David almost always woke up first. He went to bed when it was just dark, fighting for sleep against the irritating and incessant typing in the other room. Typically he woke up just before Heather, with just enough time to hit the bathroom and shave before she rolled out of bed.

Still, he wasn't totally surprised to find her curled up, cat-like, next to him, studying him with soft eyes.

"Finally!" Heather said. "It's been nearly a half-hour. I really wanted to wake you up, but I didn't want to, you know, bother you."

"What is it?" David said. He sat upright. Heather had gone to bed wearing her usual dark pajamas. Now she wore only a loose t-shirt and a pair of sleep-shorts. She sprawled on her side of the bed, her legs a little open. "Are you okay?"

"Oh! I'm fine." Heather said. "I just wanted to, you know, see if there was anything I could do for you this morning." One eyebrow went up. For the first time, David noticed the wet spot coloring her nether regions. And part of the bed. Heather flushed.

"I had some pretty vivid dreams."

"You did that? Is that normal for girls?" David said.

"Some of them. It's more embarrassing then anything else. Makes me thirsty. For things." She scooted onto one side and fixed him with her best sultry look. It wasn't a bad effort for a novice. Her hand twitched.

"Anyway, what CAN I do for you?" she asked.

David was too groggy to do anything but blink. "Are you sure you're okay, Heather? I mean, this is really unlike you. I kind of expected you to be out the door for the Conference. Isn't it at 9?"

Heather sat bolt upright. "The Conference! Oh, this is just… I can't believe I forgot the Conference. I haven't prepared at all!"

She jumped out of bed, and closed the bathroom door. David relaxed. This, at least, was much more normal. Heather acting sexy was mostly confusing… although also very, very arousing. His mind cleared away the sleep cloud. "You could've fucked her right then and there," it accused. "She wanted it, and you told her to get ready for her dumb academic conference. Bravo."

His cock agreed. It lingered over images of her sprawled on the bed, legs wide, wet for him. Heather ran out of the bathroom, her hair pulled back into the usual severe ponytail, and disappeared into the closet. She seemed a lot more.. bouncy.. then she had been.

Well, at least everything seemed to be back to normal. David walked into the kitchen and made coffee. A few minutes later, Heather entered the room. She wore a dark blouse, made out of some tight, shiny material, and a long blue skirt that skimmed her ankles. Still, even in the work outfit, she looked good. Her breasts poked at the shirt, annoyed at it, unusually prominent today. Had she lost weight?

"Does this look okay?" she said nervously, swiveling back and forth. "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

"Looks good," David said.

"No, really," Heather said. "I want your opinion. What about my legs? Be honest about them."

"Legs look fine," David said. Heather smiled, struck a pose with them. She was wearing heels, he noticed. Just one inch or so, and she tottered a little in the unusual footwear.

"What about my hair? Do you like my hair?"

Her hair shone underneath the hallway light. It looked lighter. "Very nice. Shiny. Very professional."

"And my boobs?" Heather said. David nearly choked on his coffee. "I'm serious, David! This is an important conference. I need to be professional. Do my boobs look okay? Not too small?"

"No, no. They're great. Good boobs." Heather thrust them out, waved them around. "This looks okay? And what about my butt?"

She turned around, bent over a little bit, and shook it at him. David put his coffee down carefully. Fortunately, his robe hid the tent he was pitching. "You can pinch it to see if it's firm enough," she offered.

Fine by me, David thought. He got up, smoothed down his robe, and pinched her on the ass. Heather straightened, sighed. "I guess I have to get moving. I just can't help but feel like I'm missing something," she said."

David sniffed. "Heather… are you wearing underwear?" he asked, cautiously. She blushed scarlet.

"Oh! I can't believe I nearly forgot. Just a second." She disappeared and reappeared. "That could've been a problem. Thanks for reminding me. Okay. I'm off. I'll be back around 2. Please, Please don't masturbate today. Well, I mean, it's your decision, but if you don't, I can make it worth your while. So please don't."

And then she was gone. David sipped thoughtfully at his coffee.

Things seemed to be back to normal. Heather was worried about her career, same as ever. Nothing unusual about it. Everything was normal.

He sighed. Heather had forgotten to take the bottle of lubricant. It was still on the counter from last night. He would have to take it to her. This was a little absent-minded, even for her.

* * * 
"What does a good feminist do when she's… excited.., but she has to leave?" Heather thought. She walked as fast as she could in heels. It had been three years since she last wore them. Heather bought them just before her interview for Graduate School, to make a good impression. She had agonized over the decision for weeks, hyper-aware of the unfair societal standards they promoted. Still, they made her legs look good. Her ass swayed even as she tore down the sidewalk.

"If she's horny, hypothetically-speaking, it's only right to ask the guy for relief as part of their mutual sexual relationship," she thought. "But if you're waking him up as well, and rushing his sexual performance, then you need to do something to even the scales. QED." Satisfied, she tried to put it out of her mind. The fresh air felt good. The apartment had been getting a little… cloying, now that she thought about it.

The lubricant! She had forgotten it. Should she go back?

"Well, whatever for?" Heather thought. She laughed. Go back for the lubricant! She didn't need it at all, and besides, she was late. It would take her nearly ten minutes to walk back and get it. Ten minutes she didn't have. Yeah. She could run, but that would take too long.

A couple of gardeners, up early on a Saturday, examined her backside as she walked past. Heather swayed a little bit more. One toe in front of the other. There, as a child of Privilege she had given some joy to them, restoring some semblance of order to the class balance. She smiled.

She ran into Jenny at the corner outside of campus. The slight Asian girl was leaned up against a lightpole, waiting for the crosswalk light.

"Hey," Jenny said. She smiled at Heather. Heather was shocked.

"Jenny! You're smiling!"

The smile disappeared. "Well, yeah, so?"

Heather shrugged, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm just used to you being, you know, serious. Very serious. You know your reputation."

Jenny retreated to her habitual scowl. "There's a lot to be serious about! We aren't all presenting our dissertation, living with our boyfriends, we don't all own big research grants…" Jenny snapped. She crossed her arms.

"I really am sorry," Heather said, in her best "apologetic" voice. Jenny wore a dark black skirt that covered her ankles and an ACLU t-shirt. Sneakers poked out underneath the skirt. "Lets see you smile again. Come on."

"No." Jenny said. "No way."

"C'mon. Smile. Do it."

"You're being a child. Lets just go."

Heather put her hand on Jenny's back as they crossed the street. "If you do, you can come over. We can drink and talk." Her boobs weren't that bad, Heather thought. They fit her frame. She just wasn't that big of a person. And she was perfectly thin.

Jenny's lips trembled as she fought the urge. Then she smiled. Heather rewarded her with a brilliant smile of her own. "There! Was that so hard?" Jenny was much more attractive when she smiled, Heather decided. It complimented her light almond skin, and her eyes lost a network of lines. "And I want you to stay happy the rest of the day."

"Not likely," Jenny said. But she kept a quiet, relaxed smile on her face as they chatted on the way to the auditorium. Jenny at first wanted to talk about female-descended dynasties, but Heather deftly changed the conversation towards how nice the weather was. Jenny was much more fun when she was talking about pleasant topics, she decided. Jenny, for her part, didn't seem to mind.

"I can come over later today?" Jenny asked. "Do you have that same wine you had yesterday?" She looked hopefully at Heather.

"Well! You little lush!" Heather laughed. "Sure!"

The day was bright and beautiful. Heather noted with professional interest the girls in short shorts and abbreviated skirts, lingering around the front of the library. There were more boys sitting around then could be explained by upcoming exams. "Very interesting," she thought.

She breezed into the main lecture hall. The assembled Professors and fellow Graduate Students gave her terse nods, and opened their tight circles just enough to let her in. She walked past them, nodding politely in their direction. Today didn't seem like a good day to deal with their bitter inter-departmental politics and cutting ideological warfare. Heather looked for her compact in her backpack, to check her hair, and realized that she didn't own one.

Heather pulled out her dissertation. Two hundred and thirty-seven pages about remedial politics for women in the 19th century. Over nine hundred citations in a separate booklet that took up seventy pages. She read the familiar lines, most of them revised a dozen times, and went over the refrain of her thesis. Every time women's rights took a step forwards, men pushed them two back. It was all there in black and white, the product of years of work. But what if it was only half the story? No, that was crazy. Everything about the past day had been crazy.

"What have I been doing?" She wondered. The past day felt so strange and euphoric, a potpourri-scented haze of sexual frustration and need. Yes, they had been glorious. Relaxing. Wonderful. But this was the height of her career, and she was flouncing around in front of David like a sex-starved teenager. It was undignified. Distracting. He was the embodiment of the male ego, a quivering mass of libido and primal urges itching to hold her back. And he had nearly done it! The intoxicating image of his twitching cock flooded her mind, and she was happy to see that she could banish it with relative ease.

"Heather!" David called, from the side of the aisle. Heather glared at him.

"What is it?" she snarled. She didn't need distractions right now, especially from David. "I'm giving a presentation in just a few minutes. I don't need any problems."

David looked hurt. He reached her seat, put a hand out gingerly, then pulled it back. Heather took a deep breath. He smelled like the apartment, that rich smell of strawberries and cream clung to him. To his body. Already she could feel herself responding to it, starting to get wet. She didn't have time for this.

"You should go sit over there," she said. "we can talk after this."

He put both hands up. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to, you know, support you."

"Support me?" Heather felt tears blurring her vision. He was there to watch her. Watch her boring, dull dissertation presentation. On his Saturday morning, after she had already woken him up and basically demanded that he pinch her ass, even if he didn't want to. And after she had gotten him all hard. He was still here supporting her.

"Well… thank you, David. Thanks. Now, please, go over there." He couldn't see her cry. Then he'd have to support her again.

"Okay," he said. His eyes hardened. "Well, fine. I'm leaving. Good luck, I guess." He turned around stiffly, like a wounded soldier, then turned around again.

"Oh." he said. "I brought this, for…" he handed her the lubricant. His brows knitted. "For…um.."

Heather grabbed the bottle, pulled it down out of sight, and stuffed it into her backpack. "Okay! Now, go sit in the back."

He nodded tersely and walked towards the end. Heather watched his butt sway. His lingering comforting aftershave -- some sort of fruit -- lingered behind him. He had worn the jeans she liked. David had come to support her. And once again she had acted like a horrible bitch. It would probably take too long to drag him into her office and give him a quick thank-you handjob, but maybe some light petting…

Heather shivered, and looked down. Her blue skirt was soaked through on the front, wet once again with her own betraying lubrication. She checked her watch. Her presentation was just ten minutes away. Already the head of the Department was in front of the overly lit podium, blathering on about some blah blah Afghan Children's Fund blah. Heather held her backpack in front of her and frog-walked into the bathroom. At least her mortification had stopped the lubrication. Really, she was going to have to masturbate just to take the edge off if this sort of thing was going to affect her career every time she got emotional.

"Hello, Heather," said a raspy voice behind her. Heather carefully turned around, fixed her face into a pleasant, vapid smile. "Hello Rebecca," she said.

Rebecca was a dark ash blond, and wore thick-rimmed glasses that took over her entire face, excepting only a few escaping freckles. She wore a wine-red sweater that covered a prominent pair of breasts, and was on just the far side of heavy.

She didn't need to deal with Rebecca right now. "We're all looking forward to your presentation. A year's worth of work, it should tear down the boundaries of Dystolic Theory."

Rebecca and Heather shared an advisor and an office. Nothing else, not even the chalk that had come with the room. Heather had rebuffed Rebecca's patronizing efforts to mentor her when she entered the office. For the next three years, Heather had commanded growing amounts of awards, research grants, and academic praise. Rebecca's level of jealousy rose accordingly.

"How's your new own publication going? Back for review?" Heather said, sweetly. Rebecca's last submission had been rejected, "Impress us," written across it in bright red pen.

"I didn't try to sweet-talk them, if that's what you mean," Rebecca said. "Didn't have the voice for it."

Heather glowered. Rebecca knew that she hated her own breathy voice. She had confessed to the older student, early in her first year, that she had used it in Sophomore English to wheedle her grade up a half-point.

Rebecca sniffed. "Is that your boyfriend?" she asked, pointing towards David. He had taken a seat by himself, near the back, and was watching the academics around him warily.

"What if he is?" Heather said.

"Nothing. Just wondering who would put up with your workload. Does he see you at all or do you just e-mail him pictures? I see you've lost weight. For him?"

Heather nearly slapped her. Even as she delivered the barb, Rebecca frowned. She sniffed the air. "Do you smell something?" she said. "….Mangos? Raspberries?"

"My relationships are none of your business. And we are in a committed, mutual partnership," Heather said. She smiled beatifically. Smiling she could do.

Rebecca blinked. "That must be why you sent him to sit in the back," she said.

"I didn't want him distracting me!"

"Is that what it is? Distracting? I'd think the girl with the vaunted 1500 GMAT wouldn't be distracted so easily,"

"At least my IQ is higher then chest level," Heather said. "Think about it. I've got the brains and I've got the boy. Enjoy my speech, Rebecca." She turned, satisfied, and walked off.

Rebecca blinked, frowned, "Is that strawberries…? Wait, Heather!"

But Heather just walked off, holding the backpack triumphantly in front of a darker-blue stain. Just to put insult to injury, she swayed her hips again. It felt nice. It was always good to get the last word in. Higher then chest level. She giggled. The perfect putdown.

* * * 
Jenny had tried everything to wipe the smile on her face. Nothing seemed to be working. She thought about strife in Darfur, of AIDS in Africa… but even after she managed to scare it off, the same giggly contented smile would slip back on. It made her look like a contented ditz. She had already shocked several classmates, all of whom were expecting her usual half-scowl. She nearly giggled. "NOT going to giggle," she told herself. Even if her hormones were getting away from her, there was no excuse for giggling.

She wanted to be serious. It was just that Heather had asked her not to be. And Heather did have good advice. She had -- when they -- well, Jenny couldn't recall exactly what Heather had told her when they were drinking together, but she certainly appreciated it. She had hummed to herself all the way back to her own studio apartment. Jenny felt… good. Happy.

And with a certain energy she couldn't quite put her finger on. Like a warm tingle that spread across her… vaginal area…, then north, before ending somewhere in the back of her head. Jenny decided to take a last ditch trip to the bathroom to calm down.

The bathroom was deserted. Jenny examined her reflection. Impulsively, she let her hair down. Usually she was cursed by at least three or four pimples, blemishing her soft tan skin. But they all seemed to be gone today.

It smelled nice in here. Like strawberries and wine. She turned around to check her rear. Her ancestors would've approved, she thought. Living in the Patriarchy, they would've applauded her lithe waist and curvy hips. Good for bearing children, they would've said. Sitting there in some dark bedroom, giving themselves politely and agreeably to their husbands. Jenny shook her head. It was terrible. Yes. To be so agreeable.

"Jenny!" A voice hissed. She started, pulled her hand guiltily from where it had crept southwards.

"Heather?"

"Are you alone?"

"Um, yes?" Jenny said.

"Come in here with me!"

"In the stall?"

"Just do it!"

Alright, Jenny thought. Nothing wrong with that. Just helping a friend.

Heather was inside. She had pulled off her skirt, and wore just a pair of panties. Jenny stared, transfixed, at the wet spot. A tiny drop of liquid oozed down her leg. Jenny followed it all the way down.

"What happened, Heather?" she whispered.

"Jenny, I need your help." Heather said. She kept her voice low. "I've got a problem. I need your skirt."

"Whoa," Jenny said. She felt the smile come back; she didn't want Heather to see her frown. She fought against it. This was no time to be happy! "This is crazy. You got so wet you soaked your skirt? How did that happen?"

"I don't have time for this, Jenny! I'm on stage in just a minute! You're just a little shorter then me, I know it's a big favor, but this is something I really need."

"Heather, this is really more of a medical problem. If you're getting so wet that you're soaking your entire skirt, my god…"

"It's not a big deal," Heather sighed. "Some girls are just naturally lubricated. Here, wait, I know. This will explain things." She pulled a bottle out of her backpack. "See, lubricant. Everyone uses it, it's just a natural thing for female bodies."

Jenny stared at the bottle. "That's… what is that?"

"Put your hand out," Heather said. There was no arguing with it. Heather poured a little onto her palm. "See? Lubrication is nothing to be ashamed of. You can even drink it."

Jenny's hand trembled. The lubricant glistened on her hand. It was so warm. She was so warm.

"What?"

"Drink it."

Jenny's hand reached her mouth, and she was licking, lost in a strawberry haze. It tasted good, kind of sweet.

She should help Heather, she realized. The poor girl was in trouble. This kind of emergency could derail a promising career, send another hardworking female into a spiral that was hard enough to keep out of. Really, she had no other option but to trade skirts. She shimmied out of hers, acutely conscious that her legs were bare. She could see why Heather got so wet. She was feeling distinctly liquid herself. Her skirt was too small for Heather, clinging tightly and lewdly to her backside. Heather didn't seem to mind.

"Thanks!" Heather said, dashing out of the bathroom.

Jenny realized she would have to navigate an entire auditorium of watchful Professors and Colleagues, wearing a skirt that was too big for her, and bearing a big wet stain on the front of it.

So why did she feel so good about it?

* * * 
"And now, our first presentation, Heather Woods. She will be presenting on.. lets see… an Alternative View of 19th Century Women's Movements."

Heather took the stage. The crowd waited attentively. She grabbed the microphone. Her index finger unconsciously stroked the backside of it.

She had rehearsed her presentation so many times, in her head, that the entire speech came out by rote. Heather checked out the room. Over there were a row of male grad students, mostly nerds, fidgeting. Were they checking her out? Possibly, the skirt was just a little bit too small for her. It hugged her rear, forcing her legs together, and she had to step carefully around the stage in her heels. Impulsively, she turned, faced the Powerpoint presentation in the background. When she turned around again, all four seemed that much more attentive. Interesting.

The wet spot had grown again, but this time she was prepared for it. Black skirts! That was the trick.

But David wasn't there. She checked each row in turn, growing increasingly worried. He was gone, not in any row, not in the entire auditorium.

I've scared him off, Heather realized. Her heart sank. He came all the way out here, expected to spend just a little time with me, and I treated him like he was a bug on my ass.

She stumbled in her speech, shook herself. This was important, she told herself. Even if she was messing up her entire relationship to give this worthless, pointless speech. Heather rushed through the remaining ten minutes, skipping entirely the anecdotes and flipping through powerpoint slides like they were a deck of cards. After absorbing the applause from the audience, she rushed down the stage, stormed up the aisle.

A crowd of well-wishers and admirers descended on her, congratulating her on months of work, and she had no choice but to smile and nod. The boys and girls were entirely too close to her, and the resulting cloud of warm strawberries and humanity made her dizzy, confused. Wet. "I need some water," she gasped.

Then she saw Rebecca, standing quietly by herself in the back. Smiling.

"Have you seen David?" Heather asked, coldly.

"Just maybe," Rebecca said. "I think I spoke to him while you were in the bathroom." She sniffed again. "There it is again. That smell. I don't…"

"Listen," Heather said. "What did you say to him?"

"Just that he was distracting you. He left. Very sensitive of him, I thought. You've got him well-trained."

Heather stood so close to Rebecca she could count cavities. Their chests brushed together. Rebecca looked down. "Um, you're…"

"Stay away from David," Heather said. "He doesn't need to be infected with failure. David likes smart girls."

"Well, we'll see about that," Rebecca sneered. She was still looking down, where the two academics chests' were touching. Rubbing together. Heather dimly realized that both sets of nipples were taut. "Wait. I mean…"

"Sure, I know what you mean. If David likes dumb girls with big boobs, let me know."

"I will!" Rebecca said, snarling. She shook her head, looked confused. "Wait, that's not what…"

But Heather was already striding away, too angry to be triumphant.

* * * 
David walked home, his head down. Thrown out, he thought bitterly. Thrown out when he had gone all the way to the auditorium for an hour of the most godawful speeches and boring presentations. Powerpoint needed to be erased from this Earth.

"David! Oh my god, stop!" Heather called, from behind him. He turned. She struggled to keep up, shuffling in her heels and a too-tight skirt she had gotten somewhere, for some reason. At some point her hair had fallen out of its ponytail, and it bounced around her face. David let her walk all the way to him.

"I'm so sorry," Heather said. She panted. Her breasts heaved under her blouse. They strained against her bra. "I heard about what Rebecca said."

"She just told me what you already did! Get out of my life. Leave me alone. Stop distracting me. Well, sorry I distracted you." He turned around to leave.

"David! Wait. Lets.. come on, I don't want to do this here." Heather said. She looked around. Her colleagues weren't far away. "My office is right here, lets go there."

David rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, nearly spitting it out. "Whatever."

Heather led him into the building. Despite himself, David's eyes kept drooping towards her ass. It swayed underneath the straining black fabric. She unlocked the office door and led him through a brightly lit central room with a bank of computers. It was huge.

"This is your office?"

"No, I share it with Rebecca. It's all part of the grant I got last fall."

"You got a grant? How much?"

"Um. Sixty-thousand dollars."

"You have sixty-thousand dollars to spend? On what?"

Heather looked worried. She turned back towards him. "I didn't have anything to spend it -- look, lets do this in my office! Come on!"

Her office was off the main room, well-lit by a single window. There was a single desk in the room, with several scattered chairs and a computer. It had a musty, unused feel about it.

Heather quickly locked the door, and drew the shades. "I'm really sorry," she said, whispering. "I didn't mean to mistreat you like that. I know you do a lot for me."

"It's just part of a pattern," David said. Heather fidgeted. "What?"

"It's just… no, you go on," she said.

"Just say it."

"Alright. Everything I do for you, you take for granted."

Heather nodded. She leaned back on the desk. Her breathing increased, and she put a hand on her chest.

"Heather, are you listening!"

"I am! I really am. And you're completely right." Her hand on her chest was rubbing it now, making little circles around her nipple. She ground her ass against the back of the desk. David, upset enough to burst, was barely aware.

"I know what you said last night, but I just haven't seen any… Heather!" She moaned, half in despair, half in downright need.

"David, I can't concentrate like this. Can we make out while you complain? It just… it'll go faster that way. Please?" She cupped both boobs, shifting them towards him. "I want to make it up to you, I really do. I know things have to change."

"Um," he said. "Uh, okay."

"Okay," Heather said. She attacked him eagerly, pressing him back against the door while her hands rubbed all over his chest. "Keep talking. I'm listening." One leg wrapped around his.

"Uh. I just want you to listen to me, and I want us to be more equal."

"Yes! More equal. Exactly. I was thinking just of that during my speech today. I have a new research idea." It was hard for Heather to talk. She assaulted his neck with wet kisses. Her breasts rubbed hard against his chest.

"Um. I'd like you to help with the dishes… maybe do some vacuuming."

"Yes.. yes…of course," Heather said. "No, don't stop! Don't mind me!"

David's cock had had enough. He forced her head upwards, kissed her hungrily, while both hands started to roam around on Heather's chest. Her boobs felt superb against his hands, warm and hot underneath the blouse. "Just tear it off," she urged. Her crotch rubbed against his thigh, leaving a trail of wetness.

Instead, David lifted her and placed her on the desk. Catching the hint, Heather leaned backwards against the wall and spread her legs with both hands. She was smiling, eyes closed, as she listened to David fumbling with his fly. "I don't think I need any lubricant," she said, stroking her breasts with both hands. "Just hurry it up. Hurry."

"Where did your panties go?" David asked.

"Who cares?" Heather snapped. David drew back. Heather moaned.

"Oh, I'm doing it again. I'm so sorry. Look, just fuck me. Hurry."

There was a knock at the door. Loud and insistent. "Heather?" said a girl's voice from outside. "You in there? I know you're in there!"

"Shit!" Heather said. She put her legs reluctantly back together. "Just give me a minute, Candice!" she said. She looked guiltily at David, who stood, cock in hand, with a pained expression. "It's the undergraduate I'm supposed to be mentoring," she said. "We can't just fuck while she's out there! I'll make it up to you. God, I keep saying that. Here, get behind the table. I know what to do."

* * * 
Candice waited outside, toyed with her hair. It was raven-dark, and worked well with the dark t-shirt and black jeans she wore. She was pale, not big on the sun, and a little fat. Her face was comfortable but chubby.

Heather had been ducking her, and all the undergraduates she was assigned to mentor, for the past several months. Almost everyone had given up, but Candice was ruthless in her pursuit of the Grad Student. Heather's academic reputation was superb, and a recommendation from her would count for a lot. Candice wasn't about to let a little thing like complete stone-walling stop her.

"Okay! Come in!" Heather said. She walked inside. Candice wrinkled her nose. It smelled… odd in here, like strawberries mixed with something… wet. While oddly comforting, like some sort of incense, it was a strange perfume choice for a seminal Theorist like Heather. It was so… feminine.

The Grad Student herself was seated behind her desk, facing Candice. Next to her was a boy, about Heather's age, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. He seemed to be deeply interested in a book open to a random page in front of him.

"This is David, my boyfriend. He's studying for his… Medical…. Degree. Right?"

"Right!" David gasped. He slouched back a little.

Candice wasn't huge on judging, but it wasn't too hard to figure out what had been going on before she arrived. Still, she thought, slouching slightly in her chair, David was sort of cute. So humid in here. Heather's hair was askew. Her opinion of Heather fell a few notches.

"Here, have a drink." Heather said. She passed Candice an open water bottle. Candice took a few sips to be polite. Hm. Flavored water.

"I wanted to get going on my research project," Candice explained. Probably best to get in and out of here. Something about this room was… distracting. "I was thinking a textual examination of…"

"No, no." Heather interrupted. She flipped her hair back. "You get your hands dirty as an undergraduate." David laughed, and she gave him a Look. He became quiet again.

"Um, okay," Candice said. She leaned back some more. Her legs spread a little bit wider. At least Heather was easier to talk to then she had imagined.

"Is that your normal hair color?" Heather asked.

"…Yes?" Candice said.

"And that's how you always dress? You know, all in black?" Heather said.

"What's wrong with all black?" Candice said. Sure, it was a little boring, but it worked. It was comfortable, at least.

"Nothing! Nothing. But I'm going to be testing a theory I've developed. First you will need to take a standard wellbeing questionnaire. Then I want you to do some field testing."

"Field testing?"

"Yes, I can't tell you the thesis, because that would ruin the experiment, but essentially you'll be testing male-female dynamics under differing field conditions. Focusing mostly on appearance. Can you do that?"

"Like, what will I be doing?"

Heather waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing special. Dressing up a little bit. Seeing if being.. a bit informal… helps things along. Do you own any skirts?"

"A few." This was weird. Still, if all the good ideas had already been researched, maybe this is what you had to do. That seemed right. Candice sniffed. It was so nice that Heather was showing an interest in her. Very nice.

David flinched, and fell backwards into his chair. He squeeked. Heather shifted to her right, took her hands out from underneath the table. "Okay, and think brighter colors. Come back tomorrow in an outfit you think appropriate, and we'll go from there."

"Okay," Candice said. It was very comfortable in here, she thought. And Heather was taking an interest in her! If all she had to do was prance around in a stupid skirt for a few days to get a recommendation, that was a deal. Nothing wrong with skirts. She stood up.

"Wait! Twirl for me."

Candice automatically did, her hands on her hips. She watched Heather's eyes examine her chest, dip down when her backside was turned. This was so strange.

"Great!" Heather said. She stood up and offered her hand. Candice shook it. As she was walking outside, she noticed that Heather had apparently gotten her hand all sticky with something. Most of it was on Candice now.

Feeling warm inside, excited about tomorrow's meeting, Candice licked it off absent-mindedly. It reminded her of candy. What skirt should she wear? This was exciting.

* * * 
"This is getting out of hand," Heather thought, glumly. Yes, she had duties to perform. Yes, David was completely right when he said that he took him for granted. And she had to work on that.

But the bottom line was that he had gotten three handjobs in a row, and she had only gotten one in return. And she needed to work tonight.

It was no wonder her thesis had been so off. To work properly, women needed a sexual outlet, one that was provided by men as part of a consenting relationship. Everything had gotten messed up. Instead of doing all the housework, women should've had men do the housework and reward them with orgasms. Everyone was happier. Mentally, Heather revised her reward chart upwards. Vacuuming was, lets see, probably worth a blowjob and a handjob. Cooking dinner definitely deserved a good fuck while he sat on the chair, watching TV.

"How does… behind-sex… fit in?" she wondered. There was no mistaking the power dynamics of THAT. Men dominant, woman submissive. Not part of a consenting relationship at all when David took her from behind, bent her over… she looked over at his crotch. David was driving.

"What's the normal refractory period for a male?" she asked, as casually as she could.

"Yikes," David said. "Five or six hours. Even then it'll be a little sore."

Five or six hours! Women took no time at all. Men were designed so poorly. Heather added that to the ledger of "things to make up for."

Later she sat on the couch, mindlessly watching TV, while David cooked. Five or six hours! The scheduling wasn't going to work. She needed to get off somehow in order to work, she needed to do her share of the housework in order to work, and yet it seemed like she couldn't even get going until, when, after dinner? She had so much to do! An entire proposal to write!

At least it was nice to just watch some TV. She turned an old Sex and the City rerun. She'd forgotten how sexy this show could be. Samantha wore a slinky white dress that cupped her breasts. She kept having to tug it down. Mm. That worked. Heather turned off the sound. It was more fun just to watch them strut.

"Don't forget that I'm playing poker today," David called out from the stove. "I'm leaving around 5."

Heather did a mental calculation. She had got him off around 11. (And poor luck that Candice had gotten the lion's share of his cum!). He was leaving around 5… that left no time for her!

"Well, of course he's leaving," Heather thought to herself. "You look a mess. Don't you have anything that can… speed up the refractory period?" She glanced at the screen. Samantha was getting fucked in a bathroom stall. The dress was hiked up around her waist.

Heather retreated into her closet. All she owned was a tired symphony of brown, grey, grey, brown, and black. Limp slacks. Boring bras. A few skirts that -- ugh! -- hung like a bathroom shower curtain. She tried on a blue tank top from her undergraduate years. At least her boobs were looking good today, plump and prominent. All the years wearing a bra must be paying off. And she was certainly having a good hair day, as it bounced around her face, framing her lips.

Her makeup looked good. Did she put any on this morning? She must've. Her skin looked like porcelain.

For pants all she could find was a pair of tan shorts. They fit loosely around the waist and too tightly around the butt, which was kind of sexy, but a little uncomfortable. And, there she went, already soaking them through. David wasn't going to like that, a girl who couldn't even control her own natural lubrication.

"Heather! It's ready!" David said.

Heather walked timidly out of the closet. David looked startled and pleased.

"You look good," he told her. "But isn't all that.. uncomfortable for just lounging around the apartment in?"

"Oh," he said. He didn't like it. "I can change. Whatever you want."

"No! No, that's just fine." His eyes flicked down to the wet spot. "Just fine."

Lunch was awkward. David wanted to talk politics, but Heather was simply too distracted to deal with all that boring stuff. After trying to make conversation, she just cocked her head, pursed her lips, nodded and smiled. David didn't seem to mind. She was hungry, but tried not to eat everything. A girl needed to keep her figure trim.

"I'm doing the dishes!" Heather declared. David shrugged, went over to the couch. Heather poured out the soap and turned on the hot water. David had explained it to her yesterday, how to work the pots and pans and do the silverware.

"This is hopeless," she thought, picking up the sponge. "I'll just have to hope that I can get through by masturbating, then get as much work done as I can. Maybe some sort of schedule…" She bent over to scrub a saucepan.

David groaned from the couch. "I know what you're trying to do, and I'm sorry," David said.

Heather was baffled. "What?"

"Bent over the sink like that? In those shorts? I know what you want. It's… it's just been a few hours. I need some time to recover."

Heather brightened. So it was just a biological problem! He did want to fuck her! She turned around and leaned back against the sink, tossing her hair back. "You SURE you can't make it happen?" she purred. Her voice WAS an asset, now that she thought about it. No matter what Rebecca said. It took guys from zero to hard in Heather seconds. She giggled.

David sat with his legs spread on the couch. "Seriously, I just can't. Give me some time."

"Wait," Heather said. "Lets see if maybe… here." She pulled out the bottle of lubricant from her backpack, poured a dose onto her hand. With her free hand she undid his pants and slid them down. His cock hung limply, trying to rise and failing.

"I don't think that'll help," David said, but Heather slathered it over his cock, until the entire thing shone with a warm gleam. She inhaled. The strawberry smell was overpowering. She closed her eyes.

Both of them stared at it for a few seconds. Nothing happened. "I guess I don't know why I thought that would work," Heather said, disappointed. She sighed, turned around and walked back to the sink.

Suddenly, she felt two strong hands reach behind her and massage her boobs under the tight tanktop. She moaned. A strong, firm, hard presence behind her made her reach back with soapy hands. He was rock hard. "I guess it does work," David breathed into her ear. His hands undid her shorts and slid them down over her hips. He grunted as her panties came off. A few drops of lubricant dripped onto the floor as she stepped neatly out of them.

"So that's what.. behind-style is for," Heather thought, leaning farther over the sink. "So women can do housework and get fucked at the same time. It's about efficiency." She sighed as she felt, at long-last, his dick slide effortlessly into her. It felt magnificent, a pure bolt of pleasure, and she backed her curvaceous ass into it as much as she could. David held her hips against the counter and started a steady rhythm. He was magnificent, her own stallion, riding right below her clit.

Heather did as many dishes as she could until her orgasm approached, and then shuddered and screamed with both hands on the counter.

---

CHAPTER THREE

"What's going on with my breasts?" Heather wondered. She stood in front of her mirror, hefting first one boob, then the other. It took some definite effort. Until this morning, she had a pair of standard 32-Bs that were completely regulation. Her old breasts were properly sized, not too heavy, and comfortable.

These breasts were different. They dominated her upper chest, perky and noticeable. It wasn't that they were so much bigger -- although they were -- as that they rode so high. Her muscles must've tightened overnight. They rode proudly just below her collarbone, cheerful and prominent. Even in her sleep shirt they poked a noticeable tent into the soft cotton.

They were sensitive. Her nipples were still cherry red from earlier. It had been a busy morning.

Heather had woken up around 6, hungry and thirsty. She spent a useless half-hour tossing and turning. "I can't get up because I'll wake David up, and he needs to sleep after yesterday," she figured, shifting onto her side once again. Her brown hair spread out along the pillow.

She was a) hungry, b) thirsty, and c) horny. If she had to get up, get a glass of water, and make breakfast, she would a) wake up David, and b) create dirty dishes that he would need to clean. But David's cock was right next to her. If she could get his cum out of him, a) and b) would be solved, and if she played her cards right, so would c). Then she would have the rest of the morning to work. Perfect!

How to extract it? There was always a handjob. But that risked losing lots of cum to the sheets, and she wasn't sure a handjob was hot enough to justify waking David up. She could ride him, but again, that risked losing all of the cum. Last night she had salvaged much of it by reaching inside and pulling it out of her exhausted, happy pussy. The cum mixed with her own lubrication was a new and exciting taste, kind of metallic raspberry. But a lot of it was too far inside to reach. Besides, she had gotten so excited again that all the benefits of making love had been lost.

That left… oral sex.

"No," Heather told herself, firmly. Handjobs were harmless, sex was inherently mutual, even when.. from behind. Oral sex was submissive. It was no wonder guys loved it. The girl, sitting passively in front of him, bobbing up and down with her eyes closed. She couldn't even talk, or say anything, or do anything but quietly face-fuck her partner until he came. And then she was expected to swallow all his rich, delicious cum!

Her mouth was watering. Heather swallowed, and looked over at David. He sprawled on his back, the sheets shucked to one side. His boxers were exposed. All she had to do was reach inside, pull it out, and suck him off.

"I don't need to be hung up on old thinking," she told herself. Maybe it was a time for a new look at oral sex. Blowjobs. There, she had said it. First, list the benefits. One, if she kept her mouth in a tight enough seal, there was no way any cum would escape. Two, it was very fast and efficient, so she could get to work quickly afterwards. Three… Heather looked at her right hand, which was already reaching towards David's boxers.

Well, she could think of the negatives while she was giving the blowjob.

Now that she had decided on it, her mouth was dry. That was easy to fix; Heather reached for the bottle of lubricant. The top was already open. She gave the bottle a healthy squeeze, squished it around her teeth.

Now, how to do this? Heather gingerly reached into his boxer shorts, pulled his cock out from where it was hiding. She looked at him. David was still sleeping soundly. Was it always this big, or was it just because her eyes were right next to it? It pulsed in her hand, red and hot.

Okay, time to do "Cons." It was demeaning. Heather opened her ruby red lips and let it slip inside, carefully keeping her teeth out of the way. She half expected to immediately choke, and was pleased to feel him slide easily all the way to the back of her throat. His pubic hair tickled her nose. She slid it back all the way to her lips, teased the tip with her tongue, and went down again. This wasn't so bad at all. It smelled good.

"Cons. What are the cons," Heather thought, but it was hard to come up with any when she was so distracted with the demands of a proper blowjob. Keep your teeth up, lick the bottom of the shaft, keep up a steady rhythm.

Who knew that it was so difficult?

David was awake by now, but still half-groggy, confused. Confronted with Heather's porn-star lips bobbing up and down on him, he did the only logical thing: he put both hands on the back of her head and urged her up and down.

Even as her pussy gave a hot tingle, Heather realized her new problem. How was she supposed to get off while pleasuring David? This was the great problem of oral sex, she thought. Now David would be satisfied, and she'd still be horny.

She could still fondle herself. That might help. Her hands were free, after all.

Heather reached up and grabbed her own breasts. Involuntarily, she moaned, had to fight herself to not lose the rhythm. Both hands grabbed at her boobs while she continued to bob up and down on David.

They were bigger. Definitely. And so sensitive that just flicking her nipples was causing her pussy to quake and shiver. Heather was used to a little breast play, but now she grabbed wildly at them, mauling her nipples left and right. David's unbelieving gaze just urged her on. The unfamiliar and heavy weight sparked against her palms. For something so big, they felt magnificent, mounds of pleasure on the middle of her chest.

Her hands abruptly tweaked both nipples, just as David leaked the first bit of precum down her throat. Heather exploded. She gushed onto the bed, her nipples shivering points of pleasure. Through a dim orgasmic haze, she realized that David was cumming too. She had kept the rhythm up! She felt oddly pleased about it. The last few dregs of cum trickled down her throat.

Sated, she gave David's cock one last satisfied lick, turned over, and went back to sleep.

Now, hours later, and hours behind on her work, she stood in the closet. She couldn't even see her toes anymore, and her nipples were huge, the aureola sprawling lewdly on either side of her boob. Impulsively, she squeezed them together, and watched a deep line of cleavage form.

This wasn't the only difference, either. Her butt looked amazing, well-toned and firm. Even though it had been a few days since she had shaved, the hair on her legs and her pus… her vagina.. had barely grown back at all. Even her hair looked bouncy and fuller.

"What is going on with me? Growth spurt? At 24?" she thought. She walked out into the living room, where David was reading.

"David, are my breasts bigger?" she asked. She squeezed them for emphasis. "Be honest."

"Window, Heather!" David lunged for the shades and closed them. Heather shrugged. There hadn't been anyone outside. And so what if there was?

David shifted on the couch. "I can barely move, Heather. No more, for a few hours, at least."

"No, I mean it! It really is bigger. My bra doesn't fit right. Don't I look different to you?"

David cocked his head and examined her. Despite herself, the frank gaze started to get Heather excited.

"Maybe," he concluded. "I mean, I'll take your word for it. But to be totally honest, I'm not used to seeing your figure at all."

Heather flushed. She deserved that.

"If they're really bigger.. don't girls normally have times when they swell up?"

"They don't have times of the month when their butt gets sexier. Look at it!" She waggled it at him. This was definitely not going like she had hoped. She had to clench a muscle to keep moisture from getting out.

"So, go to the doctor?"

"I guess I will," Heather said. She sighed. "My hormones must be going wild. I wonder if… no, that's not possible."

"What?"

She slipped next to him on the couch. Even when he was spent it was nice to be nearby. "I've been thinking through a new theory of male/female relations," she said. "As part of which I've been experimenting with a new model of relationships."

"Is that why we've been having so much sex?" David asked.

"Of course! Relationships require a equilibrium, and part of that has to include sex. Isn't it working out for you?"

"Uh, sure," David said. He examined her chest. "It is bigger," he noted.

"It is! And maybe part of being in an actually healthy, happy relationship is that your body is healthier too." Heather's mind fired up with the idea. "I mean, before I was sitting at a table for twelve hours a day, no sex, frigid.. that has to be bad for you. All this exercise and activity is just waking up my body. That's why I'm… filled out today."

"That sounds… like an interesting theory," David said. He tried to hide his "are you kidding me?" expression, and failed. Heather didn't notice. "Are you going to get any bigger, you think?"

"I hope not," Heather said. "This already means I'm going to have to go shopping today."

David went to take a shower. Heather lingered over the implications of her theory. What if she was onto something big here? What if the unhappy, sexless relationships of the modern era were warping women and men into pitiful, pale versions of themselves? She had an image of herself in tiger skins, serving David grapes, her breasts barely constrained under a makeshift bra…

She had to write this down!

* * * 
Jenny looked in the mirror and fought to keep from crying.

Every morning she went on a run. Up the hill, down the avenue, through the bad part, and then through the park.

Everything had started out well. She was still basking in that good mood from yesterday, and had spent most of the night goofing off with some old Jane Austen movies. This morning she was ready to get back into the swing of things. She had pulled on her running tank top, her black shorts, and headed out for her run.

Right away she recognized the first problem. Her boobs hurt. This was strange, because Jenny didn't really have any. She never bothered with a sports bra. But when she looked down her shirt, there they were: two firm, apple-sized boobs. Her nipples tingled from being bounced around against her shirt.

"Hormones," she told herself, slowing her pace. Less speed didn't help her at all. Now her boobs didn't hurt, but her nipples still skidded along the inside of her shirt, and it felt… surprisingly good.

Soon afterwards, her underwear started to chafe. She reached behind her, felt unbelievingly at her butt. It was oddly firm, even protruding, and her underwear cut into her hips. Then her hair fell loose from her tie, which (of course) fell away, and whipped about her face. Still, she ran on. She had run through driving rainstorms, and even that hadn't stopped her.

A young guy, about her age, possibly Korean, ran by on the opposite side of the street. Jenny turned her head, followed his heavily built legs, and tripped into a bush. "You were checking out his ass!" she accused herself. Her! Jenny! The girl voted "Most Independent" at her Girl's School! AND she had gotten wet between her legs, a steady stream of sticky lubrication oozing out of her red and aching lips.

Ass swaying, boobs bouncing, spitting hair, Jenny had somehow made it home. She stood on both toes in front of the mirror and fell back on her heels. Her pneumatic chest bounced up and down, reluctantly coming to a complete halt. The first time, she had put her hands up to stop their carefree back and forth, but grabbing her nipples had been distracting. Her hands itched to do it again.

"This is ridiculous," Jenny thought. She bounced up and down again. In fact, she had been doing it for a good ten minutes. Impulsively, she leaned forwards, watched her breasts pull down against her chest. Her brown-chestnut hair fell on both sides of her face, framing her lips. Jenny's lips formed an O. "Completely ridiculous." Her toned, muscular physique looked soft, lost underneath a sheen of soft tan skin. She let her eyelids droop. If she cast the mirror a baby-doll expression she looked exactly like the silly Geishas from her Japanese Women's History books. Except that they weren't soaking the front of their severe, basic panties. Any wetter and she'd be a water balloon.

Jenny fought to keep from smiling. If she smiled, she must as well say "free boobs, men! Come and get!"

Whenever she relaxed her guard, the silly smile wiped from ear to ear once again. It was like a disease. Her clothes didn't fit, she had lost all her credibility, and she was smiling.

"This doesn't make any sense whatsoever," Jenny said. It had all started yesterday, when Heather had forced her to switch skirts. Ever since then she had been flushed, heated, filled with a relaxed pleasure that sloshed around her, leaking out in warm, wet places. She would have to wash her sheets this morning. And her comforter.

"Heather got me sick," she realized. Little prickles of unease spotted the back of her neck. It made sense. Heather must have some strange virus, which she gave to Jenny, something that made her nerves tingle and her body react strangely. One way to find out. Jenny reached into her panties, felt down into her pussy. She pulled her finger out, examined it grimly, then licked it clean.

Strawberries. The same warm strawberries and cream she smelled around Heather. Jenny put another three fingers in to make sure. Sweet strawberries, a surefire sign of infection. And, she noted clinically, she had contracted the same wetness problem Heather was fighting against. No matter how fast she dipped her fingers in, they emerged sopping wet, even once she was on her ass in front of the mirror, four fingers working in and out as fast as they could. Her other hand was locked around her tit… to keep it from bouncing. Her clit felt like a light bulb.

Jenny screamed when she came. It was mortifying, an ear-splitting screech of pure pleasure that echoed across her spartan apartment. It bounced around a substantial library of post-feminist literature and died on the sheets of her single-occupant bed.

Exhausted, she peeped around the lewd image of her own body sprawled in front of the mirror, her pink sex glistening in reflection.

"This is weird, and it's all Heather's fault," she told herself. "Look what she's done to me! I'm wasting my entire morning getting off in front of a mirror!"

At least, she thought, relieved, her face had never lost the half-frown she had affixed to it. She didn't want to lose control.

Pleased with her self-control in spite of severe provocation, Jenny licked her fingers clean and went to find a bra that fit.

* * * 
Candice examined herself in the mirror.

"What are you wearing?" her roommate, Melinda, asked. "A skirt? Where did you get a skirt? Was it in the trash?"

"It's for a study project," Candice told her, stepping back and forth. She practiced putting one foot in front of the other. Candice dimly remembered that it made something sexier… somehow.

"You have to wear a skirt for a study project?"

"It's for my mentor. Heather. I told you about this. Some sort of exploration into sexuality."

Melinda grunted on the bed. "You never explore sexuality. I wasn't sure you had one. You have one color of underwear. One. And it's not even white, it's grey."

Candice let her arms droop. It DID feel strange, she admitted to herself. She wore a black eyelet skirt that fell just a little north of her knee, exposing a length of pale skin. Up top she wore a red pleated cami. It showed a little cleavage, and on Candice, a little quickly became a lot. The cami did a lot to hide her weight, which, fortunately, had unexpectedly dropped in sympathy. She had lost three pounds almost overnight. She wobbled back and forth in unfamiliar heels.

After some debate, she had kept her hair in a ponytail. Down it just felt greasy and uninteresting.

"I think she might be exploring my self-esteem," Candice said. "I don't know. Something about making everyone feel pretty. She's so theoretical it's hard to say."

"Not much theoretical about those boobs," Melinda said. "Hey, when you get back, we're watching Au Revoir Les Enfants?"

"You know it."

Melinda watched her walk out the door. Candice carefully put one foot in front of the other and wobbled. She caught herself, lifted her substantial chin, and swayed her ass out the door.

* * * 
"Jenny. Again. Come in," Heather said, eyeing the flushed girl with mild unhappiness. Jenny eyed her suspiciously. Heather practically glowed. Her brown hair shone with vigor, bouncing lightly around her lips. Her complexion was perfect, and her eyes were framed with long, sleepy eyelashes. She wore a sensible brown halter top that nonetheless clung to her breasts and comfortable khakis.

Even seeing Heather made Jenny smile inadvertently. There was just something about Heather. You couldn't be unhappy around her. She was so.. put together. Even when she didn't seem happy.

"Look, Jenny, I know I promised you could come over, but it's not a good time. I've got a brand new research proposal to write, and I just wasted an entire hour on Dawson's Creek."

No beating around the bush, then. "Are your boobs bigger?" Jenny demanded.

It was a rhetorical question. Heather had clearly expanded, filling out her bra to overcapacity. They rode high on her chest. Heather sighed.

"Maybe you should come in," Heather said. Jenny took a step back.

"No! I'm already breathing in.. whatever weird boob-virus you've got. I'm going to the Doctor. I just wanted to confirm…"

"Jenny!" Heather said, firmly. "There's no such thing as a boob-virus. Listen to yourself! You can't take ink blot tests because you think they look like ink, and now you're coming up with boob-viruses? Here, come in, lets talk about this."

Jenny's feet moved her into the apartment. She took a deep breath. The scent of infection was everywhere, that evil strawberry scent. It was insidious, the way it followed you around, filled you up, got you wet. Even now, she thought, it was at work deep inside her pussy, tickling her lubrication glands, spilling out gallons of the stuff. She had collected a good dose in Tupperware. For the Doctor.

She sat down at the table and waited quietly for Heather to speak.

"You're bigger too, aren't you?" Heather said. She put both hands on Jenny's chest and caressed both boobs lightly. Ripples echoed through Jenny's body. She batted Heather's hand away.

"Well," Heather said, smiling apologetically, "most girls do want to be a little bigger,"

"It's not just the boobs," Jenny snapped. "The wetness! The… vaginal moisture! I'm as wet as you were yesterday, look!" She was wearing tan khaki shorts that fell to the knees. They were soaked through. "I feel like a cheap Sorority Girl! You could probably stick a phone book up there."

Heather shook her head. "It's not about the wetness thing. Look, I'm not wet anymore," Heather said. She stepped closer to Jenny. "Go ahead, check," she offered.

Jenny put her hand out. "Wait," she thought. "I'm not going to check to see if.."

"Just check!" Heather insisted, heated. She grabbed Jenny's hand and pulled it towards her V.

"I guess she must really want me to check," Jenny figured. Jenny ran a trembling hand over the zipper. She was only inches away from Heather's warm interior.

"Alright, you're dry. So what? You still look like a porno star on a weekend," Jenny said. Her hand felt strange where it had touched Heather. Hot. She drank the wine she was holding. When had Heather put it in her hand?

"It's because I think I've made an important discovery," Heather said. "It's about relationships and women. You know, my thesis. I've realized something important."

Jenny looked at the carpet. It was marked with spots that went from couch to kitchen table. Heather refilled the wine glass in her hand. Jenny sank it down. Strawberry, same as before. It was excellent.

"This is all crazy," she insisted, with less sincerity. Her hand was so warm. She felt so dizzy.

"It's not crazy! It's just common sense about how relationships work," Heather said. She waved her hands for emphasis. That set her tits off, and they bounced joyfully inside her shirt.

"Alright, so we're mammals, right? And we have relationships with men. Now, the entire reason we enjoy sex is because sex is good for the species, right? So it only stands to reason that being in a committed, mutual relationship leads to other pleasure opportunities for both men and women. I'm betting that any… growth is a sign that my new arrangement with David is good for me emotionally and for my health."

Jenny didn't even know where to begin. The mysogny? The bizaare biological truisms? She focused on something her needy pussy could understand.

"I'm growing and I'm not in a relationship," she said. She kept her eyes fixed on Heather's taut hips. Once Heather got wet she would understand. And she would. Any moment now.

Heather pointed at her, triumphant. "And that's why you're so wet! Now that I have a healthy sexual relationship with David, the wetness is redirected towards sexual activity, where it belongs. If you're excessively wet, it's just a sign that your body wants you to be in a relationship. QED."

Jenny felt crushed to the chair by Heather's illogic. Her legs tightened around the chair. She could feel her pussy twitch. Jenny looked down.

"Oh," she said, faintly. "I've gotten your chair all wet. I'm very sorry, Heather." Somehow she had drunk another glass of wine. Alcohol always went straight to her head.

Heather barely noticed, lost in her own revised thesis. "Yes, it does create significant problems for the working woman. Time, mostly. And it is a challenge to balance career with a relationship. But I'm pretty sure I can make it all work out. David's cock will understand."

"Fight back!" said a tiny part of Jenny, a deep core lost somewhere within her. It struggled to be heard, adrift in a sea of happy strawberries and a considerable amount of alcohol. Did Heather just say something about a cock?

Instead, she listened as Heather propounded on her growing theory, nodding in a haze of wine and happiness. The virus thing was kind of silly, she thought. And even if Heather's theory was a little bit… off… at least she understood that there was nothing inherently wrong with the female body, no matter what it looked like.

"Listen, there's something you can do about the wetness in the short term," Heather said.

Jenny blinked. "What's that?"

"Go shave. It helps with the moisture, keeps the body from overperspiring. Worked for me."

"I don't.. usually need to shave," Jenny mumbled. Heather eyed her critically, ran a hand down Jenny's leg. It felt soft.

"Well, it couldn't hurt…" she said. She looked Jenny straight in the eye, puzzled. "Jenny, did I just get you drunk?"

"I'm.. maybe a little tipsy," Jenny said. She slumped backwards. Her tits were on fire underneath her shirt. She would do anything to set them free.

"Gosh, I must've given you three big squeezes…" Heather murmured. She gave one of her sighs. "I really wanted to work on my thesis. You know I haven't written anything in over 48 hours? C'mon, I'll take care of shaving you. Quickly!"

Jenny closed her eyes. When she re-opened them, she was in Heather's tiny bathroom, the door closed, her leg covered in shaving cream. Heather crouched in between her legs. Her ass felt cold on the toilet seat. Heather's boobs hung when she crouched, the shirt hanging off her chest. It was warm and wet in the shower. She leaned back, her hair brushing against the wall.

"When's the last time you were in a relationship?" Heathers asked.

Jenny's head felt a little more clear. "Never," she murmured. "…Not quite never." She extended her foot so Heather could work more smoothly. Wherever the razor passed, it left behind a perfect, feminine asian leg. "We're having girl time," she told herself. "That's perfectly okay."

"Not quite never?"

"There was one guy. Start of college." Michael. When she had been just another airhead University girl, swooning over pop stars and addicted to thongs.

"It didn't end well." In fact, it had ended with his coke-bottle cock and a lot of pain and tears. Too bad. Right now she could probably fit him. Plus both hands. He had a magical way with hand jobs. Maybe he was still around.

"Was it.. traumatizing?"

"It wasn't why I went into Women's Studies," Jenny said. "But it did clarify things for me." She started to look around. Her dimly remembered virus theory started to re-emerge from the wine-induced haze she had lost it in. So why was she in the bathroom if it was a problem? Heather had explained it in sensible evolutionary terms, not amateur virology. Heather was smart.

"Okay, shorts off."

Right, shorts off. Jenny wriggled them over her smooth hips. Thank god. She was already embarrassed enough, staining Heather's chair. She'd have to buy her a new one. "I'm going clothes shopping later today, if you want to come. For new business clothes," Heather said. "You should come."

"Sounds great," Jenny said. She gasped when the cold shaving cream hit her pubic mound, woke up a little bit more. "Whoa! Heather. Just the legs. We're not that close." Jenny put a hand on the wall and on the sink. She spread her legs a little more widely. They already gaped open. She felt so vulnerable, so weak.

"No, this is the key to the wetness issue. Gotta get at the heart of the problem," Heather insisted firmly. "Let just get this done with so I can get back to work."

Jenny watched as the razor neared her pussy. She felt so.. girlish. "Don't be a baby," she told herself. "If it was a cock, you'd be okay with it. I mean… a tampon."

The front door slammed. Both girls froze. A dim part of Jenny realized that David might be confused by finding her girlfriend shaving a friend's privates in their shared bathroom. Heather cursed. "Why do I even try to work." she murmured. She thrust the razor into Jenny's hand. "Finish up, then sneak out." Jenny froze, her hand on the razor. The walls were paperthin, and it was easy to listen in to everything on the other side.

"Hi babe. How're you? You get some work done?" David said. His voice was deeper then she remembered.

"Not really… I'll be up late tonight. Whoa! Where are you going?" Heather said. The knob turned. Jenny stared at it. Her legs were gaping wide, she realized. She just couldn't seem to close them. He'll see my tits, she thought.

"…Bathroom?"

"You don't notice anything about me?"

Inside, Jenny cheered. No boyfriend could walk away without answering that line. And there was a lot of Heather to look at.

"Um. You did something with your hair? No? You put makeup on? You... you're wearing lipstick?"

"I don't wear lipstick. David! Think like a guy!" Heather said.

"Your… new shirt?"

"David, my tits! God! Look at my tits! I have boobs!"

David sounded a little hurt. "We already talked about that. Are they even bigger now?

"I just thought… you'd like to see them personally!" Heather's voice made an abrupt turn towards husky. Jenny heard a ripping noise.

There was a long reverential silence outside. "Shave!" Jenny thought. "Heather is out there… taking a… bullet for you, and you can't even manage to work a razor. It's the least you can do for her." She worked the razor around the edge, rinsed it off in the sink. Her legs weren't coming together until she shaved, she thought.

"They feel so firm," David said. "So… your nipples are huge!"

"I know, isn't it annoying? Big boobs are nothing but trouble." Heather said. Jenny heard a buckle unsnap. Heather wasn't wearing a belt. "Back problems. Changes how people see you. Sensitivity… I can barely wear a bra without setting them off… new wardrobe. Here, let me get this slick for you. Mm, you're slick already! Thinking about me?"

Jenny froze. What were they doing out there? It didn't sound like an innocent distraction. She looked down, where her razor had finished the job. She was now the proud owner of a completely bald pussy. It sparkled with wetness. But Heather was right. She wasn't dripping anymore.

"I guess they aren't all bad," Heather said. Her voice was muffled. The rhythmic sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the door. "Are you bigger too? I don't remember you going from boobs to mouth. Maybe I'm just getting more flexible."

She was giving him a breast-fuck! And oral too, from the sound of it. Jenny blushed scarlet. "I should stop this," she told herself. Heather was out there demeaning herself, kneeling in front of a man, just for her.

Her hand was nearly on the knob before she pulled it back. "This was Heather's plan," she thought. "I need to respect that. She's doing this for me!" Jenny put her clothes back on as quietly as she could. She needed to be ready to make a break for it.

"Getting close," David whispered.

"Oh! Not yet!" Heather's voice said. Jenny heard shuffling feet, then the squeak of the bedsprings in the next room.

"Now!" she decided. Jenny quietly opened the door, rushed to the living room and out the open door. She caught a brief glimpse of Heather's legs, spread wide in the air, and David's half-naked body standing at the side of the bed. Then she was free and racing back to her apartment.

* * * 
Candice practiced putting one foot in front of the other. She was starting to get irritated. For the past several hours she had walked around campus like a bored tramp, swishing her skirt around while she patrolled aimlessly from place to place. "What am I supposed to be doing?" she wondered, not for the first time.

For the first half-hour she had simply enjoyed the walk. The air was cool on her exposed legs, and she practiced carefully the unsteady walk necessary in heels. She diligently kept personal notes on her own reactions to walking around in heels, the unfamiliar flush of air around her underwear, even the way walking in heels was giving her blisters.

Now she had been outside for well over an hour and a half, and we was getting tired of it. The sun was hot, and her boobs glistened with sticky perspiration. The strange, comfortable euphoria of the first hour had nearly worn off. Now she was just bored. At least she was losing weight in the heat. It was like she could feel the pounds melting off. Her skirt already felt loose.

"What is this supposed to tell me?" she wondered. If it was her own personal reaction, that she had already figured out. It was fun to play dress up and feel flirty, and now she was bored.

She stood on a shaded walkway halfway towards the dorms. Heather unexpectedly appeared. Candice was stunned. Her mentor -- the pride of her Department -- tottered on the arm of her boyfriend. The suddenly busty brunette was glued to his side, clutching his left arm protectively as they walked across campus. She looked like a sorority girl with her first boyfriend.

She wondered idly if Heather still had that odd, tasty candy from yesterday. She had been thinking about it all morning.

Candice planted herself in front of Heather, hands on both hips. At first Heather didn't seem to register her, her eyes only on her unassuming man. Only gradually did she make the connection between the pale black-haired undergraduate from yesterday and the unhappy skirt-wearing girl today.

"Candice," she said, nodding. Then she started to walk past her! Candice had to tap her arm to hold her attention.

"Hi Heather. I wanted to talk about this research project," she said. Heather looked at her blankly for a moment.

"The research project! Yes!" Heather said. She nodded, reached into her purse, and gave a set of keys to her boyfriend. "David, is it alright if you go ahead and meet me in the office? I'll see you there?"

"Sure thing," David said. Heather rushed in for a kiss, and they locked in a deep embrace. Candice had to look away when Heather rubbed her chest against his. Disgusting. She sniffed. Heather smelled funny. She hadn't noticed Heather's chest before. Hers was bigger, but Heather definitely had heft.

"Okay, how is the project going?" Heather said, turning her attention back towards her. In front of Heather Candice once again felt ungainly, awkward. Overly conscious of her own weight, and her pale white skin. Heather managed to pull off attractive and competent, at the same time.

"Um. I guess it's going alright," she stammered. Pull it together, she told herself. "I'm dressed up, like you mentioned."

Heather examined her outfit. Candice spun without being told to. She felt relieved. Heather knew what to do.

"The skirt could be a little shorter," she concluded. "But I like the shirt. Also, hair goes down. That ponytail is wrapped so tight it could kill people. For this project you need an inviting, feminine figure."

"Maybe I don't have an "inviting feminine figure,"" Candice said. She frowned. "I'm a little overweight. Or maybe you hadn't noticed."

Heather shook her head. "Candice! You don't understand what we're trying to do here. Your body is a tool! We are studying what it can be used for. I don't know many tools wearing plus size!"

Candice stood in mute shock. This was outrageous. Her advisor was basically telling her to dress up and lose weight. She was nearly ready to storm off. She gave Heather a moment only because of her deep respect for her work… and for a moment more because of that odd, intoxicating scent that seemed to hang around Heather. She had smelled it yesterday.

She would have to ask her about it before she went to the gym to exercise.

Candice shook her head. What was that? Exercise? Oh, right, to lose weight.

Heather put an arm around Candice. "Sorry, that came out harsh. What I meant was that I'm studying male/female interactions. And, sadly, men only are willing to interact with women of a certain weight.. and dress. Now, how many erections did you tally today?"

"None," Candice said. Yeah, she would hit the gym, right before dinner. No, skip dinner. Heather was right, overweight women were just shouting out their lack of control to the world. Same as overweight men, really. Wait. Erections?

"Erections?"

"Yes," Heather said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Male erections. Ten? Twenty?"

"What are you talking about?" Candice said, bewildered. She hadn't gotten a boy hard in perhaps her entire life.

"Oh. I never explained it very well, did I? Your task is to examine male/female interactions on a general social level. It's part of my overall relationship work. I'm curious to see if there are alternate relationships that have a positive effect on women."

"What do erections have to do with it?" Although, now that Candice thought about it, there was her awkward -- so awkward -- prom date. Her date had a raging boner, and it had pressed warmly against her thigh. So warmly.

"That's where you come in. Just walk around and see how many you elicit in a given day, so we can get a baseline."

"I… didn't get any," Candice said. She felt embarrassed. An hour and a half she had been walking around, and not a single erection.

Heather sighed. "Candice. Please. They're boys. It's not difficult. They get erections if they blink extra hard. Lets get going on this."

"Well what…" swallowing had become unexpectedly difficult. "What do you think I should do?"

Heather looked around and pointed at random to a boy, wearing glasses, reading out of an Electrical Engineering textbook under a tree. "There. Just go show some boob off or something. That'll do the trick."

"Oh… okay." Candice said. This had to be okay if Heather was okay with it. It was so hard to think with her overpowering aroma hanging out. Warm strawberries, was that it? She walked towards the boy.

"Candice!" Heather warned. Candice sighed and put one foot carefully in front of the other. Her ass swayed. She neared the boy under the tree. Now, how did this go in the movies?

"Um… excuse me," she said. Candice tried to make her voice sexy. She raised it an octavo. The boy didn't even look up. "Excuse me!" Startled, the boy looked towards her. Candice bent over at the waist.

"Can you, um, help me see if I.. dropped my book around here?" she said. The boy looked at her, and gradually, gradually, his eyes dropped into the deep line of her cleavage.

"Yes!" she thought, and looked back towards Heather. She gave an encouraging look. "I, uh, lost it around here earlier."

"Yeah! Uh, sure.." The boy looked around in the grass. Candice cursed. He wasn't looking anymore. She searched desperately for an answer.

"Oh, maybe it's… over here." She said. Candice turned around and bent at the waist, legs primly together. She gave the boy a long, good look at her pink-panty clad ass before straightening, pulling her skirt down. It was so hot out today.

"Guess not!" she chirped, and nearly ran back to Heather's comforting aura.

"Was that okay?" she said, timidly. "I gave him…"

"I saw! So, he had an erection?"

Candice blushed scarlet. She had completely forgotten to check! "I, um, hold on!" She ran towards the boy again. The book forgotten, he memorized her curves as she approached.

Out of breath, she panted. "Hey, sorry about this, but… did I give you an erection?"

The boy blinked at her. "…Yes!" he said. Candice looked down. His pants were distinctly dented with a hardon. She had done it!

"Oh! Good! Thank you!" she said, then went back to Heather.

"Yes, one erection." Candice said.

Heather smiled. "Great! Now, get ten more and make sure to write down your reaction to each one. And his reaction. Then I'll see you tomorrow."

She strode off without another word.

Candice watched her go, noting how easily she seemed to make her butt sway from side to side. Ten erections. Still, this was a campus full of young boys, and she was a young independent woman with grace and tact.

Ten erections she could do.

* * * 
"David. Hi David," Rebecca said. David gingerly let the door close. "How're you?"

"Hi… Rebecca," David said. Even approaching sexual exhaustion, he could still appreciate Rebecca's top-heavy features. She was a dark blonde, nearly a brunette, and wore another of the bulky sweaters that somehow called attention to her substantial chest.

"I stole this from Heather's office," Rebecca reported, holding up a water bottle. "I'm sure she won't mind."

David had no idea what Heather minded. His girlfriend had gone mad. The frigid, busy whirlwind of just a few days ago had become a busy whirlwind that insisted on surprising him with tit fucks in the hallway. And who liked getting fucked from behind while doing dishes. And insisted on pampering him in a hundred little ways. It was like all the nice things he had done for Heather were being paid back in just a few days.

He had written it off as her usual over commitment to her latest research project, plus long-overdue payback for his own sacrifices. But he was starting to wonder. Before they left she had insisted on vaccuming. Wearing only panties. And she had gripped the vacuum like she gripped her…

"I don't know if Heather will mind," David admitted. He slumped down next to Rebecca, in a comfortable office chair.

"Ah. I think I know why," Rebecca said. She smiled slyly. "Smart girls, huh?"

"What do you mean?" David said, confused. "Oh, Heather let something slip yesterday," she smiled smugly. "Men don't like dating smart girls. Too brainy. Too overinvolved with their careers. Not paying attention to their needs."

David shrugged. That came close to the truth, but something about it sounded off. "It's not because they're smart, it's.. you know."

"No, no. I do know, David. You want a girl that cares about what you have to say, who won't challenge you on everything, who won't boss you around,"

"Heather can be a little bossy," he admitted. "Harder! Faster!" she had gasped, on the side of the bed. They would have to clean the comforter tomorrow. Or get a leather one.

"Not every girl is like that, you know," Rebecca said. She kept smiling. David started to get nervous. That smile looked hungry. "Some of.. us.. like to just sit back, listen to their men, not try and overwhelm them with intellectual prowess."

"Pretty big word, prowess," David noted.

"I meant… ability!" Rebecca said. Her face darkened, then she smiled sweetly again.

"I guess what I meant to say, David, is that if you just want someone who you can talk to about stupid stuff like TV shows and movies and stuff that isn't advanced academic research, give me a call."

"Uh, okay," Academics were all weird, he decided. David had caught a glimpse of Jenny legging it out of their bathroom. He had had the good sense not to ask about it.

Rebecca nudged the computer. The screensaver turned off. On the screen was a clearly drunk Rebecca, her skirt askew, wedged between two boys. She wore a shirt that said "Honk if you're horny" across both nipples.

"Oops!" Rebecca said. "Guess I had that pulled up. I like to get a little wild like that." She laughed. Her legs spread wide. She wore a short jean skirt, and it was only inches from becoming a scandal. David tried to fight down an erection. His "stay away!" sense was tingling. Rebecca drained the rest of the water bottle.

"Oopsie, spilled some on my sweater," she said, giggling. "That was stupid."

"Rebecca!" Heather said. She had come in unnoticed. Her eyes were wide with shock. "Hello! How are you!"

"Just fine," Rebecca purred, smugly. David tried to hide his erection. He hadn't meant to have one. These things just happened. It was no use, Heather had already seen it.

"I guess I'll be leaving. Not to work. Just to… play," Rebecca said. She put down the water bottle and sauntered out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"What did she say to you?" Heather said. She radiated anger. David could feel the heat.

"She came on to me. In a really weird way," he reported. Lying would get him nowhere.

"Damn her!" Heather scowled. "Well, come on. Lets get you off." She turned abruptly and walked into her personal office.

"What?" David said. He expected at least a scolding. Heather turned.

"I saw her boobs, and the water thing, and the skirt. And the voice she used. She got you turned on. I saw your erection. Now I have to get you off. Damn that woman!" Heather had already gotten his belt buckle undone, and pulled down his pants. "Why do I even wear a belt anymore?" David wondered, bemused.

Heather knelt down, giving him an expansive view of the valley between her boobs, and tugged lightly at his cock. After just a few strokes, she murmured "too slow," and swallowed him whole, sucking on him with intensity and vigor. Her hands stroked her nipples idly while her mouth danced around him. It didn't take him long to come, and David shot a reduced wad into Heather's eager mouth. She came soon afterwards, shaking silently with the orgasm. She wiped her mouth and looked him in the eye.

"Watch out for her, she wants to steal you. It's just girl jealousy stuff. You don't want to get involved. If she ever gives you a hardon, come to me and I'll take care of it."

"Okay," David gasped. What else could he say? His girlfriend was crazy!

* * * 
"So close," Rebecca growled to herself, stalking back to her apartment. It would've been the perfect revenge on perfect Heather, stealing his boyfriend. And the "dumb" angle would've been the perfect way to do it! Hanging out with Heather, David couldn't help but want someone.. simple. Easy. Very easy.

Rebecca had gotten the idea while sitting in her office, idly drinking the pilfered bottle from Heather's room. As the strawberry liquid coursed through her, the idea had sprung up unbidden. A perfect revenge, personal, and easy to execute for a girl like her, not as bright as Heather.

Another idea hit her. She laughed. This was going to be easy. She had a trip to make. But first, home. She had the itch something bad. Thank god for vibrators.

* * * 
"Candice! We doing this? Au Revoir Les Enfants?" her roommate shouted.

"Later," Candice gasped. She slumped in her chair. Ten. She had done it. The first nine had just been boob-shows. The last one, running short on men as the light dimmed, she had abruptly pinned against the wall, let the warmth of her boobs do the work for her. Then she had staggered home.

"Not tonight. I'm completely exhausted," Candice said. Her feet hurt with blisters.

"For your research project?" Melinda asked. "What did she have you do?"

"Not tonight," Candice repeated. She stumbled into the bathroom, pulled her skirt down, and stuck a finger into her needy pussy. Around boy 6 she had noticed that it was beginning to itch. By the last one she had nearly run home. But Heather had said ten, and Heather was in charge.

She felt her first lazy orgasm approach while she planned her outfit for the next day.

---

Chapter 4: What you've Done for Me

Rebecca had drunk Kaswa with the natives of Cholibumway. She had posed as a Tibetan Monk for two months. For three she had lived in Thailand and worked as a low-income housemaid worked, all for her research. But she had never been a bimbo before.

"It's hard to be a ditz," Rebecca thought. She pulled her car into the gas station. The station was full of busy executives on their way to work, an assembly line of black flannel. She took a deep breath. No better time to see if this would work. If she couldn't fool a clutch of bored male businessman, then there was no way it would work on Heather.

She opened the door, took a long step out into the lot. For a moment she simply stood, trying to keep her balance on three inch heels. Fortunately, the rest of her had the right effect. Rebecca wore a strapless black bustier intended for someone far less chesty. Down below she wore a white pencil skirt she had painstakingly altered to show off just a little more leg. Her substantial cleavage overwhelmed the stylish bow in the middle of the bustier. Overall she looked like someone too stupid to tell the difference between sexy and trashy.

It was perfect.

Now for the final piece de… piece de something something. Something French. Rebecca shook her hair over her shoulder. The stylist had protested the dye job, calling the near-platinum "a shame," and "something those Hollywoodsluts wear." Rebecca had ignored it. Heather was a brunette. Blonde beat brunette, just like rock beat paper. Something like that. She self-consciously giggled and tossed her hair over the shoulder.

It worked. The assembled businessmen were glued to her body. One surprised old businessman dribbled gas down the side of his car, his hand squeezing the pump. Rebecca smiled impishly. This was going far better then she had hoped.

At first she had only intended the dye job. After all, she had a decent body. A few days with the blonde routine and she could get David "taking advantage" of that dumb girl one office over. Then she would denounce him for sexual harassment, use that to destroy Heather, and show everyone who was the smartest, bestest, most fuckable girl in the whole wide worl-office!

Self-doubt had crept in. Did she really look good enough to beat Heather? Best to pick up a new outfit. A half-hour later she was admiring herself in a pleated red silk dress that hugged her like a good friend. "One outfit" turned into three, then four. Her credit card smoked.

She really should have drawn the line at the underwear. If she got David to the point where he was fumbling with her bra, it really shouldn't matter that it was a wine red pushup that shoved both of the girls viciously upwards.

Still, whenever she started to feel doubt, she closed her eyes and imagined Heather's self-satisfied grin. Never again. And if that meant black thigh-highs, so be it!

Rebecca felt so good about it she couldn't resist one yummy fingerfuck right there in the mall bathroom. That's what blondes did, right? Right! The very satisfying orgasm that had swept over her had only confirmed her way of thinking. Afterwards she had licked herself clean to keep it from getting on her dress. She tasted like strawberries. That was nice.

Clothes were only half the test. Now she had to try out the persona. It was never enough to just walk the walk. Heather would never have known the trick to let her boobs bounce so high they nearly bounced out. Or how to let her ass roll around like a ship in a storm.

The boy behind the counter was barely 16, if that, and was heavily colonized with acne. Rebecca gave him a winning smile. First she was going to---

"Um, what pump?" the boy stammered.

"What--- oh. The gas! Oh, right," Rebecca said. She hadn't checked. "I guess it's… that one!" she said, pointing. She jiggled. For an $80 bra, they sure didn't hold much in. That was kind of the point.

"With the 04 Hyundai?" the boy said, craning his neck. She stooped to give him a better look at her superb chest. The boy didn't appear to notice.

"Is that what it's called?" she said. Rebecca turned and looked. This wasn't going at all like she'd hoped. The boy wasn't noticing her at all!

"Um, okay, credit card?" the boy said.

Rebecca blushed crimson. She had forgotten her purse in the car. "I forgot! Oh, let me go get it, I'm so sorry!" she said, flouncing towards the exit.

First Rebecca dropped her keys. They slid across the floor. She bent to pick them up, feet together, at the waist. The sudden chill made her realize that she was flashing her panties to the pimply boy, along with everyone else in the store. That included the highly embarrassing wet spot that had simply shown up this morning.

She shrieked, high-pitched, and rose suddenly, turning on her heels. That caused both boobs to hop out of the bra, squeezing her bustier to a tiny circle around her waist. She stared at the pimply boy, his eyes fixed on her aureolae as they bounced around, free and unconstrained. "Don't look," she squeaked, backing up. Her backside ended up in one of the businessmen's pants, as he walked through the door. She groaned, closed her eyes. The businessman grabbed her waist reflexively, and for one confused moment Rebecca grinded backwards against a growing erection. She shook herself. What was she doing?

"Forget the gas!" Rebecca panted, walking as fast as she could in a tight skirt and high heels to her car. At least, she noted, the businessmen were paying rapt attention to the big-boobed blonde stuffing her chest back into her bra. She drove off in a huff, nearly hitting an SUV in the process.

That was a disaster, she thought. When was she going to practice acting dumb if she had slipups like that? And why was she so powerfully turned on? She could still feel the hot eyes on her boobs. She fought the urge to finger them. "You're driving, dummy!" she told herself, looking eagerly for a parking spot. Time for a quick get-off. Her pussy ached. She could still feel the businessman's confused erection pressing back against her. Her wet spot grew.

Then she ran out of gas.

* * * 
Heather slid noiselessly out of bed at 6:30. Her dreams had been vivid. In several of them, she was dressed in a full maid's uniform, dusting around a mouthful of cock. Another time David had her taped to the -- it had been vivid.

Today she had a goal. Heather was going to be at work at 8am. No excuses. No lazy sex sessions with David, admiring her growing boobs in the mirror while he pumped her from behind. No marathon sessions watching old episodes of Sex and the City, admiring the outfits. Certainly no long bathroom breaks, getting off while David recharged.

Heather slipped into the bathroom, turned the light on. She wasted a few minutes admiring herself in the mirror. Intellectually she knew that big boobs were a woman's curse, pointless ornamentation that led to back problems. But her amazing and expanding chest never seemed to sag. They were tipped with fun little pleasure points that lit up when she wore more then a t-shirt. Her complexion had cleared up entirely, and her thick red lips crowned a face that asked for a good long pounding.

Heather looked down. Her hands were already kneading her boobs. "Fortunately," she thought smugly, "I budgeted time for this." AND she could take a shower while playing with her amazing tits. Then it counted as cleaning.

The hair she had shaved off still hadn't returned. Any excess padding had just sloughed off. Excepting her butt, which was pert and welcoming.

It was okay when one hand slowly crept down into her folds of her pussy and started to play around. It was amazing that she wasn't sore down there.

It was LESS okay when she ended up pressing her boobs against the shower wall, bent over as she imagined David ramming her from behind. Her hands worked furiously. Now she was ten minutes late.

After the shower Heather arranged her hair and tossed on a whisper-thin t-shirt and plain khaki shorts. David was awake, and had arranged himself at his computer desk with a cup of coffee.

"Morning," he said, admiring her.

"Hey babe," she said.

"Can we talk about something?" he asked. Inwardly, Heather groaned. This could throw her off schedule. Again.

"It's about all the fucking," David said, carefully.

"I can't really talk right now. I'm busy." she said.

David looked surprised. "Oh!" he said. "Wow. I was actually wondering if you could say no to me. Things have been sort of intense."

Men were weird sometimes. "So you're having great sex with your girlfriend, who also enjoys sex, and you're worried about it?" Heather said.

David shrugged haplessly. "I got the idea late last night when you had me screw you. Against the wall. While I held you up. I just didn't see you saying no to me."

"We have sex when we want to," Heather said. "It's just part of our healthy, supportive relationship. Now, do you want bacon with your eggs?"

"Just eggs. Thanks."

They were silent for a moment. Heather catalogued the day's chores. Dust, sweep, cook, mop, cook again, clean, blowjob, then back to work. Plenty to do. But that was what it took to make David happy. And when David was happy, she was happy.

"Did your tits grow again last night?" David asked.

"Maybe. Your cock did."

"My penis is not getting bigger. That's crazy."

Heather was sure that he was getting bigger. He was definitely lasting longer. He would almost certainly need greater endurance to keep shooting those thick ropes of cum down her throat.

"Well, whatever," David said, turning back to his computer.

Heather nodded, satisfied. She had twenty minutes to cook him breakfast, clean up breakfast, vacuum, and then dust. She had never dusted before. It had figured prominently in her fantasies.

Where did one get a maid's outfit, anyways?

* * * 
David took another sip of his coffee and examined his plush girlfriend. Something seemed wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Would you have sex with me right now, if I asked you?" David said.

Heather carefully flipped the eggs. She hummed to herself. Her tits bounced with every flip, and her shorts looked painted on.

"Don't you want breakfast?" she said, playfully. "I'm cooking for you, after all."

"What if I would rather have sex then have breakfast?"

"I don't have time for both sex and breakfast," Heather said. Was it his imagination, or did she seem flushed?

"What if I was half-naked?" David let his bathrobe fall to the side. His cock sprang out. Heather's eyes locked onto it. She ran her tongue over her wine-red lips, and placed one hand on the countertop.

"See?" he said, triumphantly. "You're staring at it."

"I am not!" Heather said, indignantly. She nearly missed a flip. The eggs half-landed on the pan and burned.

"You're drooling! Just from looking at my cock!"

"I sham.. I am not! Okay, maybe a little, but I've just been very spit-heavy these past few days." She slurped. Even that was sexy.

David shook his head. "I'll bet if I stroked it just a little you'd come over here and give me a blowjob." He put his hand on his cock. It felt strange after constant service from Heather. A rivulet of pre-cum ran down the side of it. "There, Pre-cum. I suppose you're about to come over and lick it off."

Heather took a few steps towards him, then realized she was still holding the eggs. She put it down and wiped her mouth. "No blowjob," she announced. "I have to set the table."

Inwardly, David applauded. This was remarkable self-control for Heather, based on her recent performance. Maybe everything WAS back to normal.

"I don't know why you're so set on getting me off-schedule," Heather said. "I've got to get my chores done by 8. Then I'm getting to work."

She placed the first plate on the table, then lingered, arranged a knife and fork pointlessly on the side. Her ass swayed underneath the thin khaki, and when she bent over slightly for plate number two, it made a perfect half-moon. David could see her boobs sticking blatantly over the top of the table.

"Now, see, this?" David said. "This is just to get me hard. The way you're showing off your ass."

"I'm not showing off my ass, David!" Heather said. She sounded almost pleading.

"It's pointing right at me."

"If I wanted to show it off, I would bend over," she did, "poke my heels up like I was wearing three-inch stilettos," she did, "and look towards you like this," she turned her face towards him and shot David with her best come-hither look. It was pure smoke and fire.

"But I'm not. I'm just setting the table."

"You SAY that," David said. "But what if I.." with a few steps he was behind her. His erect cock pressed insistently back into her ass. It fit cleanly, like it was grooved. For a few blissful moments he could feel Heather backing into him, rubbing against his penis with sheer animal need. Then she rose, took a deep breath, and picked up the eggs.

"There. Didn't that prove anything?" Heather asked, archly. She poured two cups of orange juice, dosed them with the usual few drops of the lubricant, and motioned for him to sit down. Slightly embarrassed, David put his bathrobe back on. "I'm not some sex fiend, David. I'm getting chores done. They need to get done as part of our relationship."

"I… well, alright then." David said. Heather really was back to normal, if she could resist all that. He honestly had expected that she would buckle.

"I'm sorry for all that," he said, self-conscious. "It was out of line. Sexist, even."

"There's a time for the woman of the house to clean up, and there's a time for mutual sex," Heather said. She paused. "I wasn't kidding about your dick getting bigger," she said. "I checked last night. It's larger."

"I don't think it is," David said. Her nipples tented the t-shirt.

"I'll check really quick," Heather said. Eggs nearly untouched, she rounded the table and kneeled before him. Her soft hands quickly found their way to his crotch. "Here, get erect, this should be fast."

She certainly was in a cleaning mood today. David pulled it out. She put a hand around it, then half of the other. "Bigger," she said. "Just a few days ago it fit in my entire hand. And it wasn't this drippy."

"Maybe your hands are bigger," David argued, weakly. Was his penis really bigger?

"Well, watch this, then." Heather flipped up her shirt, nestled his dick between her astounding mountains. It stuck out, and she flicked her tongue around the tip. "See? I couldn't even reach it before. I had to bend my head."

"That's impossible to measure when your boobs are bigger too."

Heather sighed. "Alright, we'll do this scientifically, then." With one smooth movement she tilted her head forward and swallowed him whole. David still wasn't used to the warm, silky interior.

"Chh? Smfhffk-fkldld dooonn"

"Uh, might want to pull out…"

Heather spit him out. "Halfway down my throat. That's much longer."

David's head swirled. His dick bigger? Impossible. But then, Heather's own boobs had embarked on a remarkable expansion, easily the size of small melons now. None of her bras fit.

"And I've noticed this, too." She jacked him casually, easily. With a few days practice she had found every possible spot, and he came quickly, smoothly. Thick streams of cum shot out of his penis, and Heather caught them neatly on her plate. She handed him the result. "Look at all of that. That's like a pint. And you're looking for changes in me? Look at yourself!"

David's head swirled. It was impossible. His penis, bigger? All this time he was carefully watching Heather, maybe whatever had affected her had affected him as well? At least she was capable of dealing with things calmly and rationally.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, dazed, and left the table.

* * * 
Heather watched David leave for the shower. Poor guy. Obviously in need of sexual release from his overly busy girlfriend. And yet she had to do the chores. There was no way to do both at the same time… or was there?

On the plus side, her watch read 7:52. Eight minutes left! She had done it! Excepting her own needs, which she could take care of while doing the dishes.

Heather ate her eggs happily while her hand snaked down between her legs.* * *"Exercise really is amazing," Candice thought. She stood on the elliptical machine, dead center in the University fitness center.

In just the past few days she had lost pound after pound. The transformation was startling. Gone was the chubby black-haired goth with a secret addiction to Toblerone. Now she was sleek and toned, skin tanned after just a few days pounding the streets. Her hair was swept back into a complicated twist. Formerly greasy and boring, a new shampoo had transformed it into a dramatic highlight.

Where had the weight gone? Heck, she wasn't even exercising that hard. Mostly she was here to collect hardons for The Project. The fitness center was perfect. The boys were already worked up, and their thin little shorts could hardly hide their adorable boners. There were lots of them. And it certainly didn't hurt that they were so cute and toned.

None of her clothes had fit, so Candice had gone shopping. Now she wore a thin black pair of spandex shorts and a powder-blue sports bra. She had been close to getting her usual black, but the light blue had looked so cute, and the guy behind the counter seemed to appreciate her in it.

A pair of asian boys walked by, stared straight at her. She gave them a slow wink, and watched, delighted, as a duo of erections grew. What was that? 47? 48? And it was barely noon!

Her personal best came yesterday, still at the gym. She had "accidentally" walked into the men's showers, surprising a gaggle of men.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she had cooed, letting her boobs do the work. The men took in the carefully-made up vision in black and blue, thought for half a moment, and then Candice walked out six erections richer.

The only problem was keeping out of the ladies' bathroom stall, and in hiding this strange wet spot that had cropped up a day or so ago. At least at the gym she could pass it off as a sweat stain. A big sweat stain.

She dropped off the elliptical machine and walked into the weight room. It was usually good for a half-dozen erections or so. The benefits to this Project never ended, really -- her energy level was through the roof. Although replacing tired old skirts with cute new minis was getting pretty expensive. Oh well. Her parents could worry about that.

The weight room was more crowded then yesterday. Candice recognized a few of the boys from yesterday. Word was apparently getting around. Heather would be interested in how the sexual competition nonetheless led to more boys checking her out. It was all very interesting. Academically.

She sat on the leg-lift machine and did a few experimental kicks. Her legs looked good. Every part of her looked good. Heather was right. Her self-esteem did go up when she was thinner.

"Can I help you with that?" a boy said. Candice looked around, surprised. A tanned, confident boy stood next to her, wearing a white GYM STAFF t-shirt.

"Um… I guess you can," Candice said. She stuck her chest out, automatically. The boy casually admired her twins, then walked around to the front of the machine. Candice checked. No erection. That was unusual.

"Yeah, you need more weight then this. Here, let me put you on a different machine."

"Um," this was a new experience. Candice wasn't used to actually talking to the boys she was studying. And a good researcher didn't get involved with the subjects. She was just supposed to collect an erection, and move on.

But he was pretty cute. "Okay."

The boy led her to a heavier machine, and she settled into it gingerly. The machine spread her legs wide open, gaping in front of the world. What must her wet spot be like? She checked the boy. No visible erection yet.

"This is kind of…" she said, but the boy took no notice, fiddling with weights behind her.

"Okay, give this amount a try," he offered. Candice squeezed her legs together, as hard as she could. She got a jolt of unexpected pleasure at the end of each rep, as her thighs slammed together into a certain very hungry private part. Behind her she could feel the weights moving. Her tits squeezed together, too. "Good!" the boy said. "Now do five more."

"Oh god!" Candice gasped.

Five more? Candice squeezed them out. By the fifth she was panting. Her boobs pressed heavily against the light blue bra. They were tender at the best of times, and the unusual exertion was making them.. want some attention. Not only that, but her obscenely wide legs had attracted some unwelcome attention, and she was the appreciative object of at least four or five boys. Her pussy burned. Squeezing it back and forth like that was having some powerful effects.

This was getting unprofessional. Her chest heaved up and down. Forget the project. She needed to get off.

The boy came back around. "Did you feel that burn?" he said, politely. Candice risked another look. Still nothing! Was he gay? Was she still not good enough?

"I think," she purred, dropping her voice, "That kind of weight was getting me kind of.. hot… and sweaty…" she turned over on the machine, giving the boy a good opportunity to survey the spandex-clad curve of her ass. She paused for a moment. This had to work!

"Yeah," the boy said. "Now, come over here and we'll get some weights on your upper arms."

"No!" Candice squeaked. Another set of reps with all those eyes on her and she might come on the machine. And there was a strict "towel-off" policy.

"How about.. we do that machine over there!" Candice pointed to a random corridor. Any hallway would do.

"Uh… there aren't any…"

"Sure there are!" she said, her chest heaving. "Lets go!" Candice grabbed him by the hand and yanked the boy past the admiring crowd. Even distressed and burning with horniness, she still added another five to her personal list.

The hallway was a dark and unused service corridor used mostly to transport towels back and forth. "Over here!" Candice said, finding a small service alcove. She shoved the startled boy into it, walked in after him, and put her hand down the front of his shorts.

"Where… is…. it!" she demanded. Her tits rubbed on his chest. It felt amazing.

"There!" she pulled out a nicely-formed cock. "You were erect the entire time!" Candice accused. "You're wearing those damn tighty-whities! What's wrong with you!"

The boy was breathing heavily. "I didn't think things like this really happened," he said.

Candice quickly let go of his boner. "Oh, this is just research, I don't… oh!"

His hands had found her chest. They clumsily kneaded and pulled at her boobs, but it was enough to send her skyward. Every sensation under the thin spandex top felt magnified and magnificent.

"Oh.. I can't… this is just research!" but her self-control was lost somewhere in the gym. Somehow her hand was back on his cock, and she was rubbing it with a sweat-slicked hand. Candice closed her eyes and let his hand do the work, her left hand drifting down to rub frantically on the outside of her own spandex shorts.

"Oh!" the boy said, and Candice distantly realized that he was coming. She fought to stay standing as her own orgasm ripped through her. It somehow seemed to start in her chest and radiate outwards.

"I shouldn't've done that," Candice thought, horrified. "I'm completely wrecking my impartiality. Heather would be…"

Heather would be fine with it, a part of her said.

The new, thin Candice. Getting a boy to cum was worth three… no.. FIVE erections! Think about how much she could up her tally now! One handjob took twenty seconds… each handjob was worth five erections… she could get well over a hundred in just a few hours work! And that would give her more time to go shopping.

"Of course!" she said, out loud. The boy barely noticed.

Candice left the dazed boy behind, licking idly at her hand.

Now, she wondered, how much would a blowjob be worth?

* * * 
This time she would show him, Jenny thought. Ever since she had first passed him on her jog, that Korean boy had made a point of jogging at the same time, in the same path. Each time giving her a long, close look. Bad enough she was battling a bad case of growing tits, and that her hormones seemed to be stuck on "aroused." She was not also going to be sexually harassed!

Jenny had fought a losing battle with her mirror, trying and failing to keep studying while she went through this odd… growth spurt. Or whatever Heather thought it was. The past few days had been a confused fog of arousal, short study sessions interspersed with marathon TV watching and enthusiastic, embarrassed finger-fuck interludes.

But no matter what, she was still jogging. Every morning. She jiggled, she wiggled, she had to get off before and after the run, but she was still jogging!

The guy approached from the other side. Jenny stopped, slowly, and deliberately, and put both hands on her hips. That thrust her burgeoning chest out, but there was no helping that. Jenny didn't have anything like the bras necessary to hold down her chest, so she had done the best she could with cloth tape.

"Getting enough of an eyeful?" she snarled. The boy stopped. He had soft features and a short haircut. She could see enough of his arms to tell that he was actually pretty built. Not bad, for a pervert.

"If you put it that way… yes!" he said.

Jenny went scarlet.

"You like it, huh? You like the way my tits look when they bounce around? Just because I can't find a bra that fits them? I'll bet you think my nipples are huge, too, right? And I'll bet you get your rocks off just thinking of the way I'd look in a short skirt!"

"Um.."

"Oh, and don't let me forget, you like my ass too!" Jenny turned around so he could get a good look. "Yeah, you know what they say about asian girls, great asses, little boobs. And then here I come with both, and you think it's heaven on earth! Hey! Where are you going!"

"I'm…" the boy backpedaled as fast as he could.

"I don't think so! You're coming with me so I can set you straight!"

Jenny grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her apartment. There was no way she was going to stand for this. She was going to do this!

"You're still watching me!" she said, a few steps later. "What is it with you men and boobs?"

"I wasn't--"

"Don't try and deny it!" Jenny said. It was partly her fault, she realized. To keep up with the man she was unconsciously walking at a steady, rolling pace. Her boobs fell up and down like a ship at sea. "They're just collections of fat cells for the nourishment of young. They hurt, they… okay, they don't hurt, but they do get in the way."

"I can see that," the man said. He was staring, she realized, right down the center of her neckline. The curves met right in the middle of her chest.

"Don't!" she said, stepping forward. Jenny caught her foot on a sidewalk chunk, flailed for a moment, then fell to her side. She was up a moment later, determined not to show weakness in front of.. this man.

"Great. Rolled my ankle," she said, testing it. The man watched her, uncertainly. "The least you can do is help me walk home."

He held out an arm, and Jenny wrapped her arms around it. "You're working for me now," she thought, smugly. It felt.. nice to just let him do the work, hanging on as he muscled his way past other joggers. This was payback.

Her ankle started to feel better. She decided not to tell him.

"And what's with the fascination with the butt?" she murmured. That old indignation was hard to rouse. "You can't have sex with it."

"Actually--"

"Okay, you CAN, but it's gross! And why would you do that when there's a perfectly functional pu-- vagina right there?"

"Um," the man said. He scratched his head with his free arm. "Because… power dynamics or something?"

"Exactly!" Jenny said, beaming. He was learning! She pushed her chest forward to reward him. The long look he gave down her chest sent a pleasant tingle down her entire body.

Jenny realized she was smiling again. She wiped it off. Must NOT do that. No smiling!

"And it's the same with…?" she tested.

"Uh…." The man said. He looked around. "…blowjobs?"

"Yes! Good, I can see this is having an effect." Jenny snuggled in closer. She smelled deeply. Sweat. And strawberries. There must be a patch nearby.

Then she realized she didn't know his name. How could she yell at someone when she didn't know his name? It turned out to be Jason. He was a network engineer at Cisco.

"So you like my titties?" she whispered, as they neared the front door. "You don't think they're too big, do you? It's okay if you do."

"No, they're….. they're great."

"Wrong answer! They're much too big. Look!" Jenny was about to pull her shirt up to show him the right answer when she noticed Heather in front of the door. She looked annoyed. Jenny quailed. She hated to make Heather unhappy.

"I thought we were going shopping," she said, ignoring Jason. "9:15. Shopping. I have it written down."

"Oh.. Right. Right!" Jenny said. They both needed new business clothes, and Heather had offered to charge it to her school account. Jenny had accepted. If she had, in fact, given her some hormone-disease-thing, then Heather owed her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to Jason. "can I yell at you later?"

"Definitely!" he said, breathing hard. "Ah, let me get your number… so you can abuse me and everything."

Jenny recited it. Too late she realized that she was supposed to give boys her fake number. Oh well. Jason would call. He seemed really eager to get yelled at.

* * * 
"How're the tits?" Heather asked. They were in her car, on the way to the mall. Jenny fought a strange urge to sit in the back seat. Heather just seemed so confident, so… large.

"Bigger," Jenny said. She hefted them for emphasis. They felt heavy. "Plenty bigger. Not as big as you, though."

While Jenny's chest was pleasant, Heather had a pair just short of "knockers" status. They rode high and large, and even under a thin cotton t-shirt they created a rich bounty of cleavage. "Aren't you worried people will think you got a boob job?"

Heather shrugged. "So what? I don't care what other people think. And when did you start?"

Jenny sat back. That stung. Still, it was so easy to feel… relaxed around Heather. Jenny rolled the window down. That seemed to help.

"I've got a doctor's appointment in a day to look into it. You could come with me," Jenny offered, politely.

Heather shrugged again. "I told you. It's healthy. Girls grow tits. It's what we do. I don't see why it's a medical condition."

"Because they've doubled in size in just a few days!" Jenny said. Politely. You didn't want to argue with Heather. "And they feel… well.."

Heather grinned at her. "They feel great, don't they?" Heather's hand snaked out and tweaked Jenny's nipple. Jenny feebly tried to bat it away, but it was so much easier to sit back and enjoy the jets of pleasure… and if that's what Heather wanted… but then she laughed and pulled her hand back.

"Sorry to be a tease. Hey, maybe while we're here we can find you a guy! Or did I interrupt something back there?"

"No! He was… it was for research!"

"Oh, sure. Research. I go jogging for my research, too."

"You watch Dawson's Creek for research."

"That's different!" Heather said. She squirmed. "And Pacey is pretty hot. But it is gender relations. That's what I'm studying."

Jenny was silent for a long moment. The insistent itch in her crotch reminded her of something. "Heather, when you were helping me… shave… did you and David, you know, do it?"

"You mean, did we have sex?"

"Yeah. Sex."

"Sure. Obviously. Why, what's the big deal about it?"

Jenny blushed. "What was it… like?"

Heather was briefly silent. "You mean, what's it like to get fucked? You've had sex before. You told me about it."

"I've never had sex where I… you REALLY seemed to be having a good time. It wasn't like that for me."

"Oh. Ohhhh," Heather said. "Yeah, that would be a problem. Some easy advice? Bring along a bottle of lubricant." She reached into her khaki pocket, drew out a bottle of lubricant. Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"You… carry it with you?"

"Sure. Anyway, when everything is nice and wet, you can really feel what nature intended. Sex is supposed to feel good, did you know that? Evolutionarily speaking. People who enjoy sex have more babies. More babies means more passing along of your genetics. In a million years, we're going to be having even better orgasms then we're having now. Three or four of them."

Heather thumped her fingers on the wheel. "Jenny, that's another part of my theory!"

"I don't want to know about your---"

"Think about it. I knew that my increased breast sensitivity and vaginal moisture was good for my relationship with David. So the next question is: why is it good for me biologically? The answer: it gives my body an evolutionary advantage! I can fuck my way to biological success!"

"Take that girl," Heather said. A short, attractive redhead walked by in a dark blue blouse and a pair of low-riding jeans. "I'll bet she cums like a firecracker. Not only can she have any man she wants, but she'll enjoy it too. Evolutionary advantage."

They both sat silently for a moment. "Gosh," Heather said. She shook her head. "But back to your problem. Now that you've got the vaginal moisture problem solved, your body is clearly ready for you to have lots of incredibly fantastic sex. Generally speaking feels like your body has exploded from head to toe."

That sounded nice. Jenny smiled. Head to toe, huh? She had read about the female clitoris. Biologically, it was a masterpiece of design. Even if Heather had gone off the deep end academically, there was nothing wrong with the female orgasm. It was proof that women were well-made. Penises, like Jason's, were terribly designed. Even when they were huge, like Jason's probably was, they were inefficiently designed for pleasure and hamstrung by their waste-disposal duties. She was certainly wet enough; she had been collecting what dripped out of her during daily masturbation sessions. For the doctor.

They pulled into the mall parking lot. "Lets make this into a field trip," Heather decided. "Malls are a great place to watch male and female interactions."

She steered both of them to the top floor at Nordpenny's. Heather set a punishing pace through the men's section. The piano player gave her ass an appreciative nod. Jenny looked down. Nothing wet so far.

They reached Women's Wear, a pink-and-tan accented collection of suits and skirts. Jenny automatically gravitated towards the full-length pants with the dark jacket. Straight away Heather pulled out a white blouse with a light tan pencil skirt. She had an uncanny sense for Jenny's size.

"Try this," she commanded. "This is perfect. You'll have every student in the room staring at you." Jenny meekly held onto the clothes. She tried to think of a polite way to tell Heather that this was highly inappropriate. She barely wanted students staring at her.

But then Heather found a red pleated skirt and paired it with a collared jacket, tossed both onto Jenny. She struggled to keep them unwrinkled. "You definitely need a miniskirt suit," Heather decided "Helps keep the moisture down."

Jenny was about to object, but Heather was paying, and it was so much easier to go along with things. Her own outfits were scarcely better. A half-decent tan skirt-suit joined a practically indecent velvet suit-skirt combo. "So soft," Heather murmured, before throwing it on the pile Jenny staggered underneath.

She steered Jenny inside a single dressing room in a nearly-deserted part of the store. Heather stripped out of her clothes with impressive speed. Her bra was nearly painted on, cutting deeply into her back. Heather groaned with relief when it came off.

"This thing has been horrible," she said, holding it like a live snake. "In fact, I should get a bra that fits before I try these on." She walked outside. A few seconds later she came back in. "I should probably have a shirt on when I walk out," she said, giggling. "Oh well, I don't think he minded."

"You're giving the security camera something to think about," Jenny said, pointing upwards. Heather shrugged, shook her tits at the black box. They shook wildly. "Eh, they have a long-enough day as it is."

A few moments later a matronly woman was pulling a tape measure around Heather's chest. "Not sure we have this size," the woman murmured, staring at the measure in disbelief. "I don't want to pry, but are these natural? It makes a difference."

Heather sighed. "I guess that's a compliment. They're real, all right. Watch what the nipples do." She pinched one, and it grew hard and huge in moments.

"Alright, fine! I believe you!" the woman said. She shook her head, then sniffed. "Do you smell that?"

"No. Okay, Jenny. Shirt off. Lets see what's going on under there. I hope it surprises me!"

Heather laughed when she saw the awkward, useless tape trying and failing to hold her boobs back. "Free those two, Jenny," she said. "They deserve it!" Jenny slowly pulled the tape off.

"See, hers are real too," Heather said, pointing. Jenny covered herself, but her aching, erect nipples were too relieved to be free.

Jenny took a deep breath and raised her arms. The tip of the cold tape measure rubbed across the most sensitive part of her boobs. She tried not to show shock when the storekeeper told her the size.

"Okay, put the skirt on," Heather said, once the storekeeper was gone.

"But I don't have a bra!"

"Doesn't look like you really need one," Heather pointed out.

It was true. Her boobs stood so proud and high on her own chest Jenny could see why someone would think they were implants. She almost hoped they would droop, just so they wouldn't attract the attention of every boy in a room. This had to end soon. She was getting so horny it was hard to keep standing. Her mind flickered back to Jason. He was going to teach her a lesson. No, she was teaching him. Whatever.

The pencil skirt barely squeezed over her new hips, and she was forced to take awkward mincing steps. It pushed against her new rear. At least the blouse was decent. "No, no," Heather chided. She reached over and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse. That was more then enough to cause her tits to spill out. Jenny examined herself in the mirror.

"I look like a slutty secretary," she said. Her long black hair hung down to her shoulders. The girl in the mirror was top-heavy, unbalanced, and squeezed into a too-small outfit. She squeezed her thighs together. This was distracting.

"You look great! Suits are supposed to be about getting attention. And I'm paying."

"No," Jenny said. Weakly. Why was that girl in the mirror still smiling? You could practically see her nipples. "I like the boring suits. I want people staring at my lips.. I mean, my hair. My face!"

"Too late now," Heather said. She pointed towards Jenny's crotch. "You get it wet, you bought it."

Jenny had fought it, but it was true: the front of the skirt was already distinctly wet. She groaned. This was humiliating.

"It's fine," Heather said. She was dressed in the tan skirt-suit. As usual, she pulled it off with a casual, sexy aplomb. "At least she looks like a slutty CEO," Jenny thought, glumly. "I look like the dumbo they send out for drinks then fuck in the store room." Her mind flooded with a pictoral representation of that.

The shop lady showed up with two white bras, with deep cups. Heather put hers on, then accepted another package from the woman. "Great, we needed these."

She showed Jenny two shoeboxes. Inside were plain black, but towering, high-heeled shoes.

"I can't walk in heels," Jenny objected. "Not THOSE heels, anyway."

"Heels are natural," Heather announced, and Jenny had no strength to object.

Heather was already pulling hers on. Despite her enthusiasm, she wobbled back and forth. "I'm buying," she said, with just a touch of ominous menace.

Sighing, Jenny pulled hers on, and kept her balance as best she could. Now she looked like a slutty secretary who wanted to get fucked. Her rear did magical things under the skirt. At least she was taller. She sniffed. The strawberry air freshener the mall must've been using was getting cloying. Made it hard to think. That was probably the idea.

Things were no better with the red pleated skirt. At least it complimented her tan skin nicely, and the dark black blouse went some ways towards hiding the pleasant curves of her boobs. "This is okay," she told Heather, who was luxuriating in her velvet jacket.

"Hm, not enough boob," Heather said. She reached out and gently caressed the undersides of the blouse. Jenny gasped. It felt like a feather, but the touch sent a wave of heat through her, and she stumbled backwards in the unfamiliar heels, ending up on the bench.

The strawberry scent surged through her. It was overpowering in the tiny dressing room, right next to Heather. No wonder she was so wet. She could barely think over the "come out and play" messages her aching nipples were sending her.

"Need to clear my head," Jenny mumbled, reaching for her street clothes.

"You're buying that one, too," Heather noted. Jenny looked down. Wet again. And she was holding it in, too!

"You caused that one! Don't touch my tits!"

Heather rolled her eyes.

"If this is going to be a problem," she told the trembling Jenny, "just get off."

"What?"

"Masturbate. Twiddle yourself. Get off. You know."

Jenny looked around wildly. "In a Nordpenny's dressing room?"

Heather shrugged. "Let me put it this way. You can either do it here, or in the bathroom. And if you do it here, I can watch out for you."

That was true, Jenny thought. She burned inside. Her fingers were already moving towards her needy hole. Heather could keep an eye on her. And she didn't even need to take the skirt off.

"Hey, the way you look, it shouldn't take you more then half a minute."

Jenny barely heard her. Part of her whispered frantically deep-seated reservations about privacy and the insanity of Heather's clinical, interested gaze. But they were lost against the strawberry-scented fire of her needs. She pulled her underwear aside with a practiced move, and stuck two fingers deep inside. "I'll make it quick," she panted. She knew it would be quick.

Heather was right. Barely twenty seconds later she was rising on the bench, her body straight and trembling. "Bite on this," Heather told her, forcing a handy white shirt through her teeth. Jenny gratefully accepted the muffler. Heather calmly put on her next outfit. She turned when Jenny seemed to come back down to Earth.

"Okay, now try this one on," she said.

* * * 
Candice tapped her pencil on the desk. She hadn't been there a whole lot lately. The Project had been a lot more interesting. Staring at dumb books all night had lost a lot of appeal. Come to think of it, hadn't there been some test today?

That wasn't important, she decided. She had to finish her tally before tonight.

"Candice, dinner. We're going," her roommate said. "You should go too."

"Busy," Candice mumbled. She was already full. Very full.

"Why are you wearing that?" her roommate said. She barely bothered to disguise her hostility.

"I told you. The Project I'm working on."

"You look like a common slut. No! Not even a common one! Even sluts wear jackets!"

Candice looked down. Sure, it was attention-getting, that was the point. She wore a dark-black dress --- really more like a corset -- with nice vertical stripes all the way around it. They were slimming. Anyone getting close enough -- or really within twenty feet -- could see the top of a fire-red bra keeping her boobs poised and ready. She moved in four-inch heels like a professional.

"I'm going out," Candice said. "To a party. You've heard of them. We're in college."

"You never did! You used to stay in and watch movies with me!"

"Now I'm going out," Candice said. She turned her attention back away. It wasn't like she had changed. She still wore the dark makeup, after all. Sure, the dark kohl-accented eyeshadow really accentuated her pale skin, and the pink lipstick was new, but that was it.

Her roommate huffed out. Candice barely noticed. She tapped her pencil.

Okay, six erections in the campus commons around noon. Then an extra five points when she had followed that nice young man into the men's bathroom and given him a long, lazy handjob. Ten points when he came back with a good friend and stood guard while Candice repeated the performance.

Was it the same amount of points when the first boy got hard again? No, it had to be fewer. Three points. Okay, four, but only because the boy had directed his little remaining load into her mouth. That was nice of him.

Candice tapped the pencil against her lips. Unconsciously, she took it into her mouth and sucked lightly.

An easy seven points just from pressing her expansive chest against a plate-glass window next to the library.

The last bit was the hardest one. Candice had been making her way unsteadily back to the dorm, checking her outfit for stains that weren't from her. Keeping herself from jumping on top of that last boy had taken serious willpower. Her pussy screamed at her.

Then a car had honked, and she had quickly picked herself up, thrust her chest out for another few points. A blue Mustang pulled up next to her. The man inside had smiled at her.

Candice tapped the paper, frustrated. Okay, she was clear in her memory at the start. The man had said… well, something. Candice was feeling too lazy and sexed-up to really pay much attention. She just smiled brightly and tilted her head, letting her tits do the talking. Men really didn't seem to care what came out of her mouth, anyways.

She wasn't sure why she accepted the ride. Oh, right. The man had told her that she had great boobs, and the compliment had gotten her so flushed that taking a ride seemed the most natural thing in the world. She had giggled mindlessly at him as they cruised around town, letting the breeze flow up her skirt.

Then they had pulled over in some quiet road. Candice had looked around nervously, uncomfortable with the way things were going, up until the point when the guy put his hands on her boobs. Then things got hazy. She remembered that delicious initial feeling of pure pleasure. At some point she had been giving him a relaxed titty-fuck in the backseat of the car, her skirt around her waist. Was it later that she was playing with herself, or had he done that?

Candice hadn't given him a blowjob. That she would've remembered. But when had she swallowed his cum? It was confusing.

She shrugged and wrote it down as an even twenty points. She had earned it.

Candice got up and walked towards the bathroom. She needed to be sharp -- tomorrow was her big meeting with Heather. She realized she hadn't eaten all day. Just cum. Amazing.

And she wasn't hungry at all.

* * * 
Jenny trailed behind Heather as the two strode through the mall. Despite her initial unsteadiness, Heather steadily improved on her stiletto heels. Jenny struggled to keep up and tried to keep her ankles from slipping out from underneath her.

"Sway, don't fight it," Heather said. "Your ass knows what to do. Helps if you don't think about it."

How do I not think about it? Jenny thought, frustrated. But she found herself doing so anyway, letting her body take over and move her swiftly down the mall floor. She was still wearing that dark red skirt with the black blouse. By the time she had emerged from her happy, foggy, orgasm-induced haze she was trailing Heather like a puppy, clutching a bag full of inappropriate clothes. And walking in the heels.

At least her boobs did feel nice in the new bra. Heather had been very specific in her request. The bra pushed and prodded her boobs until they thrust up through the narrow crack in her blouse.

It would be good to go home and take these outfits off. The two of them were attracting attention. Heather got the majority of it, appreciative stares from single men -- and even from men with scowling girlfriends or wives next to them.

But Jenny was holding her own. The problem was that damn smile she still had. It was so stupid and vapid, whenever she looked at a guy it looked like a suggestion for a slow, lazy day.

Plus she was getting wet again.

"Oh, we have to go in there," Heather said. She pointed at one of the stylish boutiques in the mall. The mannequin in front wore a bright yellow dress with a useless belt. She looked like a piece of candy.

"No!" Jenny said. She tried to think of a reason why not. Something about women and submission? It was so hard to think when all those men were staring at her. And her tits were on fire, still. "I.. I can't afford it!"

"I've got that covered. It'll be fun."

"I really don't think…"

"If you don't, I'll spank you." Heather said, smiling.

"You.." Jenny stumbled to a stop. "You'd really do that? Right here in the mall?" That would be terrible! Maybe she could talk Heather into doing it in the bathroom, instead of in front of everybody. She would completely soak her panties anyways.

"Heather, can we just go home, please?" Jenny said, pleading. "Something about this feels… very wrong."

Heather shook her head. "I'm not just here for clothes. I wanted to test something. Now, lets go to the store."

Despairing, Jenny shuffled her tightly bound ass behind Heather and into the store. Even the jaded clientele, used to underdressed girls and their parent's charge cards, stopped and stared. Jenny put a hand in front of her chest, to momentarily shield her cleavage, but Heather just took it in without noticing.

"Chad," she said, picking up the first visible salesman. "Chad, we need your help."

"Happy to," Chad said, swallowing. He was tall, with a short black goatee. Not usually Jenny's type. But then, today, almost everybody seemed like Jenny's type right around now.

"I need some things for my friend here." Heather recited Jenny's new measurements. Chad swallowed.

"This is for…"

"Her self-esteem. She needs more self-esteem," Heather said.

"Um, right this way," Chad's practiced salesman demeanor started to wear off in the face of Heather's outthrust chest.

Chad steered the two towards a bank of relatively sensible slacks, but Heather made a beeline for a rack of denim shorts. Jenny sucked in her breath. They were obscene. With her new expanded ass they would ride up halfway on her butt, and paint the outline of her vagina.

"You see, Chad, I've been researching male and female relationships,"

"Uh, okay," Chad said. He walked towards a thin white blouse, but Heather gently steered him towards a too-tight brown and white tanktop set. "More like this," she instructed.

"I've already got one girl working on her self-esteem around men. I'm thinking I can revolutionize how men see women. And vice-versa."

Jenny took Heather aside. "What is this?" she hissed, panicking. Chad was walking towards a bright red dress with a few black stripes. It looked designed to be worn without underwear.

"My project! Don't you want to help me with it?"

No! Jenny screamed, internally. But Heather had already bought all those pretty clothes for her. And the shoes. And taken her shopping.

"Well.. what do I have to do?" Jenny said.

"Just follow my lead."

"I don't want to…" Heather plunked a floral print miniskirt into her arms. It was about the size of a handkerchief. Jenny's thighs quivered.

"Is this kind of what you're looking for?" Chad said. He cautiously held up a black leather mini skirt, patterned on the sides with brass buttons, and partnered it with a green strapless top. The top had little sparkles in it.

"And…?" Heather said, testing.

"Um.. stockings?"

"Yes, perfect," Heather said, nodding.

Jenny groaned.

Heather picked out a blue stretch bustier and a white knit dress with a hem so high it just skimmed the bottom of her ass.

"I've got a student working on this already," she told Jenny, happily.

"What?"

"Girl named Candice. She thinks she's supposed to be out there counting erections or something," Heather giggled. "It's really just for her self-esteem. I think it'll do wonders for her to feel a little sexy. And that's halfway there to getting a man."

Jenny tried to be outraged. She struggled to. But when Heather smiled at her -- and Chad took a deep look down her cleavage while handing another ridiculous outfit -- all she could do was smile back and hold on.

"Tomorrow," she thought. Tomorrow was her doctor's appointment. He'd get this whole bewildering mess straightened out.

"Okay! That's good," Heather announced, abruptly, and strode off towards the dressing room. Chad and Jenny followed in her wake. Chad stood nervously outside the dressing room door, but Heather grabbed his arm and brought him in with them. He stood off the side, casting glances at the door.

"I really shouldn't be in here," Chad said, fidgeting with his tie. "Company policy.."

"Be a professional, Chad," Heather ordered. He stood stock still.

The smell of strawberries was growing again. It always grew when she was in an enclosed space with Heather. Jenny fought to think that through. Strawberries and Heather went together. Strawberries got her horny and stupid. Something… what did it mean?

"Take it off," Heather ordered. Jenny unconsciously started to unbutton her shirt. Chad quickly turned around. Heather giggled. Oh right. There was a man in here. At least he wasn't looking.

Jenny tried to put on the green tube top, but her tits weren't cooperating. The thin top simply wasn't built to contain their pneumatic forcefulness. If she pulled it over her boobs it rode high and showed off her belly button. If she pulled it down her boobs threatened to pop out. Jenny compromised on a good amount of cleavage.

So, strawberries and Heather. And feeling good. So good. Think! How was Heather doing this? Why was she -- Jenny! -- putting on trashy clothes and nearly groaning when they barely brushed the top of her chest? Where was the confident feminist? How could Heather -- her colleague! -- make her into this… this… sexed up little tart! This dumb needy geisha!

Jenny glanced down. She had put the stockings on. The contrast between her hot tan thighs and the cool black cloth was startling. At least she wouldn't get these wet.

Okay, so it had to be a CHEMICAL reaction. Hence the wetness and the biochemistry things. Jenny felt like she was making progress, even with the intoxicating strawberry scent and the distracting nearness emanating off of Chad. So she needed a chemical that could do it. But what?

She struggled to zip up the black leather miniskirt, and pranced awkwardly in front of the mirror.

"I look like a tart!" she wailed. It was true. Her hair framed a perfectly made-up face, crowned by sultry eyes and dark red lips. (When had she put on makeup?). Her chest dominated her thin torso, but her plush legs and a well-toned ass fought for attention as well.

"You look fantastic!" Heather said. "And doesn't it make you happy to look so good?"

Jenny took stock. Her pussy dripped with a fiery passion, and her boobs were beautiful points of pleasure, tingling whenever she moved. Every part of her felt alive, hot, and horny. And she was happy. The girl in the mirror smiled. She couldn't deny it.

"It feels great," she moaned.

"Good! Now on to the next step," Heather said. "Chad, turn around."

The boy responded. Was he feeling it too, Jenny realized? Or was he just distracted by the oozing sexuality she could feel radiating off of her?

"It… that looks good!" he stammered.

"Good! I figured you would like it. Now, Jenny, give him a blowjob."

They both stared at her. Jenny fought to keep from falling onto her knees. "I can't accept -- I mean, you're crazy!" Chad said.

Heather reached towards his crotch. "Chad, you're going to lose your commission if you keep this up. Just stand there, then, if you need help." She gently reached for his crotch, pulled down his fly, and pulled out a fully erect cock. Jenny watched it. She fell onto her knees. It felt great to be on her knees.

"No!" Chad said. He stepped backwards. "Look, Penthouse letters are nice, but…"

"Here, this might help," Heather said. She took a bottle out of her purse, poured it gently onto her palm, and smoothly grabbed his cock. In spite of himself, Chad groaned. When Heather was finished with her gentle massage, it shone and glistened under the lights. Chad stopped protesting and stood there weakly.

Jenny could smell the waves of strawberries radiating off of it. She leaned forwards, and touched the tip with her tongue. So good.

The lubricant. That was it. That had to be it. Wherever there was strawberries, there was the lubricant. Its squishy, warm, intoxicating aroma had to be responsible for all of this. The changes, the horniness.. and especially the wetness! Why hadn't she seen it before?

Jenny sucked along the length of the penis, trying to absorb every last bit of strawberry into her. It felt fantastic, and the first drop of sweet precum drove her to redouble her efforts.

She had to stop. She had to tell Heather what was going on, before it was too late, and drag the both of them to the doctor. Just as soon as she finished this blowjob. She redoubled her efforts to get Chad to hurry up. Jenny used techniques she didn't know she had, tickling the base with her tongue.

She flooded with relief when Chad came, and made sure to form a bond so that none of the precious cum escaped. She didn't want to stain her new clothes.

After a few seconds, Jenny pulled away, panting and heaving. Heather, who had hovered over the erotic scene with approving nods, beamed at the two.

"See? Don't you two feel GREAT?"

Chad could only nod weakly. Jenny took stock of her cheap outfit, the way her body burned with unrepressed sexual need, and did the only thing she could.

She stood up, grabbed the clothes Heather had picked out for her, and bolted out the door.

Heather watched her go. "I guess we went a little fast," she conceded. She turned back to the panting, exhausted Chad and held up her own packet of naughty clothing.

"Can we get a discount on this?"

---