts gyrating as if in an earthquake Hog reached the surface and licked Ginger's chin, front paws planted on boob flesh like a tank commander sitting above a turret hatch
Zipping up the front of her racing suit just enough to prevent Hog from falling out Ginger ascended the platform and took her spot on the first place circle. Posters of her holding the trophy and with Hog making an approving howl were soon plastered in practically every boy's bedroom and garages on Outback
When it came to notable employees of the Cloud 9 Club orbiting Lagoon one thought of Yosefa. A senior pillow woman, Yosefa was tall at 2 meters and expansive with a sofa-sized bust at 7 meters. She was also the 'go-to' person for those clients that were troublesome for the 'smaller' pillow woman. Tonight was no different. The Novaya Zemlya Red Bears exhibition football team was making a visit to Lagoon. Inevitably, some of the players would come aboard the space station, obstensively to gamble and drink but actually to spend the night resting and sleeping between the room-dominating breasts of a pillow woman.
On the whole the men that partake of the fleshy comfort were well-behaved and gentle. There were those, however, that were known as 'kickers and squirmers', acting out on the subconscious warnings that they were drowning or buried alive. So when it came to the big, brawny athletes Yosefa got those that had the highest potential to be 'squirmers.'
It started out normal, with Yosefa making small talk while giving a neck and back rub to her client, a Red Bear lineman. After watching some tri-vee and reading the 'Princess and the Pea' to the large man both drifted off to sleep. Three hours later it started, the huge man tossing and turning like a boat on a stormy lake. With her strong arms Yosefa reached down her cleavage and pulled the man up, made easier with a verbal command to reduce the room's gravity. Like a practiced professional she put and pushed one hand on the man's chest while rubbing his decidedly hairy tummy with the other, all the while making soft, comforting sounds. It was the same technique used to settle restless dogs and it worked equally well on men. Soon the lineman went back into a peaceful sleep that lasted the rest of the night. Yosefa knew she'll receive a considerable tip for her expert service.
"Hello,
this
is
Greta
Nesbit
of
the
Outback
News
Network.
Today
on
The
Expanded
View we have as our guest
one of the stars of Totally Sized!, a film that promises to be
the top
romantic comedy of the year on Outback and potentially the whole
Commonwealth.
This is the first feature film for Piper Wilcox, a premier fashion and
lingerie
model and granddaughter of Lynnae Wilcox Jarvis, a famous retired
detective of
the New Darwin Police and Heroine of Outback. Miss Wilcox, what role do
you
play in the film?"
Piper
Wilcox: "I
play
the part of Leona Bullen, one of four office ladies that won free
breast
enlargements at Cloud 9 from a contest sponsored by a radio show.
However, due
to a mistake the quartet is injected with nanites intended for
newly-hired
pillow women. Due to safeguards and legal issues Leona and her friends,
instead
of getting 16 additional centimeters, end up busts that were 3.5 times
bigger
than their height measurement. So for the interim the friends learn how
to deal
with their new size at work as well as love."
Greta
Nesbit: "I
understand that, for authenticity, you and your three co-stars agreed
to use
nanite augmentation for the the film instead of using plastiskin
breats. Did
you get technical and practical advice from actual pillow women on
Cloud
9?"
PW: "We
did,
Greta. Their advice was most helpful. Plus we got some pointers from my
grandmother Lynnae and my aunt Marsha. At times during their careers in
law
enforcement they had their busts enlarged either by Mr. Big or his
demented
followers the Bigguns. You'll see some impressive moves as all the
stunts were
performed by my co-stars and myself."
GN:
"There is
concern that the film's MA14 rating may be upgraded to MA21 on some
Commonwealth worlds due to 'abundant' natures of the main cast. If
you'll
pardon the pun, will Totally Sized! push the evenvelope of the
MA14
rating to the limit?"
PW:
"That's
an accurate assesment. There'll be one scene with the quartet clad in
No
Strings Attached brand swimsuits, provided by Min-Sized Fashions. Other
than
that, just up to 1/3 of the bust will be exposed in any one scene."
GN:
"Still,
we're talking a great deal of surface area."
PW: "Yes, the cameramen were having a dickens of at time getting us into frame, poor things."
Riley couldn't believe his luck. He thought he missed out getting one of new Zobe HD 120 portable media devices, each of the main chain stores having been sold out. It was at one of the smaller regional stores, ShopSmart, that he found just a display model. The old floor associate took pity on Riley and sold it to him at a 20% discount. He couldn't get back to the apartment fast enough, getting the device up and running in an hour and fully functional a day later. The Zobe was revoluntionary in having the processing power of a full-sized desktop computer in a 2.5" x 4.5" x 0.5" footprint. It had the usual package of movie playback, music, pictures, HD radio, voice recording, wireless internet, camera, phone and applications. With the mrBig© processer it could play touch-based HD games better than other portable game players and well as specially tailored computer programs.
He sent an e-mail to his girlfriend Flora along with a movie file of himself acting goofy. She texted him back, congratulating his purchase, and sent an invitation to come over to 'sync up' for the evening in celebration of passing the semester finals. She provided a picture file as an incentive, showing her more-that-average chest in a less-that-adequate bra. Riley had hoped for this and instantly agreed to come over in half an hour. But first he was going to have some fun.
The Zobe came preloaded with a software program called Morph Magic. Riley, with talent in pixel manipulation, put the program to the test using Flora's picture. With the Zobe stylus he manipulated the image, removing the bra and filling in the blank space with the cloning tool. Already having intimate knowledge of Flora's flesh, Riley's artisty made the photo breasts appear wholesome and pleasing to his eye. He then had more fun, using the morphing tools to enlarge Flora's chest treasures to gynormus proportions. With the tiny screen it was hard to tell just how big he made them, having to zoom back to see that they were at least sofa size, judging by the curving slope. He did noticed the tip of the stylus glowed when it came into contact with the screen surface. He supposed it was to make drawing easier in low-light conditions.
Saving the file, Riley gabbed his coat and left for Flora's apartment. It was only ten minutes on foot, and along the way he stopped by a sub sandwich shop to buy a pair of foot-long tuna subs and a liter of diet soda. The Zobe vibrated in his pocket, the number showing it belonged to Flora. He knew she was an anxious girl, but she knew this was his routine. She can wait five more minutes: after all, they had the whole evening to look forward to.
It was a bleak sky that greeted Nancy and Jordan as they prepared the diner for the daily influx of customers. Given the slate-colored clouds, it could either be a cold rain or an inch or two of unwanted snow. Last week Nancy banged up her elbow when she slipped on some ice while shoveling, so she hoped for the former. Owners of Earnest Eats, the two women expected the rest of the employees to arrive within half an hour. The two cooks, the women's husbands, arrived with them, prepping the kitchen for everything from salads to 8-ounce steaks.
Nancy and Jordan, after serving 22 years in the police department, opened a diner they had talked about for so long. With the children in college there was plenty of time to indulge in other interests. Still having the knack when it came to investigations, the duo also worked part-time as private detectives, only taking those cases they deemed worthy.
Hearing a firm knock on the diner's entrance made Jordan invesitgate. She found a woman bundled up to withstand the harsh wind that made the cold air feel even colder. The woman's face was fixed with apprehension and determination, telling Jordan that she was here on business. She ushered the woman in and took her coat, only then seeing that she was pneumatic of chest just like herself and Nancy.
"You two are Nancy Wilcox and Jordan Parlor?" said the woman with short blond hair and hazel colored eyes as she settled in the offered chair. She took the cup of coffee handed to her by Nancy and took a sip. "I'm Hanna Miller. I've been told you can investigate problems, and I need your help."
"Just what might that problem be, Ms. Miller?" Nancy said taking a draw of coffee.
"It's my boyfriend, Wooster. He's been missing for two weeks, ever since he got that interview with Mr. Ben Bigguns. All my text messages have gone unanswered and he hasn't answered his voicemail. If it wasn't for me his pet basset hound would've died in his apartment, and he so loves that dog."
With a well-worn spiral notepad Jordon took down the notes. "Ms. Miller, what does your boyfriend do for a living?"
Hanna blushed. "He's a graphic artist with a speciality in drawing the female form much like my own, and yours as well I daresay, given what I've see already."
"Really?" Nancy quipped. "Mr. Bigguns owns and publishes Bigguns Monthly, a large-size nudie magazine noted for its full-length detachable posters and artwork. From what I read, Mr. Bigguns is a character. What's to say Wooster didn't take up an offer by Mr. Bigguns to spend an impromptu holiday in the Carribean, surrounded by Bigguns girls day and night?"
Jordan giggled. "I have pinch my hubby whenever I catch him watching those Bigguns pay-per-boob specials. My wonders are all-natural, unlike those girls."
Hanna looked heated. "Wooster isn't that kind of man! We got engaged just before he disappeared!" She showed the two former officers her engagement ring, shoving it in their faces like Lex Luthor confronting Superman with a piece of Kyrptonite. "Plus look at me! I'm just as well-endowed as any of those floozies in that magazine, and their all natural. There was no need for him to run off when he could snuggle up against my natural ta-tas anytime."
"I see you're quite passionate on that subject, Ms. Miller," Nancy quipped. "How much money was Wooster being offered for this new job he was interviewing for?"
"65,000 a year with bonuses," Hanna offered.
Jordan looked impressed. "Was that more than he was getting previously?" When Hanna nodded yes a look of comprehension filled Jordan's face. "It might be the case that Wooster was forced to go along with whatever shenanigans Mr. Bigguns had in mind in order to secure the job."
"Like I said, that isn't something Wooster would do," Hanna pleaded. "I've gone to the Police, but I'm not going to hold my breath as they came to the same conclusion you just made. Outside the station, one of the old-time officers recommended you and Mrs. Wilcox. He said you two have a way in solving such cases quickly."
Jordan looked at Nancy and found the all-so-subtle sign waiting. "We'll take the case, Ms. Miller. It'll be $200 a day plus expenses."
"Agreed," said Hanna eagerly.
"We can start immediately, and on top of the list is investigating Wooster's apartment first." Jordan's smile put Hanna at ease. "We would like you to accompany us and answer questions about Wooster's background."
"Certainly," said the happy blond. "I have a renewed sense of hope now, all thanks to you two."
Nancy smiled. "You see? You're getting your money's worth already."
Rusticating in his private beachhouse on Antigua, one Mr. Ben Bigguns nursed an iced tea on the shaded porch while watching the antics of bikini-clad women attempting to play volleyball. It wasn't the wind or sun that hampered their efforts, but their new buxomness. Having a pair of fleshy basketballs on one's chest, in of itself a wonderful thing, did interfere in the delivery of serves and powerful spikes, not even mentioning one's balance on sand.
One of the women approached Bigguns, her bikini strings hugging her breasts tight like rubber bands around a newspaper. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" said the woman with a sweet Southern drawl.
The little old man lowered his sunglasses and placed his tea on the chair's built-in cup holder. "Daisy, you lied to me about your age. I checked. You're 18, not 19."
"Aw, please cut me some slack, Mr. Bigguns," pleaded Daisy. "My birthday is next week."
"So it is, Daisy, but you broke the rules. If certain authorities find out, it'll mean bad news for my magazine. I'm sorry, Missy, but I'll have to take your boobs back."
"Unfair," the freckled-faced woman pouted. "I was just getting use to them."
Bigguns snapped his fingers, and out from the kitchen door came a man with two days worth of beard and unwashed hair. If one hazard to smell his breath one would gag on the aroma of Oreo cookies and Mountain Dew. He looked zoned out until his eyes landed on Daisy's chest treasures. Fresh life as well as lust filled them like rainfall to a bucket. In his hand was an electronic tablet with a most unusual stylus, and he eagerly awaited for the good word from Bigguns. "Wooster, this girl in front of me broke a rule and will now relinquish her chest. Give her a C-cup top."
The graphic artist was yanked out of whatever lingering malaise that resided in his head. "Mr. Bigguns, I don't know if I can draw anything that small. Believe me, I tried."
"You'll do it and like it, Wooster. Or else you'll won't have Tiffany and Dora tonight."
"Okay, I'll do it," said the pentative man. Using the most odd stylus, Wooster brought up an image file of Daisy on his tablet and worked his magic. Every time he used the stylus Wooster felt sick, as if there was a spirit inhabiting it that resented being used, especially for what Wooster was doing for Bigguns. When done, he simply saved the file, and proof of his work came in the form of a plaintive whine from Daisy, seeing how her bikini top now hung loose over her chest.
A sigh escaped from Bigguns' mouth. "She's an E-cup, Wooster, and that'll have to do. If you try again now you might give her a concave chest. Daisy, get your suitcase and go. You'll find enough money for a cab, hotel room, and plane ticket in your purse."
"It was fun while it lasted, Mr Bigguns. Thanks for everything." Daisy hugged the little man like she would a grandfather and left. If only she knew that Bigguns was as far being a grandfather that one could get.
An hour later Mr. Bigguns was in his private study, going over a ledger. He had taken off his fake mustache, eyebrows and beard. For those that knew him as he truly was they would've recognized the decrepit face of one Mr. Big, supercriminal and lecher without peer. His assistant in crime, Albert, entered the room with a measured sense of urgency. "Big, we have a problem. Those nosy Omaha private detectives are on this island."
"Damn!" Big exclaimed. "I thought Wooster's video and his contract would've convinced those two that the case was closed."
Albert poured himself a shot of Scotch from the mini bar. "My contacts in St. Johns have been keeping an eye on them. Despite attempting to be inconspicuous, those two detectives have a group of admiring men, trailing behind the pair like so much goldfish poop."
Big downed a shot of Scotch as well. "What is it with Wilcox and Parlor women? Their overdeveloped senses of duty and righteousness just have to be linked to their breast size."
"Indeed, Big. What is the plan?"
The little man took the pose of Ronin's Thinker, then snapped his fingers. "We'll invite them to the belly of the beast, and I'll try my mind-control tricks on them. If that doesn't work, I'll just have Wooster give them breastworks capable of withstanding epic sieges from armies of horny Spring Break boys!"
"A most practical use of someone with Wooster's talents, Big. I'm getting the sense he's been itching to see just how big he can make a woman using that stylus."
A devilish glint danced in Big's eye. "So am I, Albert, so am I."
Nancy and Jordan managed to give the slip to the gaggle of mouthbreathers that followed them from the airport and reached the hotel. Still their undeniable aura of sexiness got past their most conservative choice of wardrobe and made even happily married men look at them. It was the same problem the duo experienced as police detectives, and it took quite a bit of preserverence when dealing with the stupefied.
The duo changed into vacation clothes just to show they made the effort to blend in. About to head out into the streets of St. Johns to make their inquries, they were met by Albert in the lobby. He extended an invitation for them to come to Mr. Bigguns' beachhouse for dinner. The skin magazine owner wanted the private detectives to see for themselves and hear with their own ears that Wooster made up his mind and elected to work for Mr. Bigguns. Still skeptical, Nancy and Jordan agreed and went with Albert in his Range Rover. Together, they hoped to persuade Wooster to return home, and to lend further weight to their argument they planned to show 'some' cleavage. Seeing two pairs of shirt melons the same size his girlfriend sported should be enough incentive for the graphic artist to change his mind.
At the beachhouse the duo were taken aback by the sight of Biggun's beach bunnies, all of them just as pneumatic if not a little more than themselves. Ben Bigguns was every bit the lecherous old man as portrayed in his magazine, only needing to turn his head to be buried in the boobs of one of his omni-present bikini babes. At the dinner table, inbetween sips of wine and portions of steak, Bigguns tried to impress on the duo that Wooster won't change his mind. When pressed, he finally relented and agreed for them to meet him. In the living room the duo found the couch they sat on to be sinfully comfortable. Combined with the drug-laced wine and warm air, both passed out, leaving the disguised Mr. Big with the opportunity he needed.
Nancy was the first to regain consciousness, and first to see that not only was she topless but that her breasts were as big as the proverbial beanbag chairs. Her attempts in moving were flustered as she found herself tied to a chair, not to mention the weight of her additions. Next to her was Jordan, equally endowed with mega mammaries and restrained. Mr. Bigguns was but five feet away, cackling and looking downright freaky with a painted face as he worked an expensive camera. "What's this shit, you prune?" Nancy said loudly enough to awaken Jordan. "I've seen those 'group pics' in that rag of yours. Everyone knows those giant boobies were fake, either made of plastic or photoshoped."
"You've put yourself in the shit, Bigguns," Jordan said strongly, making her breast skin ripple. "When word gets out even the lecherous cops will burn their copies of Bigguns Monthly."
"I like to see you try, Miss Blimps," Bigguns chortled. "You'll be lucky to get any privacy after the mouthbreathers see these pics in my special edition swimsuit issue. Not to mention your jobs as private dicks will come to an end."
"Hardly," Nancy said righteously. "These fake boobs will fall just like your shriveled old man ass!"
"Language, dear, and they're not fake!" To prove his point Bigguns planted his mouth on Nancy's right nipple and suckled like a hungry baby. The 45-year-old mother of two couldn't help but moan in unanticipated pleasure, for the man's tongue played her nipple like a flamenco dancer leading his partner.
Having gotten a closer look at the perverted little man Jordan made an exclamation. "Hey! I know you! There's no hiding that bad vibe of yours. Despite the disguise, you're the prick that inflated my cousin Ramona in Memphis last year, along with Nancy's cousin Jocelyn."
With some reluctance the little man pulled himself away from a most pleasurable experience. "That's me, and call me Mr. Big!" He laughed, followed by a short bought of hacking and coughing. For her part Nancy felt she was going to have to disinfect her breasts in bleach water."Man! I thought you Parlor and Wilcox women would be quicker off the bat in recognizing me by now. Oh, by the way, how are those two little women doing now? It's so hard for each of them being a college student juggling the needs of a marriage, school work, and a baby. At least with those 70-inch wonder lungs they'll save money on formula!"
"You rancid ass!" Nancy hissed. "Just how were you able to blow us up so quickly?"
"I'll show you! Wooster! Get back in here and bring Drew with you. Give the ladies here a demonstration."
Still with a lingering odor of Oreo cookies and Mt. Dew about him, but without the five o'clock shadow, Wooster walked in the room with a basketball-bosomed Drew. With drawing tablet and stylus in hand the talented artist applied his patented strokes on Drew's electronic image. Bug-eyed, the two detectives watched as Drew's bikini top fell to the floor, her breasts blown up to such a size that they reached down to her crotch and pushed out to the sides. She was like one of those morphs Wooster had done on his home computer, and the woman liked every moment of it. Despite that, she had to sit down for the weight gave proof the breasts were real and not some special effect.
"Wicked isn't it?" Big boasted. "I found the finger bone of a legendary Voodoo priest and placed it in that stylus. Now whatever one draws on the image of a living person will become real! It's also a great cosmetic tool, for I removed that ugly little scar you had on your left tit, Wilcox!"
"I would call you a sonofabitch," Nancy shot back, "but that would be an insult to the bitch. I got that scar while I was a rookie cop. A rightfully earned scar in the line of duty."
"An ugly scar marring such beautiful boobies," countered Big, "but now..." A hubbub was heard from beyond the window. Albert, standing in the background, went to the window and pulled the blinds away just enough to see outside. "What is it, Albert?" Big demanded.
The most able assistant know as Albert made a sigh. "Ah hell, Big, It's that goldfish poop I mentioned earlier. It's clear they know the detectives are here, and they're hassling the beach bunnies."
Big stomped his foot on the floor. "Those damn mouth-breathing MILF lovers! I'll show them not to mess with my beautified domestic goddesses! Albert, get the pepper guns!"
"Yes, Big."
All things considered, the pepper mace gun battle should've ended in a victory for Mr. Big. What he didn't count on, however, was this particular set of mouthbreathers had an immunity to peppers for they ate hot, spicy food every day. They were also drunk, having drank all their beers enroute to Big's house some hours earlier. With liquid courage they decided to play midget netball with Big as the ball. Albert tried to intervene, but was dogpiled by three heavyset men, rendering him temporarily unconscious. After a few volleys the ball players grew tired. One drunk had two rolls of duct tape and used them to make a Mr. Big mummy. With the very buxom beach bunnies having fled the scene the mouthbreathers returned to their original quest - to see those two wonderful MILFs up close and personal.
They entered the living room, eight strong, finding Nancy and Jordan still tied to the chairs. They also saw Drew, and on her bust-cover lap was Wooster, his eyes closed tight. What they didn't expect to see were the beanbag sized breasts. "Oh, damn!" said the apparent leader of the walking kegs. His eyelids blinked spasmodically. "My eyes! There's too much of them to take in at once! I've been booby blinded!"
"My eyes too!" said another, his beer goggles having utterly failed him. "There's so much booby! I can't tell were the MILFs start and their boobies end!"
"It must be the DTs!" cried a third. "No way can boobies fill a room!"
Nancy harrumphed. "I don't know whether to be insulted or thankful."
"At least they're not pawing us," quipped Jordan. Together they watched as each mouthbreather in turn claimed 'booby blindness' and staggered off into the night, breaking the sliding kitchen door in their hurried flight away from the house. Minutes pass, and when it was clear that both Big and Albert were still unaccounted for Jordan called out to Wooster. "Hey, you! Wake up! Use that Voodoo pen and return us to normal size."
Wooster rose uneasily from Drew's breasts, his eyes still closed. "I would love to, Mrs. Parlor. But I'm afraid there is such a thing as booby blindness. You two have the biggest breasts I ever drew on my tablet, and my brain is pitching a fit. I literally can't see!"
"There's a way to fix that, sugar," said Nancy, sounding like a mother about to apply a band-aid to a boo-boo. "Come over here." She waited as Wooster took small steps to reach her, only stopping once his legs made contact with her pneumatic glories. "Now, kneel and plant your face on my breasts like your favorite pillow."
"What good will that do?" Wooster's voice was filled with doubt.
Nancy giggled. "You say your brain is pitching a fit. It needs to calm down, and nothing can calm like a mother's breasts. Your eyesight will be restored."
"Okay. I guess it can't hurt to give it a try." Wooster got on his knees and rested his head on Nancy left breast, arms spread out as if to claim the enormous mass of femininity all to himself.
"Hey!" Drew said in a huff, pushing out her beachball glories as best she could. "Wooster could've easily used my breasts! Why you and not me?"
Jordan answered for her preoccupied friend. "This required a mother's touch, youngster. Some things are best left to the professionals."
Albert, once he recovered his senses, sneaked back to the house to find that the jig was up. He spied Wooster using the tablet and stylus, first on Drew and then the detectives. Albert collected a flustered, duct tape mummified Mr. Big and got into the cleverly disguised Supercar, fleeing the island and out of the range of the Voodoo magic finger. The tablet had pics of both of them, and it wouldn't do at all if Wooster used his talents in understandable spite.
Nancy and Jordan were back in Omaha two days later. Their hearts felt good as they reunited Wooster with his fiancee Hanna, the man being practically smothered by Hanna's natural balloons. Even Wooster's pet basset hound gave his master a lathering of doggie kisses on his chin and cheeks. Both were treated to dinner at Earnest Eats. The detectives used this opportunity to tell the story to their hubbies, with Wooster providing his perspective on what it was like being a temporary magical bust artist mind-controlled by Mr. Big.
Wooster enjoyed his dinner, but then blushed profusely as he realized he ate two perfectly cooked chicken breasts. His eyes wandered over to Nancy and Jordan's blouses of their own accord. "I'm sorry for not doing a better job of it. I thought I had gotten the knack of drawing smaller breasts. After giving Drew an F-cup top I was sure I could get your sizes right."
"No problem, sugar," Nancy said like a beneficent matriarch. "It takes practice. Here's some advice. Next time you need to draw small breasts, first sketch the outline of a man, and then give him man boobs." Nancy's husband, sitting next to her, would've made a small protest but was silenced by a quick peck on the cheek.
"What about that Voodoo finger?" Hanna questioned. "It could've made for a fantastic alternative to implant surgery."
Jordan shook her head. "Too dangerous, as it might've fallen back into Mr. Big's hands or someone worse. After fixing us and Drew we threw that Voodoo finger into the fireplace. Boy, did it ever stink! It was like a fart ate half a dozen other farts to make a super fart!"
Nancy poked her left elbow into Jordan's tit. "You could've left that fart reference out. Now I lost my appetite for dessert."
"As if you need it, Nancy. We're more than healthy upstairs now."
Poor Wooster, for he did try his best with the detectives, but his eyes hadn't fully recovered when he used the stylus. Both womens' busts were four cup sizes bigger than normal. Due to their natural back strength and carriage they didn't notice until they got back to the hotel room to put on their bras. They forgave him, saying that, after all, it was only natural for 'old ladies' to get bigger in the chest in their 'later years.'
Both husbands did notice off the bat when their belles returned home with substantial increases to their busts. For Nancy's hubby he got an additional surprise. That first night he saw the scar on the underside of Nancy's left tit was gone. For him it was like an old friend had died, for he used it as a reference point during breast and loveplay. In its place, and on the right breast as well, was something new. It was pattern of raised skin that perfectly resembled the stitching on top of a regulation football. The hubby ran his hands under the breasts for a full two minutes before Nancy told the story and gave the reason why she had Wooster do it. Her man played football in highschool and college and not once every dropped the ball. Now that she had a pair of really big footballs it was only fitting to have points of reference during bedroom bingo. The hubby was brimming with joy, vowing that her boobies will never reach the floor for he'll always be there to hold them up. Nancy kissed him, saying that his record of not dropping the ball was secured forever.
END