THE GOLDEN GOOSE



by Some Sort of Dog





This is a story mainly about large breasts. There may be a suggestion

of explicit sexual activity between adults, but although some of the

characters have not yet reached adulthood, they are not described as

indulging in sexual activity with adults. The story is a fantasy and

should not be read by anyone under eighteen, or whatever the age of

consent is in the place where you live.









THE GOLDEN GOOSE



by Some Sort of Dog





Chapter 4:- Lynda



This question was impossible.



Lynda snorted with disgust and slammed her pen down, bringing startled

glances from the rest of the people around her. She gathered up her

papers, clicked her pen shut with an air of defiant finality, and got

to her feet.



Looking neither to right nor left, she undulated down the central

aisle, placed a single sheet of paper on the teacher's desk, and left

the room with her nose in the air.



The other girls sighed dramatically after Lynda had gone, and the boys

returned to their interrupted work. The teacher turned the sheet of

paper over in disbelief and looked at the door as if expecting Lynda

to come back in and finish her end-of-term exam. Then she read the

brief essay, which made no convincing attempt to answer the question.

The composition ended with a one-word paragraph on a line of its own.



"Bollicks!" it said.



Lynda Mae Sutcliffe can't even spell a simple word like that, thought

Miss Carling. She grinned to herself. The kid would be outside now,

dragging on a cigarette, behind the bike sheds. Miss Carling envied

her. It was a lovely early Spring day out there. Not an afternoon to

be cooped up in a stuffy classroom writing pointless essays about

whatever. Bollocks just about summed it up, thought Andrea Carling. Or

at least, bollicks.



No, this would not do!



The girl had to be disciplined. The low marks she would get for this

pitiful attempt at an exam question would be insufficient punishment.

Lynda was bright enough to do this work standing on her head. Andrea

Carling's mind formed a brief image of Lynda standing on her head and

she found herself blushing. Fortunately, the members of the class

weren't looking at her, they were absorbed in their work. Either that,

or sound asleep.



Andrea scanned the bowed heads before her. Most of the kids were

scribbling away, their apparent industry masking an overall

mediocrity. In this class of fourteen year olds, nine boys, eleven

girls, only Lynda showed a spark of creativity, and she was the one

who chose to scrawl foul language across the bottom of her exam paper

and leave the classroom for a crafty smoke.



One or two of the boys were looking up furtively as if hoping and

praying for Lynda to reappear. They sheepishly returned to their work

as Andrea glared at them. Horny, spotty little bastards, gawping at

Lynda's boobs. Andrea felt a hot glow spread over her face and

shoulders as she thought of the girl and her exuberant development.



'She's even bigger than me,' Andrea thought, 'and I always thought

mine were huge!' She was forced to open the top of her desk and

rummage round inside it to cover her embarrassment. Her own bust was

extremely large, although Andrea was a fairly large-boned woman,

pushing six feet in her heels. But she knew that despite Lynda's

attempts, partially successful, at hiding or disguising her

development, the fourteen year old kid's bust was probably several cup

sizes larger than her own.



The familiar moistness was spreading through Andrea's panties. 'Oh,

shit! That's all I need,' she thought fiercely. 'Shit, shit, shit!'





**********



Lynda slipped out of the gate and caught the early bus. As a frequent

bunker-off from school, she was a regular passenger on this one, which

passed half an hour before the official school buses came along. The

driver was one of the usuals. He gave Lynda a frank stare up and down

before looking her in the eye.



"Hi, you. Part time again?"



"Yeah. They can't teach me any more." She flashed her season ticket

and leaned forward slightly, her full breasts protruding over the

driver's ticket machine. As ever, the response was gratifying. His

eyes came out on stalks. Satisfied, Lynda glided to a seat at the

front, as close to the driver as possible, not so that she could watch

him, but that he would be constantly aware of her presence.



She imagined his lust and desire as the bus grumbled along the road,

eventually stopping directly outside her house. Lynda mouthed a kiss

and waggled her fingers in a friendly wave as the doors sighed open

for her to get out on to the footpath. Then it was gone, and the

driver was completely forgotten as Lynda pushed open the kitchen door.



"That you already, love?" Lynda's mother was up to her elbows in

flour. She pushed a stray wisp of hair back from her eyes and left a

dusting of flour on her nose.



Lynda wiped it off for her with a moistened finger. "We had exams. I

finished early."



"Oh, good, dear. How did you get on?"



"All right. What's this?" Lynda had found the note with her name on it

pinned to the cork notice board.



"Phone message for you. They rang at nine this morning. I told them

you was at school. A Miss ... what is it?"



"Wallace. Dunno any Miss Wallace." What could it be? Something to do

with her sagging off from school? "I'm going up to change. This bra's

killing me."



Mrs Sutcliffe bit her lip and looked at her daughter with concern. "It

was big enough, love. It can't have shrunk in the wash. I took extra

care with all your bras. They cost plenty."



Maybe it didn't shrink, Mummy dear. Maybe I grew!"



"Don't say that, Lyn. Surely you can't get any bigger. I mean, you

have a lovely figure, but enough's enough ..." Her voice tailed off.

Lynda was already halfway up the stairs.



She was still up there ten minutes later, when the phone rang.



"Lyn? It's for you, dear. Miss Wallace."





**********



Wilma closed the office diary and stood up, feeling reasonably

satisfied. "A good week's work, Mags."



"We'll see about that after we've met this Lynda. She sounded a

disgraceful little bitch on the phone. Typical teenager."



Wilma grinned to herself. Maggie was into her twenties by all of two

years. Probably grumpy because she had to work tomorrow. Half a

precious Saturday wasted visiting Lynda Sutcliffe.



"I bet she'll turn out to be perfectly lovely. How did her mother

sound?"



"Bewildered, more than anything. She couldn't seem to understand what

the deal was all about. I explained that BJ was interested in the

scientific aspects of a certain type of female development, and that

he would perhaps be prepared to fund Lynda's clothes bill for the next

few years, provided she entered into his project at the end of it.

It's not that easy to explain over the phone."



"It will be easier face to face. We need to see young Lynda first.

She's what it's all about. If she doesn't look as if she's going to be

suitable, then BJ can save his money." Wilma glanced at the clock.

"I'll pick you up in the morning. It's about a two hour drive. Eight

thirty?"



"Fine, just fine!" Maggie grumbled.





**********



"She'll be back in ten minutes. I told her you would be here by half

past ten, but you know what kids are like. She chose the most awkward

moment to go and do her chores. I said it wasn't that important, but

no, she had to go. Tea or coffee?"



Mrs Sutcliffe bustled out into the kitchen and returned with a tray.

The best china. Nothing but the best for the visitors.



"We didn't explain completely about this project, Mrs Sutcliffe,"

Wilma started, as soon as Mrs Sutcliffe came to rest for ten seconds.



"Fanny!"



"Sorry?"



"You don't have to call me Mrs Sutcliffe. Call me Fanny."



"Oh, good. I'm Wilma, and this is Maggie. Anyway. Mr Cunis is in

publishing, and he publishes a range of magazines. One of these is

dedicated to showing a particular type of female physique. We

understand from our interview with Mrs Danby that Lynda is of that

type. What Mr Cunis would like to do is to prevent other publishers

from perhaps unscrupulously trying to tempt our subjects to model for

them instead of us."



"Uh? Model?" Mrs Sutcliffe looked at Wilma, then at Maggie, not

comprehending. "You mean, you want Lynda to be a model? But she's not

built like a model. You've got it all wrong. I thought your Mrs Danby

would have told you that."



"All models aren't the same shape, Mrs ... Fanny," Maggie said

patiently. "There is a need for some women and girls who are built on

more generous lines."



"You mean like you?" Mrs Sutcliffe pointed at Maggie's chest.



"Yes."



"But Lynda's bigger than you. Miles bigger."



"We know, but that's the type of figure Mr Cunis is looking for."



"It's not like Page Three, is it?"



Wilma took a deep breath. "You mean, sleazy nudes with corny captions?

Certainly not. But undressed, yes. It's a very high class publication,

though. Read by men and women all over America."



Maggie looked at Wilma helplessly. If this went on, she was going to

crack up laughing.



"America?" Mrs Sutcliffe breathed. "America! Our Lynda!"



Right on cue, Lynda arrived home. They heard her lugging a shopping

bag through the hallway as the back door slammed shut, and muffled

curses coming from the kitchen. Then the door opened, and Lynda looked

in.



"Hello, love. Here's Miss Wallace and Miss Harkness to see you. It's

about Page Three in the American papers."



Wilma opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again. Lynda was a

startlingly pretty girl. There would be no objection to using her on

that score. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders and she

occasionally tossed it back with a jerk of her head. She wore tight

jeans, very tight indeed round her surprisingly womanish hips, and a

bulky work shirt in a bold check pattern, like a lumberjack's. Even

thus disguised, the fullness of her bust was clearly evident. Maggie

was looking at her, too, almost hungrily.



"Hi!" the girl said without much enthusiasm. "Page Three in America?

They don't have Page Three in America." She didn't wait for an

argument on this point, but went over to the window and looked out

into the back garden. It was several seconds before she turned round

and sniffed. "Me? Page Three? Why me?"



"You're a very pretty girl, Lynda," smiled Maggie. "And you are more

suited to the type of model we are looking for. You have ..."



"A fuller figure," Wilma helped Maggie out.



"You mean big tits?" The girl was trying to shock her mother in front

of her guests. She thrust her breasts out against the thick cotton.

"They're still growing, too. I told Mum yesterday but she didn't

believe me. Me bra's too tight."



Wilma had decided. Lynda would be ideal. A spirited girl. Her manners

would perhaps improve over the next four years or so. "Mr Cunis will

buy all Lynda's new bras, Mrs Sutcliffe. Until she's twenty-one. By

then, Lynda will be old enough to make a decision about her own

future. Much will depend on her ... her development before then. But I

can assure you that Lynda would be ideal for our project, and you will

find it advantageous, financially speaking."



"You mean you'll pay her? For doing what?" Mrs Sutcliffe looked

doubtfully at her daughter who was studying the two women guests with

interest, her eyes alert and bright.



"Mr Cunis will pay her just to stick around until she's eighteen. And

he will look after her interests until then. We will ask her to attend

the studios for a day beforehand. Perhaps during the school holidays.

They will take a few record photos of Lynda, get her used to being

photographed and everything."



Even Lynda was beginning to look excited, despite herself. "Studios,

Mum. I'm going to be a model. You've got to say yeah, Mum!"



"I don't know. She's so young ..."



"We won't have any pictures taken for publication until she's almost

eighteen, Mrs Sutcliffe. You have our word on that." Wilma felt as if

she was wading through treacle.



"She'll say yes, Miss Harkness," Lynda assured Wilma. "She just likes

to hang things out a bit. When can I go to the studios? It's half term

next weekend. I'm free for a whole week. How about then?"



Wilma exchanged glances with Maggie. "We'll see if we can arrange it.

Probably no reason why not," Maggie said. We'll call you  on Monday.

In the afternoon when you get home from school."



"If that's all right with you, Mrs Sutcliffe," said Wilma.











Chapter 5:- Charlotte



The car bounced smoothly down the long driveway and stopped in front

of the stables. The sun had gone behind a bank of menacing-looking

cloud and the warm stone of the manor house and its outbuildings had

turned to a bleak grey. The breeze, which had been soft and cooling,

seemed suddenly chilly as Charlotte extracted herself from behind the

wheel.



It's either this car or me, she thought. One of us has to go. She

retrieved her tapestry bag from behind the seats and made her way

slowly across the raked gravel to the front door. The first spots of

rain began to fall, and Charlotte looked round apprehensively at the

open-topped car, then smiled in reassurance as Maxwell appeared from

the stable block, climbed aboard and reversed insolently into the

stable yard. Good old Maxwell. Good young Maxwell, she corrected

herself. In his twenties, and quite desirable in a rough kind of way.

No doubt, popular with the girls in the village.



The door opened magically when she was still a yard away from it, and

the housemaid greeted her with a marginally respectful nod.



"What time did Daddy get back, Mrs Grummit?" Charlotte Davenport

unwound her scarf and inspected her mane of red hair in the looking

glass. She never thought of it as a mirror, always a looking glass.

Shit, she thought, what a state. Another reason to get rid of the MGB

and get something more grown-up. Perhaps Daddy would run to a small

Mercedes. Something with plenty of room behind the wheel.



"Half an hour ago, Miss Charlotte. He would like to see you. You're in

the shit again."



Actually, Mrs Grummit didn't say the last sentence, at least, not loud

enough for Charlotte to hear her, but she certainly implied it.

Charlotte looked sharply at the woman: painfully thin and almost six

feet tall, she no longer towered over Charlotte, but she had always

been a terrifying presence about the house since Charlotte had been a

child. Even now, at an assured and aristocratically confident

seventeen, Charlotte was not altogether sure where she stood with Mrs

Grummit. The angular face was free of expression.



"Where is he?" Charlotte sighed.



"The library. I suppose you would like tea?"



"Thank you, Mrs Grummit," said Charlotte coolly, "that would be most

acceptable."



Daddy hurriedly drained his whisky glass and slid it out of sight

behind the reading lamp.



"Can I refresh your glass, Daddy?" Charlotte took the glass, sniffed

it and selected her father's favourite malt. Equal parts with cool

water from the house's own well. She brought the drink to her father

and kissed him on the forehead. "Hard day?"



"Hard enough. But it's over now. Another day, another ten thousand

dollars, as our American cousins always say. How was yours?"



"So-so. Middling." Charlotte started to run her fingers through her

tangled wind-blown hair, then gave up. Must get Mrs Grummit to arrange

an appointment at Loose Ends for the morning. "I've outgrown the car,

Daddy, I was wondering ...?"



Lord Davenport looked startled and embarrassed. "Outgrown it? Surely

Maxwell could adjust the seat for you. Tell him you need more

leg-room, dammit!"



"It's not leg-room I need, Daddy. It's boob-room. My legs, you may

have noticed, have not grown substantially since I was sixteen. My

breasts, on the other hand, have." She felt a pang of shame as her

father went scarlet. It wasn't fair to embarrass him like this.



Mrs Grummit entered with the tea tray. "Chocolate biscuits, Miss

Charlotte, your favourites," she said sweetly before retiring. "And

don't dunk them in your cup, you messy bitch," she didn't quite say as

she closed the double doors behind her.



Charlotte perched herself on the arm of her father's chair. Her right

breast slumped heavily against his cheek. Bloody thing, she said to

herself, and adjusted its position before resting her lips on top of

his head, among the thinning sandy strands.



"I wish I had finished growing, Daddy." She sounded like a little

girl. "I saw Mrs Danby again yesterday. My usual appointment?" Her

father nodded. "Still getting bigger, she said. "All she can do is

carry on making bigger and bigger bras until they stop growing, and

the fucking doctors are worse than useless, the only treatment they

seem to offer is to chop them off. It's nearly the year 2000 and they

still cut women's boobs off when they get too big to sit behind the

wheel of a sodding MGB!"



"Language, m'dear!" said her father mildly.



She returned to her chair and stirred her teacup. The temptation of

the chocolate biscuits was too great for her, and she watched almost

lasciviously as the dark brown chocolate changed to a lighter, more

fluid texture. She was a second too late to get it to her mouth before

it broke off and dropped on to the enormous shelf of her breasts.



"Oh, shit! I'll have to change my dress now."



The phone tinkled three times. Mrs Grummit's special coded ring for

Charlotte. If it had been two rings, it would be for Daddy. It must be

something important, unless Mrs G was feeling bolshie and decided to

trouble the young mistress with a trivial call.



"Hello, Charlotte fforbes-Davenport."



"Miss Davenport. Miss fforbes-Davenport. Your secretary said you were

busy but you could perhaps spare a minute." 



'Secretary! Bloody Grummit, my secretary!' "Well, I am rather tied up

at the moment, what is it?"



"My name is Maggie Wallace, from Cunis Publications ..."





**********



"I can't believe it, Mags! Three out of three! That's a result!"



"Four girls altogether, including the girl Donna. BJ will be creaming

himself."



Wilma looked at her severely. "BJ does not cream himself. What's the

program of events for next week, then?"



"Tuesday: we've got the young kid, Lynda, going to Sunbird Studios for

Duncan Throssell to photograph her. I will be there to meet her off

the train and take her to the studio. I'll have to stay with her until

it's time to go back. Her mother can't make it, so I'm lumbered with

her."



Wilma grinned. "Can't have a young girl running loose round London on

her own. Especially one who looks like Lynda. What about the others?"



"Nothing yet for Donna. She understands that although she could appear

in this country, she's not old enough for Cunis, and Cunis is the

goose that lays the golden eggs. Or golden bras, in her case. She can

see Mrs Danby next week sometime. But Kay Archer is old enough, and so

is this Charlotte fforbes-with-two-small-ff's-Davenport. Near enough.

So we've got them both arriving at Sunbird on Friday. Kay in the

morning and Charlotte later on. She's got her own transport, it goes

without saying. Probably get the chauffeur to drop her off in one of

the Bentleys."



"That's the strange thing," Wilma mused. "They've all agreed to have a

go at modelling, but for different reasons. Donna's Mum needs the

money, and so does Kay; young Lynda is doing it for sheer devilment,

but Charlotte. Why? The money's not a problem, one imagines. What does

she want? Independence? To get out from Daddy's influence? She's the

least likely of the lot, yet she almost ripped your arm off when you

offered free bras and stuff."



"Maybe they're broke, despite the baronial hall and the brigade of

servants."



"Only a maid, a cook, a junior girl to do the cleaning, a chauffeur

and two gardeners."



"Do you think she's getting it off the chauffeur," asked Maggie with a

giggle. "Maxwell, wasn't it? Hunky."



"She probably prefers Ruperts. No shortage of Rich Ruperts about the

place. Rich Ruperts and Hooray Henrys. She used to be a randy bugger

after she quit school. Anything with a prick, that's Charlotte. She

doesn't work, or anything, so she has all the time in the world for

amusing herself. In fact, I bet she's bored rigid. Jumped at the

chance of breaking the monotony with a spot of nakedness. Think she'll

fancy Duncan?"



"She can fancy him if she likes, but I can't see it getting her

anywhere. Not with Duncan!"



"Perhaps not. Maybe one of his assistants. They both prefer girls!"



"Geoff and Debbie? Yeah, one of those ought to hit it off with

Charlotte. We'll have to drop by on Friday and see how it goes."



Wilma sighed. Debbie had never made a pass at her. "If Debbie likes

big breasted girls, she can't wish for anything bigger than

Charlotte." She studied the Polaroid Maggie had brought back from her

visit. It showed Charlotte casually attired in jeans and T-shirt.

Those things had to be eighty inches! Her bust was even bigger than

Donna's. And over six feet tall, too. Perhaps it was just as well for

BJ's blood pressure that he wasn't going to see any of the pictures of

his new models until the full range of them had been photographed. The

girls who would carry HUMUNGOUS! into the next millenium. Truly the

girls of the nineties! In more ways than one, thought Wilma.











Chapter 6:- Lynda Goes To London



Duncan Throssell placed his hands on his hips and glared at Maggie.

She placed her hands on her hips and glared back at him.



"I know she's too young, Duncan, but it isn't a waste of time and

money. BJ is paying."



"BJ has more money than sense. What is the point of photographing a

kid who won't be old enough for another two years, or four years

before she's eighteen?



Maggie shrugged. "So long as he's paying, you should worry? Just a few

shots, that's all. Fully clothed, and one or two in a bikini or

whatever. And Duncan ...?"



"Yes, Maggie?"



"Friday. The other two. Sorry about the short notice, but we only just

found out. These two are old enough, so you can spread yourself. If

you'll pardon the expression."



Duncan placed his hands on his hips and bristled. "I should think so,

too. Where's this kid got to anyway? A schools photographer, is that

what I've come to?"



"She's just dressing. Honestly, Duncan. She's a lovely looking girl.

No! Don't say it! Here she comes now. Oh, bloody hell. Look at her!"



Duncan Throssell looked at Lynda and had to agree with Maggie's

description, and also with her exclamation at the sight of the girl in

her photography clothes. She had evidently dragged her mother out to

the shops with her and spent some of BJ's money in advance.



Maggie wondered who had made the choice, and whether Lynda or her

mother had the final say. The girl's top was a frilly white blouse,

the material almost transparent, but with so many ruffles and frills

that you couldn't really see anything at all through it. One sensed

the hand of the mother in the choice of size, which was generous

enough for Lynda to grow into. The pressure of the girl's exuberant

bosom from within suggested that she would grow into it sometime

within the next five minutes. But the sleeves were on the long side,

and the neck and shoulders were more suited to an even larger person

than Lynda.



Her turquoise skirt was flared and quite remarkably short, revealing a

pair of powerfully muscled legs in dark stockings. Her hips were, in a

word, generous. In fact, possibly over-generous. They were broad and

her buttocks were remarkably well-rounded. Lynda strode confidently

out of the changing room in her stockinged feet, carrying a pair of

high heeled shoes in her hand. Her arrival from one direction

coincided with the appearance of Duncan's two young assistants from

another. Both stopped in their tracks at the sight of Lynda, who

despite her dress and her development, was still obviously very much a

young girl.



Geoff and Debbie stared at her, and both were assailed by lust.



"God, look at them!" Duncan flapped his hands at the transfixed

couple. "Get in the studio and check the set up. Plain blue cyc and

have the high stool ready as well. Geoffrey, did you load all the

mags?"



"Yes, Duncan. You already told me, Duncan."



"Check them again. I just need to talk to this young lady before we

start work." He shoo-ed his slaves into the studio. "Now, Lynda. It's

Lynda, not Lyn?" The girl nodded. "We will take a few of you like

this, then later, some in a bikini. You brought a bikini with you?"

Lynda nodded again. "Good, it's just as well. Debs keeps a few spares

available, but you're regrettably not a standard size. How tall are

you?"



"Five feet six and a half, without my heels," said Lynda, finding her

tongue at last.



"Quite tall. For your age, at least." Duncan was still feeling

somewhat put upon at being a schools photographer, as he saw it.



Maggie looked at her watch. "I'll sit in your office and make a few

calls, Dunc, okay?"



Music was thumping from the speakers in the studio, where three huge

umbrellas nodded their heads over an empty stool, perched on an

endlessly large sheet of plain blue paper which curved away up one

wall to an elaborate gantry equipped with pulleys and chains. More

lights stood ready at the sides of the room, where Geoff presided over

a table littered with expensive-looking camera equipment. He didn't

take his eyes off Lynda as she hesitantly stepped on to the blue

paper. The confidence she had shown as she strode out of the changing

room had drained away. Duncan had that effect on first acquaintance.



Debbie smiled at Lynda and held the chair invitingly for the girl to

step forward. She reminded Lynda of the PE teacher at school, with her

short cropped hair and obviously large but well-flattened bust. Two or

three inches shorter than Lynda, she looked up at her with frank

appraisal which made the girl feel naked and hot inside her clothes.

She perched her bottom on the stool, then hoisted herself on to the

seat, facing the umbrellas which contained bright lights.



"You can slip your shoes on, now, love," said Debbie.



Duncan appeared behind the lights, peering down into the top of a

bulky camera. Clack, it went, the umbrellas all flashed brilliantly

and the camera whirred. Lynda blinked and her eyes watered. Geoff had

moved round behind Duncan, grinning encouragingly at her. She tried to

grin back, but Duncan was talking to her constantly, coaxing and

cajoling in his soft, lisping voice. Lynda found herself grinning at

the camera instead of at Geoff. Flash after flash, and she began to

try new poses of her own.



"That's nice, Lynnie, just lick your lips, dear, yes, again, ooh, yes,

that's excellent, splendid, again, now lean this way a bit, to your

left - no, your left, that's it, good girl ...!"



In no time, Duncan handed the camera to Geoff and called out, "Right,

Debs, where are you, girl? We'll take five then do it all again with

the bikini shots. Take Lynnie to the changing room. It's all right,

dear," he confided to Lynda as she passed, "Debbie won't ravish you

...!"



Geoff looked anguished as Debbie led Lynda away.



"These your school clothes?" Debbie inspected the blazer and pleated

grey skirt.



"Yeah, some of them. Mum said I had to wear them on the train so I

wouldn't have to pay the full fare. They're horrible."



"How old are you, Lynnie?"



This Lynnie business was catching on, and there was nothing Lynda

could do to stop it.



"Nearly fifteen," she lied, adding several months to her age.



"Gosh!" Debbie had watched as the girl stepped out of her skirt and

now she exclaimed in surprise as she unbuttoned her blouse. "You're

even bigger than you look," she said.



"I know," said Lynda, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. The

doctors said what was causing it, but it was a long word. Two long

words."



"Let me do that. I'm good at it." Debbie released the four hooks. "Is

this a custom size?"



"Mm-hm. I was miles too big for the biggest cup size you can get in a

size 32. Now I'm nearly too big for this bra as well. My other one I

had made at the same time is too small."



Debbie eased the bra's shoulder straps down Lynda's arms and came

round to view her from the front.



"Wow, Lynnie! You're massive! You sure you've got a bikini big enough

to hold those things?"



"We bought a separate top and bottom. The bottom was a 38, the top's a

44. It was the biggest one they had, but I can get into it, just." She

demonstrated, while Debbie watched helplessly, occasionally touching

the teenager gently on the pretext of adjusting something. Lynda had

got the bikini bra on, but there was considerably more of her outside

than in.



"You look fantastic, Lynnie. Come and show Duncan. And Geoff. He'll be

most impressed. He likes big boobs, and he's been eyeing yours up ever

since you appeared. You wait 'til he sees you now!"



"He must see plenty of boobs round here," said Lynda, fishing for a

compliment.



"Plenty, but not too many like yours. Even Maggie's models aren't

often as big as you up top. And HUMUNGOUS! is supposed to be a big tit

mag."



Lynda looked blankly at her.



"You are going to appear in HUMUNGOUS!, aren't you? When you're old

enough?"



"What's HUMUNGOUS!?"



"Oh, my God. Don't they tell you anything? You'd better ask Maggie

what it's all about. But Maggie's lot are into big titties."



"So she told Mum, but she said it was a special project or something

scientific."



"Oh, well. They can call it that if they like. But if those things on

your chest are still growing, like you say, you'll be on the front

cover in four years time. If you can wait that long."



Geoff appeared at the dressing room door.



"Come on, Debs, what's keeping you? Christ!" He stared at Lynda and

his eyes became as big as saucers. Lynda couldn't stop herself

grinning stupidly. Geoff was quite good looking, she thought. She

reckoned that Debbie fancied her as well, although Lynda wasn't sure

what to do about that. It was beyond her experience. She followed

Geoff into the studio, walking as close as she could to him, so when

he stopped at the camera equipment table, Lynda collided softly with

him.



"Ooh," she said. "Sorry, Geoffrey!"



"Geoff. It's Geoff. Only Duncan calls me Geoffrey." His fingers

trailed accidentally across the outer slope of her breast. Lynda felt

her cheeks reddening. She felt no better when Duncan came out from

behind a curtain and looked at her with professional interest.



"Oh, my God, girl, look at you! Up on your stool, Lynnie," he said.

And the flashing and posing started again.





**********



"How did you enjoy it, Lynda?" Maggie asked as they sat on the station

waiting area, watching the train arrivals indicator screens.



"It was great! Pity it had to end so soon. They gave me some pictures,

look."



Lynda fished in her bag and came out with a fistful of Polaroids.



"Gosh! I never saw you in your 'kini," said Maggie, looking through

the pictures. "Quite pretty, isn't it!"



"We had a right old game trying to get one to fit me up top. It's

about six sizes bigger than the bottom half, and it's still not big

enough. Debbie liked it!"



I bet she did, thought Maggie. She handed the pictures back to the

girl. "It nearly fits, anyway. Still, you'd better not show these to

your Mum!" The screen display changed. "Here's your train. Right, got

your ticket? Don't fall asleep or you'll end up in Scotland. Bye

lovey!" She kissed Lynda briefly on the cheek.



"See ya later, Mags!"



Lynda strode across the crowded concourse to the ticket barrier, and

Maggie saw lustful glances directed at her long legged, broad hipped

figure, and the improbably immense bust beneath her school blazer, as

she disappeared on to the platform.



"Disgraceful," Maggie muttered, "the way some people always ogle

schoolgirls."











Chapter 7:- Kay Meets Charlotte



"You don't need to come along, honest. It will be dead boring, all the

waiting around. They won't let you in the studio." Kay shoved another

pair of panties in her overnight bag, and glowered at Dan who was

hovering unnervingly by the bedroom door.



"I can give you moral support," Dan mumbled.



"My morals don't need supporting, dearest," Kay insisted, but she knew

this was a losing battle. Dan was going to drive her down to the

studios, saving half the return train fare. It also saved the early

morning travel on a crowded train, which was one of the things Kay had

always hated about her old job. Of course, Dan wasn't going to be able

to take her home again in the evening, as he had to get back for his

night shift at the works. Cunis Publications were paying for Kay's

accommodation at a reasonably expensive hotel, so she wasn't exactly

complaining. The train journey back home on Saturday morning would be

altogether a more leisurely affair.



Dan had his hangdog expression on, and Kay suddenly felt sorry for

him. "Come here," she smiled, wondering why it always ended up like

this as Dan's chest pressed warm and heavy against her, the hint of

his male hardness squashing into her breasts, down there where they

lay unsupported on her stomach.



"Darling!"



"I have to get dressed," said Kay, breaking the kiss at last. "We

mustn't be late." Her enormous breasts swayed massively as she walked

slowly to the dressing table and picked up her bra. "Help me with

this," she said with a glance over her shoulder at Dan, whose tongue

was either hanging out or licking his lips. "You know how much you

enjoy doing up bra hooks."



"I prefer undoing them." But he hooked them like a good boy. All eight

of the things.





**********



"It wasn't my fault the car overheated," Dan complained petulantly.

"It was all that traffic on the motorway."



"It wouldn't have been there if we'd been on time instead of farting

around in deepest Hertfordshire. But would Mr Ace Driver listen to

me?"



"You, who always holds the map upside down?"



"Only when we're going South. It makes perfect sense to me. And if

we'd gone South instead of halfway round England, whe'd have been

there an hour and a half ago. By the time we get through this lot, it

will be two hours. It's not good enough, Dan. They'll probably sack me

for this. A whole studio tied up and kept waiting, hanging around

while your car boils dry and you get fucking lost!"



Dan had given up arguing. He sat hunched, nudging forward whenever the

gridlocked traffic moved another foot. One hand gripped the wheel as

if to crush it to dust, he gnawed at the knuckles of the other. All

around them, traffic in the other lanes was darting forward. Taxis

performed bold U-turns and rocketed away down narrow alleys to

God-knows-where. Buses pulled casually out from stops and belched warm

greasy fumes as they plodded down the bus lanes in nose-to-tail

formation.



By the time they arrived outside the door of Sunbird Studios, the

street was mockingly empty. Nobody would believe they had been held up

in traffic.



Kay was greeted by a competent-looking young woman who introduced

herself as Debbie. 



"Come on in," she grinned welcomingly. "Coffee's on. Usual traffic?"

She took a bewildered Kay by the arm and led her - marched her - to

the dressing room. "Is that your boyfriend? He can make himself useful

if he likes. He can pour the coffee." Debbie waved Daniel away

dismissively. "There's probably something he can read while you're

working. He can read, I suppose?"



Kay wondered why she was giggling at that.



"We're doing flimsies and stuff first, aren't we?" Debbie knew exactly

what the plans were, but she still asked the question and Kay nodded.

"His Lordship's having a bit of a lie-down. He's exhausted, poor lamb.

Must be his latest boyfriend wearing him out. Duncan prefers boys,"

she added, perhaps unnecessarily. "Ah, this will be what's-his-face

with the coffee. Come in, then! Plonk it down there, then make

yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Help yourself to smut."



Dan did as he was told. He had the feeling that you didn't mess with

Debbie.



Debbie, meanwhile, was gaping at Kay in a manner which caused her some

discomfort.



"Are those you, right down there?"



"They're all me, yes. Nobody else but me in this dress," Kay

confirmed.



"I thought that girl we had earlier this week was big, but shit, you

make her look undernourished. She was only fourteen, though, and still

growing. She was one of your lot, too. One of Maggie Wallace's new

girls. Although she won't be appearing for a few years yet. Duncan was

offended at having to shoot her. He doesn't do school work, he says.

Come on, then, let's see them!"



Kay released the hook at the back of her neck before shrugging the

dress loose and tugging it up over her head. She emerged into the

daylight blushing as she saw Debbie's expression.



"Now that is what I call a bra!" Debbie reached out an enquiring

finger and touched the taut body band where it joined the overflowing

cup. "And only just big enough, too!" Kay dropped her dress on the

back of a chair and faced the girl. She felt naked under Debbie's

frank scrutiny.



"Sorry for staring. Things are really looking up round here for

tit-lovers. And I am one of those." Debbie patted her own compressed

bosom beneath her sweatshirt. "These are E-cups," she said to a

slightly disbelieving Kay, "but I hide them pretty well, right? Of

course, yours are ten times as big! You'll wow young Geoffrey. He's

the camera assistant. He looks after the equipment, I look after the

models. It's a good arrangement."



Kay hesitated, reluctant to release her breasts altogether in front of

this stranger, no matter how appreciative she was.



"Where's your negligee, then?"



"In my bag. Everything's in there. Even my best bra. For best, read

biggest!"



"You're not still growing as well, surely? At nineteen?"



"Mm-hm! Not so fast now, but still an inch every month or so. At

least, so my bra lady tells me."



"Well, don't just stand there. Let me help you with all those hooks."

Debbie smiled her encouragement. "A too-tight bra isn't the best thing

to wear before a session. Leaves horrid marks. Still, there will be

plenty of time for those to fade before we do the nudies. Off with it,

then!"



And off it came. Kay felt oddly aroused at the touch of this girl's

hands, a touch which she felt on her back, her shoulders, her arms.

Everywhere but her breasts, which Debbie seemed to avoid on purpose.

Dropping the big pink bra on top of her dress, she reached for her

bag, meaning to search for her negligee, or whatever it was called. It

wasn't there.



"Wow!" Debbie's voice made Kay turn round. She looked Kay up and down,

already holding the negligee in her hand. "Let's see you before you

cover up all that loveliness. You are just so fantastic, Kay.

Amazing!"



Kay found herself blushing even deeper. Her nipples were giving the

game away, too.



"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you. Here!" Debbie tossed the

negligee to Kay. "Slip into something more comfortable and come into

the studio. Meet Geoff. I'll wake up the Lord and Master. Not

necessarily in that order. See you in a minute." She left with a

little finger wave.



Standing alone in the dressing room, Kay found herself wondering what

she was doing in this place. She felt lonely and scared. Not just

nervous, scared. What crazy impulse had made her agree to do this

thing? The money would be useful, sure, but she had managed perfectly

well until now. Would anyone notice if she quietly dressed again and

slipped out into the street. Taxi to the station. She had her ticket.

Apologise to Maggie in the morning. "Sorry, Maggie, I can't go through

with it."



"Through with what?" asked Debbie, coming back in. "I told Himself and

he's getting up. Mr Grumpy Duncan. You want a hand with this frilly?

Pretty thing. Did you buy it specially?"



"No, my ... it was a Christmas present, from Dan."



"He was lucky to get such a pretty one in such a large bust size. Most

of them are for fat old ladies. Come on, arms up!"



Kay obediently put her arms above her head like a child being dressed.

Debbie went round behind her and slipped the negligee over her head.



"Lovely, turn round! Oh, yes! Right, then. Time for the big entrance.

Two minutes, Miss Archer!"



Like a lamb, Kay followed Debbie's taut-jeaned rump along the corridor

and into the studio. A young lad was doing something with a pile of

black and chrome cameras on a side table. Debbie introduced him.



"Kay, this is Geoff. He looks after the cameras."



"Hi, Kay!" Geoff started to say, then stopped with his mouth agape.



"Geoff is fond of the fuller bosom, Kay," Debbie explained for his

benefit. "He will probably stop staring at your chest in a few

minutes, but he may prove uncommunicative." To Geoff, she said,

"Duncan is up and on his way. Get your arse moving if you don't want

another bollocking this morning."



Geoff speeded up whatever it was he was doing with the cameras, then

went around switching on the lights. They all seemed to be aimed at a

couch in front of what looked like a window frame, but it had no glass

in it, just a covering of white translucent material lit from behind.

Kay recognised it from some of the pictures in the magazine she had

read. It brought home to her that she was in the same business as the

models in HUMUNGOUS!, parting their legs and playing with themselves.

She was oddly comforted by the fact that she still had her panties on.



Music started up, booming out from four huge loudspeakers, until

Debbie shrieked at Geoff to turn it down. "We had a threesome in here

yesterday. Deaf, by the sound of them. Dumb, certainly. Right, go and

perch your butt on the couch. I'll get my make-up box and touch up

your nose for you." She flounced off, calling, "Hiya, Duncan," as she

passed him in the doorway.



So this was the great man himself. Kay took in the mane of

silvery-white hair, rather too long at the back, the affected

moustache and the mannered walk. He reminded her of her uncle Frank,

only a bit older. Not at all the sort of thing she had expected. She

had anticipated a kind of slick used car salesman in his mid-twenties.

Perhaps things wouldn't be as bad as she had thought.



"Kay, is it?" Duncan offered a slightly limp hand. "You may call me

Duncan. You are very very late, but it's only to be expected these

days."



Kay felt as if the traffic problems round London were entirely her own

fault. "My boyfriend brought me in his car, and it over ..."



"Lovely big breasts, Kay. You're a real Cunis girl, all right." He

sighed heavily and accepted a camera from Geoff, who was still staring

at Kay in deep awe. "Let's have a look at you, then. Lean on the arm

of the couch, and look at me. No, the other arm. Yes, that's fine.

Splendid! Try  turning your body a bit this way, more ... and look

this way, I'm over here, Kay, and ..." Flop! went the camera, the

lights flashed and Kay blinked helplessly, blinded. "Don't look at the

umbrellas, dear heart, look at the lens. That's this bit on the front

of the camera. Whoosh! That's better. That's my girl, one more. Now

bend the other way ..."



Whichever way Kay sat, it felt wrong. Several times, Duncan had to

come over and manhandle her body into position like a Cindy doll. He

was getting tetchy and irritable, and she felt lonely and close to

tears. At last, he shouted for them to take five, and Debbie darted

forward to repair Kay's face. "Sorry about that," the girl apologised.

"He shouldn't sleep during the day. Hey, don't worry! You're doing

just fine, love. Look, when he comes back, he'll be doing the topless

shots. How do you feel about your pants? You happy to take them off?"



"I can't do any with my legs apart. I'd die ..."



"That's no problem. We'll see how it looks with them on, and if you do

take them off, we won't show anything. No pink at all. You'll see.

He'll know what you don't want to do and pose you accordingly.

Duncan's brilliant like that. Right, you all fit? Here he comes."



It did go better after that. Duncan stopped hectoring Kay; she relaxed

and even began to enjoy the experience. When the time came for her to

take off the frilly negligee, she even had the confidence to play

peek-a-boo with the camera before thrusting out her chest. Not that

thrusting her chest out made much difference, with her breasts hanging

down on to her lower stomach the way they did, but it felt wanton and

sexy.



She even began to fantasise about the readers of HUMUNGOUS! looking at

her pictures and doing whatever it was they did. At first, in her

imaginings, the reader looked a bit like Dan, but she dismissed the

thought and let her mind create a fantasy figure of her own choosing.

As she fondled her breasts and touched her erect nipples, the thoughts

became alarmingly vivid. What's happening, she thought, am I getting

turned on by this whole business?



The insistent music, the flashing lights, Duncan's constant cajoling

voice, the touch of her own hands: it was all getting to her. She was

doing a succession of standing poses, facing the camera, running her

hands down her long hanging breasts, down the sides of her body, down

to her panties, her firm bottom ...



"Hold it there a minute, dear. Those knicks are going to have to come

off. We can't show that! Debs, give her a hand, dear."



Duncan slumped in an armchair, exhausted, as Debbie grinned at Kay and

held out a hand.



"Come to the dressing room for a minute while Duncan recovers,

sweetheart," she said. Kay, feeling dazed, followed her into the

darkness beyond the lights. They went into the dressing room, passing

an open-mouthed Dan without so much as a word.



"Gosh! I was getting to enjoy that until he stopped." Kay inspected

her face in the mirror. "How was I doing?"



Debbie was close to Kay suddenly, touching her on the shoulder.

Surprised, Kay turned and found herself clinging to the girl. How it

happened, she had no idea, but it felt oddly comforting to be hugged

like this, to feel Debbie's firm body against hers, her strong arms

encircling her. She allowed her eyes to close as Debbie's mouth met

hers. "Debbie?" she started to say, but changed her mind and let the

moment take charge of her.



It might have been thirty seconds, but it felt like hours.



Debbie grinned up into her eyes like a pixie. "Duncan will be

wondering where we have got to. I mean, he'll know what we're doing,

but it probably best if we don't take too long." She took a powder

puff from the dressing table and applied it in delicate little dabs to

Kay's cheeks and forehead. "There. You look as good as new. Apart from

your panties. Have you got another pair handy?"



"In my bag. But what ...?"



Kay realised then, and blushed scarlet. "Did I look ... was I like

this ... in there?"



"Not quite as wet as that, no," Debbie laughed. "But there was a bit

of a damp spot. That was why Duncan stopped."



"Oh, my God, no! How terrible. How can I go back in there now?"



Debbie found another pair of panties, a darkish purple, and held them

up critically. "These will show every drop of wet. You might have to

go without."



"But I can't, not after that. I'm so ashamed. Letting myself get so

excited like that."



"You were brilliant. The pictures will be lovely. You must have had a

nice fantasy going. But it's all right. Lots of girls get wet. It's

perfectly natural. It is!"



Kay was unconvinced. But she accepted another kiss from Debbie before

the assistant told her firmly to sit down while she touched up her

lips with a brush.



"Now, come on. We'll leave these behind." Debbie tossed the purple

panties back into the bag, took Kay in her cool, capable hand and led

her down the corridor to the studio.



The rest of the session went by in a blur. For the first few poses,

Kay was wooden and her hands felt like dinner plates, but Debbie

smiled at her encouragingly and gradually, she eased herself into her

fantasy world again.



Then it was over.



"Sorry we overran a bit, my love!" Kay was astonished. It didn't seem

at all like Duncan to apologise for anything. "You were really flowing

so nicely at the end, we shot another six rolls. Lovely stuff, dear!"

And he held out his cheek for a kiss, eyes shut. Kay obliged and he

opened them again.



"Unfortunately, our next model is already here, so I'm going to have

to throw you out. Debs will help you, of course. But in case I don't

see you before you go, good luck. Maggie will give you a call when she

gets the contact strips. I have a warm feeling, though. A warm

feeling!"



This time, there was no sign of Dan when they came out of the studio.

There was a startlingly blonde little receptionist tapping away at a

keyboard. She looked up without particular interest at Debbie and Kay,

now draped in her negligee again.



"Her boyfriend? Was that him talking to ...? He had to go. Five

minutes ago, just after I'd come on, at two. He said he'd see ya at

the weekend." That last bit was directed at Kay, without any change of

tone.



There was a young woman in the dressing room, sprawled in an

overstuffed armchair, totally at her ease, reading a tabloid

newspaper. She looked up, tossed the paper to one side, and clambered

to her feet. Kay didn't often feel overwhelmed by another woman, but

this one towered over her. Not only was she overwhelming in height,

she was also dauntingly large, in a dress like a flowered tent. Even

her hair was big. She had enormous hair. She made Kay feel tiny, and

in her flimsy negligee, almost naked.



"Good afternoon," the young woman drawled. God, she sounded so bloody

confident, Kay thought. "Charlotte Davenport," the woman announced.

She held her hand out and Kay took it. She recognised the name. Her

mouth opened as she tried to say something. Feeling stupid, she shut

it again. Charlotte smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. "Please

excuse the frock." She indicated her dress. "Apart from its clashing

with the furnishings, I can't use my car at the moment, and this was

the best disguise I could find to wear on public transport in the

capital. Slumming, you know, but none of the cars was available this

afternoon. Bloody disgraceful!" She was grinning, though - a big grin

- belying her words.



"Charlotte! We spoke on the phone." Debbie beamed at her. "Sorry we're

late. We overran with Kay's session. We were going so well, Duncan

didn't want to stop. This is Kay Archer. You're both working for the

same firm."



"Cunis?" Kay looked at Charlotte with surprise. "You mean ...?"



"Of course, you wouldn't know, would you." Debbie explained. "Maggie

has called you two in for photos today, and there was another kid

earlier in the week. You're all on the same scheme, apparently. I

don't know what the deal is, but Cunis was after some new blood, or

something, so he's found you lot! Anyway, Kay, babe, if you want to

get dressed, I'm sure you will excuse me if I help Charlotte get ready

...?"



"Oh. Oh, sure." Kay felt her cheeks reddening, and she moved her bag

and clothes off the chair to the corner of the room.



"You been here long?" Debbie was looking Charlotte up and down,

peering more closely at her chest with growing interest.



"Half an hour. I was a bit early myself. There was a guy out in the

kitchen when I came. Hanging around like a spare prick at a wedding.

We had quite a chat. Quite a chat! He said he was ... oh, shit! Kay,

he was yours, wasn't he?"



"Mine? D-Dan?" Kay stammered, turning scarlet. "No! I mean, he only

brought me here. That's why we were late arriving. But he's nothing

special. Just an occasional date."



"That's all right, then." Charlotte smiled secretly to herself. "I

asked him out tomorrow, and he seemed keen on the idea!" She picked up

a Harrods carrier bag from the floor. "I brought some undies, as you

asked," she said to Debbie. "Do you want me to put them on now, or are

we meeting Mr Throssell first? Bloody hell, that sounded bad!"

Charlotte cackled like a horny hen.



"Now would be fine, since we're late." Debbie sounded almost eager.

Kay, meanwhile, had pulled up her purple panties and was about to dive

head first into her dress. She was so flustered after her hot session

in the studio, she hadn't come down yet. If she had, she might have

remembered to put her bra on. As a result, she missed the first public

appearance of the Hon Charlotte fforbes-Davenport when she came out of

her capacious frock. By the time Kay's head finally emerged from the

neck of the dress, her first view of Charlotte showed her that this

was not the fat young woman she had appeared to be. On the contrary,

in fact.



Debbie, too, was staring helplessly at Charlotte, too. Conversation

had ceased.



Charlotte looked from one to the other. She had dropped the flowered

dress on the chair behind her, and was wearing nothing but scarlet

silk knickers, stockings and slightly heeled shoes, which nevertheless

made her legs look endless, and at the same time, immensely powerful.

And a bra, of course. Don't forget the bra. It was scarlet, and Kay

recognised it as the one she had seen at Mrs Danby's. But it looked

even bigger now it was full of Charlotte.



She felt she had never seen anything as sexy in her life as this tall,

powerful and incredibly, outrageously stacked young woman. Thick dark

red hair cascaded over her shoulders and hung heavily in waves around

the upper slopes of her breasts.



Kay was quite speechless. And her panties, her clean purple panties,

which she had been wearing for at least two minutes, were already

soaking wet.









<end Part II>