GENEROUS SPIRIT
by ghosthostblue
PART TWO: SHOCK OF THE NEW


copyright 2004-2005 Feedback to: thisguysaghost@hotmail.com

CHAPTER 1 David was shirtless, the afternoon sun warming his shoulders and
back. It was unusually warm for mid-September, and this particular early
afternoon could not be better for painting a portion of Cassandra's house.
He'd expected to be doing nothing more than prepping the surface on this first
day of the job. Cassandra told him that she'd already scraped and primed the
wood, but he had assumed - in a sexist manner, he now realized - that she
wouldn't really know that much about the nature of the work. Besides, even
many professionals skipped over some of the finer details in an effort to save
time. There were always little things that got neglected - things like
caulking between separated boards, or scraping and replacing cracked glazing
around the perimeter of the windows. But the state of this house was
stupefying. In fact, if Cassandra had indeed done the prepping, then she was
just being kind by allowing him to apply the paint. Whoever had gotten this
house ready was much more skilled than he was. The broad siding, the trim, the
windows Ð everything was immaculately prepared for him. Taking the size of the
house into account, he had thought that the job would occupy him for two weeks
or more. Now it looked as though he could be done in four days, max. It didn't
seem right. Cassandra had already given him half of his money - she was paying
him two thousand dollars in all - but the job simply wasn't that difficult. He
needed the rest of the money, sure, but he was going to have to tell her to
keep the other half. Anything else just wouldn't be right.

He dipped his thick brush into the dark gray paint that she had supplied for
the boards. The brand was called Brush Magic, with a clever logo of a dragon
holding a paintbrush in its tail. He'd never heard of it before, but it was
incredible paint. He barely had to touch his brush to the wood, this stuff was
so good. It was as if the wood sucked the paint right off of the brush, saving
his arm an enormous amount of effort. It almost made him angry to find that a
paint of this quality existed. Just think of the hours that could have been
saved when he'd worked with that crew painting the old Methodist church over
in Five Forks. The trim paint for Cassandra's house was also Brush Magic. With
it's complex rust color and the dove white for the windows, the house was
going look fabulous when he was done.

Well, aside from needing paint, the house was fabulous. He remembered a time
when the place had been a wreck. The house had been a mass of peeling paint
and rotting boards, and there had been some severe foundation problems,
especially with the wrap-around porch. The yard had been a disastrous tangle
of high grass and choking vines, and there had also been that forbidding dead
oak tree draping its skeletal limbs over the roof. He had actually been
frightened by that tree when he was a little kid, but everything had changed
at some point, although he couldn't clearly remember when. The house's grounds
now looked like something from a well-funded public garden, and where he
expected to see the demon oak, there was a colorful and stately maple.

In the back yard were raised herb and flower gardens, and a gravel pathway
that led through some of the surrounding woodland until you came to a secluded
Japanese-style garden with a beautiful stone footbridge traversing a
well-stocked goldfish pond. He tried to remember when all of the work had been
done. Talmon Norris had died in 1997, and his daughter, Vivian, had stayed in
the house for a brief time after that. The house had been on the market for a
few years now, one of those places that simply wouldn't sell because it had so
many problems. Did Vivian Norris put the work into the place? The real-estate
company? It was funny how he couldn't remember.

But then, he had a lot on his mind right now. Everything was moving so fast
for a change. He'd taken Cassandra Bliss to his studio and then, Bam! It still
gave him shivers to think of how close he'd come to screwing everything up
with her. She had pointed out how his paintings were lacking passion. He had
been crushed, and rightfully so.

"Why are you looking so glum?," she had asked.

"You say that passion is your specialty. That sounds nice, but I don't suppose
you happen to carry a bit of it around in a vial, do you? I mean, how am I
supposed to react to something like that, especially when I know it's true?"

"Really seeing the current state of affairs is no small thing, David. Few
people can bear that. But I see your point. You know that you can't just blink
your eyes and manufacture passion."

"Exactly."

"Okay. Then let me ask you something. What is it exactly that you think you're
painting?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here, let's put these two still-lives together with these landscapes. Tell me
why you were drawn to these subjects."

She had placed one still-life with honeydew melons, and another with two
oranges, painted far larger than life-size, next to each other. Above, on the
wall, were several of his landscapes of the Baby Whales rising over Whaleback
Ridge. One was in bright afternoon light, while the others had a more muted
light and morning mist helping to soften the forms.

"Well," he began, "all of the paintings are formatted horizontally. There's a
similar compositional device being used in all of them where I..."

"Stop! Stop spouting all of that art school mumbo-jumbo and get down to the
heart of the matter! I'm asking what the paintings are about, not how you're
composing them. There is an extremely consistent theme occurring in all of
your works. Don't you see it?"

Even with her huge boobs staring him in the face, he had been talking in
complete sentences somehow. Now, he was beginning to feel dense again. What
was she getting at? What did she want from him?

"You don't see it, do you? You love it, or at least I assume that you do,
because you paint it over and over, but you don't really see it. Try to look
past the specifics of the objects. What ties them all together, whether it's a
bunch of fruit on a tabletop or a landscape in the morning air?"

He blinked his eyes in an effort to see the paintings freshly. Was she getting
at the way he used color, or something about the quality of light? But no, he
was experimenting with different approaches to both. Maybe it was the tactile
quality of his paint? Did she know enough about technique to...

"David! Look at me."

He did. Looking at Cassandra was not a difficult thing to do. Keeping his
hands off of her, on the other hand...

"Now watch."

Standing a few paces away, she began to lean her head back, her dark, crazy
hair cascading towards the floor. She went further back, further... Shit, what
was she, a contortionist or something? Her head hovered about two feet off of
the floor, her back almost perfectly parallel to the ground, her entire body
forming a nearly perfect half-circle. And her boobs, those tremendous,
awe-inspiring boobs, rose magnificently, towering towards the ceiling. She
turned her head, looking at him.

"Look at my chest, David."

He already was. One glance at the crotch of his pants could confirm that he
was. He could look at those huge tits every second for the rest of his life!

"Not like that," she advised. "Look at their shape. Have you seen these shapes
anywhere lately?"

He almost fell over, it hit him so hard.

"Oh, my God! I didn't... I mean, I didn't realize..."

He began to sputter again. First, he was about to blow a gasket (or his load)
from staring at her boobs. Then there was the revelation. How could he have
missed it? What did it mean? What should he do with this new insight?

"Don't be embarrassed, David. Please. But now you see it, don't you - the
source of your passion? You've been trying to hide it. You even hid it from
yourself, for whatever reasons. Perhaps you think that others will disapprove.
You are a lover of the female form, David. It's true whether your subject is
Mother Earth herself or some of her fruit. Just look at those curving forms in
your landscapes. Look at how you chose to present those melons. But you keep
holding back. Stop holding back. It's time to run straight into the fire of
your passion."

She made it sound like obliteration, like being smothered to death by giant
boobs.

"How... how do I do that?"

"Stop substituting half-baked metaphors for your subject, to begin with."

She was very direct. "You mean..."

"I mean that you are fascinated with - perhaps even worshipful of - the female
body. Especially this particular dimension of the female body."

At these words, her arms made a gesture which clearly indicated her tremendous
breasts.

"I believe that the key to unlocking your creative passion is to explore your
subject as fully and intimately as possible. Paint what you love. Paint
breasts! Paint the breasts of a real, living, breathing, naked, flesh and
blood woman!"

That was the point where he thought he'd blown it. Everything she was saying
was true. He'd had a thing about big tits his entire life, and he clearly
remembered the extra level of excitement (creative as well as sexual) that he
experienced in his college drawing class whenever the nude model had an
especially impressive rack. But no model, no woman he had ever seen even came
close to the exquisite proportions, the undeniable femaleness of the woman who
was giving him this advice. If there was ever an inspiring flesh and blood
woman to paint, here she was, standing no more than six feet away from him.
Cassandra looked like a work of art already. You could probably screw-up a
drawing or a painting of her and still have an image that would be a hell of a
lot better-looking than any other portrait he had ever seen. And, he reasoned,
wasn't she asking him, in a way, to make the offer? It seemed so unlikely - I
mean, she could have any man on the planet that she desired - but wasn't she
coming on to him? She had to be aware of the effect she had on him. He had a
never-ending boner just from being in the same room with her. She couldn't
have missed it, and she had just asked him to look at her tits. And he could
talk to her! That fact was such a miracle that he couldn't help but believe in
some predestined quality to their being together. So, taking Cassandra's
advice to its logical conclusion, he put everything on the line by asking her
whether she would model for him. Nude.

She did not appear to be the least bit surprised or put-off by his question,
but she turned him down. Fuck!

"I thought you might ask me to model," she said. "I didn't bring any of this
up for that reason. I know you think I'd be an ideal model for you, but you
couldn't... it just wouldn't work out. I... I definitely have a generous
amount of what you worship, but I wouldn't be right for you, trust me. Plus
there simply wouldn't be enough time. I have to be at the bakery during the
day, and I do all of my baking at night. You need a model who has enough time
for you to discover the limits of your abilities."

She was trying to ease the pain of his crushed hopes. She probably knew that
deep down he had a stupid fantasy that if she modeled for him, they might
become lovers. It was ridiculous, he knew. He was a struggling artist who
usually couldn't string two sentences together in front of a gorgeous woman,
and she was a woman so gorgeous that it made your eyes hurt. He was a
relatively inexperienced lover and she was a world-wise, utterly unattainable
super-babe. Her attempts to soothe his dashed feelings were very sweet, but
there were other problems with her refusal to model that deepened his sorrow.
This newly revealed need to paint women was like a kid having candy held out
to him, then yanked away. He couldn't claim to know every soul in the area -
he had been living elsewhere for several years - but for the most part he
thought he knew what kind of women stayed in these parts. The really
attractive girls always went off to college, either for the education or for
the chance to find a man who could give them a life in a more hospitable part
of the country. David wasn't going to risk the scandal that would come from
asking a high school girl to model for him, and no older women that he knew of
were suitable models. Besides, just about any woman anywhere would be a
terrible let-down when compared to a love-goddess like Cassandra Bliss. He
tactfully expressed these issues to Cassandra, but she had an enthusiasm that
could not be punctured by any of his misgivings.

"Come back with me to the bakery," she said. "We can put up a flyer for you."

"But..."

"But nothing. You'll never find what you want if you don't make the effort to
attract it."

He went through the motions with her, composing what the flyer should say.
David thought it was a complete waste of time, but Cassandra made him go
through with it. They tacked it to the wall right beside the entrance/exit to
the cafe, where it could be easily seen by every customer. Cassandra looked at
the humble sheet of paper with an expression of deep satisfaction.

"There," she said. "You don't think that anything can come from it, but you
never know. It's when you have no hope that the unexpected can appear. I think
you're luck has taken a turn, David."

"I sure hope so. But right now, I need much more than a model. The most
unexpected thing I can think of would be for some money to come my way."

Cassandra looked at him, then smiled. "Tough times, hmm?"

"Pretty tough. I was a little upset that I somehow missed all of the work you
had done on the cafe."

"I see. This might sound like a silly question, but are you handy with a paint
brush?"

He was afraid to even let himself hope.

"Because I have a huge house in dire need of a coat of paint. I'd be willing
to pay you well if you could have the job finished before the end of the
month."

And so here he was, on a tall ladder painting Cassandra's house for more money
than was reasonable. It was almost too good to be true. He could only pray
that the same would be true of his model. He had been stunned when the phone
rang early this morning and a girl asked whether she could try modeling for
him. Her name was Karen Little, and apparently she lived right here in
Extremity. The name sounded familiar. He mentioned this to her and they
figured out that he knew Karen's older sister, Sarah, before they both went
off to college. Sarah had been very cute, with a good figure and, as he
remembered it, nipples to die for. Karen described herself as taller and more
athletic than her older sister, with long blond hair. He didn't know how to
ask her what her body was like - how could you do that without it sounding
like the whole modeling thing was just an attempt to meet cute girls? So he
really didn't know what it was going to be like when she showed up. If Karen
looked something like Sarah, then she would be okay. No Cassandra Bliss, mind
you, but okay. Anyway, the definite good news was that Karen lived nearby and
she was over eighteen, so even if she was uninspiring, he wouldn't have to
worry about being arrested for having her naked in his studio. In any case,
she was scheduled to show up in less than two hours, unless she chickened-out.

Thoughts of this impending modeling session were interrupted by the sound of
an approaching car. David looked down an saw a silver Jeep Cherokee pull up
and park at the end of the wooded cul-de-sac. A tallish guy got out and stood
beside the Jeep. David had never seen the man before. Several possibilities
ran through his mind. Tax collector? Salesman? Boyfriend? Maybe that was it. A
woman as beautiful as Cassandra would have to have a boyfriend. Hundreds of
boyfriends, even. The man walked towards the house, very slowly. He seemed to
be looking around, taking in the details. David himself, leaning against the
house on this ladder, was one of those details, yet he was fairly certain that
the man hadn't noticed him yet. He decided to call down to the man, rather
than spooking him later.

"Can I help you with something?"

The man jumped slightly, then looked up and found the source of the voice.

"Oh. I didn't see you up there."

That was obvious. David began to feel somewhat suspicious of this guy. What if
he was some kind of stalker? Beautiful actresses sometimes had stalkers
trailing after them, and Cassandra was a hundred times more gorgeous that any
actress he had ever seen. It was none of his business, but he needed to check
this guy out.

"Are you looking for Cassandra?"

"Ah, no, not really. I was just speaking with her over at the cafe. I was
just... She, ah, suggested that I take a look at her property. I'm looking for
any damage that might have been done by the tornadoes that came through town."

Oh, David thought. An insurance adjuster. Strange. The guy didn't sound or
look like an insurance adjuster. He had on a nice sport coat, but he was
wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and his slight cowboy accent didn't sound
right for an insurance man at all. Something didn't feel right.

"So you're looking at the house because of an insurance claim?"

"No. No, I'm a reporter."

And then the man identified himself. David climbed down the ladder, very
curious now, and the man showed him his press credentials. Wow, a reporter
from The Sourcerer, right here in Extremity! And he was checking out
Cassandra's house. Why? David's imagination went into overdrive. A woman who
looked like Cassandra could have a past filled with many twists and turns. Was
she one of those "black widow" types, beautiful women who toy with men and
drive them to extremes of passion or violence? Had men killed over her, or
committed suicide when she left them? Cassandra had been nothing but kind and
helpful to David, offering advice and treating him like... well, like a
friend. But even so, he had to fight with himself almost every second to keep
from leaping onto her body and running his hands all over her in a fever of
delirious desire. She was that beautiful. He could easily imagine a horde of
demented admirers and former lovers trailing behind Cassandra like a human
wake. The possibilities were endless.

"So what is it that you're looking for here, Mr. Cantell? Something about
Cassandra's house, you said?"

"Ah... maybe. I was just thinking, ah..." The reporter seemed to be struggling
to order his thoughts. "Please excuse me. I don't seem to be feeling my best
for some reason. I was just talking to Cassandra Bliss over at her cafe...
Maybe I should have gotten some coffee while I was there."

"You feel disoriented? Spaced-out yet oddly energized?"

"Exactly! So others have felt this too? What is it? Something going around?"

David laughed. "Yep. But don't worry, it isn't a virus or anything. You
probably just stared at Cassandra for too long. You couldn't have failed to
notice... you know. Her looks. That woman can have a powerful effect on a
man's nervous system. I think half of the men in Extremity have been
foggy-headed ever since she showed up."

"I see."

The reporter looked over at the house and went silent. David had no idea of
what this man's demeanor would be in normal circumstances, but he really was a
space-cadet now. Poor guy. Cassandra had obviously gotten in there deep.

"Her house is gorgeous," the reporter finally said. "I heard that one of the
tornadoes came this way. Have you noticed anything... well, anything at all?
I'm actually investigating the tornadoes themselves, not Cassandra's house.
But someone thought that her house might have been hit, although it sure
doesn't look that way."

"Yeah. I heard the first tornado, but didn't see anything. Everyone was
talking about them for a while. I can see, though, why a paper like yours
might be interested in them. I mean, tornadoes in Maine, and the two of them
hitting the same town two nights in a row? If there had been a third one, then
I think every global-warming end- of-the-world nut in the country would have
descended on our town. As for Cassandra's house... Well, the place is almost
immaculate. The yard, too, as far as I've seen."

"You said that everyone was talking about the tornadoes. What kind of things
have you heard?"

"Not all that much that's interesting, I guess. No one got hurt. I don't even
know if anything was damaged."

"So it was like they didn't even touch down?"

"Well, not exactly. I know that one must have touched down."

"How?"

"Because it cheated me out of some fairly easy money. Lester Jenkins, who owns
some land just out from the town, was going to pay me to help clear away some
junk that people had dumped over the years. You know, a junked car and old
tires and a busted washing machine or two. I don't know why a wooded spot on
his property became a dumping ground to begin with - I guess just about every
country town has its unsanctioned trash sights. One person throws something in
the woods and the next thing you know the place is like an appliance burial
ground. Anyway, one of the tornadoes must have hit the place. All of the stuff
was gone and it looked like some of the underbrush got thinned out, too."

"You've seen this?"

"No. Mr. Jenkins told me about it. Like I said, I was going to help him clean
the place up. He let me know that he didn't need me any more. I was pretty
upset, but then I got this job painting Cassandra's house, so things worked
out for the best."

The reporter looked pretty excited at this news, and he had David give him Mr.
Jenkins' phone number and draw out directions to the former dump sight. They
talked for a little bit longer, but David began to look at his watch
nervously. He needed to clean up and get back in time to prepare for his
session with the model.

The reporter said that he was going to walk around Cassandra's yard and the
nearby woods - David couldn't see anything wrong with this - to see for
himself whether there was any evidence of a tornado's passing. Before he
turned and left, he asked one more question.

"Is there by any chance a Chinese restaurant in Extremity?"

"Chinese? Sorry. There's the Logjam Diner at the east end of town with some
decent burgers and such. I could recommend that. If you have your heart set on
Chinese, you'll have to head west on 211 to the town of Five Forks."

"How far is that?"

"Fifteen, sixteen miles."

"Is there a motel of some kind there as well?"

"Sure. One in-town and another out a bit. Either one should be fine for you."

"Thanks."

And that was that. David cleaned his brush and tidied up his work area as fast
as possible. Karen Little, whoever she was, was due to arrive at his studio
soon, and it wouldn't do to be late for his first ever arranged session with a
nude model.

CHAPTER 2 Looking at the clothes in her closet, as well as every shirt in her
dresser drawers, Karen was completely stumped. What did one wear when going to
model for an artist? Especially when modeling nude? No outfit she could think
of made any sense. In fact, no part of this made any sense. How had any of
this happened? Why had she felt compelled to copy down the number from the
flyer in the first place? Once she had it, she felt it practically burning a
hole in the palm of her hand, its presence was so electric. She considered
washing the damned thing away, but for some reason she couldn't bear the
thought. It was silly, though. She was sick of having guys gawk at her body,
and yet she had set up this appointment to have an artist paint her naked.
What on earth had she been thinking?

The artist, David Hande, had sounded shy on the phone. Actually, he sounded
astounded to hear from anyone about modeling. Maybe the flyer had been on the
wall for weeks, and he'd given up hope. She asked him whether he was still
looking for a model, and he quickly said yes. He asked some basic questions,
shyly, almost like he expected her to snap out of it and hang up. He wanted to
know how old Karen was, and whether she understood that this was nude
modeling. When she hung in there, he told her what he would pay her, gave her
directions to his studio, and then they set the time. He was saying early next
week as the time to start, and Karen surprised herself (him, too, she was
sure) by asking whether they could do it in an hour.

"Y...you mean today?"

"Yes, today. As soon as possible." She couldn't even believe that she was
saying this, yet she felt some disappointment when he said he couldn't get
free until four in the afternoon. She would have to wait, but at least it was
happening today.

That had been around nine in the morning, and now the waiting was almost over.
He was expecting her in forty-five minutes, and she was stuck on the question
of what kind of clothes to show up with. It probably didn't matter to him, but
then he didn't know what she looked like. She could tell that he was fishing
for a physical description on the phone - it only made sense that he would
wonder what she looked like. She couldn't make herself do it, though. When
they figured out together that he remembered Sarah and knew what she looked
like, Karen used her older sister as a reference, telling him that she was
taller and more athletic and that her hair was blond. He seemed satisfied -
Sarah was very pretty, after all, with a knockout figure - but she felt a
little ashamed of her deception. Athletic? Well, yes, she was extremely
athletic, but her lie was a lie of omission. Why couldn't she bring herself to
tell him that her breasts were nearly as big as the rest of her? It wasn't
like she would be able to hide the fact. He would see how huge she was the
second they met, and how would he react to them? Her breasts were far removed
from anything she remembered seeing in any paintings from art history. She
could have warned him, but she had been afraid, afraid that he might not want
to paint her. She didn't know why she should care, but she obviously did,
which didn't make any sense. But then nothing seemed to be making sense any
more.

Like the wave of sexual heat that had swept over her earlier in the afternoon.
Where on earth had that come from? She had been rinsing her hair in the shower
and all of a sudden her breasts became so sensitive that she had to step out
of the spray of the shower head to keep herself from... from she didn't even
know what. Her nipples rocketed to full extension and she felt a hunger inside
of her vagina unlike anything she'd ever known. The intense craving passed,
but not completely. Her nipples were still so sensitive that it felt exciting
every time she slipped some new shirt over her breasts.

She was still wrestling with that question. What kind of shirt should she wear
for her modeling session? Ninety-percent of her wardrobe was comprised of
oversized men's shirts, but what was the sense of wearing one of those? As
Ester had pointed out to her so many cup sizes ago, even her most shapeless
shirts couldn't hope to hide the extravagant size of her boobs, and what was
the sense of wearing her usual cover-up attire when the artist would want her
to take everything off? She shook her head, confused. It was warm outside, so
she made one choice, which was to wear a pair of old cut-off shorts. She had
fabulous legs - she didn't know what this guy would be looking for in a model,
but it was hard to imagine that he wouldn't be pleased with her body below the
level of her tits.

Okay, one decision - an easy decision - already made. Now for the hard one.
She scanned her limited wardrobe hanging in her closet. It was scary, but she
decided that she should wear something that made it clear from the first
second just how huge she was. Why not? That way, if he found her dimensions
too extreme or grotesque, then he could tell her immediately and she wouldn't
even have to get naked for him. She could apologize for failing to tell him
about the size of her breasts, and they could get through the awkwardness of
the moment as fast as possible. Then she could leave, nothing found but
nothing lost.

She suddenly felt her spirit sink like a torpedoed ship. Just thinking about
him not wanting to paint her made her depressed. Why? She'd never even met
this guy before. He sounded sweet over the phone, but he could be a creep, for
all she knew. It was odd that he was from Extremity, and she knew so little
about him. She had a dim memory that might or might not be accurate. She
thought she remembered an older boy who had done illustrations for the high
school newspaper, but she wasn't sure that it had been David. She would have
been in junior-high back then, in the seventh grade, her breasts just
beginning to grow. He would have been a junior or senior in high school -
there was no reason for him to remember her at all. He would be around
twenty-two or twenty-three now, and his art studio was right in the old bus
station at the heart of town. So why didn't she know this guy? College. He
said that he went away for college. That meant four years away from Extremity.
Even if he'd come back for part of the summers, she would have been at Cape
Cod with her parents. It made sense that they wouldn't have met.

On an impulse, she opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and fished around
for one of her old T-shirts. She laughed when she pulled out the Chunky Monkey
shirt from the ice cream job. The shirt had looked obscene on her even back
then. And now? Mr. Gaskins had special-ordered this shirt for her as she
remembered it. The shirt was huge, and maybe even cut in a special way in the
front, but could she even get it to go over her boobs now?

Stretching the white cotton garment to its limit, she tried it on and looked
into her mirror. It was much as she expected. The letters and logo were pushed
and stretched-out to such a degree that they looked like a reflection in a
fun-house mirror. And her nipples, still oddly alert, looked as though they
would drill holes through the shirt unless she stopped breathing. Fuck, she
thought, why did her nipples have to be going crazy on the very day that she
might be getting naked for a stranger? And how could she even expect an artist
to want to paint anatomy as unusual as hers? The flyer didn't say that the
artist was looking for a freaky model with Outer Limits boobs and nipples that
looked like they were ready for launch! She was certain that the whole thing
was going to be a disaster.

David, for his part, was getting very, very nervous. How would he deal with
her if he didn't like the way she looked? This must be like being on a blind
date, he thought. He decided that he should paint her this one time even if he
didn't find her appealing. Then he could tell her later over the phone that he
didn't think it was going to work out. Maybe he should even claim that he
wasn't ready to paint from a model. It might not be a lie. He was following
Cassandra's advice, but what if she was wrong? Or what if she was right, but
then his paintings from models sucked? That would be even worse.

Ten minutes, if she was on time. He went over to the rudimentary model stand
that he'd put together in the morning. It was a simple plywood platform with a
layer of foam padding covered by a big white sheet, and he had placed two
clamp lights on stands at either side. He should place a small pillow there
for her head, just in case he wanted her to pose lying down. And water. Maybe
he should have some water handy. The lights could get pretty hot. He took care
of these last details, and then came the light knocking at his door. He looked
at his watch. She was two minutes early. A good sign, he thought - if nothing
else, she was punctual. He drew in his breath to calm the butterflies in his
stomach, and then opened the door.

"David? Hi, I'm Karen." Her face was absolutely gorgeous, much better-looking
than her sister's. She reached out a hand to shake his - a hand attached to an
arm - an arm that brushed (more like pushed) against the outer contour of a
breast - one of two breasts - two breasts that were so gigantic and mighty
that they looked as though they could occupy two different zip codes. Or time
zones. Or hemispheres. OhmyfuckingGod!!! He grasped the offered hand absently,
staring at it and the impossible curving mass beside it. Somewhere through the
haze of disbelief and shock he noted that, although her right arm was fully
extended, her hand barely cleared the immense outer curve of her right breast.
He tried to make sense of this as the impossible vision walked past him and
into the studio portion of his apartment. Karen Little's tits were so gigantic
that he thought he saw them brush against the molding at either side of his
doorway. She stepped to the side of him and then entered the big studio room
of his apartment, the staggering size of her breasts making the space feel
smaller.

Wait, the logical region of his brain said: This just couldn't be happening.
No one can have breasts like that. He swiveled on his feet to re-check what he
had seen. He was treated to her backside as she walked through the main room.
The wide back strap of her bra was visible under her shirt, and two enormous
arcs of tit-filled cotton curved outwards on either side of her body. Below
the waist she was wearing shorts, and her legs and ass were so spectacular and
shapely that she looked like she had been working these parts of her body from
the day she was born. She hadn't been lying about being athletic, but... But
what the hell was going on with her tits?

"What a beautiful studio," she commented.

David could not reply. He was still trying to absorb what his eyes were
telling him. Her back was still to him, yet he could see a ton of
breast-flesh, two half-moons of tit swaying beyond the barrier of her back and
even her arms. How could this be? David had dozens of photos of naked women
photographed from the back - it really turned him on when a girl's breasts
were so large that they could be seen even from the rear - but the amount of
tit that was visible to either side of Karen's back was simply staggering!

Then she turned, more or less profile to him, and began to study a couple of
the landscapes hanging on his wall. This just couldn't be true! Her boobs
practically catapulted out and away from the rest of her body, and then kept
going, and going, and going! She was mostly silhouetted in front of the two
tall windows on the wall opposite from him, so he lost some details in the
light, but there was no mistaking the protruding shapes of nipples so enormous
that he had to assume that some joke was being played on him. They were as
large and thick as a pair of size "C" batteries! He kept staring, his brain
struggling to accept the information filtering in through his eyes. If her
breasts were real, then how was it that she didn't fall forwards, or have to
lean backwards? Wouldn't her body above the waist need to find some way to
counter-balance the nearly immeasurable mass at her front? Could those be some
kind of fake nipple attachments, placed onto giant air or helium-filled
balloons? But then he remembered the way that her breast had moved and formed
itself around the inside of her arm when she had shaken his hand. No balloon
would have...

She took a sideways step to another painting and her breasts undulated with
the movement. It wasn't really a bounce, or a jiggle. Because of the enormity
of her rack, the movement was more like... like an ultra-wobble. She crossed
her arms around her belly as she looked at his paintings, her limbs
essentially disappearing underneath the protruding mountains of tit. He
watched, astounded, as the cotton-covered flesh at the bottom of her boobs
conformed to the contours of her folded arms. Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Even under
the straining folds of her shirt, there was no doubting that those gloriously
gargantuan mega-mammaries were... so... unbelievably... real!

Karen was trembling slightly. He was tall and kind of cute, dressed in jeans
and a plain sage-colored T-shirt. He had neatly cut pale brown hair, angular
shoulders, and she liked his little round glasses, which were more stylish
than anything you usually saw around Extremity. They made him look smart and
kind of... sincere. And also very sexy, she thought with a little thrill,
although not everyone would agree with her. He looked like the kind of guy
that she might have tried to approach in high school - one of those cute guys
that the other girls tended to ignore because he didn't immediately fall into
the "hunk" category. He was fairly talented, too, judging from the artworks
there in the studio. She studied the paintings on the wall, trying to get some
clues about what it was he would expect from her, but the paintings were all
landscapes and still-lives, not one nude among them. Damn!

She turned her back to him again - what was he thinking about her boobs, she
wondered - and took in the details of his space. This large room seemed to be
devoted entirely to painting, although she had seen a little kitchen and a
hallway when she entered. Bedroom somewhere in the back, no doubt. This room
was sparsely furnished yet very nice, with tall windows and one exposed brick
wall to the right. A love seat sat between the windows, a big easel and a
table with paint all over it occupied the space by the brick wall. His
paintings were all displayed on this high white wall. They were nice.

She saw a sheet-covered platform over there with lights... Oh, that was
probably where she was supposed to stand. If he still wanted to go through
with it, that is. If her boobs weren't freaking him out. And she could see how
they might be freaking him out. Her nipples, while not at full attention, were
tingly and stiff enough that he would be wondering whether he could trust what
he was seeing. She crossed her arms at her waist, hugging herself, then
remembered that this position just pushed her tits out even farther. Trying to
find or even fake sufficient courage, she turned to face him again. She
couldn't hide what she had no matter what she did. So go ahead, Mr. Painter
Man. Go ahead and take a good long look at them. Take whatever time you need
to understand that they do indeed exist. These are not Goodyear blimps that I
caught and stuffed into my shirt. These are my real breasts.

And David was taking a very, very good look at them. They were like... well,
somewhat like Cassandra's tits, only so much larger and so much more... there.
And real. Goddammit, those things were real! Even the nipples were real! And
yet, how was anything like this possible? She was gorgeous - so gorgeous that
if he hadn't met Cassandra just recently, he'd easily say that she was the
most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was a bright natural blonde,
and she had an extremely expressive, sweet-looking face, with huge green eyes,
a slightly upturned button-tipped nose, and beautifully shaped lips. And
dimples - great, deep, smile-enhancing dimples framed her exquisite mouth. It
almost killed him the way that her chin had its own little echoing dimple. She
looked so young, and yet what a woman!

She was pretty tall, about 5' 9", he figured, with a long narrow waist and
perfect hips and those dynamite legs, which he now saw looked every bit as
good from the front as they did from the rear. In so many ways she reminded
him of a dancer or a figure skater. Except for those gargantuan, room-filling
boobs! Her shirt, which must be so many sizes larger than any other trim woman
would wear, said Chunky Monkey on the front, but the letters were difficult to
read because they were so distorted by the almost never-ending expanse of her
breasts. He couldn't understand how boobs like hers could even happen in this
universe. Weren't there physical laws that everything in the world had to
comply with, biological laws limiting cell-division, or laws like gravity?

Karen's breasts were unbelievably huge and round, and yet there was something
in her posture that didn't fit what he was seeing. Maybe it was his own body
sympathetically responding to their tremendous weight - they must weigh a ton,
each - but there it was, one of the contradictions that made his eyes and
brain doubt what they were perceiving. How could she stand there like that,
unaffected, her posture relaxed, as though she was sporting nothing more than
another pair of ho-hum tits? And not only that, how could breasts that huge
extend out so far without sagging? They looked so wonderfully natural -
definitely not the work of a surgeon - but shouldn't they be heading for some
crash-landing on the earth instead of making that kind of peace with gravity?
If he painted her accurately, just as she was standing this very instant, then
no one would ever believe that he hadn't invented her boobs.

And how was he going to paint a woman as ripe and gorgeous and improbable as
this? And what was a woman like this doing in Extremity of all places? He
couldn't make sense of Cassandra deciding to move here, nor could he fathom
why someone as extreme - shit, she was extreme - as Karen Little would still
be living in this tiny place. Shouldn't she be somewhere filming specialty big
boob videos, turning millions of dicks to stone and breaking just as many
hearts?

She was different than Cassandra - more sweet-looking and cute, like a much
better-looking version of Gwynyth Paltrow or Meg Ryan or one of those other
girl-next-door types. But then she had the tits of a... a what? An Amazon? A
goddess? A giant? Or maybe a giant Amazon goddess? But no, even that
description fell short. From all he could tell through the layers of her shirt
and bra, they looked like the breasts of a dozen giant Amazon goddesses all
gathered together somehow, the total mass building and building until it
looked as though each breast must have its own gravitational field. And they
looked so ideal somehow - broad, perfectly rounded, continuously expanding
mounds of proud and opulent womanhood, and they were not only huge but somehow
overscaled - especially her nipples, which looked like they could completely
fill his mouth if he was to suck on one...

As he took in the magnitude of these breasts, feeling in his bones what it
would be like to make love to a monumentally-built creature like this, he
began to feel an almost overwhelming degree of lust building inside of him.
And confusion. Oh no, he thought, trembling. It's beginning again - his
brain-dead routine. He had never figured on his model looking anything like
this - who could even conceive of such a thing? - and yet there she was, and
here he was getting hard as granite and beginning to feel like the lust-filled
bumbler that he knew all too well. He knew what was going to happen. He was
going to need to talk to her, appear intelligent and experienced, and he was
going to stutter and sputter instead. The miraculous ease that he felt in the
company of Cassandra Bliss was nowhere to be found right now, but without it
he would screw everything up the second that he tried to open his mouth. What
was he going to do?

Karen looked at him looking at her and she began to feel that sinking feeling.
He was staring open-mouthed at her tits, and he looked like he might need a
slap on the back to get him breathing again. He was in shock. Well, what had
she thought would happen? Didn't her boobs always find some way to frustrate
her? But it was her fault, too. She should have told him. It was unrealistic,
but she kept hoping that he would reassure her, saying something like, "Oh,
Karen, how could you be so silly? You're perfect as a model. Sure your breasts
are super-gigantic, dozens of times larger than they should be, but that's
exactly what I've been looking to paint for all these years." Instead, he
looked completely incapable of movement or speech, as though someone had
opened a hatch in his back and removed his batteries just at his greatest
moment of incomprehension. His eyes were still attached to her boobs, moving
from one to the other and then back again. She had seen that look on so many
faces in recent years, but for some reason - this was a novel feeling - she
didn't really mind it this time. In fact, she kind of... liked it. But what
about him? Could he still want to paint her? Or was he looking aghast at her
tits because she was far too freakish to paint? What should she do? Did he
want her to stay? Leave?

David saw her looking down at the handbag she had placed on the floor, and his
sense of panic intensified. Oh fuck! She was going to leave! Unless, perhaps,
he said something. Or did something. But what? How? He almost jumped when she
spoke.

"I'm sorry, David. I should have told you about my, um, my figure. You
couldn't have been expecting me to be so... well, you know. So horizontal.
So... big." She smiled ironically. "I... I guess I don't look much like
something that Leonardo da Vinci would have painted."

That was for sure. There was no woman like her in any work of art that he had
ever seen. But that was the problem - like Cassandra, she already was a work
of art. What business was it of his to apply his limited talents to a
depiction of a woman who was already a hundred times more sexy and beautiful
than anything he would have imagined just a few days ago? But he had to try.
But to try, he first had to say something. Anything.

"Y... y... you're..."

God, Karen thought, the guy really is a mess. She didn't know why, exactly,
but she found his terrible shyness to be very cute. But she still didn't know
how to read his nervousness. Was it just the shock of her figure? The usual
jitters with a nude model? Or was he trying to figure out how to tell her that
it wasn't going to work out without hurting her feelings? What did he want?
Maybe she could help draw it out of him.

"You could look at the bright side," she joked. "It's like getting three
models for the price of one."

He didn't laugh, but continued to look like someone with half a lemon stuck in
his mouth. Her heart sank.

"So, I guess I'm not what you were looking for?"

"No! I... I mean, yes! I mean... you're p... p.... p...."

P-what?, she wondered. Preposterous?

"You're p... p... p..."

Pulchritudinous? Pornographic? Or was he trying to guess her bra size?

"You're... p...p...perfect!"

She looked at him doubtfully. She was perfect only to someone who thought that
it looked right for a cute girl to have the breasts of a fairy-tale giant
erupting out from her body. Still, she felt an intense warmth spread all over
her. Maybe he still wanted to paint her?

"You mean, I'm not too...?" She looked down at her breasts and shrugged her
shoulders, the tsunami of movement beneath her shirt wordlessly making her
point.

"P...perfect! I'll just have t...t...to use a b...bigger canvas to fit all of
you in, that's all."

She went still for a second, and then burst out laughing. Somehow all of her
tensions and fears seemed to leave her body and the room, as if they flew out
of one of the high windows. This guy was a mess but he was sincere and even
funny! And he still wanted to paint her! It made no sense that it should mean
so much to her, but she was so happy that he was going to paint her. She
looked over at the model stand meaningfully.

"I take it that you'll want me over there?"

"Yes! I mean, yes. Over there. I'll, uh, g...get it ready for you."

"So where should I, um, change? Undress, I mean."

"Oh, right. In there. Take your time. I'll b...be setting up."

He indicated a door in the corner, probably a bathroom. She picked up her bag
and went in to take all of her clothes off, feeling strangely grateful and for
some reason extremely hot.

David could not believe his luck. Somehow he had said the right thing, even
though he still wasn't sure why it had all worked out. Now he had to pull
himself together enough to get through this without blowing it. He looked down
at the shape pushing at his jeans and then sprung into action, digging through
some drawers under his palette until he found a painter's apron. He hardly
ever wore one of these things, but it would help to hide the erection that was
about to split his jeans wide open. He knew that he was going to be hard every
second that this incredible girl was in his studio. She was the sexiest thing
in the universe, as far as he was concerned. Like Cassandra, she had to be
accustomed to making men melt, but that was no reason for him to advertise how
much he wanted to forget painting and just jump her bones. Jump her breasts,
that is.

My God, those breasts...

Having no appropriately sized canvas available, he decided to forego his
paints, opting instead for charcoal. He cut a large sheet of paper off of a
roll and taped it to his drawing board, then set the board up on the rolling
easel. There was too much to deal with in this first go- round, he thought -
too much beauty, too much surface on those breasts. Although he was dying to
go at her image with paint, something told him to begin in black and white.
Well, it made sense. He was going to have to put so much energy into
containing his lust, after all. If he didn't have to think about color, he
might have something left in his tank to use for restraining himself, or for
behaving like a professional. Being professional was going to be so hard... He
was so hard...

The bathroom door opened and she came out, covered in a fluffy pink terry
cloth robe. He drew in his breath, freshly stunned by her loveliness and...
extremeness. He was tempted to draw her with the robe on, it looked so damned
sexy. Her legs were visible from mid- calf down, and having so much of them
covered accentuated just how beautifully shaped her ankles and feet were. But
it was the way that her gargantuan breasts pushed out the top that was about
to short-circuit him again. The robe was cinched at the waist with a matching
cloth belt, and who would have imagined that the upper portion of a robe could
be so robustly filled? The front edges of the robe were probably intended to
overlap one another, to provide coverage without the need of clasps, but on
Karen they formed a rapidly-widening, cleavage-exposing "V" that began almost
at her crotch, then arose and widened and struggled to curve back to her
shoulders. He suddenly realized that the robe was meant to descend down to her
ankles, but so much of the material was consumed by molding itself to the
expanse of her tits that it barely made it down past her knees. He stared, his
mind numb, at the acres of breast-flesh which met in a forward-thrusting,
mind-boggling chasm of cleavage. Her huge, protruding nipples were clearly
defined even through the thick fluff of the cotton, and he noticed that they
were even more pronounced than before, undoubtedly because she was no longer
wearing a bra.

He saw that she was studying him, apparently waiting for him to give her the
signal to disrobe. He made a superhuman effort to control his reactions and
nodded towards the model stand. Her hands went down to the belt and undid the
simple tie. She slowly drew the robe off of her shoulders and let gravity take
it down to the floor, unveiling herself for him. There was none of the gradual
revealing of a strip-tease. The robe covered her one moment, and in just a few
seconds she stood before him, stark naked. Her eyes were fixed on his,
checking his reaction.

Oh, fuck, oh God, oh my fucking God... I will not scream for joy, he thought.
I will not faint, or allow my eyes to pop out of my head, or allow my tongue
to drop to the floor. I will not howl at the moon, or pull out my dick and
masturbate uncontrollably right in front of her. And yet, as he absorbed the
wonder of what he was seeing, he had to ratchet-up his control a hundred
times. I will not drop to my knees and worship her as my new God, he thought.
I will not push her to the floor and bury my head between those massive,
jubilant, jumbolicious breasts. But JesusfuckingChrist! Nothing, nothing in
the world, could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. Would anyone
even believe that a woman could look like this? Her body - everywhere - was
absolutely ideal, toned and elegant, slim and graceful and strong and curvy.
And her breasts... those mind-bending, reality-shifting, gravity-challenging
breasts...

He'd known they were going to be outrageous, but they were even larger and
more extreme and more perfect than he had dared to imagine! David had spent
many hours on the internet staring at photographs of huge-breasted women.
There were some incredible tits out there, but none as huge and flawless as
the pair filling the space in his studio right now. Karen's breasts had no
blemishes or moles punctuating their creamy skin, no distracting veins. They
were even more perfect than computer-morphed photographs he had seen of sexy
women - women with impossibly large fantasy breasts, breasts that were more
huge than anything he thought could actually exist. It was one thing to play
with a photograph and create a pair of boobs that would need a crane to hold
them erect, but here, in his studio, in real life, were tits as grand and
illogically gorgeous as any computer enhanced boobs that he had ever seen!

They were sooooo huge and sooooo round, and her nipples were sooooo thick and
long - he stared at them in wonder, trying to comprehend their dimensions.
Nipples, by natural design, were scaled for the mouths of infants. But no
infant ever born would be able to wrap his mouth around Karen's nipples. They
looked like they had been perfectly scaled for the mouth of an adult man. A
mouth like his mouth. He realized with a start that her aureoles were likewise
gigantic. A perfect pinkish-tan in color, they were flawlessly round, and
wider in diameter than honeydew melon halves. Or many dinner plates. His head
began to spin at the realization that her aureoles alone were far larger in
circumference than the entire breasts of most women! Each one was easily as
large as Karen's entire face, yet her boobs as a whole were so gargantuan that
these vastly oversized targets seemed ideally proportioned for her!

And the way that her breasts swelled-out from her body, so... perky, despite
their tremendous size... They seemed to behave like the impossibly huge
breasts of a woman standing neck-deep in water; but she wasn't in water, so
what was holding them up like that? It was as though some mysterious buoyancy
counteracted their weight - how much must those things weigh? - and kept them
from sagging. And the mile of cleavage that had been visible with her breasts
contained in the robe - it was still there! How could that happen? Cleavage
was normally the result of some kind of compression, from a bra or extended
arms helping to push the breasts together. Big breasts normally drooped and
parted when left to their own devices, yet these monsters barely shifted after
the robe had left! The longer he stared and pondered over this, it began to
make sense in a strange way - after all, Karen's tits were so immense that
they extended out from her body in every direction except backwards, so
naturally they would come together in the middle and form that almost
never-ending line of cleavage. He shuddered at the thought of how her breasts
would look in some super-sexy bra or negligee that compressed them together
even more. The extent of her line of cleavage would have to be measured in
feet, not inches!

But that was the way it was here - he couldn't apply his normal expectations
to her breasts because they were in no way normal breasts. These tits were
like the supernaturally large and graceful breasts of a woman who was as tall
as a house! It was like the giant at the top of the beanstalk had a really
stacked wife or sister, and her gorgeous boobs had somehow been perfectly
fitted onto a great-looking, normal-sized girl. They were far beyond perfect
in every conceivable way, and they were just completely, stupendously,
unimaginably gigantic!

Karen was not surprised by the way that all of David's attention was drawn to
her tits. It had been a good while since she'd been naked with a guy staring
at her, but she had not forgotten the way that Billy Thompson and Steven
Brookings had looked stricken or paralyzed when they had first seen her bare
breasts. And she was so much huger now than she had been back then. David
looked like his brain had frozen from the sight of her tits, apparently unable
to process just how huge she was. The thing that did surprise her was the way
that David's flabbergasted and unbelieving stare made her feel. She did not
feel ashamed, or exposed, or even a little bit shy. The warmth that had been
coursing through her body all day seemed to intensify, and she felt oddly
excited, with so much energy surging through her limbs that it was difficult
to stand still. She became aware of her posture, and realized that she had
arched her back somewhat, allowing her breasts to project outwards fully. What
was she doing? She was standing here practically sticking her boobs in his
face, standing there as though she was proud of them!

She shifted her weight to one leg, and with that movement she saw that David's
eyes finally left the expanse of her breasts. They were now tracing a line
down the contours of her body, descending down her belly to her hips, legs and
feet. He was taking in the whole of her lithe, athletic shape. Good. With the
exception of her freakishly gigantic boobs, she knew that her body was
practically perfect, and the way that David was looking at her made it plain
that he was noticing. She bit back a smile. Wow, who would have thought that
she could feel this relaxed standing naked in front of a virtual stranger? She
felt appreciated and energized and very, very female and kind of... sexy.

"Well?," she asked him. He had been staring at her for a very long time. "I
know the size of my breasts must be making it hard to decide how to pose me."

Hard, hard, so much harder than I've ever been... so much harder than you
could ever know, he thought.

"They don't keep me from doing anything," she added. "I'm actually very
limber."

She stretched out a leg, high and sideways, in a way that very few people can.
How could she... Oh, right. The skating.

"I can do whatever you need me to do," Karen said. "Just tell me what kind of
pose you want and I'll do it."

Lying on your back with your legs spread wide for my throbbing pole, he
immediately thought. What he actually said was, "Uh, nothing t...too
complicated. Lying down, I think. Your head over here, and your l...l...legs
over here."

They explored small variations in the pose. David moved like someone in a
dream, just trying to maintain some degree of composure. He wanted her to be
facing away from him, not for any particular creative reason, but because she
wouldn't be able to see his monster erection, probably evident even under the
apron. He had never been harder in his life, and he was afraid that he was
going to burst every time he needed to touch her slightly to help pose her. It
was just the lightest touch on her fingertips or a foot, but the thrill from
the contact nearly overwhelmed his senses. He would not believe that such an
incredible creature could exist if she were not right here in front of him,
and he was touching her!

He quickly discovered that Karen's unbelievable shape would create certain
dangers in this work - if he wasn't extremely careful, he would end up bumping
into one of those tremendous breasts. They were very difficult to avoid,
because they took up so much space in every direction at the front of her
body. He wondered how she could walk through a room without destroying half of
the things in her path. He also wondered how anyone could even hug a girl who
was built like this - her boobs would prevent anyone but a man with freakishly
long arms from being able to close his hands around her back. Unless that man,
maybe him, pressed into her, hard, squishing and spreading that incredible
breast-flesh outwards... Or better yet, what if he just hugged those whopping
boobs one at a time, cradling them in his arms and pressing his head into the
soft skin like some kind of giant tit-pillow...

Jesus Christ, he thought, I have to get a grip! If he allowed himself to
fantasize about touching Karen's boobs while she was right there... And yet
every single aspect of her body made him want to touch her. He was acutely
aware whenever one of the gorgeous muscles in her body would contract while
her pose was being adjusted. It must have been the skating that had honed and
strengthened every part of her to such a degree. Every part of her, every
little movement, had this amazing ideal fluidity.

Including her breasts. He was fascinated by the way that her breasts swayed or
shifted when she moved. He had heard that fake breasts did not move naturally,
especially when a woman lay on her back. Karen's breasts, by comparison, were
obviously soft and pliant, yet their size affected the dynamics of their
movements, removing them from the known properties of breasts that he had
experienced in his extremely limited love-life. Their motion was too large to
be called a jiggle - it was more like the gradual swelling of a giant wave on
the sea. They parted slightly when she lay back and they pointed straight up,
their weight spreading them out in all directions. He imagined that the
builders of pyramids or domed buildings could learn so much from studying
their structure. He found himself staring at Karen's body too intensely at
times, like a horny scientist, noticing everything from the exquisite
structure of her knees to the texture of her skin or the barely-there, very
pale hairs on her forearms. Her pubic hair was even blonder than the hair on
her head, a thin golden grove of curls descending into a delta so sweet and
fine and glistening that...

Stop! Stop! He had to stop thinking like this! Somehow, he had to do it, or
he'd blow everything, including his aching load right there in front of her!
Although it wasn't even nearly true, he hoped that she interpreted his stares
as professional in nature. Filled with thoughts that had nothing to do with
artistic aims, he pretended to have the iron will that could allow him to
treat her body as though it was made of incredibly delicate glass every time
that he had to touch her. He did not want to do the slightest thing to
discourage her from coming back to model again. And again. And again. He had
no idea how a young woman as beautiful and built as this had been delivered to
him. He had been turned-down by Cassandra Bliss, the most beautiful woman he
had ever seen, and the very next day a woman almost as beautiful, but with
even larger, more improbable breasts, was lying on her back in his studio, her
titanic tits towering into the air like rocket ships on a human launching pad.
He didn't really care what his drawing turned out like today, or whether he
could paint Karen accurately or well. He just wanted her to come back. He just
wanted her there to stare at. He just wanted to try to comprehend how anyone
could be so outlandishly stacked.

And oh God, oh God, he thought, why would You even create breasts like this if
they were not intended for a man who could appreciate them fully? What would
it be like, he thought, to actually suck on one of those gigantic nipples, or
to bury his face or cock in-between those gargantuan gazongas? Would it be
asking too much to have a dream woman like this find him attractive?

Karen lay on her back facing the high windows. David had drawn dark cloth
curtains over the windows, blocking out the afternoon light, and warm
spotlights were now illuminating her flesh. He'd spent several minutes
carefully adjusting her pose, and she was impressed by his attention to detail
- the slight shift in the positioning of one of her feet, for instance, or the
way that the fingers of her hands were instructed to curl and bunch together.
He had been quite gentlemanly when touching her to make these changes; still,
she had felt an unmistakable sexual tingling every time that his hands had
come into contact with any part of her body.

She wished that she could see him. The way that he had posed her made this
impossible, so she imagined what he must be doing from the sounds of his
activities. She could hear him adjusting the position of his easel, moving
closer to her, stopping to look, and moving closer still. What would she look
like from that angle? Her left leg was fully extended, the foot arched, while
the right leg was bent at the knee and leaning slightly to the left. Her left
arm was extended out at almost a right angle to her body, the right arm bent
with the hand resting on her stomach. Her head was turned slightly to the
left, and she was a bit surprised at how much of the room she could see by
moving nothing but her eyes. She tried to picture herself as he would see her
from his position. He was standing fairly close now, beyond the top of her
head and slightly to the right. He would have her hair, which he had also
carefully arranged, at the bottom of his page, closest to him. Then her boobs,
pointing up into the air, and then...

Oh, she thought, would he even be able to see anything else? The leg that was
raised, or at least the knee, but maybe not much more than that. Lying on her
back like this, her breasts were flattened out as much as was possible, but
that didn't mean very much in her case. Gravity caused them to become wider at
the base and a touch shorter, but they still looked like some kind of twin
monuments towering into the air. He wouldn't be able to see much more of her
lower body than she normally could. This point was driven home by the soft
shadows of her form on the wall to the left. A spotlight positioned low and to
the right of her, lighting and warming the right side of her face and
shoulder, projected these shadows onto the far wall. She could clearly see the
gigantic curving outlines of her breasts. There in stark contrast were the
immense curves, magnified several times, that had been so abhorrent to Mr.
Kellikov.

She wondered what David thought of her breasts, in artistic terms anyway. He
had looked no less thunderstruck than any other guy when seeing them clothed,
and his look of amazement had clearly intensified when she took off her robe.
Now that he was preparing to draw her, what did he think about her body as an
artistic subject? For some reason he had decided to work in charcoal during
this exploratory session. Maybe he didn't want to waste paint, thinking that
it might not work out, or maybe he hadn't been joking and really did need a
larger canvas than he had available to accommodate the unexpected scale of her
breasts.

After a moment of silence, he told her that he was ready to begin. She heard
him start his drawing, the charcoal making a light scratching sound on the
paper. Where would he choose to begin? Did he draw one thing in detail and
then move on, or did he draw her in a more general way, only getting into
specifics later? She tried to listen for clues to his process in the sounds of
the charcoal stick meeting the paper. He seemed to work quickly. Most of the
sounds were of short duration; short lines, she guessed, like little dabs. She
heard a more sustained sound, a longer mark being made. Probably getting to my
tits, she thought. The curve of her tits would probably be the longest marks
he would need to make on his paper.

There was a long pause, and then the sounds of rubbing or erasing. Re-doing
her boobs? Or starting over? The scratching sounds began again, but were more
varied in length now, and then she heard the rubbing again. Smudging, with his
fingers! Of course. This mystery solved, she began to relax, hearing the
variations in his activity but not really focusing on them. She closed her
eyes. Her breathing slowed and she went into something like a waking dream.
She imagined that she could feel the area of her body that he was currently
drawing. The top of her head seemed to feel his gaze, her fine hair moving
gently like in a soft breeze, and then the fingers of her left hand began to
tingle. Maybe he was drawing them right now. It was silly to think that she
could actually feel herself being drawn, but she could swear... She got goose
bumps on her left arm, and the chill swept through her entire body. He's
following the contour of my arm, she thought, going up to the shoulder, then
moving upwards, going up the long, long curve of her left breast...

Karen's nipples began to throb, especially the left nipple. She opened her
eyes and was not surprised to see that her nipples were growing. Oh no! They
had never really stopped tingling ever since that weird moment in the shower,
but now they were fully awakening again! She had a brief flash of concern -
what would David think? Would he even believe his eyes? - but these thoughts
were pushed aside by the realization that she was feeling hot. As in excited.
As in really, really excited. Oh God, not again! Not here! If the same thing
happened to her here that had occurred in the shower...

She needed to stay completely still, but it was becoming more and more
difficult because... because she wanted to touch herself. Either that, or she
wanted him to come over here and fuck her senseless. Don't be silly, she
thought. He just wants to draw you, plus you don't even know what it means to
be fucked senseless. She shut her eyes again and concentrated on staying
still. Your nipples are not getting all excited, she repeated silently. You
are very relaxed, feeling so ordinary... It didn't help. She was definitely
getting excited. Both nipples began to throb insistently, and she had to
clench her jaw tight to keep from moaning with the intense pleasure.

God, what was going on with her? She felt more turned-on just lying here than
she had ever felt even when having sex in high school. The flesh of both of
her breasts was so hot now, so stimulated, so... Stimulated by what? She
opened her eyes again, and was almost surprised to find that nothing had
changed. She would have sworn that David had left his easel and was feeling-up
her boobs and tweaking her nipples. She heard the sounds of him drawing,
drawing very fast. The scratching and the smudging noises seemed to be
happening at almost the same time now. What on earth was going on back there?
How could anyone draw as fast as what she was hearing?

David began very slowly, marveling at the sheer volume of Karen's boobs. What
got to him the most was the fact that she still had cleavage! Even lying flat
on her back, her breasts compressed by gravity, a tight line of
flesh-meeting-flesh, breast meeting breast, was retained there in the center
of her chest. He had to move closer to Karen twice, repositioning his drawing
easel, because he hadn't factored in the way that her enormous boobs would
obscure his view of the rest of her body. Well, who would believe that tits
could reach so high into the air even when the woman was lying on her back?
They towered like pillowy mountains, higher than even Cassandra's mountains
when she had done that outrageously sexy back-bending demonstration for him.
But Cassandra had been wearing clothing and a bra, while here, completely
naked right in front of him, he could see and study every minute detail of
Karen's luscious breasts. Except there were no minute details - everything
about her breasts was larger than life, as they say. The shape and mass of
Karen's tits from this viewpoint was absolutely staggering as they spread out
significantly farther than the width of her shoulders and then made their slow
climb up towards his ceiling. He had to place himself much closer to her than
expected, looking down at her almost as much as out at her, just to be able to
see her legs and feet.

Once settled in place, he created a window with his fingers, sighting how she
might fit onto the large rectangle of paper before him. He stared at her with
more lust than inspiration, seeing but not believing that a young woman could
have breasts that actually rose as high as her bent knee in this prone
position! Yeeeoooowwww!!!! Just look at those massive, intensely beautiful,
extravagantly nippled... He slapped his face lightly, desperate to gather his
focus, and began to draw so that she would hear the sounds and not wonder why
he was just standing there. In rough shapes, he laid in the position of her
head and shoulders, and then the left arm that extended out almost to the edge
of his paper. The raised leg went there, and then her boobs... He slowed down,
and roughed-in the contour of the left breast, then the right one. They came
so much closer to the top edge of his paper than he ever would have imagined,
especially when he added the shapes of those over-the-top nipples.

He stood back from the drawing, pretty sure that he had her laid-in on the
page. Wait. That couldn't be right. No woman in the world could have breasts
that stood up that high. Though just a sketch at this point, it looked like a
sketch of a girl drawn at one scale with the best tits in the world drawn onto
her at a much larger scale. He usually didn't make proportional mistakes like
that, but then he'd never drawn anyone that made his brain reel like his did
when staring at Karen. He went back to his position and extended his arm,
taking visual measurements. And was stunned, again. He re-checked, and
re-checked again. Holy shit! He had not drawn Karen's breasts too large. It
was inconceivable, but he had actually underestimated the dimensions of what
he was seeing! They needed to go out a bit more, and then up and up and up
even more - he plotted these new curves on his paper and saw that the tips of
her nipples would actually be off of the page if he drew them accurately.
Damn!!! He was not about to draw the most mind-boggling tits in the world and
miss out on the opportunity to crown them with the even more mind-boggling
nipples that Karen had been blessed with.

So he wiped away the soft charcoal with a rag and began again. He felt a bit
less careful this time, possibly because he had already gone over the forms
once before and some degree of familiarity had been established between his
eyes and his hand and Karen's body. Her head came in a little smaller this
time, and the extended arm did not tease the left edge of the paper quite as
much. It was her nipples, those amazing nipples, that came close to an edge
this time, but at least they would fit onto the page. It was unreal how large
he had to draw her breasts to get them right, but finally he was satisfied
with their proportion to the rest of her body. He smudged these early plotting
lines with his thumb and used some of the loosened charcoal to begin molding
the shadow-side of her head. He went back-and-forth with lines and smudges,
trying to get her hair to look like hair. God, look at how lovely her hair is,
so fine, so brightly blond. And her hands. He began to draw her left hand, and
her beautifully tapering fingers. Every single thing about this girl was such
a delight.

He imagined what it would be like to be sitting over there, looking down at
her, stroking the flesh that he was now drawing. His eyes and his charcoal
moved up her arm, tracing its elegant contour, and with his other hand he
smudged-in the light and shadows that he saw, making little marks here for the
dimples of her elbow, then up to her shoulder... He tried to look at her form
objectively, to see it as shape and values of light and dark, but his
imagination kept taking him right up to her exquisite flesh, so that he was
not drawing her but touching her, squeezing that shoulder and feeling with his
fingertips the way that the front of her shoulder was met by the mighty surge
of soft flesh that was her left breast...

He allowed his fingers to follow the high curve upwards, all the way up there
until he felt the slight change in the texture of her flesh as breast became
aureole, then became the sudden climb up that huge nipple, finally reaching
its crest. He pinched the nipple in his mind, pinched it several times before
allowing his fingers to descend down the deep, deep inner curve that finally
reached her sternum. Then began the slow, sensuous climb up the next amazing
tower of soft, womanly flesh. He pinched that nipple, too, feeling the change
in its density as it became hard from his touch. He was getting so hard
himself, so terribly excited by her unfuckingbelievable breasts. He wanted to
feel every inch of them, feel the way that the soft flesh moved and swayed and
responded to his lust-filled attention. He drew them, yes, but he wasn't
really drawing; he was loving them, revering them, worshipping them. And
getting off on them. God yes, he was getting off on them! He was so fucking
hard from looking at this woman's gifuckingantic juggs...

David came to a brief stop in the drawing. He'd finished drawing Karen's
boobs, and he was astounded by the image on his paper. It was fabulous! He
couldn't even remember making most of these marks and smudges. He had
zoned-out, his erection out of control, nearly coming in his pants as he
fantasized about Karen's tits, and his hands had obviously gone on drawing
without the aid or direction of his conscious mind. He looked at the charcoal
breasts and then at the real breasts in front of him, and his improbable
jumble of marks were an almost perfect replica of the huge volume of flesh
towering up from the girl's torso. Except that he hadn't drawn the nipples
large enough. He looked at Karen's actual nipples and he had to hold onto his
easel for a moment when it struck him. They had nearly doubled in size since
he had first drawn them! Holy shit!!! They were unbelievable! They were
gigantic! And they were stimulated - very, very stimulated, from the looks of
it. He assumed that she had arrived at his studio in some state of sexual
excitement, because her nipples were so full and extended, but now he realized
that the original proportions of her nipples, larger than anything he'd ever
seen before on any woman, were nothing more than the beginning point of what
was possible for this girl. Karen not only had the hugest and roundest boobs
in the universe - she had nipples that were even more extreme! But why were
they so erect now? Maybe there was a draft of air over there, or perhaps she
was engaged in some secret sexual fantasies of her own. He liked that idea.
I'm getting off on her body, he imagined, while she's getting off, too. It
seemed right.

He made the adjustments to the nipples in his drawing - he decided that he
liked the way they extended right off the top of the page now, so that it
looked as though they might go on forever - and then he began work on her
raised leg, and the extremely foreshortened left leg that extended away from
him. He could only see a bit of thigh and toes on this leg through the
v-shaped canyon between Karen's mountainous breasts. And, he noted, just the
littlest bit of the small tuft of pubic hair where the legs met. She was a
real blond, that was for sure. He had never actually seen pale-colored pubic
hair before, except in magazines. Karen's golden mound looked cared for,
well-maintained. It looked nice. Pretty. Sexy. Inviting. He depicted this pale
delight by making little dabs with his charcoal and patting the paper with his
other hand, then lifting off thin trails of the carbon with his fingernails,
leaving only faint traces of his activity. The effect was excellent, so his
charcoal stick moved on, finding the proper contours of her right thigh. Damn,
she had wonderful legs - long and straight and extremely well-toned. Her
entire body (except for the mammoth boobs) was that way - long and elegantly
formed, not skinny but without one ounce of unnecessary fat. Lean and smooth
and so incredibly sexy - he'd love to drop this charcoal and walk over there
and become a part of her sexual fantasy.

He imagined doing just that - standing on the other side of the model stand,
looking up the length of those fabulous legs, seeing her pussy all wet from
the excitement of her private thoughts. Her eyes were closed and her body, so
still yet so obviously excited, looked completely ready to accept his touch.
He knelt down between her legs in his imagination and began to stroke the
extended leg. Her body flinched from the surprise of the initial touch, but
then she sighed and moved her leg so slightly towards him, seeking out his
hand. He reached out to her again, passing the palm of his hand over the arch
of her foot, up past her ankle, feeling the swell of her well-defined calf,
and then slowly, deliberately, tracing a path up her inner thigh, higher,
closer, until his fingertips were just brushing against the folds of her
labia. "Oh, David...", she would sigh, as his hand and his name became
instruments to help fuel the desires of her private fantasies. He would begin
to stroke her slippery slit, gently brushing his fingertips across her hungry,
erect clitoris...

Karen felt as if her nipples were going to pop off, they were so stimulated.
She knew that no one was actually touching her, but she was growing more
excited by the minute. Why were her breasts, which had not been very sensitive
before, suddenly flooding her with intensely exciting sensations? Her nipples
began to feel as though they might begin to scream from the intensity of the
pleasure, and she had a difficult time keeping herself from moaning and
gasping. She clenched her teeth, hoping that doing so made no change that
would mess-up David's drawing. She could hear him working. Just when she
thought she couldn't take any more, the focus of the stimulation moved from
her breasts to her legs. She still imagined that it was David's gaze that was
doing this to her, since she heard a change in the speed of his charcoal on
the paper. God, wouldn't that be wonderful - to have a man in her life who
could heat her up just by staring at her and drawing her. She imagined that he
was drawing her raised leg, then the one that was stretched out. Her foot
tingled when she imagined that David's charcoal sticks were making marks for
her toes. She was still oddly excited. She couldn't move her hands to check,
but she already knew that she was extremely wet between her legs. God, what if
he drew her there, right there where she was aching to be drawn. Aching to be
touched.

She imagined that he left his stupid sheet of paper, and positioned himself
right between her legs. He ran his hand up her leg, steadily moving towards
the hot, wet furnace that was going to drive her crazy if he didn't start
drawing her there... touching her there... Oh, she thought. Ohhh....... Oh,
yes! Her imagination rewarded her desire by making her feel that it was
actually happening! She could feel his fingers sliding along the length of her
pussy, moving towards her... OHH! Oh no, had she said that one out loud? She
should stop this bizarre fantasy, and yet it was so real! She heard the sounds
of his charcoal, going a mile a minute again. Such incredibly fast strokes.
Yes, fast strokes. So fast, so hard. Stroke me, David. Stroke me hard. Stroke
me harder... faster... Oh, God, yes! That's it! Draw my pussy! Probe my pussy!
Ohhh yesss... Yes! Yes, Yes, YESSSSSS!!!!!!

CHAPTER 3 The light was fading outside, making the reflections in the
restaurant window more solid and distinct. Glenn could see his own reflection
in the glass. He thought he looked like someone who'd just come in after a
thirty mile hike down some rugged mountain trail. His hair lay on his head
oddly, a result of sweat and wind and the nervous habit of running his fingers
through his hair when he was confused.

"You doin' okay, hon?" It was his waitress, looking no more Chinese than
himself.

"Yes, thanks."

He was picking at his orange chicken, and had only taken one or two bites out
of his spring roll. The food was fine - not like he could get in Manhattan,
but not bad - his appetite, though, was off-key. Actually, all of him seemed
to be off-key. His body and his thoughts felt hazy, like a layer of summer
ozone had settled inside of his skin.

"You sure you don't want somethin' else?" The waitress again. She was still
standing there.

"Actually, I think I'll have a beer. You don't happen to have any Mexican
beers, do you?"

"Sorry. Only Saranac or Molson if you want a premium beer."

"Let me have the Saranac, then."

As she fetched his beer, his thoughts returned to the same place they had
settled for the past four hours: Cassandra Bliss. Cassandra Bliss and her
hair. Cassandra Bliss and her perfect skin. And perfect neck. And perfect
lips. And those mesmerizing eyes. And those huge, awe-inspiring boobs... Glenn
felt his already hard penis renew its vigor (and rigor) with this painfully
clear memory. What was going on with him? He had never fixated on a woman like
this before, and his cock had never been so perpetually aroused. The erection
that had resulted from being there with Cassandra at the cafe had never once
lessened in intensity, even though it had been hours since he had seen her. He
had a hard-on when he asked for directions to Cassandra's house at the Shell
station in Extremity. He had a hard-on when he changed into new underwear and
pants in the gas station lavatory. He had a hard-on when he talked with her
house painter, and when he walked around her yard and through the woods which
surrounded her house.

And what was it that he was looking for out there, anyway? Evidence of a
tornado's passing, he had said, but that wasn't really true. He was just
wandering around in a daze, wanting to be near her home, near her world. He
was pretty certain that if the house painter hadn't been there, he would have
tried to enter her house, not to look for anything specific, but to... what?
See what was in her fridge? Check-out her tastes in furniture and bed linens?
Rummage through her drawers and sniff her undergarments? Again his cock
renewed its attention. Fuck, he thought, I'm a mess! He was behaving like a
love/lust-struck teen-ager obsessed with the mysterious and gorgeous stranger
next door. He had run into a woman who was far lovelier than anything he'd
thought possible, and something had snapped inside of him like a worn
rubber-band. And so here he was, a physical and emotional wreck with an
overactive dick, drinking a beer in a Chinese restaurant in the wilds of Maine
in a misguided effort to stabilize his thoughts. It was too ridiculous.

He saw the ubiquitous fortune cookie lying beside his dinner plate. Just
yesterday, before leaving New York, he had gotten a fortune cookie that said
he would soon go on a rewarding journey. It was silly to believe that the
fortunes had any merit, especially when he himself wrote fictitious stories
for a living. Still, he picked up the cookie and unwrapped it, then cracked it
in half to extract the thin slip of paper.

A TURNING POINT AWAITS YOU. CHANGE IS INEVITABLE. BIG THINGS ARE COMING YOUR
WAY. YOU WILL GROW.

Glenn chuckled softly at the fortune. It was longer-winded than most, but what
got him was the timing. It would have been the perfect fortune for earlier in
the day. He had already run into some extremely big things, namely Cassandra
Bliss' knockers, and his cock had certainly grown from the encounter. He liked
the bit about a turning point and change. When you aren't very happy with the
current direction of your life, a forecast of change - even completely vague
change - sounded just fine.

The waitress brought him his bill and he left a ridiculously large tip (it was
on an expense account, plus it was always a good idea to sew good will - you
never knew who could turn out to be a source). He peed in the men's room, his
cock still rock hard from his remembrance of Cassandra. Once he was settled
into the soft leather of the Jeep's seat, he found himself stuck for the next
action. Where was he going? To find a motel, probably. He didn't feel tired,
though. He was just... reeling. She was so fucking beautiful, so impossibly
sexy.

He had run into all kinds of strange people and events during his years on
this job, but nothing that had gotten inside of him so deeply. He kept
imagining what it would feel like to have his hard- as-iron cock squeezed
between breasts that huge. He didn't know how to calculate the size of
Cassandra's boobs, but if they were five times the size of his ex-wife's,
would it feel five times better if he came all over them? He groaned, loudly,
the image almost causing him to ruin another pair of pants. He had to stop
fantasizing about that woman's tits! But why, and then what? He didn't know
what he should do, but it just didn't seem possible to live as he had been
living now that he knew of the existence of a heavenly creature like Cassandra
Bliss.

He started the Jeep's engine and saw that he had fogged up the windshield with
his perspiration. He wiped at the moisture with a tissue and discovered that
the mist was on the outside. Opening his side window, it became clear that a
thick layer of fog had rolled into the area. He flipped on the Jeep's fog
lamps and slowly drove out of the restaurant parking lot, heading back in the
direction of Extremity. There had been a motel just a quarter of a mile up
this highway.

After traveling a hundred feet or so, the fog became more dense, and Glenn
tapped the brakes, fearful that he would run off the road. He came to a
complete stop, which was also not a good idea. What if another car came up
from behind and plowed into him? Just then, the fog lifted somewhat ahead of
him. He proceeded cautiously for a few seconds before his progress was blocked
again by an increased thickness in the air. He sat still once more. The mist
seemed to part ahead and to the right of him, and he detected the shapes of
road signs and pavement heading in that direction. It looked like a side road
running perpendicular to this highway.

Running out of patience with the murky condition of his current direction, he
turned right onto this new road where the visibility was better. It seemed
like a narrower highway, rather than a small street. A bright glow up ahead
turned out to be a billboard promising The Lamplighter Motel a half mile
ahead. Finally, some luck. He sped up, but almost immediately had to come to a
stop again as his view was blocked by the thickest fog yet. Unable to see even
ten yards ahead, he waited patiently for better visibility. And the fog just
got thicker. He put on his emergency flashers and sat for five more minutes,
listening to the rhythmic clicking of the lights. Fuck.

He turned off the engine and stepped outside of the Jeep. Other than a few
small sounds from the cooling engine, everything was completely silent. The
opaque air was similarly blank, a canvas without form or references of any
kind. He walked half a dozen paces forward and turned back to look at the
Jeep. It was alarming how he could not make out any details of the vehicle's
form, only barely being able to see the yellow glow of the flashers. He knew
then that he could not leave the Jeep without becoming completely lost, yet it
was probably dangerous to stay there in the middle of this narrow highway. If
another car came up from either direction...

He had an idea. The Jeep had a powerful sound system. He turned the key in the
ignition and punched the "on" button to get the radio going. Nothing. He put
the tuner on search mode, but after two complete revolutions around both the
f.m. and a.m. dials, he still got nothing, not even cracking or hissing. Had
the radio gone dead?

He stood out on the pavement again and scanned in all directions, hoping that
the fog might have thinned somewhere. There was nothing to be seen. The fog
seemed to swallow information more efficiently than the most virulent computer
virus. Glenn found himself holding onto the door frame of the Jeep, thankful
that there was at least one thing to tell his senses that he was somewhere,
still a part of the material world. Without the car or the pavement beneath
his shoes, it would be too easy to imagine that everything he had ever known
had simply ceased to exist.

Just then, he thought that he heard a sound. Faint, distant, but getting
closer. Footsteps! Someone was walking down the road towards him?

"Hello?," he shouted.

No response.

"Is anybody there?"

Still nothing. Then he heard the footsteps again, definitely coming closer. A
chill of fright ran up his spine, bringing back memories of horror movies of
all kinds. This would be where the ax murderer or the werewolf would suddenly
appear out of the fog and take his head off.

"Hello?", he repeated. "I'm stuck here in the fog."

Still no response, but he thought for an instant that he saw some movement
straight ahead. He squinted at the spot.

"Hello, Glenn."

The voice caught him by complete surprise. It was a woman's voice, rich and
haunting and surprisingly close. It made the chill running up his spine even
more intense.

"Who are you?," he called out. "I can't really see you."

No response.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"So many questions, Glenn. Isn't it enough that I am here?"

Not at all, he thought. This sightless encounter was making him even more
disoriented than he had been when it seemed that the fog had swallowed the
whole world.

"Who are you?", he shouted again.

"I am the woman of your dreams, Glenn."

"What?" He paused. Her answer, whoever she was, was senseless. "That's
ridiculous," he finally added.

Silence.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

Again he saw a slight movement in the thick mist, some parting or coalescing
of the tangible air. A form began to emerge, taking shape slowly, gradually,
becoming a dimly seen figure... a beautiful, extremely voluptuous figure...

CHAPTER 4 Karen lay on her bed, completely naked. Her body was exhausted in
one way, yet all abuzz with energy at the same time. The scent of her arousal
permeated the room, because she had been playing with herself ever since the
modeling session in the afternoon. Was there something wrong with her? Was she
sick or something? It didn't seem normal that her dormant sexual drive would
emerge so suddenly and then stay with her like this.

She had actually had an orgasm there on the model stand. She had gotten lost
in her fantasy that she could feel David's eyes on her body, and the fantasy
had taken a turn as if by itself, becoming the even more exciting feeling that
he was actually touching her with his hands. Her giant boobs, formerly so
indifferent to sexual stimulation, were practically exploding with incredibly
exciting sensations. Her nipples throbbed with the intensity of her desire,
and then when she imagined that David was actually running his fingers across
her vagina and clitoris...

Well, she came. It just surged up and probably would have knocked her off of
her feet if she had been standing, because it was so unexpected. Had it been a
single, extremely powerful orgasm, or a whole series of smaller ones? Whatever
had happened, it was better than any she had experienced before. She should
have been concerned that she was freaking David out, or that she was
shuddering and writhing on the stand instead of remaining still, yet there was
nothing she could do even if she had wanted to stop what was happening to her,
and she had definitely not wanted it to stop. The passing of time became
abstract and something far, far away, and when her passion was finally spent
and her body came to rest, she didn't know whether minutes or seconds had
passed. Everything was silent in the studio. She could imagine David standing
there behind her, looking down at her with shock or disapproval, wanting an
explanation. She sat up and turned her body to face him, but he wasn't there.

Had she fallen asleep? How much time had elapsed? She stood up and immediately
found that her legs were kind of wobbly, as though her orgasm had surprised
the muscles in her legs. Needing to pull herself together, she more or less
staggered to the bathroom and shut the door, then surveyed herself in the
small mirror. Her hair looked as though she had been visited by one of the
recent tornadoes, and her skin was flushed pink everywhere, especially on her
breasts. Her nipples were still excited and fully extended. She brought her
fingers to the left nipple to check its size in a tactile way, and she
shuddered again when her fingertips contacted her skin. Whoa!!! Her nipples
were so sensitive! She stood there, wondering how her boobs had gone from
indifferent to mega- sensitive in one day, knowing that she was going to need
to explain what had happened to David. Only she didn't have any explanation.
She didn't know how or why she had gotten so turned-on when he drew her. How
was she going to collect her fee and leave gracefully when she didn't know
what was going on with her body? And how was she ever going to convince him to
give her another chance at modeling when she had ended up writhing around on
the model stand like that? He had never really given her precise instructions
on what to do or not do, but having the model squirming around as though
responding to an invisible lover couldn't be helpful to the artist's drawing
process.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed and probably looking more
collected than she felt, she found David sitting on a stool, dressed in
different clothing and staring at his drawing like a man in a trance. She
stood there by the bathroom door for a full minute, afraid to disturb his
intense concentration. She finally coughed softly, just to let him know that
she was there. No reaction. David wasn't frozen like some time-stopped guy in
a science fiction movie - she could see him breathing, after all - but he
appeared to be so caught up in evaluating his drawing that she really didn't
think he knew that she was still in the studio. She tip-toed over to where he
sat and extended her arm to tap him on the shoulder, but then she caught sight
of the drawing.

Everything stopped for her, too. Karen had taken an art class in high school,
but she had no illusions about being any kind of knowledgeable viewer. Still,
she knew enough to be certain that David had created a masterpiece. A
masterpiece of her! It was disorienting for her to peer at the Karen built out
of black and white lines and dabs and smudges. What she saw looked every bit
as real as she felt herself to be, and the Karen lying on her back there on
paper was so incredibly... sexy! God, that Karen was sexy! The gargantuan
breasts that filled her with such self-consciousness took up more than half of
the space on the large sheet of paper. They were beyond gigantic, becoming
monumental, iconic. The nipples - her nipples she realized - shot straight off
the top of the drawing and looked as though they might extend to the ceiling
if the paper kept going up and up and up. And everything else, her hair, her
arms and shoulders and hands and legs and pussy... her hot, hot pussy, somehow
vibrating there on the page just the way that she had felt herself vibrating
on the model stand... that building pulsation that had kept getting more and
more intense...

Oh God, it was starting to happen again! Karen drew back her frozen arm,
turned and quickly fled the room and the building. She ran as fast as her
strong legs would take her, ran through the town and up her street and into
her parent's house and straight to her bedroom.

"Karen!", her little sister shouted. "What's the matter? What..."

Karen slipped past Jessica and shut and locked her bedroom door and tore off
all of her clothes as fast as she could. The instant she had free access to
her body she threw her head back and began to finger herself while nearly
tearing at her hair. She slipped one, then two fingers into herself as deep as
they would go, and immediately her legs began to shake so forcefully that she
toppled sideways onto her bed.

"Oh my God!", she cried out. Her pussy was so alive, so hungry! Why had she
never felt this before? Lying on her side, her legs bent and spread open, she
brought her other hand into the action, vibrating her clitoris in a rhythm
that matched the steady in/out plunging of her inserted fingers. Her hunger
grew, her body trembled with the need for release... and yet no climax came.
Something seemed stuck. Her brain asked why but her hands were already leaving
her throbbing privates, moving upwards towards the gigantic spheres extending
from her chest. She remembered the dumb-struck expression on David's face when
he first caught sight of her exposed boobs. Even though he must have known
that they would be incredibly enormous, he had been amazed by them. She
pictured the look in his eyes, the look of awe and surprise. She imagined that
David had reached out to fondle her breasts, fascinated and even captivated by
their enormity. She pinched both of her nipples, imagining that the pressure
was coming from his loving hands, and as soon as she did, the stuck feeling
suddenly become unstuck. She clenched her jaw shut to keep from screaming out
loud as the climax swelled and overtook her. Somehow she managed to think
clearly enough to clutch her pillow and scream into it as the climax hit her.
She came and gushed and screamed as it washed through her body, filling her,
delivering her...

She must have passed out again, because the knocking on her bedroom door woke
her up.

"Karen? Are you okay?" It was Jessica.

"Um, yeah. I'm okay. Just kind of tired."

"Are you sure? You missed dinner."

Dinner? How long had she been out? Karen assured her sister that she was fine.
But was she? Even after falling asleep, she still felt sexually revved-up, as
if her hormones had been given some kind of adrenaline shot.

When she felt certain that her legs would hold her up, she got off the bed and
looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked as she expected herself to
look - a beautiful young woman currently a bit wiped-out from a nap, and with
boobs bigger than Halloween pumpkins. How had he made these preposterous boobs
look so incredibly lovely? She knew that lots of men thought of her tits as
sexy because most guys liked big tits, but gigantically huge was not the same
as beautiful. So how had he done it? Was it something in his technique, or the
fact that they were in black and white? Or was it that she had been lying flat
on her back in the drawing, her boobs pointing up towards the heavens? She
could lie on her back right now and see her boobs rocketing upwards, but that
was all that she could see. The rest of her body disappeared from her view.
From the higher vantage point that David had chosen, some of her body could
still be seen beyond the barrier of her breasts. She had never seen herself
from that angle before, and had never seen her naked body in black-and-white.
Had he figured out some way to deceive the senses, finding just the viewpoint
and artistic approach to make her vastly oversized boobs look pretty? If so,
then he must be a genius. And today it had only been a drawing. What could he
make her look like in oil paints?

She looked at the clock on her bedside table. A little before nine p.m. She
put on her robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, and fixed herself a
sandwich. She felt all abuzz with energy, yet disoriented, too, in the way
that one sometimes feels after a nap. The house was quiet, her parents were
probably out. Her dad was most likely attending some meeting or something, and
her mom would be at yoga class.

Maybe she should play around on the piano for a few minutes. She padded down
to the family room and positioned herself on the bench as she had done the day
before. There had to be a way to do this without her boobs messing everything
up. Her thoughts floated around, toying with the possibilities. What would a
male concert pianist do if he had to play with two watermelons strapped onto
his chest? It was an insoluble problem, because the mass of the watermelons...
But what if he did not try to avoid or circumvent them? What if he learned to
use them? She angled her body so that she could play with her right hand, and
used her left hand to guide her right breast onto the keyboard. She was
mimicking the effect she had achieved with Jessica's help, and once again the
instrument exploded with sound, so many keys being depressed all at once. It
was aural chaos! But what if she turned the knob and changed the sound to
strings? She did so, and had to admit that things became more interesting. She
closed her eyes and allowed the wall of sound to vibrate through her, and
absently played a little tune with her right hand.

What would David think if he saw her like this? Would he want to paint her
with one boob resting on the keys? Could he make such a sight seem sexy? Maybe
he would find it sexy. Oooh, she liked that idea, of making him hard by
playing a boob-tune for him. She imagined him with his mouth hanging open, his
face going white as all of his blood rushed down to his cock... But she would
never see such a sight unless he called her to set up another modeling
session. Had she blown any chance of that by writhing around in ecstasy? He
hadn't spoken to her when she stood there trying to get his attention. Had he
really been so captivated by his beautiful drawing, or too embarrassed to know
what to say? He might have called her already if he was interested in meeting
with her again.

A rush of panic swept through her and nearly every note sounded as her body
twisted forward, both of her breasts landing on top of the keyboard. Crap! She
had never given him her phone number! She'd intended to do that when
collecting her modeling fee, but then she'd gotten so horny that she ran out
of his studio without giving him her info or even asking for her money. She
had his number on the flyer, right here on her bedside table.

She ran upstairs and stared at her bedside phone. She could call him. Or maybe
she shouldn't. But if she didn't, then how would he get in touch with her to
schedule another modeling session? She paced for half a minute, then picked up
the phone and dialed.

"David? It's Karen."

"Karen! L...look, I'm sorry. I f...f...forgot..."

"Oh! It's okay. I forgot the money, too." Just hearing his voice again was
getting her pussy all hot and bothered. She lay down on her back on the bed,
watching her towering tit-mountains settle there inside of her robe. "And I
just realized that I never gave you my phone number. You know, to contact me.
If you wanted me to model again, that is. Do you want me to model for you
again?"

"Yes! Y...you were great!"

"Great? You're being very kind. I know I started moving around too much there
at the end of the modeling session. I guess... it was hard to keep still for
so long. I'll try to do better next time."

He was silent. Why was it making her so damned excited to be on the phone with
this stuttering artist? She allowed her free hand to part the front of her
robe and caress her left nipple. Both of her nipples went instantly erect,
making ridiculously tall tents of the fabric. She breathed in with a light
hiss.

"What?", he said.

"Uh, I was just asking... So, um, when would you like me to come... over
again?"

She thought about the verb "come". It was changing its meaning for her. She
had "come" in his studio that afternoon, and now, just listening to his
silence over the phone was causing her vagina to leak like a problem faucet.
It would feel sooooo good to go over there and seduce him right now, to
experience the other meaning of "come" with him.

"H...how about t....t....tomorrow?"

Oh thank you thank you thank you! She wouldn't have to wait very long! They
set up a time and she rang off, then Karen stripped naked and settled in under
the covers. Well, she was hardly settled in. She was buzzing with sexual
energy. Unable to sleep, she replayed the phone conversation in her mind. What
would have happened if he was feeling just as sexed-up as she was? She
imagined that she could hear David's desire through the phone line. He wanted
her, just as badly as she wanted him. She played with her throbbing nipples as
she imagined putting the phone down, then dressing herself in a long parka
with nothing underneath it. In her imagination she raced over to his building,
wearing nothing more than the long coat and her sneakers. Anyone she passed
would have no clue that she was not the same old Karen Little under her bulky
coat, the outlandishly- stacked girl who always covered up her epic breasts.
But tonight she was Karen the Man-Stalker, her breasts and her pussy throbbing
excitedly. She looked up at his windows from the street and was pleased to see
that his lights were still on. Stepping inside his building, she took off the
parka and her shoes before mounting the stairs to the second floor. She was
stark naked. His eyes were going to bulge out of their sockets when he opened
his door. And she wanted to see more than his eyes bulge. He wouldn't be
wearing that painter's apron in this fantasy. What kind of penis did he have?
Would it harden the instant he saw her? All guys fixated on her tits, and
David had been no exception. In reality, her breasts might be way too big, but
Ester had been right in saying that boobs like hers could give her power over
men. Maybe this was only a fantasy, but the emotions seemed so real. Her heart
was pounding in her chest as she knocked on his door. She stood squarely in
front of the door and experimented with different postures. How did she want
to look to him when he opened it? She settled on a position where her hands
were clasped behind her back, her weight shifting from leg to leg. With the
right look on her face, it would be a little bit like something from one of
those silly old "beach blanket" movies. She'd be the overly-sexy young girl
who, despite standing naked in front of him, looks like she doesn't quite
understand how devastating her body can be to a man. She liked that - looking
innocent while showing him every inch of her body, her back swayed just enough
that her gigantic boobs were reaching right for his face.

The door opened slowly and there were his cute bespectacled eyes looking at
her with complete surprise.

"Hi, David," she said, wiggling herself at the waist oh-so-slightly, just
enough to provide her boobs with some horizontal movement.

"W...w...what...?"

"We have some unfinished business." She arched her back a bit more, thrusting
her acres of tit up at him. David's eyes were huge and he looked like he might
faint. She felt the intensity of her tingling begin to quicken.

"I want my payment," she demanded.

She stepped past him into his space, making sure that the outer curve of her
left boob grazed his arm. She turned and angled herself to him so he couldn't
miss how enormous her nipples had become.

"I'm not talking about money, David. Shut the door and take off your pants."

He looked at her with a mixture of awe and fear and lust, then he quickly
dropped his pants to the floor, exposing his big, excited cock. Oh, my... The
sight of his elongated penis brought her to her knees in the fantasy, while in
her bed she writhed and brought one hand down to begin massaging her clitoris.
Maybe that's where I really should be, she thought. Maybe I really should be
at his apartment, on my knees, taking him into my mouth. She began to tremble,
her attention to her clitoris becoming more furious. Oh God. She tried to
resume the fantasy. She was tired and she was wired and the sensations in her
pussy were making her squirm under the covers. How was she ever going to last
until tomorrow afternoon? She didn't know and didn't care why her body was
opening up like this, opening to desires unlike anything she'd felt before.
All she knew was that it had happened on the day that she went to model for
David, and it had gotten even more intense when he drew her. If modeling for
him was going to feel like this, then she wanted to model all day every day,
and at the end of each session to rise off of the model stand and walk over to
him and bury his face between her giant boobs while she guided his cock inside
of her!

She fell asleep with images like these burning in her mind and body, and it
was like she and David went at it all night long. She tossed and moaned in her
sleep, dreaming of David, yet somewhere in the dreams some part of her knew
that they were only dreams. Beautiful, intensely exciting dreams, but dreams
nonetheless. She wanted to make these dreams become reality. She wanted him to
fondle and suck and maul her titanic tits while she was awake. She wanted his
dick inside of her. She wanted to make him come. Even while sound asleep, she
knew she was going to have to take control at some point and fuck this guy out
of his mind.

CHAPTER 5 He came up towards wakefulness, but resisted. The dreams were so
thrilling, so incredibly erotic. Those immense breasts pressing into him, the
sound of her breath as his hard dick pistoned into her. The sweet scent of her
body filled his lungs, a scent so perfect and soothing and arousing all at the
same time. It filled him with energy, energy that coursed throughout his body,
energy that he could bring to their lovemaking again and again, culminating in
the electrifying, body-jolting release of energy when he came. How many times
had they joined? How many seconds would pass before they were driven to go at
each other once again? He felt her breasts pressing against his face even now.
So soft, so warm, so incredibly feminine...

He opened his eyes, became aware that he had been dreaming. His arms were
clutching at a pillow, pressing it down onto his face. He held it at arm's
length and blinked several times. Where was he? He didn't remember. New York?
This wasn't his room. He was on assignment. In Maine. So he was... where?
Lying on a bed, his body under the covers, but how did he get here? He sat
upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His body was completely
naked, and the room had the look and smell of a hotel room. But where? He did
not remember checking-in anywhere. He remembered being trapped in the fog,
unable to continue driving. Then a voice, and a female shape emerging out of
the mist. And then... nothing. No memory. Where the hell was he, and how had
he gotten here?

Glenn looked around the room. Heavy olive green curtains blocked out the light
of a single large window, and there next to the bed was the ubiquitous oak
veneered night table and phone. A round table with two chairs sat in front of
the window. It was nearly identical to so many other rooms he had stayed in
while on assignment, but he had never awakened in confusion over his location,
wondering how he had ended up in one of these rooms. Why couldn't he remember
coming here?

He got up and parted the curtains just enough to take in the setting. The air
was still fairly thick with fog, but it was bright enough that it looked as
though the sun would be cutting through the mist fairly soon. He saw the
rented Jeep parked right in front of his room, and beyond the parking lot was
a sign saying The Lamplighter Motel. It was the motel he had been trying to
reach last night, but the fog had stopped him. Why couldn't he remember
driving on and checking- in? Had he tied one on after arriving, knocking down
cocktails with the person - whoever the hell they were - that he'd met out on
the road? It wasn't like him to drink heavily, and he didn't feel at all like
he had a hangover.

He looked at his watch. The digital numbers were frozen at 12:52 a.m. Well,
shit, that obviously wasn't right. He glanced around the room for some kind of
clock. Ten-thirty a.m.! Maybe he had been drinking. He never slept this late.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. Okay,
Cantell. So you drove up to this motel and got a room. Then what? All he could
summon was a vague feeling of sensuality. Deep, intense sensuality. A dream,
or had he been making love to a woman? He inspected the bed, but saw no
evidence of a night playing between the sheets, nor were there any
undergarments lying around on the floor. Well, it wasn't likely that a man as
love-starved as himself would be able to forget a sexual encounter, even
through a drunken haze. Still, he had a near-memory of something extremely
sexy. He shut his eyes and tried to open his mind to the vague excitement that
was tickling his brain. And his body. He couldn't remember anything definite,
but his penis hardened almost immediately when he allowed his mind to float.
Well, some part of him had some memory, or at least an idea of what it wanted.
He noticed, however, that his penis felt funny. A bit sore, and...

He opened his eyes and screamed involuntarily at the shock. What the
hell...???

He leaped off of the bed, and his penis - his too fucking large penis -
slapped at his lower belly. This was impossible! How could his cock have grown
so...? He must be dreaming. It was the only possible explanation. But he felt
very, very awake. Adrenaline coursed through him, causing his heart to pound
in his chest. Could that happen in a dream? Could his senses actually be
fooling him, convincing him that he was awake even though he was not? It was
possible, but he had never experienced such a thing. He focused on details of
the room - the wall clock reading 10:36, the hiking and canoeing brochures
lying on the bedside table, then the subtle textures and veins in the cock -
his cock - that could not be real. If he was dreaming, then it was the most
intricately-woven and richly detailed dream he'd ever had. Resorting to the
clichŽ, he pinched his right arm with his left hand, and the pain felt real
enough. Going a step farther, he carefully reached down and touched his penis.
That felt real too, but it just couldn't be!

Glenn had a circumcised penis that measured six and one-half inches in length
- just slightly above average, from all that he had read - but this penis
straining out from his body was at least two inches longer than that, and
thicker, too! He touched it again, tentatively at first, but then he gave it a
hard squeeze. Ouch! He could feel himself squeezing it, both in his hand and
in the cock. It felt exactly like his penis. It looked exactly like his penis,
too, except for the size. In fact, if it wasn't that he knew this couldn't be
right, he wouldn't even question what he was seeing. But it wasn't right. It
shouldn't be that big! How on earth...

He jumped as the phone beside the bed rang loudly. Could a phone ring in a
dream? Maybe another phone was trying to wake him up. But it was this phone
beside the bed that was ringing. He leaned towards it and the sound was
louder. He stared at it for several seconds, taking in the beige-colored
design of the old instrument. It looked real enough, and the obnoxious ring
was certainly enough to wake him if he was indeed asleep. On the fifth ring,
he lifted the handset and brought it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Glenn? Is it you?"

It was Crystal's voice, back at the paper. It, too, sounded perfectly real.

"Ah..."

"You lazy dog! Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"Crys? Ah, what...? How did you know that I was here?" Hell, he wasn't even
convinced that he was here.

"I didn't know, because you never let me know. Why didn't you call, Glenn?
You're never this late checking-in. I was getting worried about you and Hal
has been breathing down my neck all morning for news on the tornado stuff. And
why did you switch off your cell phone? I had to call half of the motels in
that part of Maine to find you!"

No one else at the office would have known how to find him, but she was a
determined woman, that Crystal, with a talent for this very kind of thing. He
had been issued a company cell phone before leaving - he hated the things, but
it was standard policy to carry one when out on assignment. He'd never
switched it off, though, and the battery shouldn't have given out so quickly.

"I, ah, I didn't know, Crys... I didn't switch the phone off. Or maybe I
did... I don't know. Things have been kind of, ah, confusing up here."

"Are you okay, Glenn? You sound awful."

Glenn looked down at his cock again. It was still too big, yet he was certain
that he was actually speaking to Crystal back in New York.

"I'm... ah... I..." He didn't know what to say.

"Glenn? Are you fucking drunk?"

"No, no. Just... glad that you called."

And he was. The sound of her voice was, slowly, helping to ground him. He
needed to get his head clear. Sitting on the bed's edge, he touched the head
of this unreal-but-real cock with his free hand. He was beginning to feel
oddly calm, considering the situation. He'd always wondered what he would feel
like, what he would do, if something impossible ever happened to him. Tens of
dozens of interviews with people who claimed to have witnessed everything from
angelic visitations to alien abductions, and never had he been able to count
one type of reaction as the true and natural response to the miraculous.

"I'm okay, Crys. Or I think I am. I just... Well, things have been very
strange on this assignment so far."

"So what do you have on the tornadoes? Anything?"

"A little, but none of it makes any sense. The two tornadoes seem to have gone
around doing chores for people."

There was deep silence on the other end of the line.

"Crys? Are you still with me?"

"You're joking, aren't you? About the tornadoes?"

"Nope. From what I'm being told by the fine citizens of Extremity, the
tornadoes did everything from yard work to well-targeted light demolition."

"But that's... ridiculous. Tornadoes can't... can they? I mean, can they be
controlled? That would be... Are you sure that the townspeople aren't pulling
your leg? People will say all kinds of things to get their names in our
paper."

"I don't know, Crys. If it was April first, then I'd have a better handle on
most of what's been happening up here. I'm going to verify the stories today
if I can. But there are other things, too. I think... I don't know. Something
very weird is going on up here."

"How so? What else do you have?"

He couldn't say it. You see, Crys, I woke up this morning with a miraculously
enlarged cock. It has to be somewhere between eight and nine inches long! Want
to see? At this thought, he felt a fresh surge inside of his new equipment.
Well, that at least was no surprise. He'd been drooling over Crystal from the
first day that she showed up at the paper. The woman had a sexual presence
that should be measured on the Richter scale. Just listening to her sweet
voice over the phone brought vivid images of her sitting at her desk, her
large breasts probably squeezed by her arm holding the phone. He had believed
that she was the most alluring woman on the planet until yesterday. Until
Cassandra. His mystery penis throbbed with even more energy. He looked down at
the way that it thrust out from between his legs. Fuck! It was so big! He
shook his head from side to side. He needed to come back to earth again.

"Glenn?"

"Sorry, Crys. I'm... I'm a bit out of it this morning. I got caught in this
pea-soup fog last night and..."

And what? He was going to concoct a harmless lie, but he couldn't even
remember what the truth was.

"Look, Glenn. You don't have to make any excuses for me. Whatever you've been
up to... I just need to give Hal something. I don't know why he's so juiced-up
about this tornado thing - it isn't like it's all that sexy a story. Anyway,
is that what you want me to tell him at this point? That the tornadoes did
yard work for people and you'll be sticking around to look into it?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"You'll be back at the office tomorrow? He'll want to know."

Glenn thought that he heard something in her voice, some hint that it meant
something to her that he would be back the next day. Wishful thinking, no
doubt.

"Probably, Crys. Unless..."

A new thought came to him. It felt like the first clear thought he'd had since
he left Cassandra Bliss' cafe in complete disgrace.

"Listen, Crys. There are a few things that you could help me with, if you have
the time."

"Shoot. They have me on some bleeding Catholic statue nonsense, and I'd love a
diversion."

"Okay. Good. Get on Lexis and look up a company called GlobalGro. It's some
kind of bio-engineering outfit that caught my eye."

His mind was busy connecting dots. Bio-engineering, genetic research - cell
growth? Enlargement of body parts? How much of a stretch to take that in the
direction of his suddenly-enlarged penis?

"All right. That's grow with an 'o', or a 'ow'?"

"'O', one word, and both 'G's' in caps. It's located just a few miles out of
Extremity on Route 213. Also, get whatever you can on a woman named Cassandra
Bliss."

"Bliss, huh? Sounds like a stripper's name. Is she sexy?"

"Ah, yeah. Very pretty."

"The roving reporter with his big expense account. You haven't been getting
lap-dances from the locals, have you Glenn?"

Her words brought an image of Cassandra, half-naked, kneeling above him as he
sat in a private club chair, rubbing her huge tits all over his chest.

"N... no. Of course not."

"You hesitated, Glenn. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what you've been
up to?"

"I haven't been up to anything. I think. Hell, I honestly don't know, Crys.
Just look this woman up okay? She's a new resident in Extremity - showed up at
about the same time as the tornadoes. She opened a bakery cafe in town called
The Taste of Bliss."

"Sounds like the name of an act I saw one time in Las Vegas. You think this
stripper is somehow connected to the tornadoes?"

"She isn't a stripper, Crys. She's..."

She was trying to bait him, to tease him into getting mad. She was enjoying
this. He could imagine her in her office, leaning back in her chair with her
heels on her desk. Seeing Crystal's legs in his mind caused his unreal cock to
twitch in a very real and familiar way.

"Let me rephrase, then. You think that this Cassandra woman and GlobalGro,
whatever that is, are connected to the tornadoes?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Anyway, just see what you can find. I'll make sure
that my phone is on in case you have something today. Otherwise, I'll call you
if I'm not going to be back tomorrow."

After hanging up, Glenn walked to the bathroom to study his cock in brighter
light. Damn, it was a monster. His balls, too, seemed a bit larger than he
remembered. He began to feel weak in the knees and he sat down on the edge of
the bathtub. Shock, probably. Or maybe he'd been drugged at some point in the
night, somewhere in that time that he could not remember. He tried again to
recall something - anything - about last night. He had to laugh when he
remembered the fortune cookie at the restaurant. BIG THINGS ARE COMING YOUR
WAY. YOU WILL GROW. Remarkably accurate. Almost scary. Shit, didn't the
fortune cookie gods know that growth could be something less literal, like a
growing awareness, or the maturity of the soul? This was like reading a
fortune that said YOU WILL GET AHEAD and waking up to find a second head
growing out from between your shoulders!

Feeling a bit less stressed, he stood again and continued his inspection. How
big was he, exactly? He wished that he had a ruler or a tape-measure. Not able
to measure himself, he set his mind to solving how such a thing could happen
within the known laws of the physical universe. It was odd, turning the wheels
of his investigative mind upon himself, but it was exactly what he needed to
do. There had to be an answer. There always was.

Miracles were usually nothing of the kind, which might come as a shock to many
religious types and gullible tabloid readers. Writing for The Sourcerer, he
had reported many bizarre events as true, even though he had easily seen
through the "miracles", finding perfectly rational explanations for the
events. Every now and then he would be stumped, and he had found the existence
of genuine mysteries to be a comforting component in life. It was good that
some things could not be explained, but not in this case. Not in his case. He
wanted answers to why he had been suddenly gifted with a much larger cock.

He could start with the memory loss itself, which was much like he had heard
in stories of "lost-time." These were supposed instances of alien abductions,
where the victim suddenly comes-to in the middle of some action - repairing a
car, for instance - only to find that hours or even days have elapsed between
one second and the next. But Glenn didn't feel that this had much bearing on
his case. It seemed more likely that he had been unconscious or drugged or
whatever for ten hours or so. He had lost his memory of the previous night,
but he hadn't really lost time. He'd apparently checked into this motel quite
normally - he could check that out in the motel office - which would hardly
fit into the lost-time pattern.

So what else could have done this to him? Bio-engineering? The thought had
resonated when talking with Crystal, and it resonated now. He was finally
convinced that he was awake, and some kind of genetic manipulation was the
only angle that even came close to making sense. What if he had been kidnapped
out in the fog, then taken somewhere - the GlobalGro facility? The name itself
certainly came close enough to be suspicious. Had someone experimented on him?
He didn't see how his genitals could be changed so much so quickly, and there
were other significant holes in the theory. Why would a company involved in
research of that kind take the risk of kidnapping someone for experimentation?
Why not ask for volunteers for clinical trials? Unless the research was
illegal. Or dangerous.

He touched his cock again. It had been rock hard from practically the moment
he had awakened. His pulse quickened at the new thought. What if it never went
flaccid again? What if he had to go through life with a perpetual erection? He
might be able to make some woman very happy, but...

Another thought. Just think of the money that the makers of Viagra were raking
in, and that was just to get men hard. What if a company developed a drug that
enlarged the penis and kept it stiff for prolonged periods of time, giving a
man a larger cock and enough staying-power to stay hard for hours at a time?
Most men would want truckloads of the stuff, and some women would be just as
happy about the breakthrough. Imagine the huge profits to be made from a drug
like that.

Glenn decided that, until he had some reliable answers, he would need to
observe himself very closely. Would he always be hard? Would his cock shrink
back to what it had been, or was this a permanent change? Also, he would need
to keep an eye out for any suspicious symptoms or side-effects. Finding his
cock enlarged for no known reason was completely weird, but it wasn't entirely
unwelcome. He could live with it - maybe even find a good use for it if his
love life ever got in gear. If he started growing fangs, or breasts, or webbed
feet, however...

It took only fifteen minutes or so to discover that his penis could become
flaccid again. He was partially dressed and shaving when he became aware that
he was no longer hard. Okay, so he wouldn't have to walk down the streets of
Manhattan every day with a raging hard-on pushing at his zipper. That was good
news. He wondered what size his penis would be the next time he got hard. The
same, or back to normal? He wanted to know. He stood in front of the sink and
allowed an image of Cassandra Bliss to form in his imagination. He imagined
her doing a strip-tease for him, slowly lifting that tight black dress over
her head, revealing all of the details of her gorgeous, voluptuous body... It
only took a few seconds before he was completely hard again, and from what he
could tell there was no change. No additional change, he corrected himself. He
was so much bigger than he should be, but it appeared to be the new him.

And so he prepared himself to go out and do what he did best - used to do
best, anyway - dig around for the truth. It was odd, though, being a part of
the story. He couldn't see any link between the freakish tornadoes he was
chasing and his suddenly transformed cock, but Glenn was trained to disbelieve
coincidences. Several miraculous events taking place around one small town
could not be disconnected, and if there was some connection between these
bizarre events, then he would find it.

He began his work by checking on his arrival at the motel the night before.
Everything - the office, the hotel manager - looked completely unfamiliar to
him, yet it became apparent that he had been here not too many hours before.
The manager, a middle-aged man with tobacco-stained teeth, was quickly
forthcoming with useful information.

"What time was it when you checked-in? About seven-thirty, I reckon."

"Seven-thirty at night?" Glenn thought that he'd left the Chinese restaurant
at eight at the earliest.

"You're messin' with me, right? You can't expect me to believe that you don't
know it was just this morning."

Glenn was startled. "Ah, I'm sorry. It's, ah... I'm on a new anti- depression
medication. It screws with my memory sometimes, you know?"

"Huh. Must be pretty potent stuff. You sure this medicine ain't called Jack
Daniel's?"

"Why? Was I drunk when you saw me before?"

"No, but you sound drunk right now."

"It's the medication, like I said. Listen, could I also ask you - you're going
to love this one - whether I was alone, or with someone?"

The motel man scratched his jaw. "Huh. Didn't see no one but you, although I
never looked outside. Tell me, mister, how do you even manage to get through
the day with a memory like yours?"

"It's a challenge, believe me."

What he had learned was very disturbing. He had been in this very office,
alone, not four hours ago, and had gone about the business of paying for the
room and getting the key quite normally. Why couldn't he remember these
events? And where had he been during the time between the foggy road and
checking into the motel in the morning? Ten hours or so were still unaccounted
for. Where had he been? What had he been doing? Having his penis enlarged, no
doubt.

Glenn gave the man a ten for his trouble and made a few calls on the motel
phone before heading back to Extremity. It turned out that his cell phone was
not switched off, as Crys had thought - it was dead for some reason, and no
matter what he did, he couldn't coax it back to life.

It was nearly one in the afternoon before he was doing useful work. His first
interview was with Betsy Stubbs at her farmhouse. She took Glenn to the
backyard spot where her tool shed had once stood. Glenn stared at a fairly
clean and even concrete foundation of respectable size, lined on one side by a
row of evenly spaced young firs. Everything looked very ordered.

"It was right there, mister. Tornady lifted it clean away."

"But left these small trees untouched? That's difficult to believe."

"Not as difficult as half of what I read in your paper. All of those
predictions at the beginning of every year? Not one of them was right last
year. I cut them out and taped them to my fridge, and I can tell you that your
psychics had a batting average of exactly zero. Hell, I could ask my dog for
predictions and he'd do that good."

Glenn suffered the woman's scorn for as long as was necessary, then got her to
tell him everything she could about the tornado's visit. The second was the
one that visited her place, and she said that she actually saw the twister
touch down on top of her shed.

"The sounds woke me up and I saw the whole thing from the bathroom window.
Tornady came straight down out of the sky and lifted the shed straight up,
clean as you please. I was scared but then the funnel skipped away from the
house. I didn't care that the shed was gone - old termite-ridden piece of junk
- but I had some good gardening tools stored out there, and I knew I was going
to miss them. Imagine my surprise when I went out in the morning and found
them all lined up right here on the concrete."

"What? You're telling me that the tornado left your tools behind and arranged
them for you?"

Betsy Stubbs looked at him with the kind of expression that is usually
reserved for imbeciles.

"You daft or something? No tornady could do a thing like that."

"Then how...?"

"Beats me. Some stranger with nothing better to do, maybe. Hell, I don't know.
I asked my neighbors and no one takes credit for it. All I know is that they
were there, every one of them, arranged so neat and nice that you'd think
someone was going to photograph them. Somebody must've gathered them up and
laid them out for me. I don't figure I'll ever know who it was."

The plot just kept getting thicker and thicker, but he was finding no
explanations. Glenn decided to do some "door-stepping", one of the tabloid
reporter's least pleasurable methods of gathering information. It literally
meant walking door to door and interviewing neighbors near the scene of some
newsworthy event. It would be more time-consuming here than in most places -
the houses were so spread out along this little road - but you never knew what
kind of information could turn up until you cast your line. The residents in
this particular stretch of town were more friendly and open than most, but he
got nothing more interesting than a few reports of people hearing the tornado
as it passed them by in the night. At one house, the door was answered by a
shockingly attractive college-age girl. Glenn was caught off-guard by her
bright smile and her scantily-clad, extraordinarily voluptuous body. She
invited him in, but he hesitated.

"I'm just... ah... talking with people about the tornadoes that touched down
the other week. Let me, ah, show you my press I.D." He fumbled for his wallet,
and moments later, as the girl studied his press pass, he took in the full
measure of her tits. They were incredible! Not quite as huge as those of
Cassandra Bliss, but still...

The girl seemed to be impressed that he was with The Sourcerer. She said she
would tell him what she'd experienced, but only if he came inside.

"I have an infant sleeping in the next room," she explained. "I need to be
able to hear if she wakes up."

Glenn entered and sat on a large deep-blue sofa while the girl curled her long
legs into a brown leather chair opposite from him. She gave him little tidbits
of information, nothing particularly helpful, about waking up and hearing her
baby crying in the middle of the night, then hearing the tornado skip by the
house before she even had time to be scared.

Glenn pretended to listen attentively. It was unprofessional, but he was
completely distracted by the views she was giving him of her long, shapely
legs and her incredibly generous breasts. How many super-stacked,
great-looking women were there in this tiny town, anyway? This girl was a
total babe and her tits were huge! It was a fairly warm day; still, she was
dressed several weeks behind the weather in cut-off denim short-shorts and a
lime green tank top that could barely contain her tremendous breasts. Her dark
hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and she was barefoot. He thought she
looked like the proverbial farmer's daughter, gorgeous and fairly bursting
with raw, corn-fed sexual energy, except that he'd never imagined tits this
big when hearing the old farmer's-daughter jokes. He wondered whether the
girl's boobs were normally this huge, or whether a large portion of their heft
was due to nursing her baby. The rest of her body - narrow waist, tight hips,
smooth and shapely cheerleader's legs - showed no effects from her pregnancy
at all; in fact, she looked fit enough to don a cheerleading outfit right now
and perform some serious high-flying, boob-bouncing jumps and dance routines.
She must be one of those lucky ones, the women whose bodies are mostly
unaffected by bearing a child.

Except, maybe, that she received those king-sized knockers out of the deal.
Hell, this girl must have gallons of milk right there on her chest, enough to
feed half the town! Obviously braless, her breasts were completely
overwhelming the tank top, her swollen nipples looking as though they could
drill through the garment at any moment. How big were those things, anyway?
Like Cassandra Bliss, this girl's tits were so huge that he did not feel
qualified to guess at her bra size. Overall she wasn't quite in the class of
Cassandra Bliss - he didn't think that anyone was - but even so she had
movie-star looks and the kind of athletic body that drove him crazy, plus
breasts so huge and swollen that they were making his head spin. He felt
himself getting heated up - down, boy - don't blow this interview, too, just
because you're staring at a small-town sexpot with huge breasts.

She seemed to be very aware, though, that she was something to look at. From
the way that she was posturing in her chair, it was pretty clear that she had
noticed his eyes roaming over her body. What was surprising was that she did
nothing to discourage him from looking; rather, she appeared to shift every
now and then as if to give him a new and more enticing view. This girl - what
had she said her name was? Estelle, or Ester, something like that? - was even
giving him something of a show, stretching out one of her well- muscled legs
and arching her foot like a good cheesecake model. Lovely, lovely legs. Smooth
tanned skin, supple and tight and just the tiniest amount of blue denim
concealing her privates. He caught a trace of bright red color between her
thighs and realized that it belonged to her panties, a tiny portion of which
was there to be seen every now and then. Glenn's breath caught and he felt a
renewed pulsing in his cock. It was too easy to imagine his fingers slipping
under those red panties. He had never made love to a woman who'd given birth.
What would it feel like to slip a finger inside of her...

She squirmed in her seat, adjusting the position of her legs. There was a new
spark in her eye, a bedroom look that quickened his pulse. This girl was
seeeexxxxy. Her husband sure was a lucky guy. Speaking of which...

"So is your husband here? Perhaps he has something to add about the
tornadoes."

"Oh, I'm not married," she answered, and the way she said it sounded like she
was in the habit of advertising her availability. "This is my parent's house.
Me and Sue Ellen - that's my little girl - are living here for a few months. I
just moved back here from California. It's... it's a long story."

And not one that he was here to learn about. Glenn knew that he should move on
and thank her for her help, but he hesitated. What would it be like to suck on
milk-filled boobs? He could imagine taking one of her big nipples into his
mouth, wrapping his lips around it...

"Ohhh...", she murmured.

It was a low, sexy outpouring of breath, the kind that any man would hope to
hear coming from the lips of a woman this sexy. She looked down at her boobs
and his eyes followed hers. Damn if it didn't look as though her swollen
nipples were even bigger than before. Then she looked up at him, and he
couldn't help reading her expression as an invitation, an invitation to do as
he pleased with her. Which didn't make sense. Her looks were causing him to
entertain fantasies that he had no business having. He had to get out of here
before he did or said something stupid. He started to rise, but then she
motioned with her hand, as though she had something important to tell him.

"Um, Mr. Cantell? You look kind of... hot. I can't let you go without having
something to drink. Wait just a sec."

"But..."

But she insisted on bringing him some lemonade before he left. "Just wait!,"
she shouted, disappearing into the kitchen.

She looked kind of overheated herself, her face flushed a bright shade of red.
He should leave, he thought. Nothing good could come from staying here. Still,
he hesitated. The anticipation of taking one long last look at her body was
getting the better of his judgment. The girl's legs gave his ex-wife's a run
for their money, and she had perfect shoulders and wonderfully toned arms that
he wouldn't mind getting another look at. If he could take his eyes off of
those monster tits, that is...

He wondered: Would Ruth's double-D breasts have swollen to something
approaching that size if they'd had a child? And how often did it happen that
extreme breast growth from pregnancy didn't go away? What if the swollen
whoppers on that girl were her permanent endowment now? It was almost
inconceivable, but then he'd seen a pair of tits even larger than these the
day before on Cassandra Bliss.

His thoughts were interrupted when she returned with a single glass for him.
He looked at her bouncing breasts, then at her fine legs as she moved. There
was something in the sway of her hips that said trouble. The way that she bent
forward when offering his drink - which gave him a memorable glimpse of
three-quarters of her heavy, swollen udders - said big, big trouble.

Whoa. His mouth hung open as he raised his hand to accept the glass. The
girl's boobs were almost excruciatingly beautiful, and bent over like this
they looked as though they'd been specifically designed to fill his lap. He
felt his new mystery cock swiftly rising in his pants. Glenn reached forward
for the lemonade, but the girl withdrew the glass and held it, teasingly, just
out of his reach. She was practically begging him to reach out and cup those
milkers.

"Maybe lemonade isn't exactly right," she said, placing the glass on an end
table. "Although I can tell you're thirsty..."

Wow. With every movement of her body, those two gigantic...

"Wouldn't you rather have some milk?"

Milk? Uh-oh. "Ah..."

"You know, Mr. Cantell, I've never met a tabloid reporter before. Are all of
them as charming as you are?"

She glided her firm ass onto the sofa right beside him and placed her hand on
his knee, not too many inches away from his totally stiffened cock. The
atmosphere in the room had completely changed. This was not about tornadoes
and lemonade any more, nor the silent flirting that had been passing between
them a few minutes ago. Yes, he had been looking. Yes, he thought she was sexy
as hell. And yes, her bulging breasts seemed like two milky Sirens calling out
his name. But...

"I really like it when you stare at my body, you know. Especially my tits. I
mean, I really, really like it."

Oh, hell. "Ah, I don't know..."

"Don't be shy. You weren't shy a minute or two ago. You were eating up every
single curve and you didn't care if I knew it. You really like my boobs, don't
you?"

"Well, yes, of course..."

"I've always been really big, but with the baby... They've gotten so huge!"

"Ah..."

"You want to touch them, don't you?"

"Ah, listen..."

"I knew their size was turning you on. God, and they might still be growing!
Every time I measure them they're bigger then before, like they just want to
keep growing and growing... Even now, with Sue Ellen nearly six months old,
they just keep going..."

She cupped them from underneath, their mass so much more than her small hands
could ever hope to contain. The pressure from her hands caused even more
tightly packed cleavage to appear at the crest of her tank top. She was
killing him. He imagined how breasts as large as hers would completely engulf
even this bigger cock of his if she tit-fucked him.

"Oooohhh...", she moaned. "They're usually so sensitive, but right now... You
just wouldn't believe how sensitive they've become..."

He could see for himself. Her nipples had hardened to the point that they
looked like they would pierce her shirt with one deep breath. They looked so
full, so ready to be sucked and licked and nibbled on...

"Oh! Oh, God... My nipples... You can't imagine how good they feel, how good
it would feel if you touched them..."

Her voice was low and breathy and her right hand dropped from her breast and
again found his knee. Then her fingers began a slow and steady crawl up his
leg towards dangerous territory.

"They've gotten soooo big, and they're soooo sensitive..."

"Ah..." He licked his lips. Oh fuck her boobs looked so massive, so
kneadable...

"And having you stare at my tits... Oh God I can almost feel you already!
You've got me feeling like I'm about ready to explode!"

"Look..."

"Don't fight it. You're as turned-on as I am and you can't hide it."

She leaned into him, her right breast molding itself to the contour of his
shoulder and chest.

"I know you're dying to hold them, to feel them. Feel how big and heavy
they've become..."

Oh, he was feeling it. The weight of one of her growing udders found the palm
of his left hand. The woman's boobs were huge.

"Squeeze it," she purred.

He was already there, his fingers pushing into her flesh through the thin
material of her top. Her breasts were so voluminous that they could swallow
his hands! OhGod he'd been waiting so long to feel-up another pair of big
tits, and these massive udders left Ruth's big pair in the dust! He allowed
his fingers to travel until they brushed against her swollen nipple.

"Aaaahhhhh," she sighed. A second later, her tongue wiggled inside of his ear
and her breathing, a slow "hahhhhh" sound, went right inside of him. At the
same time, her fingers brushed against the tip of his cock through his khaki
pants.

"OOOOH!" This sound was much louder. "Oooooh baby! You really are a big man,
aren't you?"

Bigger than ever.

"And you're about to tear a hole in your trousers. Here, let me see what I can
do to fix that."

Her right hand expertly worked at his belt and zipper. Glenn felt extremely
conflicted. This girl's attentions had succeeded in making him hard as hell.
If he did nothing, then he was almost certainly headed for a mid-afternoon
sexcapade with a girl - hell, he couldn't even remember what she'd said her
name was - anyway, with a very, very sexy girl with very, very huge and
intoxicating breasts.

"Now, about that milk...", she whispered.

The hand that wasn't digging to uncover his throbbing cock lifted the bottom
of her tank top up to her collar bones, unveiling the girl's two immense
treasures. Glenn gasped. Never in his life had he seen, in the flesh, as they
say, tits so delicious in every way. They were almost imposing in their size,
and beautifully shaped with young skin so creamy that it looked as though the
milk inside had become a part of her flesh. They wobbled in front of his eyes
and the puffy rose-colored nipples looked so ready to be suckled that they
seemed to reach out for his lips. Milk shake, he thought. He had never sucked
on milk-filled boobs before - well, not since his infancy. Oh God. It would be
so easy to just let it happen, to suck on one of those bursting nipples while
she test-drove his new cock.

"Here, baby...", she purred, shifting her position so that one engorged nipple
was guided right to his lips.

Feeling an abundance of soft flesh spreading over his face, he instinctively
closed his mouth around the offered nipple and drew her warm liquid into him.
It was sweet and more wonderful than he could have imagined.

"Oh yes! Suck me! Suck me hard!"

His body complied, not caring about the cautions that formed in his mind. What
if her parents came home, he thought, or the baby woke up? He continued to
suckle her, savoring the warm, nourishing nectar from her body. Or what if
this was the town slut, the big- titted nymphomaniac who went after everyone
from the mailman to the bill collector? He began to suck harder, and she
moaned appreciatively. Or what if she was some kind of black-widow who
distracted a victim with her breasts before stabbing him with a butcher's
knife? Or what if she was desperate for money, and he was being video-taped
for blackmail? The rapture of her hot milk easing down his throat washed away
each nagging thought. Some kind of shift in her body resulted in an exchange
of breasts, bringing the other nipple to his mouth. Glenn took it in. She was
straddling him now, her knees to either side of his hips. He could feel the
boob that wasn't in his mouth pressing against his ear. The scent of an
excited pussy permeated the air.

"Oh yes!!! Suck on it! More! More!!!"

Meanwhile, her probing fingers made their way inside of his pants and found
the tip of his cock.

"Ohhhh myyyy," she sighed. "So big! Let me see..."

Oh fuck he wanted her to suck his cock. How long had it been since he had
gotten a hummer? About eight months, on one of his blind dates. Wrap those
lips right around me, baby, please...

The nipple he was sucking moved as she leaned over. He moaned into her massive
breast as he felt her fingertips play with him, and then her boobs left his
face as she slid down his body, her wet lips eventually surrounded the head of
his cock. Oh fuuuck, she was right there with him, giving him exactly what he
wanted right when he wanted it! He couldn't suck on her tits like this, but
how could he complain? He felt any surviving remnant of self control melting
away as his big, thick dick was drawn into this beautiful girl's mouth. Her
breasts no longer obscuring his vision, he looked down and saw the back of her
head poised above his lap, her giant juggs squashed against his knees. Oh
mannnnnn... He was getting a blow- job from a super-hot girl whose creamy
breasts could fill his lap and half of the sofa at the same time! Her tongue
lapped at his penis- head as her lips tightened around his shaft. Then her
head went down and he was drawn farther inside of her mouth. She was unable to
swallow all of him, at least at first. She adjusted her head, having to shift
her approach in mid-stream to accommodate his size. With a luxuriously long
stroke, she pulled back, allowing the circle of her enveloping lips to slide
all the way back to the tingling head of his tool. Then she leaned her head
forward again, taking him in slowly and steadily, the journey from one end of
his cock to the other taking so long... So much longer than he remembered it
ever taking... Because he was so huge... Because he was so much bigger than -
Oh, fuck!

He felt goose-bumps erupt all over his skin as he remembered. He didn't know
why or how he had gotten this big! What if his mysteriously-transformed cock
made him contagious somehow? What if it was actually dangerous for her to do
this? It didn't seem likely, but he didn't have any facts of any kind yet,
which meant that anything was possible. He could have dangerous chemicals in
his bloodstream, or some kind of virus that could find its way to this woman's
child through her breast milk. He was being an idiot for letting things get
this far.

Using his fear of harming her baby to give him the strength to act, he cradled
the girl's head in his hands and slid sideways on the sofa, drawing himself
out of that delicious, wet mouth. He didn't know which was more difficult to
believe - that his cock had ended up at the back of this sexy stranger's
mouth, or that he was now pulling himself out of it.

"Listen, I'm really sorry..."

"What are you doing?"

She struggled against him, but he was able to move her right leg enough to
free himself. Once it was possible, he stood up.

"Wait! No! NO!!!" She reached out and tried to prevent him from stuffing his
cock back inside his pants. She looked genuinely panicked.

"I'm sorry. I have to leave."

"No! Please! Let me!" One hand caught his wrist as she used the other to hoist
a beautiful boob back towards his lips.

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

"PLEASE! Oh God, you can't... I need to..."

He broke free of her grip and fled the house, still arranging his pants as he
emerged into the sunlight. This would look just great if some neighbor was
watching.

"No! Wait! Come back!"

He crossed the street quickly, headed back for the Jeep. A quick glance back
at the door showed him that the girl was standing out on the front stoop,
topless, her hands squeezing her big breasts seductively, her hips swaying.
Holy Haba–eros! His glance back became a good long paralyzing stare. What a
fucking body she had! Seen from a distance like this, the beauty of her legs
and the sheer, disproportionate volume of those milk-filled boobs hit him with
fresh force. His body trembled as he fought to keep himself from running back
over there, his throbbing dick nearly commanding him to park all eight or
whatever inches right between those two massive globes. She seemed to know
exactly what he was thinking at that moment, as she hoisted both boobs up and
licked at the flesh right there in the middle, as if preparing them to accept
his fantasy.

Oh fuck! She was trying to entice him back, and she was succeeding! Glenn felt
his cock harden even more. Oh shit, what it would feel like to fuck those
mighty milky mounds with this massive new throbbing cock... He imagined it for
a second, seeing himself pumping between them. He would come all over them,
and then suck on those mighty boobs again before lowering his head and
planting it right there between those tanned legs... Then he would fuck her,
giving her the most intense orgasm...

The girl groaned and writhed, looking for all the world like she was coming
right there on her front stoop! He heard her gasp, and then she fell to her
knees, her head thrown back, moaning so loudly that he could hear her all the
way out there on the road. What was she doing - mimicking an orgasm as another
trick to draw him back? Dammit, he had to get out of here! He shook his head,
trying to think clearly, and quickened his pace towards the Jeep. His cock was
aching terribly, but he was glad - well, not really - anyway, it was good that
he had not gone back. Something wasn't right. By her own admission, the woman
had a baby asleep in the house. Customs differed in various regions of the
country, but he couldn't believe that young mothers in these parts were in the
habit of fucking every stranger who happened to knock on their door. Nor could
it be standard practice for women to engage in virtual tit-fucking routines or
orgasmic charades out on their front porches while their infants slept.

Maybe what had just happened - turning down a go at the sexiest babe to ever
make a play for him - was just another example of how fucked-up his love life
was, but he really didn't think so. This girl had to be crazy. Why should it
matter to her so much that she wasn't going to be able to blow a complete
stranger who showed up at her door? Some people did odd things when they
learned that he was a reporter for The Sourcerer, but this girl, gorgeous as
she was, had to have some kind of problem.

CHAPTER 6 The second coat of gesso went onto the large canvas without a hitch.
A good thing that it dried so quickly - she would be here in less than an
hour. He removed yesterday's drawing from the easel, trying hard not to focus
on the image. The drawing had been haunting him ever since he'd made the final
smudge with his charcoal. It looked far too real, which was both wonderful and
terrible. Wonderful because it was a definite technical leap for him. The
intensity of Karen's presence on the paper was a new high point in his art,
and what still amazed him was the way that it had all formed on the paper so
quickly and with relative ease. The terrible aspect of the drawing lay in his
fear that he would never be able to repeat the feat. He wasn't really sure how
he had done any of it. He had gotten so turned-on by Karen's body that he
actually thought very little about what his hands were doing. In a way, the
drawing just seemed to... happen. He had studied every inch of the drawing all
night long and still had no clue how he had made certain marks with the
charcoal sticks and his hands.

Another problematic thing about the drawing was the way that he got so
goddamned horny every time that he looked at it. The black and white image of
Karen was every bit as sexy as the real woman, even though the very idea was
inconceivable. Still, he had not been able to look at his own drawing without
popping a huge boner, which meant that he had been hard for most of the time
since yesterday's modeling session. Late in the night he tried to stop looking
at the thing and go to bed, but the image of Karen's otherworldly rack
towering up to the top of the paper was simply too compelling. He couldn't
tear his eyes away from the drawing.

She had shocked him by calling him again. He had somehow missed her exit from
the studio in the afternoon and felt panic upon realizing that he didn't even
have her phone number. What an idiot! An absolutely gorgeous girl with the
most incredible breasts in the world may or may not wish to model for him
again, and he'd spaced-out to such a degree that he never got her contact
info!

He was so relieved when he heard her sweet voice on the phone, but then the
memory of her massive bare breasts caused him to fall into his bumble-mouth
routine and the conversation became a series of mangled words and awkward
pauses. But even his tongue-tied nervousness couldn't dampen the rush of joy
that came from hearing that she wanted to keep modeling. The timing of the
next day's session was established and then she rang-off. He stood in his
kitchen then, leaning against the refrigerator for several minutes, recalling
every visual detail of their first session - the way that the warm studio
lights highlighted the curvature of her breasts, the way that those immense
mountains of soft flesh threw gigantic shadows across her body and onto the
wall. Every movement of her body, even the slightest shifting of her posture,
had resulted in some degree of super-undulation there in those mighty breasts.
The woman was so adorable and tight-bodied, and with boobs that looked like
they had their own power plants supplying them with energy.

He resumed his vigil in front of the drawing, trying to understand how anyone
could have a body like that, and how he had managed to bring it to life on
paper. He eventually downed half a bottle of Chianti while sitting on a stool,
completely absorbed by the beauty emanating from the drawing. The image
contained so much of Karen's unbelievable sexiness that it reminded him of The
Picture of Dorian Gray. A piece of her soul seemed to be in there. It was so
hard not to stare at her. It was so hard to think of anything but her. So
hard. He was so hard...

The power in his apartment blinked out sometime around one in the morning. No
longer able to adequately see his drawing, he willed himself to go to bed soon
after that. But the drawing followed him into his dreams. He dreamed that he
was back on the stool, looking at the drawing, and he was shocked to see
movement within the paper's surface. It was so slight, but it looked like the
charcoal version of Karen was... breathing. Yes, yes, he could definitely see
her breasts rise and fall, ever so slightly. How could this be? Had her actual
life force been captured by his charcoal sticks? He ran to his bedroom to get
his video camera. He had to film this, otherwise no one would ever believe
him!

When he returned to the studio, however, she was there, in the flesh, and oh
what flesh! She breathed in deeply as if tasting the air for the first time,
then hefted her boobs from underneath, her arms dwarfed by their enormous
expanse, the expression on her face so happy and satisfied. She had just been
born from the drawing and was feeling life as it coursed through her body, and
she was aware of the quality of the body she had been given. She looked at
David, looked straight into him, and cupping the undersides of her breasts as
much as was possible, she approached him, her boobs presented like some kind
of sacred offering.

His cock, harder than it had ever been in his life, erupted the second that he
took one of her gigantic nipples into his mouth. His cum, an incredible amount
of cum, coated her belly and thighs, and then he collapsed onto the floor,
sprawled on his back, completely drained after having experienced an orgasm
that was unlike anything he had known before. Karen stood above him, her head
and shoulders disappearing behind the expansive underview of her breasts.
Leaning forward, her boobs hanging down like the world's largest fruit from
the world's most beautiful tree, she looked down at him lovingly. Her eyes
never left his as she caressed her belly with her hands, gathering pools of
his milky liquid into her palms, which she then smeared all over the vast
expanse of her boobs. Her hips swayed slowly, and her hair fell down and
across her face as she became lost in a slow, sensual dance. David grew rock
hard again as his eyes traveled up her sculpted legs to the glistening pussy
swaying above him, and his senses were further seared by the sight of her
cum-slickened, shining wet boobs, so vast that they nearly filled his field of
vision. His breath caught as she lowered herself down, his cock gliding
straight into her, and then he felt the weight of her breasts covering the
upper half of his body. He moaned at the unbelievable pleasure of having so
much of his body in contact with Karen's giant breasts. They were so huge that
he almost felt like he was wearing them. He wrapped his arms around their
expanse and began kissing and sucking and kneading them. Karen encouraged him
to keep loving her breasts, and he came, and then came again.

He awakened at eight in the morning, his sheets damp and crusty near his
pelvis. His belly and upper thighs were caked with dried semen. Jesus Christ,
it had been years since he'd had a wet dream, but it looked as though one
night of dreaming about Karen Little had emptied him of at least a pint of
semen!

He had a difficult time starting his day, as memories of the dreams would
arise and flood him with desire. The day seemed to be difficult for a lot of
people, as there were an unusual number of people having mechanical problems
with their cars. David worked on Cassandra's house in a near daze, able to do
good work only because the work was so easy. All he could think about was
Karen. She would be at his studio soon, and he would have the chance to stare
at her Himalayan-topped body again while he attempted to paint her for the
first time.

He couldn't wait.

She laughed at her reflection in the mirror. What had she been thinking? She
couldn't go out in public like this! She looked like... she didn't look like
anything she'd ever seen before. Even Cassandra Bliss, in those form-fitting
black dresses, didn't look anything like this. The problem was the bra. Well,
actually, the problem was that her boobs were so gigantic, but the bra only
seemed to make a bad situation worse. Its size and shape was so pronounced
through the thin material of the blouse that it was like an artist heavily
outlining some object in a drawing for extra emphasis. Well, what had she
expected? It had looked exactly the same in the dressing room of the store,
and she'd bought it anyway.

What a weird morning. She began the day intending to wash her sheets, which
smelled like they had been used in an orgy, but the washing machine was on the
blink. Karen hand-washed her sheets in the basement sink and hung them outside
to dry. She had fingered herself for so long on her bed yesterday, and had
obviously continued to be excited at night because of the dreams. Those
dreams! God, she had never had such sexy dreams before. Her right index finger
was inside of her when she woke up, and she couldn't resist playing with
herself as she showered. At breakfast, her mother asked whether Karen had had
nightmares.

"Why? Did I scream?"

"Yes, and not just once."

"Oops. I do remember having some, um, bad dreams. I guess I woke the whole
house up."

"No. Jess beat you to it. You had nightmares, too, didn't you Jess?"

Jessica nodded her affirmation. She was strangely silent, and looked more...
mature. It seemed to Karen that her little sister was finally growing up.

"What were your dreams about?," their mother asked Karen.

They were about sex, she answered silently. But she wasn't going to say that.
There had been other dreams, but in the one she remembered most vividly she
was standing in David's studio, completely naked, and he had already begun a
large painting of her. She watched as he dabbed his brushes into the gobs of
paint on his palette, and then she tuned into the exhilarating tingling which
arose in her body as his brushes described her form on his canvas. It was
similar to the way she had felt when he drew her. She could tell where his
eyes were focused by the heat and the tingling and the sheer pleasure she felt
in her body. Her legs became warm - oh, God, that felt so good! Her arms and
her face and her neck and shoulders experienced the same wonderful heat, but
when he turned his attention to her breasts everything changed. The heat
seemed to gather in her nipples and then spread out through every region of
her body, and this heat was different. It was electric. Glowing. Growing.
Overwhelming.

She trembled as she saw him dip heavily into the oranges and reds on his
palette, and when these colors touched the painted breasts on his canvas she
cried out, the heat rapidly swelling inside of her breasts and then stoking
the flames in her vagina. She was on fire - a white-hot sexual fire. She cried
out or moaned, and David turned to her and seemed to understand how much she
needed to come. He ceased his painting and approached her, holding several
brushes dripping with yellow and orange and red colors. She stood on the model
stand, unable to move, and then he began to apply his paints right onto the
flesh of her breasts. She tried to scream - not a scream of pain, but of
bodily exaltation, of feeling so sexed-up that she thought she might die. It
was like being raped by color, by talent. All night long it felt as though his
brushes were playing with her boobs, sending her into fits of intensifying
lust. She didn't know whether she had ever climaxed in her sleep, but surely
she must have made enough noise for her mother to hear.

Karen came back to the present and realized that Jessica was looking at her in
a funny way.

"Your face is really red, Karen."

Crap. She was all excited again, just from remembering the dreams. She could
feel the heat rising inside of her vagina and her nipples were at full mast
under her heavy shirt.

Jessica seemed to notice the hardening of Karen's nipples, and then she looked
away, an odd smile on her face. That was when Karen noticed that her sister's
nipples were hard, too. Was Jessica getting turned-on by the fact that Karen
was so turned-on? That would be too weird.

"We seem to have had a power failure last night," their mother stated.

"Maybe it messed up the washing machine," Karen informed her. "It wasn't
working."

"Oh, dear! Not something else!"

"What do you mean?"

"Dad had to replace the batteries in both cars," Jessica said. "Some other
things aren't working, too. I couldn't get my electric toothbrush going this
morning."

"How...? Why would so many things stop working all at once?," Karen asked her
mother.

"Don't ask me. I'm just glad we could get the cars running again."

Karen used the opportunity to ask her mother whether she could use the old
Subaru to go shopping, and she felt an unusual thrill when her mother handed
over the car keys. The moment that everyone left for school or work, she got
in the car and headed for The Taste of Bliss. Cassandra, looking even more
radiant than Karen had remembered, greeted her warmly and didn't have to ask
to know what she wanted. Karen was handed a half-dozen warm cookies and
savored their intoxicating aroma before the thought hit her.

"Did you have any electrical problems here?", she asked Cassandra.

"A few. The power failure is the topic of much discussion this morning."

Karen was going to ask how a power failure could affect cars when another
thought came to her. Staring at Cassandra's tremendous breasts and the way
they were so beautifully displayed under her black dress, she felt her own
nipples growing and, trembling, she motioned Cassandra to a more private spot
in the cafe to ask where she got her bras.

"I make them," Cassandra answered, relaxed.

Karen was feeling so hot, so sexed up. She bit her lip in an effort to quell
her trembling. She surveyed Cassandra's vast bosom again, and before she could
say anything else, Cassandra offered to make Karen a bra.

"What? No, I couldn't ask you to..."

"Nonsense. It takes very little time, I'm so used to it. Give me a couple of
days and I'll have something for you that will feel heavenly."

"But... won't you need to... um..."

"Measure you? No. I have a gift in this department. You'll see."

Karen couldn't keep herself from grinning as she drove out of town. How had
that just happened? She'd blurted out the question about Cassandra's bras
before she'd even known that it was in her mind, and now the woman was going
to sew one for her! She sipped her coffee and fantasized about finally having
the perfect-fitting bra as she approached Five Forks, the closest town where
there would be any good stores to shop for clothes. Five Forks got a lot of
tourists from the nearby ski resorts, and there were several upscale shops
along its picturesque Lake Street. It had been years since she'd tried on
outfits in stores, and she was nervous about all of the commotion that her
figure was bound to cause. It was a warm day and she hadn't thought to bring a
big parka to help conceal her shape.

She hadn't even finished closing the car door when a logging truck nearly
flattened a small car behind her. Ignoring the almost non- stop squeal of
breaks and the exclamations of shock as she walked along the sidewalk, she
surveyed the fall fashions through several display windows. The crunch of
metal against metal erupted behind her, and she turned to look. Two old cars,
each driven by men in their forties or fifties. They were still staring at her
- did they even realize yet that they had crashed into each other? The damage
to either car wasn't too bad, but Karen decided to enter the nearest store
before anything else happened.

She tried on any number of things, not even caring that the clerks and
customers were all gawking at her figure and whispering among themselves. She
would usually feel terrible when her boobs caused people to drop things or
lose their concentration when going about their business, but today she felt
as though she was on a mission. She would find some pretty things to wear over
to David's studio. She would find some things that hugged her curves so
tightly that his heart would stop.

And so she had bought a short, short black skirt and some pumps to go with it,
along with some tops that proved that she'd gone crazy. She stood, now, in
front of her bedroom mirror and assessed the skirt and shoes. Her legs looked
great in them - the manager of the store she'd bought them at, a slender woman
in her early thirties, even commented on how beautiful her legs were, a fact
that most people couldn't even lower their eyes to notice. Karen hadn't
stopped there, though. She also bought the sage green pullover sweater lying
there on the bed, and this little micro-fiber thing that she had on now. It
was an unusual color, sort of like the insides of a watermelon hooked up to a
red neon light.

She removed the skirt and pumps and put on a pair of tight fitting jeans.
Again she appraised herself. She couldn't decide whether she looked
ridiculous, or incredibly ridiculous. This new garment was so big that it was
probably intended for some fat woman who was seven feet tall, yet even so it
wouldn't even come close to fitting over her boobs without its elasticity. The
short sleeves weren't too bad, but elsewhere it was a different story. When
she looked at herself in profile, it was apparent that she should have tried
to find a blouse that was long enough to tuck in at the waist. At the back,
the blouse fell to about the middle of her ass; but at the front, the thrust
of her mega-boobs lifted the bottom seam up and away from her body, exposing
more than three inches of her belly just above the line of her jeans. The
bare-waist look was in fashion these days, but in this case the shirt just
looked crooked, and she could also see that someone seated at the level of her
waist would be able to look up inside of the blouse to the whopping undersides
of her bra. And worse, she hated seeing the bra lines through the thin
material. Well, she thought, maybe Cassandra would come up with a more
graceful bra for her, like the ones she wore under her long black dresses.
Until then, what if Karen went braless? But that was ridiculous. She could go
braless quite comfortably - all of that "ideal projection" stuff, no doubt -
but she would look so... so... shameless. Like she wanted people to stare at
her monster boobs. Like she wanted to showcase her abnormally prominent
nipples. Like she was proud of them, and wanted guys to get all hot from
looking at them.

Even so, she stripped off the skimpy garment and removed her bra. God, her
nipples were still so erect. Had they been anything but stiff and erect since
first arriving at David's studio? But she shouldn't think about that, or she'd
get all sexed-up again. Clearing her mind, sort of, on went the new blouse.
She moaned when the fabric stretched over her nipples, tickling them. They
were so damned sensitive! Willing herself not to pinch them, she looked in the
mirror.

"Oh my God!!"

Oops - she hadn't meant to speak out loud. Jessica would be home soon, and she
didn't want anyone to know about the kind of clothes she had bought. She
didn't want them to know anything - about modeling for David, about how
jazzed-up her hormones were. And she definitely didn't want anyone seeing her
stretching the daylights out of this bright little thing. She imagined herself
walking to David's studio dressed like this. How would people react, with her
giant boobs bouncing under this neon-colored nothing of a shirt and her
nipples shooting out like two missiles? The saleswoman in the store, the same
one who had complimented her legs, had seen her trying on this top. The
woman's loud gasp was followed by the sounds of a small rack of blouses being
knocked over. It didn't really surprise Karen to see the poor store clerk
sprawled on the floor. Things like that had happened many times when she went
away to college. In fact, all kinds of accidents were to be expected whenever
her giant breasts showed up in any place outside of Extremity. She went over
and helped the fallen woman to her feet and tried to ignore the way the
clerk's wide eyes never left her gigantic chest.

They picked up the fallen clothing together and once the saleswoman had found
her voice she said, "Tha...tha...that b...blouse looks very n...nice on you.
It f...f...f...flatters your f...f...f...figure."

Interesting choice of words, Karen thought. Nothing flat about it, which was
why the woman had become disoriented enough to lose her balance and stutter
worse than David. Karen's boobs swelled out immensely, carrying the bright
color far away from her body, out into whatever room she was standing in. She
thought she looked extremely... ripe. It was way, way too much. If the store
lady, who had been bravely collected up until that point, fell over sideways
from seeing her in this melon-colored blouse, then what would the sight do to
men? What would it do to David? Especially if she was braless like this? She
might as well walk around town with the words "Ravage My Super-Giant Tits!"
stenciled onto the blouse.

Still, the more she looked at herself, the more she began to feel a guilty
kind of pleasure. She had worn black and navy blue flannel things for so long,
and she was sick of it. This colorful blouse was like being dressed within the
petals of some sweet-smelling spring flower, and weren't flowers bright like
that to attract birds and bees for mating? Yes, for mating. Leaving the top as
it was, she pulled off her jeans and put on sheer nylons and then the black
skirt and black pumps again.

Wow!!!! She couldn't even believe what she looked like in this outfit. Yes,
her boobs were still about fifty times bigger than they should be, but damn!
She imagined a photo of herself dressed in this outfit appearing on some
stranger's computer screen. She giggled. Her Web address would have to be
thebiggesttitsintheuniverse.com, and anyone without a huge monitor would have
to scroll in all directions to see all of the enormity of her breasts!
Responding to a renewed tingling in her pussy, she posed seductively in the
mirror, using her arms to compress her boobs and squeeze them together.

"Ohh," she hissed.

Her breasts were still so incredibly sensitive! Reaching way out under the
tight blouse to caress her nipples, she stopped, staring at her reflection. A
strip-tease. What would it look like if she performed a strip-tease dressed
like this? She imagined a series of photographs, or even a film of herself
appearing on the Web. And what if David was the one downloading the images?

"Ohh."

To hell with the internet. What would it feel like to perform a strip- tease
for David right in his studio?

"Oh, God....."

She needed to stop this, she needed to stop fantasizing, because she was due
to model for him in half an hour. She needed to change. She couldn't go like
this - it was too fancy-looking, more like an outfit for a night on the town,
and in the middle of the afternoon, even in Extremity, there would definitely
be car wrecks. She put on her blue jeans and then tried on the new sage
sweater, also braless. It was made of some kind of waffle-patterned cotton,
only a medium weight but not nearly as revealing as the other blouse. She had
to roll up the long sleeves to hang on her wrists right, but the length, even
when traversing the expansive terrain of her breasts, was long enough to give
her the choice of wearing it loose or tucking the bottom into her jeans. She
tucked it all in, and looked again. Whoa! That was some overstuffed sweater!

She imagined a movie camera panning up the legs of her jeans, seeing the
graceful legs shaping the material, then the tight hips. The lens would pan up
to her waist and then - Kaboom! Tucked-in, the sweater's front angled out
dramatically the moment it escaped the confines of her jeans, until running
into the preposterously huge imprints of her nipples. The sweater showed off
her boobs far more than anything she'd worn in years, but at least it wasn't
as outrageous as the other blouse. She could wear the sweater - braless -
covered with a light jacket for the walk over to David's studio. It would be
too much clothing now, but probably just right in the cool evening air when
she came home. The jacket would allow her to remain somewhat hidden in public,
but David would get to see her boobs overpowering her new sweater. It was a
good compromise.

Out on the street, she got butterflies in her stomach when she saw his
building. The nervousness was different than what she had felt the day before.
She wasn't afraid to model now, she was just afraid that she would be too
heated up to stay still. Just seeing his windows, just imagining him opening
the door...

She stopped walking. Maybe he was up there, looking out for her arrival. She
should make a sexier entrance for him. That was why she'd bought the new
sweater in the first place, wasn't it? She looked around. No one was walking
down this block in either direction, and no cars were coming. She could see
Mr. Martin over at the gas station, but he was nearly two blocks away and busy
with a car.

So she did it. She unzipped the jacket and stuffed it into her shoulder bag
with her robe, and then she resumed walking towards David's building. She felt
her huge boobs sway wonderfully, jiggling mightily under the sweater with
every footfall. She giggled, softly. Just by walking she was putting on a show
more exotic than anything you could see in the circus or in...

The sound of a car approaching from behind caused her heart to race. It was a
silly reaction - what was she doing wrong, other than walking down the street
in a cotton sweater? Still, she was far more exposed than she'd been in a long
time, and she wasn't used to it. She stopped and turned, wondering who it was.
Some kind of SUV, but not one she recognized. She resumed her walk towards
David's building, her breath coming in deep gulps...

Something had changed. It was happening again, but... It was worse! Oh no, not
out here on the street! She slowed her walk, feeling herself getting more and
more aroused with every step, as though just being a few feet closer to
David's location added fuel to her desires. She felt the rhythm of her walk
change, her hips swaying as a result of the desire building inside of her. She
stopped. Her left breast felt like it was on fire, and her pussy...

"OH!"

The feeling inside of her tunnel suddenly erupted, so intensely that her knees
wobbled. OhGod, it felt like David was fingering her right here on the street!
She ran a hand across one of her boobs and shivered at the delightful
sensation. God, what was happening to her? Her breasts had become
super-sensitive again and her pussy was aflame and she was feeling herself up
right here on the street! This was even worse than yesterday! Much, much
worse!

She gathered her strength and resumed walking towards his door, running more
than walking because she thought she might have an orgasm any second. She was
about to pull the door open when she heard a loud metallic smack behind her.
She turned and saw that the SUV had driven into a mailbox. Oh, no! She had
already caused another accident that morning, and that had been wearing one of
her big men's shirts. In this tight sweater - had the driver been looking at
her like the saleswoman in the store this morning? She felt like a danger to
society dressed like this, and she felt dangerous to herself, too. Had the
driver seen her feel-up her boob? God, how embarrassing! She was losing her
self-control, going into fits of lust anywhere and at any time. Confused, hot,
her tits and vagina still screaming for attention, she slipped inside the
building and ran up the stairs to David's door.

She swept past David when he answered her knock and she quickly surveyed the
room. A spotlight was trained on the model stand again, and he had a very
large canvas, at least four feet square, sitting on his easel. Blobs of color
were laid out on a wooden palette, the kind with the hole for the thumb. So he
was going to paint her this time! David was dressed in shorts, sneakers and a
T- shirt, and he was wearing that silly painter's apron over his clothes
again. She noticed this time that paint brushes of varying sizes were fitted
into woven slots on the apron, and she was pleased to see that he had such a
practical side to his nature. She turned to him, ready to make a comment about
this, and caught him leering at the giant curves of her sweater. His staring -
exactly what she had wanted - almost caught her on fire. God, she was so
damned sexed-up! How on earth was she going to lie still to model?

"David? I'm going to go ahead and change. Give me a few minutes, okay? And...
could you put on some music? I think it might help me to relax this time.
It's... it's been a stressful day." She turned and headed for the bathroom,
not even waiting for an answer.

"Uh, w...what kind of music do you like?"

Music to strip by, she thought. Music to fuck to. No, what was she thinking?
Music to calm down her raging hormones; music to keep her from stripping him
naked along with her.

"Something relaxing," she said, closing the bathroom door. "And put the volume
up, okay?"

Once inside with the door locked, she looked into the mirror above the sink
and saw the evidence of her state. She had worked to sound collected out
there, but it was all a lie. Her cheeks were flushed red and little beads of
perspiration dotted her forehead. Someone else might misread it as stress or
maybe even a fever, but she thought she looked like she was already at the
mid-point of the world's most intense orgasm. What on earth had gotten into
her out there on the street? She'd been feeling so sexually charged all day
long, but a few minutes ago it was like someone had thrown gallons of gasoline
onto the fire! She remembered the feeling of sexual heat in last night's
dreams and she began to pant from the excitement building within her. She was
going to have to get herself off, right here and now, or she might end up
taking the brushes out of David's hands and raping him. She lifted the sweater
past her boobs and over her head, and as soon as her hands were free, she
fondled both nipples between her index fingers and thumbs. Ohhh Goddd that
felt so good. A minute or two of this and she would be screaming at the top of
her lungs.

Just then, the music began; some kind of classical piece. Wait. She knew this
music. The Brahms piece based on Paganini. She had skated to excerpts of this
music way back when. Oh, thank God! The music was fairly quiet now, but she
knew that a loud part was coming, and she thought she would know when.

She climbed out of the jeans and her panties. The crotch of her panties was
soaking wet and smelled of her juices, which was no surprise. Her hand reached
down between her legs, brushing the damp tuft of pubic hair before reaching
the blazing hot wetness of her vagina. As she had done the evening before, she
imagined that it was David reaching out and touching her. Her body responded
immediately to the mental picture. Ohhhh. Ohhhh yessss. That's it. Oh God,
yes. She heard the music begin to swell out beyond the barrier of the door.
She was going to come. She was going to come hard. She was going to scream.
She was going to scream loud.

She thought the music could help to mask the sounds of her impending orgasm,
but she was certain it wouldn't be enough. What should she do? A memory
surfaced, one that had been painful before. She remembered overhearing some of
the nerds as they joked about her tits back in high school.

Question: "Why does Karen Little suck on her own nipples?" Answer: "Because
she can!"

Well, they had been right back then. She had grown so much since, however,
that her nipples were far beyond the reach of her mouth, no matter how hard
she compressed her boobs to bring them closer. Hell, in her case, just
touching her nipples with her fingers was something of a feat. Still, the old
joke gave her an idea. With the fingers of her right hand tickling her
clitoris, she used her left hand to bring her left breast up to her mouth. She
really needed both hands to properly manage the volume of one of her breasts -
but right at the point where she knew she was losing it, at the point where
the music swelled, at the point where all of the insistent sexual energy that
had been building inside of her coalesced and became an unstoppable surging
tide - at that point she voiced all that she was feeling into the
sound-muffling vastness of her boob, screaming her orgasm into the curving
ocean of flesh that formed the top shelf of her left breast. The sound waves
surprised her by creating additional sensations in the sensitive flesh that
deepened the orgasm even farther. Everything - all of her body, inside and out
- vibrated wildly, vibrated from the flood of sensations, from the flood that
was taking her down in its irresistible tide. She went down, down...

It was at least fifteen minutes later when she emerged from the bathroom,
wrapped in her bathrobe. She was in a daze for some minutes after her monster
orgasm, unable to move, and then she took the time to clean herself up with a
washcloth before going out into the studio. The Brahms piece was over, and
David looked concerned and asked whether she was all right. She said something
about feeling exhausted and being more nervous than the day before. It was
vague and untruthful, but what was she supposed to say? That modeling for him
had somehow sparked her body into a life-changing sexual awakening? That just
approaching his building had made her so horny that she had just given herself
the climax of a lifetime in his bathroom? She wasn't about to tell the truth
and scare him away from wanting to paint her.

He continued to look at her strangely. How would he look at her, she wondered,
if she performed a strip-tease with this overstuffed robe? She could see
herself dancing in front of him, her swaying movements bringing her tits
closer and closer to him. What if she pushed him down onto the floor then, and
continued her dance right over top of him, bending at her waist so that her
titanic tits looked like they might burst free at any second, smothering him,
nearly crushing him...

"Karen?"

She could feel herself getting red in the face, the fantasy ready to project
her towards another blast-off.

"Do you want to put off the session until another time?", he asked.

OhGod, no!!! She had to pull herself together.

"N...No, David. I...I really want to model. Now. Today, I mean. Just tell me
what you want to do to me... I mean, with me... I mean, just show me how you
want me posed."

"Y...y...you're sure? You seem kind of..."

Ready to ravage you with my gigantic boobs? You don't even know...

"I'm sorry. Too little sleep, that's all. I was tossing and turning last
night, dreaming about... uh... it doesn't matter. You... you just show me what
you have in mind for today. I'm sure I'll be fine."

And then they got to work. He positioned himself on the model stand and
mimicked the pose that he wanted. She would be lying on her back again, but
this time her legs would be together, bent at the knees, with her lower body
twisted somewhat to the side. It was kind of like the fetal position with the
legs, but her upper body would be more open, her arms cast above her head. It
was an interesting pose.

She asked him a couple of questions, little details that she thought she
already knew the answers to. She liked hearing his voice, even though he did
stammer a lot. When he was standing again she let the robe drop to the floor.
She did a complete body stretch on her tiptoes, her arms raised high above her
head, her breasts thrust out fully, feigning the need to get loose for the
pose. David gawked at her shameless display just like she hoped he would, and
he unconsciously extended a hand to the wall to steady himself.

Good. Now you know what I just felt like when I arrived. She'd bet anything
that he was ready to explode underneath that silly-looking apron. She lay down
and he helped her with the little details of the pose, just like yesterday.
Would his touch be less professional if she hadn't washed the scent of her
throbbing pussy away in the bathroom? She studied his face, watching how the
look in his eyes shifted between professional interest in her body and
outright lust. Or was she just imagining the lust, seeing what she wished to
see?

Too soon, he was out of sight. He placed himself in front of her this time,
but lying on her back like this her own boobs prevented her from seeing him.
Damn! Would he always work where she couldn't watch? Again she had to imagine
his actions from the sounds that he made. The brushes moving across his canvas
were very different than the charcoal sticks he'd used the day before. The
sounds were less scratchy, more swishy, and when he worked quickly or
aggressively there was a vibration, somewhat like a gentle beating on a drum.

She closed her eyes - he could tell her if that was a problem, but she figured
that he couldn't see her head past her boobs any more than she could see him.
She found herself remembering the dream from the night before. Unlike now,
she'd been able to watch him paint in the dream, which had let her know which
part of her body he was staring at. She tried to "feel" his focus, the way she
had imagined she could yesterday. It wasn't like it had been the day before.
Her body felt so different to begin with, kind of exhausted yet humming deep
inside. Every now and then she had a vague sensation of where he might be
staring at her, but it was more of a guess than a real awareness. She kept
trying and felt frustrated; then she heard David stop painting altogether. His
pause lasted a full minute or more, then the brushing sounds resumed with more
vigor.

She began to believe that she could follow his focus now. If she had to guess,
she would say that he was working on... hmmm... her calves? Yes, her calves.
No, her knees. Maybe both. They tingled. It was all very, very clear now, like
a touch yet not a touch. She felt the shift up to her left thigh, which was in
contact with the model stand. It was not faint at all any more, even though it
all must be in her head. She couldn't possibly... her right thigh began to
tingle, and then she felt something more, some kind of heat. She nearly jumped
as everything, all of the imaginary sensations, shifted right to the triangle
between her legs. It felt so real! Oh, yes. That's it. She wondered whether
David could actually see her vagina in this position. Her bent legs were
together - there was nothing lewd about the pose at all - but as she felt
additional heat arise all around the region of her vagina, she began to
believe that some part of her pussy was being described on his canvas.

She felt an additional tickling where her left thigh merged with the rest of
her body. What was... oh. It was her. A trail of her juices leaking out of
her, and no wonder. She was getting so excited again. And she wanted more. She
kept still for him, but what she wanted to do was raise her right leg so that
he would have a clear line of sight right into her. Would it change the way he
painted if he could see how wet she was becoming? Would he abandon his canvas
as he had done in her dream, and come right at her with his brushes?

Karen felt warmth spread up the right side of her torso, and then a tingling -
no, a throbbing - oh, fuck, her right breast was getting so hot! She clenched
her jaw, but even so a muffled sigh escaped her lips as she felt her nipple -
both nipples - grow from the building excitement. Oh God, she thought, this is
every bit as wonderful as yesterday! This is every bit as wonderful as the
dream! Her left breast was now joining the other by igniting, by sending waves
of hot pleasure all over her body. Oh fuck this was better than yesterday!
Much better!

All of a sudden everything came to a halt. The brushing sounds ceased and she
thought she would die from the sudden absence of the beautiful heat. Why? Why
did you stop? She heard a squirting noise, then another - he was squeezing out
more paint? - and then, mercifully, the fire returned. Her boobs felt like
they were igniting, like they would burst into flames that would send her over
the edge of everything she knew about passion. She was igniting everywhere,
and all of the heat was being echoed inside of her vagina, on the wet lips of
her labia, on and within her red-hot clitoris... Oh God, yes, David! Whatever
you're doing back there, don't stop! Oh my God, don't ever stop!!!

David loved the pose. It came to him only minutes before she arrived, and
every aspect of her mega-stacked form was displayed beautifully. He had
thought, rightly as it turned out, that the sheer vastness of her boobs would
obstruct her view of him and his raging erection. The pose had other virtues,
too. He had a wonderful view of the lower regions of her body this time
(Goddamn, her legs were great!), and then her gigantic breasts, towering
majestically in the background like grand cloud-piercing peaks in a Himalayan
landscape. Cassandra had told him to paint his passion, and damn if this
wasn't it. He could see just the tiniest bit of her face through the tight "V"
space where the curvature of both breasts finally ended her cleavage.

Seeing that the head was there, but not being able to make out its features or
even the length or color of her hair, did a wonderful thing. It turned Karen
into some sort of Everywoman. She could be anybody, every possible woman, but
whoever she was, she undoubtedly had the best and most voluptuous body
possible for a human being. The effect was astounding, and like the day
before, his eyes were continuously amazed by every detail of her form as he
worked-out her proportions on the canvas. He was not accustomed to working so
large; in fact, he was not accustomed to painting from live models at all, but
he approached his work with little fear. He trusted his brush as it sketched
the enormous curves of her breasts, and he did not question the huge area of
canvas that they occupied, nor the broad, elongated marks that served to
indicate the size and placement of her enormous nipples. In short order he had
all of the basics of her shape described in thin washes of paint. He stepped
back and found himself pleased with the composition and the relative
proportions. It was vague, but something of Karen's abundant sensuality was
already visible. His cock, already hard, strained with fresh vigor underneath
his painter's apron. He gathered himself. It was only going to get more
intense. He was ready to tackle the particulars of her gorgeous flesh.

He began in the foreground with her legs. The feet were almost there already,
their form well-described by the early washes. He gave them just a little more
here and there, then did a bit of outlining at the ankles - man, this girl had
some shapely ankles - and then he followed her form up to her calves. Such
luscious calves, full and so well developed from her skating. The light made
soft shadows on their musculature that he described with thicker paint. He
lost his concentration, in a way, by the time his brushes began to describe
her knees. It wasn't that he slowed down or became unsure of himself; quite
the opposite, actually. He let go. He was forced to let go, in a way, because
of what he was seeing, what he was rendering. Her body was getting to him,
getting inside of him. She was so fucking beautiful!

By the time that his hands were guiding the brushes over the area that
described her thighs, he was not there in the normal sense. He was... It was
hard to say where. Inside her skin, or inside the brush, or inside the canvas
itself. Maybe all of his consciousness had gathered inside of his aching
balls, or in the expanding walls of his throbbing cock. Any of those things
were ludicrous, yet they all seemed equally possible. With every pulse sent
from his beating heart to his straining rod, he believed more and more that he
could smell her responding to him. He believed that the force of his desire
could actually reach out and caress her magnificent body.

When it came time to paint those enormous mountains of soft flesh rising to
the upper regions of his canvas, he could imagine that he was painting much
more than their likeness. He was caressing them, his colors not touching
canvas any more but touching her skin, coating them, turning them into boobs
the color of fire. He was getting so hot, so unbelievably hot...

His brush, which he had lost all normal awareness of, dabbed at nothing where
there should have been orange paint. He looked at his palette in alarm. Wow.
All of the orange, as well as most of the red and yellow, was used up. He
hurriedly grabbed the appropriate tubes and squirted out fresh paint,
replenishing his supply, and went right back to what he had been doing.

Whatever that was. Loving Karen's breasts, that's what he'd been doing. Loving
Karen's body. Loving her. Loving every inch of her, inside and out...

Karen fought to remain still, yet she did not wish to halt one bit of the
impossibly intense sexual heat that was consuming her. Her breasts seemed to
be the focus of the sensations. They positively burned, each pulsation
increasing the temperature of her desire. She might as well be on fire, and
the fire had spread to every inch of her body, especially the entire area
surrounding her pussy. She was so wet down there. If she opened her eyes,
would she see steam rising from between her legs? Would she see her skin
turned the color of the setting sun? She tried to look but her eyelids no
longer felt as though they were within her control. They fluttered but did not
open. What was happening to her body? How was she able to feel so much sexual
heat and not die from the pleasure? She felt as though she was already at the
limits of what she could bear, and yet the intensity kept climbing. She needed
to lie still and yet even more she needed to scream, to dance for joy, to hop
on top of David and tuck as much of him as would fit between her burning boobs
and fuck his brains out.

Her nipples responded to this image by growing even harder, becoming even
hotter. They became white hot and she felt her eyelids flutter and her heart
flutter and her brain flutter, and just when she thought she'd scream and
scream with the most joyous orgasm of her life, the image of a man flashed in
her brain. She jerked in confusion - who the hell was she thinking of? It
wasn't David, it was somebody else, a dimly perceived shadow of a man... A man
who called to her... and excited her... She saw his sand-colored hair, the
single dimple that animated his smile. She had to join with him, it was not
even a question. The fire that had been blazing in her body ignited anew as
she saw him, her lust replaced by something even more sublime, something even
more insistent and completely irresistible. It was a longing, as though every
cell in her body was being pulled in his direction. Thoughts of David slipped
away as the longing pulsed within her like the steady beat of a drum. She was
pulled out to sea, borne along by the unstoppable force of a tide that carried
her out, out towards him, down and away...

CHAPTER 7 Glenn washed down the cardboard taste of his roast beef sandwich
with bottled water. Why did airport food always have to be so horrible and
outrageously priced? Even with the expense account the price tag hurt. He only
ate enough to hold his stomach together, and then with the water it cost him
eleven dollars.

His belly somewhat accommodated, he passed the time by glancing through a
Boston Globe. It would still be a while before they were allowed to board the
plane. Every segment of air travel took so much time after 9/11. Well, this
was one of the airports. The first plane to hit the World Trade Towers took
off from Logan, so it stood to reason that they were being so thorough.

The drive back down to Boston had taken him a little longer than he'd
anticipated. He managed to get a seat on a flight to La Guardia and it would
be late when he got back home - it was almost nine now - and he wondered
whether collapsing onto his familiar mattress would restore some sense of
normalcy to his senses. Not likely. He was still sporting a magically
overgrown penis, and he had seen some things during the day that still had his
brain reeling.

He replayed the events of the day in his mind, starting with the shock of his
enlarged cock and the mystery of last night's missing hours. He'd followed up
on the slim leads at hand and had talked to several of the people that he
needed to talk to. He had made a good attempt at working through some of his
confusion and he made peace, to some degree, with the miracle of his enlarged
equipment. One thing he could say about his new cock - it sure did like big
tits. The sexy young mother and her advances had gotten him horny as hell, and
a later sighting of even more gigantic breasts had left him in a state of
confusion and extreme lust. He wondered, after seeing what he had seen,
whether he could ever look at women the same way.

The owner of the junk spot out in the woods had been the next person he
interviewed. The man, Jenkins, had been gracious enough to lead him out to the
small clearing where, he claimed, eight refrigerators and four old washing
machines had sat rusting until the night of the second tornado. Glenn could
easily make out square or oblong patches of thinner vegetation where the old
appliances had once rested.

"Did you report this to anyone?"

"I told David Hande about it. He was going to help me clear the hulks away.
And I told Sheriff Snellings, just casual-like. He was checking up on people
after the tornadoes hit."

"Has anyone reported one of these things landing anywhere? They wouldn't just
disappear into the clouds, you know."

"You mean did a washing machine crash through the roof of somebody's house?
Not that I've heard. You could ask the sheriff. He'd know better than
anybody."

Glenn did just that, making the county sheriff's office his next stop. It was
back in Five Forks. Sheriff Snellings was an overweight man in his late
forties or early fifties. It was obvious that he already knew that a reporter
from The Sourcerer was snooping around in his county. He was fairly polite (to
most public officials, a reporter from The Sourcerer was as welcome as a case
of head lice) and seemed to answer all of Glenn's questions as best as he
could, but there was some edge to the short conversation that was bothersome.
Maybe it was the man himself. He had an air of depression surrounding him.
Well, that could be anything from a failed marriage to a troublesome teen to
nothing more than some bad coffee in the morning.

"Sorry I don't have more to give you, Mr. Cantell. There were more than a
dozen calls that first night, and even more the next. But it wasn't nothin'
specific, just people wantin' to make sure that we knew a tornado had touched
down. I stayed up most of both nights cruisin' around, looking for downed
power lines or folks in trouble, but the tornadoes seemed to spare any one any
real grief. Freaks of nature, those tornadoes. I mean, two in a row? Anyway,
it was only later that the weird stories began to appear. Cleaned-up lots and
yards, trees removed that were already dead... I believed the first couple but
then I had to wonder as more and more reports came in."

"So you don't believe the accounts?"

"Well, maybe a few. I mean, why would a man like Lester Jenkins lie about the
appliances on his land gettin' cleaned up? What I think is that one or two
stories got spread around that were true, then folks got a little inspired,
know what I mean? That's how local legends get started. Talk spreads faster
than the wind in this county, believe me, and much of it is nonsense. The
latest thing I heard is that the owner of the new bakery in Extremity is
prettier and nearly as built as Karen Little! Hummph. Like that's possible."

Glenn didn't know what woman the sheriff was referring to, although he thought
he'd heard her name mentioned before. What was obvious, though, was that the
sheriff had not yet stopped for coffee and a doughnut at Cassandra's bakery.

Glenn looked over the few notations the sheriff had made concerning the
tornadoes, then he left. He hadn't even reached the Jeep when he remembered
the other line of questions. Damn fool, he thought. He returned to the
sheriff's office. Snellings was holding his phone in his hand, which he slowly
replaced in its cradle.

"Somethin' else?" It sounded like his patience was wearing thin.

"Yes. Sorry. It's an unrelated question."

"Shoot."

"I noticed that research facility just outside of Extremity yesterday."

"What facility?"

Interesting, Glenn thought. The county sheriff couldn't possibly be unaware of
it.

"GlobalGro. Someone told me that it's a bio-technology lab. Is that right?"

Snellings' eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Why do you care?"

"Nothing more than curiosity," Glenn lied. "Can't be helped. It's part of
every reporter's make-up."

"Maybe you should have a doctor take a look at that and have it removed,"
Snellings quipped. He was trying to sound light-hearted, but the atmosphere in
the room had gone decidedly cold.

"Well?", Glenn persisted.

The sheriff muttered something under his breath that Glenn didn't catch.

"Look, Mr. Cantell. You're from New York City, right?"

"Yes, I told you that."

"I don't know about the big city, but it isn't customary in this region to
waste the time of public officials with unnecessary questions. Especially
questions pertainin' to legally licensed businesses which have nothin' to do
with you or your paper. I've already given you more time than I should have.
I'll be saying good day to you, sir."

What a brush-off! Glenn smiled pleasantly and left, no wiser yet more certain
than ever that GlobalGro, whatever it was, had something to do with his
enlarged sexual equipment.

His next destination was back in Extremity. He wanted to talk with Emma
Parker, the Dollar store owner's wife. Bill Parker had said that his wife
suspected GlobalGro of something-or-other. She sounded like one of those
mixed-up conspiracy-theory nuts, but those types occasionally had one or two
quotable lines to give. You could never tell - maybe there would be some wheat
to separate from the chaff.

On his way out of town, Glenn saw an appliance repair shop. Maybe no one
working there would know enough about cell phones to fix his, but they could
at least take a look at it. A young man with thick glasses and already
thinning hair took the phone from Glenn and played with it for a few minutes.

"Deader than a doornail. Let me unscrew this panel and see what's going on
inside." He worked with an extremely tiny screwdriver, eventually allowing
himself a look at the phone's guts.

"What the hell did you do to this thing, stick it in your microwave?"

"What?"

"Just look here. Everything's been melted or fused. No wonder it doesn't work.
You've got a phone that may as well have nothing but molten rock inside of
it."

Glenn took his phone and could easily see the problem. "What would cause
something like that to happen?", he asked.

"Beats me. Throwing it in a volcano, maybe, but then the cover would be
melted. The only thing that comes to mind is a microwave oven, like I said.
But that would probably melt the outside too, and you can't put metal things
into a microwave anyway."

"So you've never seen anything like this?"

"Sorry. Not even close."

Glenn took his destroyed phone back to the Jeep and headed for Extremity. The
questions just kept multiplying. The new ones all seemed to center on his
unremembered night. He concentrated with all of his might as he drove, trying
to unearth a single fragment from those lost hours, but it all remained as
irretrievable as a coin tossed into the ocean.

When he arrived in Extremity, he had to drive around a car that was just
sitting in the middle of the road with no driver. Two bright orange traffic
cones were placed at the front and back, as if the car was a pothole. He
passed a similarly disabled pick-up truck a little further on. Weird. Near the
town's center, he made a right turn off of Main Street to avoid going past
Cassandra Bliss' bakery. It was a silly detour, and he didn't even know why he
was so intent on avoiding the woman. Maybe it was the way he'd left yesterday.
Humiliation had a long-lasting aftertaste. Or it could be the way that he'd
felt so helpless in the face of her otherworldly beauty. What was that old
Marlene Dietrich movie where the pathetic man is so smitten that he goes
around pretending to be a chicken? Anyway, he didn't want to end up like that,
and Cassandra was so good-looking that it could happen.

He noticed another empty car sitting in the street and his spine tingled with
sudden fright. What was going on around here? Was the town abandoned? But no,
he'd passed other moving vehicles, and he'd seen a few people walking along
the sidewalks. So what was up with the cars?

He made a left turn, then another to return to the main drag when he saw the
girl. She was a good ways away; still, he instinctively let up on the gas to
give himself more time to stare. He knew she had a stunning body from the
first second, but the particulars came to him in bits. He approached her from
the rear, and the first things he noticed were the long blond hair and the
shapely ass wonderfully delineated in tight blue jeans. You could tell that
her legs were spectacular even though their particulars were somewhat hidden,
and he couldn't help but let out a soft whistle. That was the finest piece of
ass he'd seen since...

Then his eyes registered something in front of her. There was something
floating in front of her... No, she must be carrying something round and
huge... Again he saw that he was mistaken. She had a bag on one shoulder and
her arms were at her sides, swinging freely as she walked. Maybe she was
pushing something... something that looked like... What on earth? He felt
himself becoming extremely aroused, even though he was not quite sure what was
going on. She appeared to become aware of his stare, because she stopped
walking and turned and looked right at him. He felt as though his heart was
going to explode as his cock rocketed to full throttle in his pants. Hot
Titanic Tamales!!! The objects in front of that girl were her boobs! But...
but that just couldn't be! He registered that the girl, perhaps in her late
teens, had the face of an angel and an ideal figure in every aspect, except
for the boobs which simply could not be real. He tried to comprehend them, and
the fact that they stood out so far and so horizontally that the girl was
nearly as long front to back as she was tall. Yet, impossibly huge as they
seemed to be, they were so perfectly shaped that they did not look heavy or
out of proportion on her. Not out of proportion? How could that be right, when
her boobs were like two domed stadiums outfitted to her body? His eyes must be
mistaken, or it must be some kind of costume. Halloween was a month away, but
could those be extra-large water- filled balloons? But no balloon would swell
out under her shirt like that, and what would hold them up? Helium? No, they
were not balloons. They were breasts. Breasts so huge that they could tit-fuck
an entire man, let alone his cock...

Now that he was closer, beginning to pull even with her, he could see the
shape of a nipple at the front of her left breast. Holy shit! Look at the size
of that thing! The girl turned away from him and continued to walk, and now
she was putting on some kind of show. Her gorgeous ass swayed and her
bigger-than-watermelon- sized knockers bounced just the way they should. Fuck,
they were real! Then she stopped again and brought a hand up to one of her
nipples... Good God! Look at the size of those nipples! They were huge! She
took one nipple between her index finger and thumb and caressed it and Glenn
saw that the nipple was wider than the finger or the thumb and he probably
would have exploded in his pants right then and there if the red and blue
object hadn't come crashing into the moment. His airbag exploded into his
chest, squeezing him against his seat. What the hell? He'd lost sight of the
curb and the right front corner of the Jeep had made solid contact with a
damned mailbox! He glanced up just in time to see the girl - that girl, the
girl with tits from the Land of the Giants, the girl with the hugest tits he'd
ever seen or was likely to see again in this lifetime - walk through the door
of a large corner building. Her superincrediblygigantic boobs barely fit
through the door frame, and then she was gone.

But not the memory of what he had seen. What he had witnessed could not be a
natural event. Breasts did not grow that large - they just didn't. What Glenn
had just witnessed had been like two moons strapped onto that girl's chest,
with nipples nearly the size of Dixie cups. He imagined a more
reasonably-endowed girl opening her eyes to the early morning light, only to
discover that her breasts had grown a dozen cup-sizes during her sleep. Could
this girl have been whisked away to some lab at that GlobalGro plant (like
him?), her boobs given some kind of experimental hormone treatment? Then he
thought of what the super-stacked young mother had said to him earlier: "They
just seem to keep growing and growing. Even with Sue Ellen six months old,
every day it feels like they're even bigger than the day before." Could this
kind of thing be happening to a host of women in the area, Cassandra Bliss
included? Could GlobalGro be developing treatments that enlarged male penises
and female breasts alike, putting something in the town's water that was
transforming the sexual equipment of every inhabitant at different speeds? Was
such a thing possible? Probably not, but then he had an impossibly-enlarged
cock powering out between his legs right this minute, and that girl... Those
breasts could not be natural, it just wasn't possible!

He waited a minute until his penis recovered somewhat from the sight of the
blond girl's body, then got out and took a look at the damage to the Jeep. It
was enough that an accident report would have to be turned into the rental
agency, but the vehicle would still drive. The mail box was in worse shape. He
took out his cell phone - oh, damn. He'd momentarily forgotten that it wasn't
working. A middle-aged woman called out of an upper window in a two-story
building, asking whether he wanted her to call the police. He did, and a
female officer wrote out the necessary paperwork. Forty minutes later, Glenn
was back in the Dollar store to get one additional piece of information out of
Bill Parker.

"Sure, I know who both of them are," the store owner replied. "The young
mother is Ester Higgins. A real beauty, that girl. She left town maybe two
years ago. Went to Hollywood, wanting to be a movie star, I think. Has the
looks for it and then some, although you don't see many women in the pictures
who are so... developed."

"But she's living here now?"

"I guess so. According to her folks, she got into some trouble out there. Fast
life, you know? She was probably too young to know what was hitting her.
Anyway, she ended up pregnant. The father - some young hot-shot director, I
think - paid her something to get rid of her when she decided to keep the
baby. Sad story, I suppose. I've seen the little girl, though. Bright and cute
as any baby I've ever seen, and Ester... Well, you noticed. She was always
really full up top, but now..."

The older man wiped his brow before continuing.

"The other one you saw is Karen Little. She's lived in Extremity all her life,
and you aren't the first man to wreck his car on account of her. It happens
many times every year."

It was at least the second time Glenn had heard that name.

"Has she... has she always been like that?"

"'Course not. She was the cutest thing you ever saw when she was a little
girl. Well, she still is, but... Oh, you know what I mean. She was a figure
skater, and a damned good one, too. Might have gone professional. But then,
she... you know. Matured. Filled out and kept right on filling, upstairs at
least. Every time I see her she's even bigger than before, even though it
seems impossible. It wasn't so surprising a few years ago, even though she was
so damned big... But at a certain point you think that the limits have been
reached, that she already has the biggest you've ever seen and it has to stop
sometime. But then, the next time you see her you find that she just keeps
growing and... well, huge as she is, I think she's probably growing even now."

"She's... I mean... they're..."

"You had no idea that nature could come up with something like that, did you?"

"No."

"Me neither. Seeing Karen is kind of like something out of a fairy tale. It
makes your mind go all loopy."

"I... I just never thought that they could get like that!," Glenn said.

"Looks impossible, doesn't it? Especially the way she stands and walks, like
those pumpkins of hers were light as a feather."

Glenn felt himself perspiring from the memory. Had he ever seen pumpkins as
large as Karen Little's breasts? Maybe once at a state fair, but even then he
wasn't sure.

"She never, ah, worked at GlobalGro, did she?"

"No. She... Oh, I get it. GlobalGro. That's pretty clever. Well, she did grow
some mighty huge globes, yessiree. Course, when they get that big, maybe
they're more like globular clusters."

Glenn smiled.

Mr. Parker continued. "I mean, shouldn't someone put lines of latitude and
longitude on globes that big?"

The line sounded practiced, as though some of the men in town might have
repeated them to each other for years.

"NASA could land a space craft on those things," the older man added.

"I'd volunteer for the mission," Glenn quipped back.

Mr. Parker chuckled for a few seconds, then continued, more seriously. "I
sometimes wonder. I've lived in Extremity all my life. Did a bit of traveling,
mostly when I was young... Anyhow, there's a lot in the world that I've never
seen. Even so, I wonder sometimes whether that girl might have the biggest
knockers in the whole darn world."

"I travel all the time Mr. Parker, doing stories on the unusual and the
paranormal, and I've never seen anything like them."

"Doesn't surprise me. Some people around here think we should call the
Guinness World Record people and tell them about Karen. I don't know if
there's a category for that kind of thing... Still, there's more to Karen than
those huge boobs of hers, although most folks would never know it. She's as
sweet as they come, and bright, too. She's shy, though - got teased a bunch in
school. You can imagine, teen- aged boys just getting the urge and then a
beautiful girl in school with a figure like that."

He pointed up one of the aisles.

"You see that section over there, with all the heavy flannel shirts? Karen has
bought those shirts from me for the past three years. At a certain point, even
the men's extra-large I carry weren't enough to contain all she's got, and I
had to find a supplier who could send a few 4x shirts. I can't tell you how
many times I've heard local men remark that I should stop carrying those
shirts. Karen buys new ones every year about this time. She started wearing
big men's shirts when her tits were about out to here (he made the appropriate
arm gesture) and she hasn't worn anything else ever since, as far as I know.
I've had three customers, whose names shall remain unmentioned, who actually
offered to pay me to keep the shirts off the rack for a year, just on the
chance that she'd settle for something... you know, something more revealing.
I can't claim that I didn't think hard on it, know what I mean? But in the end
it just didn't seem right."

"She wasn't wearing a shirt like that today," Glenn said. "It was a pale green
sweater of some kind. A tight sweater."

"I'll be damned." The dollar man's eyes glazed over. Some kind of mental
picture had obviously formed for him. "Lord," he said. "Did you, uh, did you
go talk to Cassandra Bliss yesterday?"

"Yes."

The Dollar man looked down at his feet. "I guess you might be in a state of
shock. Half the town - the male half, anyway - is feeling a bit like you must
be. Three women like that, in a nowhere place like this. Ester's breasts are
the smallest of the three, but they're anything but small. She moved away for
a time, like I said, and we had time to get used to Karen Little - if you
really can get used to something like that. Even though I watched Karen grow
up and transform right before my eyes, I still have a hard time believing that
any young woman can look like that. When Ester came back to town all...
expanded... The baby was enough of a surprise, but not as much as the growth
in her figure. Then a few days later Cassandra Bliss showed up, so beautiful
and..."

His sentence trailed off and the store was filled with meaningful silence.

"It would have been better if Cassandra had moved to our town in January, not
late summer."

"What? Why?", Glenn asked.

Bill Parker grinned. "I'm just saying that the temperature of this town went
up about thirty degrees when Cassandra Bliss appeared. Karen and Ester are
hard enough to take, but everyone knew them from before. But a stranger
showing up, looking like that..."

The Dollar man wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked at Glenn
sheepishly.

"Hell, I'm an old man. You, however - you must be in a state! You a drinking
man, Mr. Cantell?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I keep a bottle of fine single malt scotch in the back that I crack into for
one of two reasons. The first is to warm the soul on slow winter days when the
temperature is below zero. The other occasion to bring out the bottle is
immediately after Karen Little has finished shopping in my store. I tend to
need several shots when that happens, and that's with her covering herself up
in a big men's shirt or a winter coat. I think what you've seen has earned the
both of us a few sips."

Glenn accepted a small glass of the scotch and asked a few additional
questions about the girl, but he'd already learned what he needed to know. He
could try to interview this Karen Little, but what would be the point, other
than to get a better look at her whopping tits? His editor back in New York
would go wild for photos of those boobs and some kind of fluff story on the
Karen, but Glenn was inclined to respect the girl's shyness. Anyway, it was
clear that his GlobalGro/giant breast idea had just been wishful thinking.
Karen Little got those mammary mountains the way that everyone got their
physical characteristics. Sure, her boobs were so staggering that it had
looked like two round space-ships were docked on her chest, but she had grown
this flesh over time, starting at puberty. The same was true of Ester Higgins.
She may have acted strange, but her growing breasts were obviously a result of
her pregnancy, and they did not provide him with answers as to what had
enlarged his genitals last night. He did, however, think to ask about the
stalled cars he'd seen in the road.

"Crazy thing," replied the older man. "You should have seen the town when I
got up this morning. I counted six vehicles stalled in the streets, and there
were a lot of other people steaming mad at not being able to get their parked
cars going. If you saw cars still left out in traffic, then it's because Jack
Bellows, our town's best mechanic, hasn't gotten a chance to tow them away
just yet. I'll bet he's been swamped all day long towing vehicles and trying
to get others going."

"What was the cause of all this?"

"Beats me. I figured vandalism at first, but then a customer told me how
they'd been driving late last night and their car just quit on them, right
here on Main Street as they were driving. Engine, lights, you name it, he said
that everything just stopped working all at once. The street lights went out
too, apparently all at the same time. There were power crews here this morning
getting things going again."

Another mystery.

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Glenn said, thinking out loud. "Why
would a power failure affect cars? They have independent energy systems."

"Maybe so, but my car is dead, too, according to Emma. I walk to work every
morning, so I didn't know. But she called me late in the morning and said she
couldn't get it out of the garage. Dead as a doornail."

Shortly afterward, Glenn conducted his final interview of the day with Bill
Parker's wife, Emma. She met him between the store and her home and they
talked as she power-walked along the sidewalks of the little town. She was a
thin, energetic woman with fine features pleasantly set-off by hair as white
as the region's winter snows.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cantell. I looked back through some old issues of
The Sourcerer last night, looking for your stories after Bill told me he'd
talked with you. You wrote that story on how the National Security Agency has
been monitoring the e-mails of Hollywood stars since 9/11, and you co-wrote
one I especially liked about how the C.I.A. is using Nostradamus predictions
to out- guess the terrorists. Fine investigative journalism, young man. I'm
glad to see that someone with your talent is finally looking into the problems
of our weather up here."

Oh, please, Glenn thought. The first story she mentioned had been a pet
project pushed onto him by Hal, his editor. It was pure speculation, at best.
Perhaps the N.S.A. did keep tabs on some movie star somewhere, but the piece
was just an A-list name-dropping story for readers who could never get enough
gossip about their favorite stars. The Nostradamus piece was even worse. He
and Crystal had collaborated on that one, faced with an impending deadline
late one night. They'd done shots of Tequila in her office and basically tried
to out-do each other by coming up with the most hair-brained
Nostradamus/terrorist connections imaginable.

Emma Parker's compliments on these stories proved that she was a member of
that most feared of human groups: the Conspiracy Freaks. Bill Parker had said
as much, and Glenn should have heeded the warning. Conspiracy Freaks believe
that nothing in life is accidental. In another time, they would have
attributed all of life's twists and turns to spirits, the planets, a deity or
even a host of deities. Today most of these people are completely godless and
consider themselves too sophisticated to believe in spirits, so the
government, or some hidden shadow-government or government agency, is always
held accountable. Their one saving grace was their habit of spending money on
scandal rags like The Sourcerer, and many stories were written with their
interests in mind. Writing for them was bad enough, but he'd learned to limit
his exposure to their beliefs just as carefully as he would protect himself
from deadly radiation. In small doses, the long-term effects of listening to
their thoughts were unknown. In higher doses, you might as well swallow your
cyanide capsule.

He heard much that was familiar: Nuclear materials sold to terrorists by
former Russian scientists, Congressmen and the President bought and paid for
by HMO's and energy companies. But his ears heated up when she mentioned the
power failure of the night before.

"That's right. It must have happened at 11:53 last night. That's what our
kitchen clock said, anyway. We were already asleep. I hate that, don't you?
Having to re-set the VCR and everything else? And then the car wouldn't start
this morning! It's been a trying day."

Glenn remembered that his watch had stopped at 11:52. He must have been here
in Extremity at that time, at the time of the power failure! But then, why
would a power failure have stopped his wrist watch? Why would it have deadened
cars whether they were moving on the streets or safely parked in people's
garages? He suddenly remembered the state of his cell-phone.

"Mrs. Parker, did you happen to notice whether any battery- operated
electronics were similarly affected by the power failure?"

She looked at him warily. "How did you know that?"

"I've, ah, I've heard of that before. It's a long-term story that I'm working
on."

"You don't need to lie to me. Mr. Cantell. I can see that you're as perplexed
as I am. Well, anyway, you can add Bill's wrist watch to your story, and...
uh..."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. There was another battery-operated thing that stopped... I don't
want to talk about it."

Glenn kept a straight face, but he was dying of laughter inside. He'd bet a
hundred bucks that this woman, even at her age, had a vibrator. But beyond the
humor of this particular electrical failing, the mystery remained. If he had
the time, would he find that every battery-operated device - walk-mans,
flashlights, other cell- phones - would they all be melted or fused inside?

"I'll bet that the GlobalGro plant didn't lose their power last night," she
huffed. "In fact, maybe it was some big drain on the power grid from GlobalGro
that caused the power outage in the first place."

"What is GlobalGro, Mrs. Parker? I keep hearing bio-research of some kind."

"Bio-Apocalypse is what it will end up being," she almost spat. "Man wasn't
meant to throw D.N.A. together like ingredients in a soup, Mr. Cantell. Things
much worse than a Frankenstein monster can be created in a lab like that.
They're opening up Pandora's box all over again, as if greed and vanity and
evil weren't enough to deal with already. Now it will be nature herself that
attacks us. They should never have allowed that facility to be built."

"How long has it been there?"

"Five years. I knew the plant would be trouble before the concrete was poured,
but people don't listen."

"But do you know the exact nature of their research?"

"Of course not! No one knows what they do, and that's the problem! How can
there be proper oversight when there is no information? Look here. Let's say a
team of scientists wants to import a gene from a silk-worm into a sheep, just
to get softer wool. Who knows what could happen from that? Maybe the sheep
digests his food a bit differently and craps out something into the soil that
isn't meant to be there. The next thing you know a cow is eating the grass
that has this weird stuff in it, and then we're drinking their milk. Who's
going to keep these kinds of things from happening? Politicians? The F.D.A.?
Too greedy, too cozy with the industry. Me? I don't specifically know what
goes on there, and who listens to me anyway? I'm just a crazy lady who's
suspicious of everything."

The woman was beginning to sound sane all of a sudden.

"GlobalGro was shoved down the throats of every citizen in this county, Mr.
Cantell. Check into the history, and see whose hands are dirty. And we get
nothing. The plant doesn't employ a single soul from this town, and you'll
find the same to be true of every other town in the county. All of GlobalGro's
workers, from the scientists to the janitors, are from the outside. Now tell
me that nothing fishy is going on when they won't even hire a local person to
mow the lawn or pick up the trash. Something is being hidden from us, and it's
your job to find out what it is!"

Actually, it was his job to find out about the tornadoes. He asked about them
and expected to get some nonsense about the government controlling the
weather. But she surprising him by deferring to her husband's greater
knowledge.

"What do I know? I slept through both of them, I'm afraid."

Glenn thanked her for her time and was about to walk away when he thought to
ask her the question he really wanted answered.

"Emma, have you ever heard of people... growing fast around here?"

"You mean kids growing up too quick? It's the hormones they put in the milk."

"No, not that. More like... parts of people's bodies growing too much, or too
quickly."

She looked at him with great interest. "Which parts in particular, Mr.
Cantell?"

He was reticent to say it, but then why not? She wasn't likely to be offended,
and she was the town wacko, in a way. If she gossiped about their
conversation, the people of Extremity would disbelieve half of anything she
said.

"Penises, Mrs. Parker. I'm talking about men's penises suddenly becoming
bigger."

"I always thought that was to be expected."

"No. Not bigger in the usual way. Suddenly... much bigger. Bigger than should
be possible. Like a man with a six-inch erect penis suddenly awakening and
discovering that he has an eight or nine- inch one."

Emma Parker stopped walking and fixed on his face for several seconds. She
seemed to be seeing him in a new way.

"Super-wieners, humn? Maybe... I'm fifty-seven years old, Mr. Cantell. Even
so... No, I haven't heard of any such thing. You dig hard into that story,
though. It's important that you write it."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I really want to read it, that's why!"

And that had been that. Glenn had run out of ideas and he had run out of time.
It was a long drive back to Portland to catch his flight, and he had to allow
extra time for filling out forms when he returned the damaged Jeep.

The boarding call finally came for his flight to New York. He had a first
class window seat, on the left side of the plane. Lucky for him, no one was
placed in the seat to his right. Once airborne, a flight attendant asked
whether he would like a drink. Glenn allowed his eyes to do a good bit of
roaming as he answered affirmatively. Damn. Now that was one fine-looking
woman. She had deep brown hair pulled up into some kind of bun, matching big
brown eyes, and some of the most luscious lips he'd ever seen. Her burgundy
name tag said "Isabella" in white capital letters. He asked Isabella for a
Corona, and his eyes never left her as she took drink orders from the other
first class passengers. She looked every bit the flight attendant in a
knee-length gray skirt and a white shirt that was mostly covered by a gray
company jacket. She was gorgeous in every way, but his attention was
especially drawn to her legs. They were fabulous, just fabulous. He watched
the way that she moved, convinced that she had years of serious dancing in her
background. Some women are naturally blessed, but these were the kind of
ankles and calves that can only come from some type of special training. At
one point she stood on tip-toe to re-arrange some things in an overhead bin,
and he felt a strong stirring in his pants. Down, fella. You're more
conspicuous than you used to be. He was almost relieved when she disappeared
from his sight.

Isabella Vatero could not stop her hands from trembling as she worked to fill
the first-class drink orders. That man in 3A was so damned magnetic! She had
noticed the way that his eyes lit up when she leaned in to take his order. He
had been surprised by her looks, and he spent a good bit of time going over
the details. She was used to male attention, of course. With her striking face
and 5-foot-10 inch 36DDD-24-36 figure, male attention was not in short supply.
But she rarely thought twice about a guy staring at her, especially when she
was working. It had actually become rather tiresome, all of the business jocks
and their incessant flirting. Yes, she was exceptionally beautiful. Yes, she
had fantastic legs. And yes, she had very large breasts, even though this
particular flight attendant's jacket did a fair job of masking their volume.
But did being beautiful mean that she wanted to spend half of her time saying
"no" to men, as if that word was her personal mantra? She had fended off
countless pick-up lines and even marriage proposals while working, yet for
some reason she had been disappointed when this particular passenger did not
overtly flirt with her.

She'd felt his eyes on her legs while she continued working, which had
resulted in a quickening of her pulse. What on earth? She never got hot, as in
sexually excited, while working. But with this guy staring at her legs, she
even did that unnecessary work with an overhead compartment, standing on
tip-toe and flexing her calves just to give him a special treat. It was silly,
but she kept feeling really hot while he was checking her out. Maybe she
should find a way to give him a glimpse at the contents of her blouse. Or
maybe she could find a way to chat with this guy and get his phone number.
Maybe they could even... Wait, she thought. What am I thinking? I still
haven't resolved my relationship with Devon out in L.A. This guy may be
good-looking, but so were a lot of men she'd seen over the years. She wasn't
one to pursue one-night stands, and yet the idea seemed perfectly appealing
right now. So why should this man be getting to her like this? She had no
answer. She was intrigued.

Glenn actually became alarmed about the state of his newly-enlarged equipment
when the flight attendant came back into view. There was something too
inviting in the way that she looked at him as she served his drink. She poured
the beer into a tall glass and almost lovingly placed a small wedge of lime
along the rim. Then when she turned her attention to the other passengers, he
was treated to a leg show that was far too stimulating in this environment.
She had better legs than Ruth, he thought. A better body than Ruth's, in
general. It was silly for him to still be gauging a woman's appearance in this
way, but there it was. He hadn't laid eyes on Ruth in more than three years,
yet every detail of her ideal body was firmly fixed in his brain, and her
looks were still something of a yardstick for him. So here was this flight
attendant - taller and leggier than Ruth, seemingly having more pizzazz to
every part of her body, and she was being like Medusa, turning his cock to
stone.

She was maybe five-nine or more, and even in her somewhat concealing uniform
he could tell that she had some really terrific tits. And then the legs.
Goddamn! They could not be more to his liking, and it was having a definite
effect on him. His flag was raised to full staff in his khakis, and the
novelty of this newly oversized erection made him somewhat paranoid. One
glance down confirmed his worst fears. The tent in his crotch was obscenely
prominent. His hard-on could not be missed by anyone who happened to look.
Most of the other passengers were male, and they were all looking at the
woman, which was understandable - still, he grabbed the blanket off of the
neighboring seat and placed it on his lap. Once satisfied that the evidence of
his lust would not be waving in people's faces, he parked his eyes on the
flight attendant's body just like all of the other men. On most flights these
days, the women wore pant suits. Maybe this one knew how great her legs were,
and knew that it would be a crime to cover them up. Glenn began to wish that
the flight would not be so short. If there was no delay in landing at La
Guardia, he'd be on the ground again in less than an hour. He would miss
looking at those legs. What would it be like to run his hands up legs that
beautiful? What would it be like to kiss those thighs, to bring his tongue to
the heated mound where the thighs joined? He imagined it, the two of them
lying on a large bed, the flight attendant's legs raised into the air in a
pair of black nylon stockings. He reached down to her thighs in the fantasy
and began to unroll one leg of her stockings, slowly peeling it away and
exposing the soft, even flesh. After both legs were bare, she spread her legs
and he moved his head between them, and began the journey upwards...

In real life, the flight attendant's face flushed red and she dropped a
half-filled glass into the aisle. Moments later, the plane suddenly jolted up
and then down again. The fallen glass rolled back and forth a couple of times
before the plane resumed its normal smooth ride. A few voices in the cabin
took on a nervous edge. The captain's voice, very calm, came on the speakers.

"Sorry about that bump, folks. Nothing to fear, just some unexpected
turbulence. We've been informed that severe thunderstorms are currently parked
over the New York City area. We'll be circling for a bit here in Connecticut,
keeping clear of trouble, until the storms move on. Please make sure that your
seat belts are fastened, as there could be additional pockets of turbulence
here and there. Flight attendants please be seated."

"Mind some company?"

It was her. Without waiting for an answer she sat next to him and buckled
herself in. The smooth skin of her face had more color in it than before, and
she was breathing more quickly. Was she frightened about the turbulence?

Glenn remarked, "You must have the gift of clairvoyance. You dropped that
glass before the turbulence even hit us."

She laughed lightly, and looked into his eyes almost too intensely, as though
she was looking for something.

"I, um, I mean we flight attendants get to know the movements of the plane
rather well."

She crossed her legs as she spoke and the toe of her shoe nestled against his
right shin. The slight contact had a profound effect on his blanket-covered
penis, made worse by the fact that she made no move to pull her foot away from
him. She asked him what his name was, then introduced herself as Isabella
Vatero, adding that her friends called her "Belle". He was going to mention
that "belle" meant "beauty" in French, but he held back. A woman as gorgeous
as Isabella would already know this, and she would not need to be reminded.
She asked him what he did for a living, and he told her about The Sourcerer
and the tornadoes that had sent him to Maine. She listened and asked a few
questions, then bridged natural and man-made disasters and relayed information
about the changes in her line of work since 9/11. Nothing that either of them
said was terribly profound, but Glenn was amazed at how easy it was to talk to
her, and how much he liked her company. She listened to him in a way that
seemed to create magic in the air between them. How did she do that? Was it
simply how gorgeous she was? His eyes traced her features as they talked. Her
eyes were a beautiful green/brown mixture, and, as he'd noted before, she had
full, sensuous lips that would look great wrapped around the head of his big
new cock...

Isabella's lips parted for an instant and he could swear they became even more
full. Big, beautiful pillow lips, so sensuous... Glenn looked away from her
lovely mouth just as she re-crossed her legs, and he couldn't fail to notice
that her skirt had ridden higher on her thighs. She began to speak about a
flight route between New York and Miami, and her voice trembled here and
there. He nodded appropriately as she spoke and tried to keep his eyes on
hers, but whenever her eyes left his for a moment he sneaked peeks at her
body. He wondered how big her tits were. Sitting next to him like this, it
sure did seem that the front of her jacket took up a lot of space. Another
movement of her legs brought his gaze back to the beautiful, creamy flesh of
her lower thighs. They were so lovely, and so close to him. His right hand was
on the arm rest, not five inches from the top of her left thigh. All he would
have to do to caress her flesh would be to extend his fingers...

"Oh!," she cried.

"What's the matter?"

"Sorry. I... I, um... Are you cold, Glenn?"

"Cold?"

"The blanket. Here, let me..." She reached out and rested her fingertips on
his forehead. "Why, you're hotter than I am! Don't you want me to put that
blanket away?"

With that, she lifted the blanket from his lap and deftly folded it in two,
her efficient maneuver uncovering the boner that was practically ripping a
hole in his pants.

"Belle? I need you to help me with a passenger in the rear."

It was another flight attendant. Isabella's eyes were wide and she seemed to
hesitate before giving Glenn an "I've got to go" look, and then, suddenly, he
was alone. He didn't know whether she'd ever gotten a look at his erection,
and he didn't know whether he wished that she had or hadn't. The woman was
such a looker, but he'd also been feeling more than the obvious stirrings of
desire for her gorgeous body. He felt as though they had made some sort of
connection, even though they still knew virtually nothing about each other.

Fifteen minutes later, the captain's voice informed everyone that the plane
was clear to make its way to New York. Isabella returned to her duties,
working with the other first-class passengers. Glenn had a magazine in his lap
now, and his eyes once again studied the grace of her legs as she performed
her tasks. Whenever she disappeared from his line of vision, he turned his
attention to the other male passengers, and he watched how those who still had
a view of her could not pretend to do anything but openly stare at her. There
were other vacant seats in first class. Out of all these leering men, he
wondered why she had chosen to sit next to him for a short while. Did she find
him attractive?

Glenn sought out her eyes whenever she passed by, but she didn't return his
gaze. Because of the boyfriend, he thought. No ring on her finger, but there
had to be a boyfriend. A woman that gorgeous would be not be unattached. If
she, too, had felt like a certain magic had passed between them, she would be
telling herself to ignore it, not to pursue it. Dump him, Glenn thought, the
next time he saw her. Dump the boyfriend and try me on for size.

God, what would it feel like to make love to a woman with a body like that? He
was beginning to wonder whether Isabella's tits might be even better than
Ruth's, just like everything else about her. How big was she? It was
impossible to know with that jacket covering things. He wished that he could
get his hands on them, feel for himself just how impressive they were...

Then, suddenly, just as she was walking by his row, the plane was jolted
again, and she toppled right onto him. It happened so quickly - his magazine
fell to the floor and he had the flowery scent and the dark tangle of her hair
in his face. The weight of her hips rested in his lap for a moment, and his
right hand became filled with a mass of breast-filled poly/cotton. So much
pleasure in that one second of contact - he loved the smell of her hair and
skin, and his hand registered that there was, without a doubt, a ton of tit
hidden underneath the jacket. Even though it was being delightfully squished
under her hip, his already hard cock seemed to leap for joy in its
enthusiastic response to her presence. Then he heard Isabella whisper - or was
it a whimper? - a soft "Sorry" as she pushed herself off of him. She had a bit
of trouble righting herself, but momentarily she stood and continued her
passage up the aisle.

Behind the locked door of the flight crew's bathroom, she tried to collect
herself. She'd broken almost every rule in the handbook on this flight,
sitting next to the guy, touching him a little bit here and there, and doing
everything she could to show off her legs for him. If she thought she could
get away with it, she would have removed her jacket and unbuttoned a few of
the top buttons of her shirt, giving him some major cleavage to ponder. She'd
noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding band, which was hopeful. Maybe she
should...

Wait. What the hell was getting into her? Her whole body was shaking, and one
glance in the mirror confirmed the state she was in. Her cheeks were red and
her lips were full and she felt like she'd go crazy if she didn't get his cock
inside of her in the next ten minutes. She removed her jacket and was shocked
by how full her nipples looked under the white shirt. This was crazy! This
was... She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt, then reached a hand
inside of her brassiere and felt the little shudders course through her as she
pinched the hardened flesh. Ohhhh God, what a big, exciting lump there was in
Glenn Cantell's pants!

Several times she'd caught him checking out her legs while they talked, and he
also seemed to be trying to assess the goods concealed by her jacket. Every
time that he looked at her in that way, she had felt such intense jolts of
arousal that she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing herself on the guy.
She began to wonder whether he was feeling it too - she prayed that he would
be hard underneath that silly blanket - but just as she uncovered the full
degree of the truth, she was forced to leave. Sure enough, Glenn Cantell was
hard and he was hung!

She kept trying to think of a way to approach him again - some way that
wouldn't get her fired. She hadn't totally faked that tumble onto his lap -
the plane really had thrown her off-balance, although landing right onto his
cock had been a wish, not a necessity - and when she felt his hand on her
breast and his dick pushing against the flesh of her rear for that instant,
she'd been sent over the edge. She came, suddenly - she, Isabella Vatero, who
usually needed Devon to give her a minimum of twenty-five minutes of hot and
heavy foreplay to get her motor running anywhere near full speed. Yet one
brief instant of feeling this guy's hand cupping her breast and taking in the
general details of his cock with the skin of her butt had been enough to make
her come! The climax welled-up so fast that it was over before she'd even
caught up to the fact that it was coming - that she was coming. She'd barely
been able to stand once she was back on her feet in the aisle, and then she
had to walk and smile and pretend that she could still function like a woman
who did not want to rip her clothes off and throw herself at a particular male
passenger and fuck him non-stop for the next two weeks!

She adjusted her hand and tweaked her other nipple, then the other hand went
under her skirt and she almost laughed when she found out how soaked
everything was down there. Her aroma was filling the little bathroom, but she
didn't care enough to stop what she was doing. Rather than alleviating her
lust, having a sudden orgasm out there had just made her feel hotter. She was
going to have to get herself off, because she couldn't ask him out. Because of
the airline rules. Because she was still with Devon. Kind of. Oh, to hell with
Devon! She'd been thinking for weeks that she should break off their
relationship. Now, seeing for herself how quickly she was responding to a
complete stranger, the often frustrating sex between herself and Devon seemed
laughable. She was through with Devon - she didn't even want to waste time
thinking about her suddenly ex- boyfriend. She wanted to think about Glenn
Cantell, the reporter with the newsworthy item in his pants.

Her index finger began to stroke her clitoris through the fabric of her
pantyhose. Oh yes, that's it. That's the spot. Stroke me just like that,
Glenn. As soon as she conjured a mental picture of him, she lost it,
shuddering and releasing even more juices onto her panties and the tops of her
thighs. She felt relieved, but still sort of... empty. Dammit, she really did
want it to be Glenn, that total stranger, getting her off! Why masturbate here
in this cramped room when she longed to leap into his arms and open her legs
wide for him?

Her mind was made up. She took the time to remove her pantyhose and she washed
the crotch as best as she could in the little sink. Once she was put back
together, she got a pen and note pad out of her pocket book.

"Dear Glenn," she wrote. She hesitated. This was insane! She hadn't felt like
this since the eighth grade! Still, the decision was not whether to go through
with this - it was merely a question of style. Should she write openly,
expressing the way that she really felt this minute?

"Dear Glenn," she wrote, "Thank God that I have this incredible body because I
finally know what it's for, it's for you and only you and please please tell
me that you aren't married and that you don't have a girlfriend but actually I
don't care because I'll do anything I have to to get you inside of me whenever
and wherever we can, and even though I fly all the time I'm not a member of
the Mile High Club yet and I want you to tear my clothes off right now and
throw me down in the aisle and fuck me with that big cock of yours until I'm
unconscious!"

She looked at what her pen had written and was stunned. No, no, no! What was
the matter with her? She couldn't give him a note like this, some
stream-of-consciousness lust-letter, even though every word of it was true.
She crumbled up the paper and stuffed it into her handbag, then forced her
mind to slow down. It had to sound less desperate, otherwise she'd scare him
off. Sound sincere, Isabella, but hold something back. Hold almost everything
back. She breathed in deeply.

"Dear Glenn, I know that writing this note must appear juvenile, but..."

When she was finished, she folded up the paper and slipped it into her jacket
pocket. She'd have to be clever to get it to him unobserved. She checked her
face and adjusted her hair, then spritzed the bathroom with some perfume and
left.

"Belle? Are you okay? You were in there for fifteen minutes!" It was Lacy, the
flight crew head.

"I'm sorry, Lacy. No, I'm not okay. Something I ate back in Boston, I think.
It was rough."

"You look really flushed, Belle. Sure you're all right?"

"Yes. Thanks. I'll be good enough for the rest of the flight."

And she went back to her duties, trying not to look at him. She felt his gaze,
though, just as surely as she would feel his hot breath if he was kissing her
legs. She remained extremely excitable and the folded note seemed to be
burning a hole in her jacket pocket. Could she find the right moment? Was she
actually going to go through with this? Could she stop herself? Did she even
want to stop herself?

CHAPTER 8 Breasts! Huge, firm, billowing breasts! He fondled them, kissed
them, sucked on them. They surrounded him, pushed into his body from all
sides. Hardened nipples brushed against his back, his neck, his balls. So many
big beautiful breasts! Why had it taken so long to have what he wanted?
Beautiful, voluptuous women were writhing beneath him, beside him, on top of
him. They were draped all over him, their soft breasts pushing against him,
conforming to the shape of his body. They loved him and gave to him, offering
him all of their bounty, offering him their devotion, their love...

Turning in his sleep, his hand found a place to rest in the valley where her
hip rose so fluidly out from her narrow waist. The feel of her skin brought
him back to consciousness. Moving his hand upwards, he cupped one of her big
breasts and he was reassured. What an incredible dream, yet not all of it had
been a dream. She was really there beside him. Even now, after hours and hours
of lovemaking, it was difficult to believe that she was actually here.

He raised himself slightly so his other hand could trace the rise of her hip
to her upper thigh, as if to further convince himself that she did indeed
exist. God, what thighs. He knew her body now, but knowing it did nothing to
lessen his enthrallment. This was a dream body, a dream lover, right here
beside him. His fingers and palm moved along the expanse of her thigh, feeling
the tautness of her velvety, even flesh, and at the same time he lightly
pinched her nipple, then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. No wonder
he hadn't wanted to make love with so many of those women he'd met on his
blind dates. This was what he had been waiting for... the appearance of an
adventurous woman with velvety-smooth skin, the legs of a gazelle and the
breasts of a Score model. Oh, yes, and don't forget the mouth, the mouth that
held so much genius. He could definitely go for another blow-job, but she was
still asleep. Her body remained still as his hand traveled along her bent leg,
but then her breathing changed. Deftly, gently, one hand was grasped in hers
and she guided his fingers to her other nipple.

"Ooohhh...", she moaned.

His other hand probed between her thighs until he found the wetness there at
the apex. She parted her legs and he stroked her tenderly, his fingers
instantly lubricated. Again she let out a long, deep sigh. In seconds she was
on her knees, her incredibly talented mouth engulfing his throbbing cock.
Again.

"Isabella. Oh, yes..."

She placed a hand behind his shoulder and nudged him. He understood at once,
pivoting his body in the indicated direction, which placed his head right
between her elevated thighs. She knew just how much to lower her hips,
bringing her glistening opening to his waiting mouth. He breathed in her sweet
aroma, so familiar now, before gently swirling his tongue around the folds of
her labia. He traced the soft, wet contours with no sense of hurry, teasing
her tenderly, echoing the luxurious, slow dance of her tongue around the head
of his cock. She moaned again, the sound adding more vibrations to the
intensity of her sucking. She was still teasing him, doing most of the work
with her tongue, but he'd learned several hours ago that she could up the
intensity to a point that far eclipsed any blow-job he'd ever received before.
Glenn had heard somewhere that women with wide mouths and lavish lips give
incredible head, and Isabella Vatero was doing everything in her power to
confirm that myth. Not only was she the most beautiful and voluptuous woman he
had ever slept with, she was also a cock-slurping machine, taking the whole
experience of oral stimulation to levels that he'd never dreamed of.

She bent down more at the waist, causing her heavy tits to spread out onto his
abdomen. God, those magnificent tits! He worked his hands between their bodies
until he could tweak and pinch her stiff nipples. Circling around and around,
his fingers dancing on her dangling boobs, he felt her begin to intensify the
rhythm of her sucking, and he did likewise with his, drenching her clitoris
with his saliva, then penetrating and fucking her with his tongue. Her hips
swayed up and down, and she tightened her thighs just enough to carry his head
with her, maintaining their contact. At the same time, she began to bring her
full oral arsenal into play. His body spasmed as his cock was drawn down her
throat, her tongue massaging his balls while her whole upper body bobbed and
twisted slightly. He felt as if his cock was being drawn down into some
incredibly powerful and utterly female vortex, the cum literally being sucked
out of him.

Responding to her amazing sucking, he doubled his stimulation of her nipples
and clitoris. He could feel her thighs quivering and he knew that she was
ready to explode. He covered her clit with the inside of his lips and shifted
his tongue into overdrive, and Isabella's body literally bounced up in the air
as she came violently. She screamed, the sound heavily muffled, as her throat
and probably her larynx as well were deeply involved in fucking his cock.
These new sound vibrations seemed to mix with her swirling tongue and throat
and he felt his ass tighten and then he suddenly lost it, his load shooting
straight down her throat. As before, his orgasm lasted surprisingly long, but
she stayed with it until the end, not relinquishing her hold on his emptied
tube until long after the last drop had been surrendered. She was breathing
heavily through her nose, but when his cock finally emerged from her mouth,
she licked her lips and made soft purring sounds, and they found a position
together where they could embrace each other as they drifted off once again,
together in sleep.

He awakened some time later, seeing a faint bluish light just beginning to
filter into the room through the drawn curtains. His cock ached wonderfully.
That last one was his fourth - no, fifth - orgasm. Five times he had gotten
hard and come for her, which was amazing enough. What was even wilder was the
way that every single orgasm was so much more powerful than anything he'd ever
experienced before. Before Isabella, that is. Or before his new, bigger cock.
He thought about this. What made the bigger difference - the woman, who was
far sexier and more talented than any lover from his past, or his transformed
equipment? There was no way to tell when so much was so new. He listened to
Isabella's breathing, deep and regular beside him, and he pressed closer to
her, feeling her long, perfect body fitting into his. It was still difficult
to believe that any of this had actually happened.

She had avoided eye contact towards the end of the flight into New York, and
he concluded that his wishful thinking - that she had singled him out, that
they'd arrived at something special during their brief conversation - was
indeed nothing more than the fantasies of a lonely traveling reporter. Then
she stopped beside his seat and smiled, saying "Here's that napkin you asked
for, sir." She walked on and he looked at the white square stupidly, perhaps
twenty seconds passing before he noticed the slip of paper tucked into the
napkin's folds. A note? A secret message, the beautiful foreign agent making
contact like in some James Bond movie? Most likely, it was some kind of
mistake. Still, he took the napkin and used an open magazine to hide the note
as he unfolded it.

"Dear Glenn," he read, "I know that writing this note must appear juvenile,
but this airline has strict policies forbidding flight attendants from making
personal contact with any of the passengers. I've never tried to get around
these rules before, so please forgive me if my methods seem unpracticed (they
are). I hope you won't think me too forward, but I enjoyed our conversation
immensely and I'd relish the opportunity to talk with you more after arriving
in New York. I join a different flight crew in the morning, and will be
staying in the city overnight. Perhaps you are travel-weary or have other
plans for the rest of this evening. I guess this note is just in the hopes
that you could join me for a drink or a late dinner at my hotel. I'm staying
at the Hilton out near the airport. They have a piano bar that stays open
late, and the atmosphere is very nice. Wait for me there at the bar if you
choose to accept this rather awkward invitation. Isabella."

It took about one heartbeat for him to make up his mind. He nodded
affirmatively (in what seemed an unobtrusive way) the next time she passed by.

Everything after that proceeded perfectly normally, as far as he could tell.
He got his travel bag and hailed a taxi, and twenty minutes later he was
sitting on a gleaming metal stool in a dimly lit, rather noisy restaurant bar,
nursing a Negra Modelo and wondering whether this whole thing was some kind of
gag. Why would a woman as gorgeous as Isabella go through so much trouble to
meet up with a passenger that she'd spoken with for perhaps ten minutes?
Occasionally a woman would find his work intriguing, but Roving Tabloid
Reporter was usually not much of an aphrodisiac. It wasn't like he was a
wealthy financier or a movie star or a famous athlete. Had he said something
in particular that had piqued her interest? He couldn't for the life of him
think of what it might be. Still, there had been something special in the air
back on that flight. It was as though she understood his wishes, and wanted to
participate in fulfilling them. Even the weather had conspired to help out,
the storms over New York allowing him time to meet her, and the turbulence
tossing her hot body right into his lap!

He chuckled. Glenn was not quite a believer in Murphy's Law or its unnamed
opposite, but when was the last time that things had turned out the way he'd
wanted them to? Nursing his beer, he thought these thoughts and watched a few
minutes of a late-season Yankees game on an overhead screen, just passing the
time. It would probably take her a good bit longer to make it here. She'd have
flight attendant things to do, then she'd need to check into her room. Change,
maybe, or even shower. He swiveled on his stool and studied the people who
were hanging out on a late Thursday night. A few couples, some Japanese men
laughing about something, then a loud table of four white business guys, all
heading towards baldness in their mid-thirties. He guessed that nearly
everyone was from somewhere else, here on business. What would that life be
like, he wondered? Were there people who actually enjoyed spending evenings
with work-buddies while staying in airport hotels? He traveled a fair amount
for work, too, but usually alone. What would it be like to...

He knew the instant that she entered the room, even though his back was to the
doorway. All four of the businessmen went silent, their eyes locked onto a
single spot, expressions of admiration and predatory lust replacing their
drunken grins. The Japanese guys stopped laughing and stared at the door,
while the bartender stopped wiping the glass he'd been cleaning, his gaze
fixed in the same direction. He made a barely audible whistling sound through
pinched lips, a long-descending note that ended with a faint explosive rumble.

Glenn swiveled in the direction of male interest, and Isabella's face lit up
when she recognized him. What a sight. The bartender had been right on target.
The woman was an absolute bombshell! The barkeep nudged Glenn's arm and gave
him a toothy grin, shaking his head.

"You must be leading some kind of charmed life, buddy. Three years in this bar
and that's the best-looking woman to ever walk through the door."

Glenn could imagine. Isabella had been a busy girl, letting her long dark mane
down and trading in her uniform for a very short black skirt, black pumps and
a body-hugging emerald green sleeveless blouse. And Holy FriTa-Ta's - the
woman had a figure that could stop traffic in several cities at once! Her legs
looked even more perfect than before - no doubt because there was more of them
to see - and every bit that had previously been hidden was of the highest,
highest quality. But he was even more stunned by the breasts filling out the
shimmering green top. He'd known they were going to be full, but not like
this! They weren't in the category of the supernaturally gigantic boobs that
he'd witnessed up in Extremity; still, they were overflowing tits that went
far beyond the limits of his personal experience. He had never had a date with
a woman with a rack like this! They jiggled provocatively as Isabella walked
towards him, and he could feel the change in the room's air as every male
stopped breathing.

"I'm so happy that you're here!," she said, as though there really had been
some possibility of him deciding against showing up. She kissed him on the
cheek and he thought he'd faint. "I was worried that you'd come to your senses
and chicken-out."

The senses she referred to were completely overloaded by the vision in front
of him. "You look incredible!", he blurted. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to
say, but it sure was true.

"Why, thank you!" She twirled in a tight circle, like a runway model. "I
wouldn't normally have an outfit like this with me, but I picked-up the blouse
and shoes in Boston earlier today. You're the first to see them."

Glenn hadn't really been complimenting her on her attire. He was focused on
the way that she filled everything out. The green blouse showed off the narrow
perfection of the woman's waist while the V- neck was punctuated with
considerable cleavage. Glenn felt saliva building up inside his mouth. If he
wasn't careful, he might actually drool.

"Let's find a table," she said. "I never eat the airplane food. I'm starved."

She took his arm in hers and they were led to a corner table at the back of
the room. Glenn noticed the way that Isabella's shoulders matched the height
of his own in her heels. The woman was a tall one, indeed. After being seated,
their waiter lit a candle and took their drink orders, a second beer for Glenn
and a glass of Chardonnay for Isabella. She used her hands to brush her hair
behind her shoulders, then she seemed to study him, a smile beginning to play
at the corners of those luscious lips.

"What?," he asked.

She laughed. "You, that's what. You keep looking at me like you think I'll
disappear in a puff of smoke. I'm really here, Glenn."

Boy, was she. He could tell without looking that every male in the room was
staring at her. Glenn was used to this - or had been, when he was married, but
even Ruth had not been this sexy and desirable. The waiter brought their
drinks and Isabella raised her glass in a toast. He stared at the long,
graceful arm lifting her glass, and the bare shoulder, and the way that her
gesture slightly compressed her right breast, quite visibly delineated under
the tight blouse. Again he noted the deep line of cleavage in the trough of
the V-shaped neckline. Ruth had been big up top, but this was the first time
he'd ever seen candlelight bouncing around on a pair of certifiable whoppers.

"What should we toast, Glenn? Surprises? Courage? Breaking the rules?"

Huge, soft mounds of flesh, he thought. Or full, kissable lips. Or green-brown
smoldering eyes. No, better yet - wet, welcoming vaginas. That was what he
wanted to say, that was what he wanted to experience - Isabella, her eyes
filled with desire, her legs open to him. A strange look came into her eyes,
and the light seemed to change on her boobs. Were her nipples that full a few
minutes ago?

"G...Glenn? The toast?"

Getting you on all fours and entering you from behind. "Secret notes," he
said, chickening-out. "I haven't gotten one of those since I was twelve."

A wave of color came into her face. Why? She seemed to work at gathering
herself before speaking.

"The note fits neatly into 'breaking the rules', and just think what else
could fall under that umbrella. So that one gets my final vote."

She clinked his glass with hers and caught him staring at her tits.

"Hmmmn. Tell me what you're thinking right now," she challenged.

Oops. Busted while ogling the bust. I'm thinking about how delicious your
nipples would be for dessert tonight, he should say. But no, that would
probably get a glass of wine thrown in his face. Could he say the same thing
more tactfully? He decided to go for broke and be somewhat honest.

"I'm thinking that I should try not to stare at you too obviously, but I'm
pretty sure that I won't be able to stop myself. I'm wondering... I'm
wondering why I should be so lucky."

"Lucky?"

"You know, to be here with you tonight."

"You're feeling lucky right now?"

He laughed, softly. "I'm either lucky or I'm dreaming."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that we're here together?"

He took in the atmosphere of the room, and the flickering candlelight
highlighting the planes of her face and the curves of her extreme bosom. The
words came to him and he almost withheld them, fearing that they might sound
too corny. What the hell, he decided.

"Isabella, if you could sit across the table from yourself like I am, and see
yourself by candlelight, then you wouldn't have to ask that."

Isabella looked down into the dancing candle flame and couldn't keep herself
from smiling. Most compliments like that didn't impress her, but then just
listening to his voice made her hot. This guy was too good to be true! He
seemed a bit unsure of himself, not completely smooth but all the more
enticing precisely because he wasn't reciting practiced lines. It bored her
when men heaped compliments at her feet, telling her every two seconds how
sexy she was. In a blouse like this, a guy would normally be gushing by now
about her big tits. Glenn Cantell was checking out her body just like every
other man, but this time she felt as though she couldn't get enough of it.
Even when he was silent she could feel her vagina buzzing with anticipation,
and her nipples were so hard that they almost looked obscene in this tight
blouse. But he wanted her big breasts, she knew he did. She sank back slightly
in her chair and placed her hands in her lap, using her arms to oh-so-slightly
compress her breasts. God, what a flirt I am, she thought. Still, just how
lucky would he feel if she found other subtle ways to showcase her bountiful
boobs for his viewing pleasure? How lucky would he feel to have them pressed
against his mouth?

"So, Glenn. We've established that you're feeling lucky. What else are you
feeling?" Hot, she hoped.

"Confused."

"Confused? What is it that you're confused about?"

"I'm wondering how any of this happened. I'm wondering..." He took in the two
of them and the rest of the room with his eyes. "... I'm wondering why I'm
sitting across from you tonight in the first place. I'm wondering why you
wrote that note - why you would choose to break all of those company rules to
be here with me."

The poor man had no clue how incredibly sexy he was! He had the ability,
apparent to her this very minute, to make her vagina drip by simply chatting
with her, and yet he did not see himself as a ladies' man. In fact, he was
rather shy. It was completely unique! She could be the aggressor with a man
like this, even though she felt as though she'd do anything he asked if that's
what it would take to get him into her bed. This was like a dream come true!

Their waiter took their food orders. She asked for an appetizer portion of
steamed clams (they went perfectly with sex), and she ordered a second glass
of wine. Two glasses, stretched-out, would be just about right, getting her
loose without impairing her body in any way. Glenn chose a Southwestern
cheeseburger with curly fries. A no-nonsense man, she thought. Western beef is
in his blood and he goes straight for what he wants. She was going to make
sure that he wanted her badly tonight.

"Let's work to clear up your confusion," she said. "Reporters ask a lot of
questions to find out what they want to know, right? Let me try to anticipate
some of the questions that you must have. First: No, I've never done this
before. Second: I'm here with you because... because..."

How could she say it? What was the truth, anyway? That she was here because
she felt like a moth irresistibly drawn to his flame? That she nearly felt
compelled to adore him, to long for him? That made it sound like he was
manipulating her, yet he was the shy one, while she had written the note that
instigated this meeting, and she was already using every asset she had to
dazzle the poor man. She was leaning towards him right now, fully aware that
she was giving him an excellent view of the tops of her breasts. Hell, if she
thought she could get away with it, she'd get up on this table and do a slow,
sensuous dance, or even a strip-tease for him. She could picture it, unzipping
and gradually slipping her skirt down her long legs, squeezing and kneading
her breasts through her blouse, finally pulling it over her head, kneeling in
front of his face in nothing but her bra and panties. Then she'd slide her
panties down her hips and let them fall at her feet on the table. She was
incredibly limber - if she split her legs wide enough, she could lower her
pelvis until her glistening vagina would be hovering just an inch or two above
his dinner plate. Would you like a helping of this, Glenn?

She pulled herself out of the fantasy, beginning to breathe too rapidly. God,
she was getting so hot, just from thinking about teasing him! She had to slow
herself down, get a grip. She took several deep breaths, preparing herself to
speak.

"Actually, Glenn, I... I'm having a difficult time of thinking how to explain
why we're here together. How do you explain a magic feeling? You can't tell me
that you didn't feel something similar back on the plane. You felt yourself...
drawn to me, just like I felt drawn to you. I guess I wanted to explore this
magic feeling, whether it makes sense or not. I could have said nothing and
done nothing on that flight, and you would have left the plane and we would
never have seen each other again, but I would have been kicking myself for
being too scared to follow my instincts. I know I would. Now, we're here, and
we feel the magic, but we don't know what it's about. We don't even know each
other. So let's work on that, on learning some things about each other. Ask a
few questions about me. I promise that I'll answer them truthfully."

"What kind of questions?"

"Anything you like. Ask the first thing that pops into your mind."

"All right. Were you ever a dancer?"

Aha. His mind was on her legs, even though he couldn't see them right now.
That was a good sign. She felt all warm inside, knowing how spectacular her
legs were, how much power this lone asset could have over a man, even without
the added ammunition of her gorgeous face and her large breasts.

"Guilty. I studied classical ballet for years, but eventually went more in the
direction of modern. After studying dance and theater administration in
college, I joined a small company based in Mexico City for two years. Twelve
dancers, six women and six men. It was a privately funded company surviving on
a shoestring budget. We never knew whether we'd be able to keep the lights
running, but it was kind of exciting in a way. I had to be involved in every
aspect of the company, from building and painting the sets to running the
ticket office to performing. I got to choreograph some of the dances, too -
many of them were based on old Aztec myths and stories. Lots of large movement
and colorful costumes and body paint. It was great fun."

"And you're part Hispanic, right?"

"Si. I was born in Miami. American mother, French and German ancestry, and my
father was originally from Venezuela."

Their dinners came and she used the diversion to organize her thoughts. They
were just chatting, taking small steps towards getting to know each other. So
why was her pussy literally aching for him? She took a mouthful of her food
and shifted in her seat before continuing their conversation.

"Our dance troupe performed all over the Americas and parts of Europe, and I
loved every minute of it. But I don't dance any more, at least not
professionally. Dancers' careers are usually very short. I'm only twenty-six,
so I could have continued for several more years, but there were other
factors. I was good - excellent, really - but in some significant ways I don't
have what you'd call the prototypical dancer's body."

"How is that? You look very much like a dancer to me. That's why I asked."

"You mean my legs. Yes, well, that's true. But, you know... I'm too tall and
I'm far too... you know..."

He didn't seem to know. Either that or he just wanted to hear her say it.

"Let's just say that I had the ideal dancer's body at one time, when I was
sixteen or so. But that was quite a few cup sizes ago."

She saw the realization hit him, and he actually blushed. It was so cute! She
brushed away some strands of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. They had
been partially covering her left breast, and this was a moment when she did
not want to obscure his view in the least. She was halfway through this second
glass of wine and her pussy was positively throbbing below the table. She
wouldn't be surprised to see heat waves coming up through the white table
cloth.

"Don't look so embarrassed, Glenn! I did my dancing and I'm quite happy with
the way that things turned out up here." She placed a hand lightly on her
right breast for emphasis. "The audiences were happy with me, too. I was
easily distinguishable from the rest of the corps and I got especially
enthusiastic applause after each performance. But the director was always
somewhat uncomfortable having one dancer who stood out so much from the rest
of the corps. She loved my dancing, but always wished that I wasn't so
exotic."

"I don't see anything wrong with being an exotic danc... Oh. Right."

Isabella laughed. "You see the problem! I guess I do look more like a showgirl
in some ways than a classically trained dancer. Exotic dancing was always
another option for me, of course. I've never done it, but I'd bet I could do
some incredible things wiggling myself around on one of those long poles."

She watched the movement of his eyes, and saw that her words had created a
picture in his mind. He was imagining her stripped to nothing but a g-string,
her lithe body wrapped around a silvery pole, her movements sinuous, her
nipples hardening as he watched... Her nipples really were hardening again!
She fought to remain composed, afraid that she might melt down like she had on
the plane. Raising her napkin, dabbing at her mouth, she couldn't help
allowing her elbow to brush against her left nipple. Oh! Did he know how
excited she was? Her whole body shook and she drank down a huge mouthful of
wine in an attempt to keep herself together.

"Anyway," she managed to say, "dancing was great, but the time came when I
could see that I should move on."

"How did you end up working as a flight attendant?," he asked.

"Naughty boy. It was my turn to ask the next question. But we never firmly
established the rules..."

"We're breaking the rules anyway, remember?"

She smiled. "You're right. So, I wondered what to do next when I knew I'd be
leaving the dance company. One of the dancers who left before me had become a
flight attendant for AeroMexico, and I'd really fallen in love with travel. I
let her talk me into enrolling in training, and I'm glad I did. I began with
Southwest, and I've been with United for about a year and a half now." She
took another sip of her wine. "But that's enough about me. It's my turn to ask
you some questions."

"Okay," he replied a little nervously.

"You're a reporter for The Sourcerer, right? I've always wanted to know how
much of that crazy stuff is real."

He shifted in his seat. "I had to sign a very strict agreement when I took the
job with The Sourcerer. It requires me to reply to your question by stating
that The Sourcerer, its employees, trustees, and especially its legal
department, all swear that the corporation adheres to the highest standards of
professional journalism in every way and at all times. Any factual
discrepancies, should they occur, are not intentional, but an unfortunate
inevitability in the reporting of unusual and challenging events."

She giggled. "Fine. Duty done. But I remember seeing bold headlines and photos
of Bigfoot just recently in The Sourcerer, and they know now without a doubt
that it was just some guy making fake tracks out in the woods for fun. Also, a
few weeks back I saw a story claiming that a flight attendant on a Swiss Air
plane vanished in a flash of blue light while giving her seatbelt speech at
the beginning of a flight. I don't believe a word of it. Flight crews
everywhere would have been immediately notified. So what's up? Is anything in
your paper true?"

"The Sourcerer, its employees, trustees..."

"Now you stop that!"

She kicked him gently under the table. She was laughing, but some serious
feelings were traveling up her legs from the physical contact down there. She
shuddered and felt her nipples, which had been overly-stimulated all night,
become rock solid inside of her bra. She was practically ready to climb under
the table and blow him right there in the bar, yet she felt that she and Glenn
should talk a bit more - she didn't want him to think that she'd lured him to
her hotel only to seduce him, even though that was pretty much the truth.

"If you can't speak about the paper, then tell me whether you yourself believe
in the supernatural."

Again, Glenn seemed to squirm. "I don't think so. I'm... more inclined than I
ever was to believe in miracles, but... No."

"Why are you more inclined to believe?"

She, herself, felt like it was a miracle that she hadn't already jumped his
bones during this dinner. Glenn looked uncomfortable himself, like he was
hiding something. Like another erection. She recalled her glimpse of the hard
mass in his pants back on the airplane, and she felt heat rise into her face.

"N...no ghosts, no deities or unexplainable miracles?," she asked. "Nothing
has ever happened to you to make you wonder about things? Nothing... amazes
you?"

His eyes rested briefly on her cleavage. Good, good, maybe he was amazed right
now by her anatomy, by her... She had to concentrate hard not to openly gasp
out loud. Good God! It was almost like she could feel his lips stroking her
left nipple, feel his hot breath right there on her tits...

"I, um, I didn't exactly say that I'm not amazed by... some things. Some
things do happen that shouldn't be able to happen. A few of the stories I've
covered have remained complete mysteries. They're the definite minority,
though. In time, some fairly logical explanation ends up surfacing, or you
find out that the whole thing was a fraud to begin with. There are lots of
instances where some person creates a 'miraculous' situation for whatever
reasons. The most frequent reason is money. You become skeptical after you
notice how often a stain that looks like a portrait of Jesus appears on the
wall of a church right at the time that they need to raise money for a new
roof."

"What about U.F.O.'s? Do you think they're real?"

My breasts are real, she wanted to tell him. Real flesh, real, real, really
dying to feel your mouth licking and sucking on them...

"No."

"No what? Oh, right. Okay, how about the Loch Ness monster?"

"Definitely not."

"Elvis?"

"Not in the present tense."

"Okay. So you're a devout skeptic. Tell me then, how a devout skeptic became a
reporter for a tabloid? Surely you didn't have The Sourcerer in mind when you
went to journalism school. I'd like to know how all of that happened."

Glenn tried to give her a shortened version of his path, one that didn't get
bogged down with his ex-wife and changing his name when he fled Chicago. It
was difficult, partly because his imagination kept wandering over to her
incredibly delicious breasts. He kept seeing himself taking one of those
nipples into his mouth, sucking on it right through the material of her
blouse...

He had to keep his mind, as much as possible, on what he was saying. He spoke
about his early ideals, his quest for hidden undercurrents in ordinary
affairs, and then he gave her nothing more than a rough sketch of his move
from Chicago. The holes in his narrative were all too apparent even to his own
ears, and Isabella looked at him doubtfully in one or two places where the
threads didn't flow together smoothly.

"You're an odd man, Glenn Cantell."

"Oh? How is that?"

"Well, you say that you went into journalism because you have this thing about
uncovering the truth, yet you were withholding information as you talked about
it. And I can tell that you want to tell me everything, but for some reason
you won't. And it has nothing to do with what the newspaper will or won't
allow you to say."

He chuckled, but it wasn't funny. She'd nailed him. "I'm beginning to think
that you should be the one in my field," he quipped. "You ask
straight-to-the-point questions and you're an exceptionally perceptive woman."

"Or you're just easy to see through. Let's find out which one it is, and what
you're made of. It doesn't really bother me that you have events in your life
that you don't want to discuss on a first date."

Date? Was this an actual date in her eyes? If so...

"But I do need to feel that you're an honest man," Isabella continued.
"Openness is very important to me. I...I'm really feeling... remarkably
open... I'm going to ask you one more question. It won't be an easy one. If
you answer truthfully, then you'll win my trust and... It would be very
desirable for you to win my trust. But if you bend the truth, or avoid the
truth... Anyway, are you ready for a hard question?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, here goes: Describe your version of the perfect woman for me."

Glenn was startled. She'd put him right in the cross-hairs, going straight for
something that had been on his mind recently. Two days ago he might have drawn
a blank on this question, but now it was completely relevant to his life. He'd
witnessed an absolutely perfect physical specimen, Cassandra Bliss, up in
Extremity. She had obliterated all of his previous ideas about the limits of
female attractiveness. In fact, Cassandra had been such a shock because she
actually seemed better than perfect. But he had no desire to bring Cassandra
into this conversation. He also thought of Crystal, probably asleep over there
in Manhattan somewhere. She was nearly as attractive as Cassandra and had been
bewitching him for the last six months. Either of these women could be
described as close to perfect, physically, at least. Also, when he pictured
them in his mind, he felt as though some kind of fairy-dust was glittering
inside of him, energizing his senses. Is that what made a woman seem perfect,
the way that they made you feel inside just from looking at them or dreaming
of them? Or did you have to know them well, learn all of their habits and
eccentricities and their secrets?

"I seem to have stumped you," Isabella remarked.

She was grinning, her hands clasped with her elbows planted on the table. Her
chin rested on her knuckles and she was studying him with a high degree of
focus showing in her eyes. Talk about perfect. Looking at her, looking at the
gesture of her hands and the remarkable downward thrust of her breasts as she
leaned forward, he felt his heart turn upside-down. Upside down? Or
inside-out? He really didn't know how to describe it, but there it was, some
kind of attraction that was so powerful that it was shaking his soul. His
recent experiences in Extremity had gotten him into thinking that his
preferences in women had definitely changed over the years - that he had made
the official switch from being a leg-man in high school to now being most
attracted to breasts, and the bigger the better. The thing about Isabella was
that he didn't have to make any kind of choice. Everything about her made his
heart ache and filled his cock with electricity. Looking at her now, he felt
as though he could want to be with this woman for the rest of his life.

Fuck! Was he falling in love with her? He knew so little about her. He didn't
even know how the two of them had ended up here together. She had talked about
a magic feeling. He didn't believe in magic, yet every time that he noticed
some little detail - the fine angle of her lower jaw, or the slight
indentation at the bottom of her nose, or the way that her dark eyes had their
own way of smiling that could be completely independent from the broad,
inviting mouth - he felt himself helplessly falling, surrendering to - what?
Desire? Deep animal lust? Or something finer, more complete?

He studied the hands again. She had some kind of red gem set into a silver
band on the index finger of her right hand - no wedding band or engagement
ring. Could she actually be available? Could this spirited woman - a former
dancer with ideal legs and the breasts of several centerfolds put-together -
actually be available?

"You want me to describe the perfect woman for you? Maybe it would be easier
if I just brought you a mirror, Isabella."

He was startled by his own words. They seemed to have escaped his mouth
without any conscious thought. Isabella looked shocked for a split-second,
then she grinned broadly.

"Home run, you sly devil!" Something in her eyes changed. "You know, I just
might have to reward you for giving such a clever answer."

She leaned back in her seat and sipped the final bit of wine from her glass.
She seemed to be considering something. Then she lifted her lips from the
glass a second too soon, and a few drops of wine flowed over the edge, landing
on the flesh at the bottom of her throat, right between the collar bones.
Glenn watched, transfixed, as the drops of clear liquid descended in thin
trails into the valley between her breasts. Oh fuck, how he'd like to lick
that wine out of that deep...

Isabella looked down, too, and let out a deep sigh. "Ohhhhh," she whispered.

The tone of her voice was about the sexiest thing that Glenn had ever heard.
She closed her eyes, and her lips parted. They seemed to have grown even
fuller in just the past few seconds. He wanted to kiss them, lick the wine
from her flesh, feel up her big boobs with his hands...

"Ohhh," she whispered, again. "That feels nice."

Glenn could not help staring at the glistening trails and the deep, rounded
terrain that they had disappeared into. All waters seek a valley, and there
was a very, very deep valley lying there between those breasts. His heart
pounded in his chest and his cock screamed in his pants. Then he felt it. It
was not subtle. Her foot, a bare, shoeless foot, was making its way up the
inside seam of his khakis. He looked at her but her eyes were still closed,
her lips parted and her head tilted back. All of her attention was in that
foot, which was now up to his mid-thigh. Her probing toes hit pay dirt several
inches sooner than would have been the case just two nights before. She sighed
again, quite loudly it seemed to him. He felt like screaming for joy, but he
managed to clench his jaw tight and remain silent. Except for his breath. He
was breathing very heavily through his nose, and there was no way that he
could control that. He felt his penis twitch suddenly as her toes wrapped
around its shape. Glenn was ecstatic about this turn of events, but he
wondered how much he could take here at the table without going insane. Then
the waiter appeared, and Glenn collected his wits as best as possible, trying
to present the appearance of a man who did not have five toes and the ball of
a foot currently teasing his pulsing cock.

"Either of you interested in some dessert? I can bring the cart to entice
you."

"How about it, Glenn?," Isabella teased. "Mr. Cantell enjoys being enticed.
Don't you Glenn?"

"Uh huh."

"But we'll be skipping the dessert, I'm afraid. Too many calories. You don't
want to feel sluggish tonight, do you Glenn?"

A second foot joined the other in teasing his cock through the fabric of his
pants and he couldn't stop himself from responding.

"Ooohhh! Oh...no. N...no. Not sluggish. No way."

"I'll take the check," Isabella said to the waiter. "Glenn is treating me
later. Right, Glenn?"

"Uh huh." He thought he was going to die from happiness.

The waiter gave Glenn a barely concealed wink as he left the table. He had
probably been unaware of the foot-job transpiring under the table, but the
sexual nature of Isabella's comments were readily apparent. Isabella's feet
left his groin - reluctantly, it seemed - and then she fished correct change
out of her handbag. He noticed that her hands were shaking. He saw, too, that
her nipples were definitely erect under her blouse.

"I... I'm going to retire to my room, Mister Cantell. Number 718. Don't you
dare forget that number. I'd ask you to accompany me, but I don't think you
are currently presentable for indoor travel. Give yourself a few moments to
cool down... Actually, don't cool down too much. And please..." She emphasized
the please, and her eyes locked onto his emphatically. "...please don't keep
me waiting very long."

He followed every movement of her body as she departed the room. Damn, those
jiggling breasts! Those long, shapely legs! That round, swaying ass! What a
stupendous, awe-inspiring woman! And intelligent, and perceptive, and playful.
And inventive, too. That thing with her foot... Her words and her actions held
out the promise of a night of extremely creative sex. Christ, those lips,
those tits... And it had been such a long, long time. This was the first
really exciting and enjoyable date that he'd had since moving to New York.
Hell, this was the most exciting date that he'd ever had anywhere, with the
most exciting woman to ever touch him!

But could he go through with it? He still didn't know whether his cock could
be dangerous. He shouldn't... but he knew he would. There was no point in even
pretending that he had a choice. Isabella Vatero was probably opening the door
to her room right now, waiting for him, and if he was supposed to have the
strength to walk away from her then he might as well admit defeat right now.
He'd turned down the unexpected offer of a blow-job earlier in the day, but
that proved nothing. That young mother had, in her own way, been just as sexy
as Isabella, but he hadn't been prepared for the sudden appearance of quick,
easy sex then. Even so he would have gotten his blow-job and probably fucked
that other girl if not for his concern for her child. This situation was
different - he still didn't know all that much about Isabella, but they had
just connected on the best date he'd ever had. He had to face the facts: His
willpower to keep his freak cock safely locked away was no match for the lips
and the legs and the big bouncing boobs that were just an elevator ride away.
This woman was just too fucking much, and he was going after her.

The door was cracked open when he arrived at her room. He pushed it and slowly
advanced. It was dark, the lights out. He closed the door behind him. The
city's orange glow outside of the window provided the only illumination.

"What took you so long?"

He caught a flash of movement before being tackled and brought down to the
carpeted floor. He lay on his back, and there she was, standing above him, her
feet planted to either side of his chest. She had stripped down to a lacy
black bra and matching bikini-style panties. The sight of her extremely full
breasts - larger, fuller in the bra than he had expected - and the rest of her
perfectly proportioned body was almost too much to bear.

"Don't move!," she insisted.

And maybe that was the right course to take, but he didn't take it. He sat up
and wrapped his arms around her dancer's legs and toppled her to the floor.
She landed on her butt, whooping and then giggle-screaming as he climbed on
top of her.

"Oh, you naughty, naughty...", she began.

Then his left hand was inside of the panties, and his probing index finger was
greeted by the wet folds of her labia.

"...naughty, n...n...nooohGod, yes! Yessss..."

He stroked her with that single finger while his other digits explored the
surrounding terrain where her thighs met. Meanwhile, his other hand worked to
slip her panties down the length of her beautiful legs. She lifted her rear
off of the floor to ease his work, and in seconds she was clad in nothing but
the bra.

Glenn shifted his position, kneeling over her, and lowered his head down to
her knees, then he began kissing and licking her legs, rubbing his cheeks
against the insides of her thighs, all the while slowly making his way up, up
to where the strong scent of her rising passion was calling to him. She cooed
and kept softly repeating the single word, "Yes". He lingered at mid-thigh,
never allowing his lips to leave her body as he unbuttoned and removed his
shirt. Now, able to feel the softness of her skin against his own, he
continued his advance, pushing her legs wide apart to make room for his head.
Isabella followed his movements and responded to them. Using the strength and
flexibility that she had acquired from her dance training, she raised her legs
up towards the ceiling, then slowly extended them out into a full split. She
was showing off. And, he saw, she was completely open to him, the loveliness
of her vagina staring him in the face. He had never seen a woman more excited
and ready for his touch. It looked as though she had been wet and swollen and
dying for this moment for hours. He probed at her with the tip of his tongue.
Her entire body shook when he made the first slow swipe at her clitoris, and
the whispered "Yes" became a more vocal "Oh, Glenn!" Some women needed a
steady diet of foreplay before they became truly excited, but he could feel
how little it was going to take to send Isabella over the edge into her first
orgasm. He licked her hungry clit again, oh so lightly. She called out his
name again, but by the third pass she was panting wordlessly. He gauged her
journey and just as she reached the threshold, he inserted both his index and
middle finger into her tunnel and then drew the fingers apart inside of her.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Her hips lifted into the air and her thighs
clenched around his head and she screamed, the most pleasure-filled scream he
had ever heard. His fingers continued to wiggle inside of her and her orgasm
either lasted forever or there were others, a new one built right onto the one
before and the one before that. After more than a minute, her hips collapsed
to the floor and all of the animation left her body. She looked completely
drained. Her vocal chords, however, continued to work, as she kept whispering,
"Oh, God, oh God, oh God...", her breathing deep and rapid.

Glenn lifted himself up with his arms and knelt at her feet, using her
collapsed state to finish undressing. He was still in his shoes and socks and
pants, and he wanted to be completely naked with this most beautiful of
lovers. He made progress with the shoes and socks and had his pants part way
down when she wrapped her legs around his belly and forced him to the floor.
And then she was on top of him, surprisingly strong, an almost wild or
feverish gleam in her eyes.

"I told you not to move!," she growled.

He didn't move. Isabella Vatero, seemingly unable to function just a few
moments before, had made a remarkable recovery. She obviously had something in
mind for him and he decided that he should lie back and let it unfold.

She began by removing his pants for him, which revealed the extent to which
his boxer shorts were being stretched by the massive bulge inside. Isabella's
breath drew in and she looked as though she was shocked by his size, which was
exactly the way that he felt. This was one impressive-looking erection. As her
hands grasped his big tool through his underwear, he realized that he was
feeling oddly shy. It reminded him of that first time, the moment in the bed
of his dad's Ford pick-up truck when Jennifer Stratton, his first real
girlfriend, had unzipped his jeans and pulled his pulsing cock out into the
warm, dry air of a late-summer Texas night. Until then, no girl had ever laid
eyes on his hardened cock. In his virginal state back then, he had wondered
about so many things - would it surprise her in some way, or frighten her, or
would she in fact like it? She had liked it just fine, and after losing their
virginity together, she came to know the details of his cock quite well.

In a weird sense, tonight he was like a virgin once again. That young mother
in Extremity had wanted to be the first to give this new cock a test-drive,
but the honors now belonged to Isabella. Her hands were unsteady as she
grasped the waistband of his shorts, then with one quick pull, down came the
underwear. In a reverse movement, up shot his cock, practically towering up
from his groin now that it was free.

"Ohhhh, Fuuuck," she moaned.

He had very little time to register that she was very pleased by what she saw.
Before he knew it, this new virginal cock was deep inside of her mouth, the
lips he had wanted to feel surrounding him making loud slurping sounds as he
found himself awash in the softness of her inner mouth. Her tongue swirled
around him, wonderfully stimulating the head of his penis. She treated him
tenderly, using her tongue expertly, probing here, rotating there, her lips
also in constant motion. There was no doubt, this woman knew how to give a
blow-job! Isabella began to bob her head, gradually taking more of him in, and
she introduced a gentle sucking component with her cheeks that felt
incredible.

He was probably going to say something at this point - "Yes, Isabella", or
"Ooooh that feels great", or something like that - but then his cock was
rapidly pulled down her throat and he let out an uncontrolled
"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" as she literally vacuumed him into a sudden, monumental
orgasm. His load swelled inside of him and in an instant he spewed into her,
and he came and came and came. His whole body was rocked, the incredible
intensity spreading all through him.

When the flow eventually subsided, he didn't know what stunned him more - the
power and scope and length of his orgasm, or the depth of this woman's oral
talents. He had gotten blow-jobs before, but never anything like this! And he
had never come so intensely, and for so long. Was it him - an added benefit of
whatever had enlarged his equipment - or was it her? Were the changes to his
cock giving him the ability to come in a wholly new way, or had he been lucky
enough to stumble onto a woman with a magical mouth, a woman who was even more
talented in bed than she was beautiful?

She licked her lovely lips and smiled at him, and rose to stand over top of
him again. "How long has it been since you had sex, Glenn? You had more jizz
in you than an elephant!"

"Ah..."

"Don't you even think of moving, yet," she added. "That was only the
beginning."

And then she began to move. To dance, really, and it was much more like exotic
dancing than ballet. They were the movements of the strip-tease, and they had
never looked so good. She was wearing nothing but her big, black bra, and
fuck, she was just so gorgeous. And limber. Damn, was she limber! While
running her hands through her long, dark hair, or cupping or squeezing her
breasts together, she did things - twists of her neck and torso, bends and
lifts and splits with her legs - things that very few women could do. Her mane
of long, wavy dark hair fell across her face, hiding her expression from him,
but her body said it all. She writhed above him, and all the while her huge
breasts were straining at the bra, either ready to spill out of its confines
or create enough force to snap the clasps at the back. She brought the hair
back from her face with the sweep of one arm, and Glenn could finally see the
smoldering fire in her eyes. Then, with no apparent effort, she was down just
inches above him, her legs split wide and her knees bent. One second she was
towering above him, the black lace bottoms of her huge breasts directly above
his head, and the next second her athletic legs pivoted out to bring her pussy
down until it was hovering right above the tip of his still-hardened cock.

Wait. He had recovered already? After coming like that? Maybe his stamina had
grown, too... Or maybe it was just how exciting she was. He had no time to
question it further, as she bent at the waist and he found his face being
smushed by the weight of both of her boobs.

"Take it off, lover," she whispered. "They want to meet you soooo baaaad."

She didn't have to tell him twice. He reached around her back and found the
two clasps. Once undone, her bent-over position and gravity worked together,
and her breasts positively tumbled out of the bra and right onto his face. He
was startled by their weight. Isabella was so much more endowed than any woman
he'd ever made love to. He caught close-up, slightly out of focus glimpses of
tan-colored, wide aureoles and swollen, protruding nipples. Then she pulled
her body away from him and stood once more, this time completely naked. He
guessed that her breasts were something in the DDD to EE-cup range, grand
swelling globes with aureoles the size of orange halves and nipples as hard as
any he had ever seen. She posed for him, squeezing her heavy tits together,
allowing him to survey the glory of her body, fully knowing how incredibly
gorgeous she was.

He allowed his eyes to trail down the length of her, beginning with the
expressive face and long neck, taking in the huge protruding breasts, the
narrow waist and toned hips, and then her amazing legs. She was immaculately
toned, exceptionally proportioned, looking for all the world like the
loveliest ballerina in history incongruously outfitted with a rack from a
big-boob Web-site. How on earth had this happened, that he was lying on a
hotel floor with a buxom sex- goddess sinuously exhibiting the splendor of her
body for his personal pleasure? He longed to know every inch of her, and he
knew he could lie still no longer, no matter what she wanted. He reached out a
hand to her and she took it, and he pulled her down gently, her eager nipples
once again finding his lips. She was on top of him again, on hands and knees.
As he sucked on her luscious tits, he rocked his body slightly beneath her,
causing his throbbing dick to lightly brush back and forth along the tops of
her thighs. With this contact, a switch seemed to flip inside of Isabella, and
a different, more animal longing shone through her half-closed eyes. He used
his legs to lift his hips up into the air and Isabella responded, shifting her
position so that the head of his penis parted the first few centimeters of her
wet, hot walls.

"Ooooooohhhhh, Glennnnnnn..."

He eased his way in while he brought his hands up to grasp her boobs, and he
pressed and squeezed every inch of their great volume before allowing his
fingers to concentrate on her hard nipples. Isabella had him most of the way
inside of her now, her hips swaying from side to side, his cock rubbing more
strongly against one side of her vaginal walls, then the other. It was
beautiful.

"Now pump me!," she commanded. "Give me all you've got to give!"

Glenn wondered just how much he did have to give her. He'd experienced the
most forceful orgasm of his life a few minutes ago, yet his cock felt as
thought the Energizer bunny had climbed inside of it. Yes, he had many months
of pent-up sexual energy to work off, and yes, Isabella was the sexiest woman
that he had ever had the pleasure of entering. But as sexy as this woman was,
it was nearly inconceivable that he could be this hard again this fast. It had
to be the changes to his cock and balls. How much added stamina had his
unexplained transformation brought him?

"More! Harder!! I want it all!"

You're asking for it, he thought. She had him so fucking excited, and he was
so fucking hard that he was nearly afraid of what this big new wand could do.
Well, it was time to find out.

He started slowly, allowing himself to get the feel of her and of himself.
Maybe it was just the increased size, or added nerve endings that came with
the increased size, but he was so much more sensitive than before, as though
his cock was a more finely-tuned sense organ. He also noticed that he could
sense a build-up of energy in his entire body with every stroke. He literally
felt as though he could fuck this woman all night. Isabella was panting again,
and matching the movement of his hips with her own. Glenn gradually increased
both his speed and his force. He found a rhythm where he could easily plateau,
and he pistoned into her as steadily as a machine. Isabella was going wild,
panting and groaning and erupting in other unintelligible sounds. Her hips
mirrored his for a time, but then he could feel her pussy spasm and she began
to lose control of her body. She was on the brink of coming. Her upper body
suddenly collapsed onto him and then he felt her pussy tighten around his
shaft. She came, and then came again, screaming his name, urging him not to
stop. But he was far from through. Maybe she had thought that this pace was
the maximum, and it probably should have been, but his cock wanted more, much
more. He was soooo hard, and getting harder still...

"Ooooohhhh Glenn!!!!!", she screamed, as he increased the speed of his thrusts
still further. "GLENN!!! GLENN!!! OOOOOHHHHH GLENNNNN..."Faster...
More..."OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!!!," boomed her voice. She sounded as though she
was in some kind of delirium.

Then he felt it welling up inside of him. He pictured tidal waves crashing
over a small island, because the surge within him felt more like a suddenly
rising tide than the beginnings of an orgasm. He gave her everything he had,
his hips rising and falling as fast as his body could withstand, his heart
ready to burst. And then he came, the seed spilling from him like a flood, a
flood of intoxicating pleasure, of continuous warmth...

Somewhere he heard screams of joy, of surprise, of bliss. Were they his
screams, or hers? Or had their voices joined, as they had joined...

That would have been a full night of sex in his married years, although he and
Ruth had never reached heights together that were anything like this. It took
a good thirty minutes this time for Isabella to recover from the reaming he'd
given her.

"I've never been able to come like that," she whispered to him. "So many
times, and... I've always needed my clit played with when a guy is inside of
me. Usually I do it..."

Glenn was, amazingly, completely ready for her again. He thought her words the
perfect transition to a different form of lovemaking. They moved to the large
bed and joined together in a sideways "69" position. Isabella licked and
sucked at his cock more gently this time, allowing him enough concentration to
properly tend to her vagina and her clit. He quickly learned what she liked
the most from the cooing and moaning sounds that she made. It didn't take long
before the pace of their oral ministrations became much more rapid. He was
swirling the tip of his tongue around and around the nubbin of her clitoris at
breakneck speed, and she was once again deep-throating him, when she suddenly
released his cock from her mouth and begged him to drive his tool back inside
of her again.

The woman was definitely into his big dick, and he was only too happy to shove
it back into her hungry tunnel. Glenn entered her from behind this time,
doggy-style, squeezing and kneading her big hanging boobs while he pumped at
her furiously. Isabella's strong thighs began to quiver just before she came,
then she arched her back so that he drove even deeper into her, practically
impaling her pussy with his new miracle tool. She came three or perhaps four
times, then collapsed flat onto the bed before he was through. He lay on top
of her, his belly molding itself to the roundness of her buttocks, and just
kept pumping from this new angle. She felt tighter like this, the cum-drenched
walls of her vagina squeezing him hard with every pass. She panted and panted
for him to keep going, then she fell silent. He thought for a few seconds that
she had fainted, but then she let out a piercing scream as her body was
wracked with another series of powerful orgasms. Glenn kept up his pace and
then kicked in the afterburners just before letting loose with his own
incredible release, his third off-the-charts orgasm of the night.

With Isabella moaning softly as she drifted off to sleep, he moved to a
position beside her and cradled her head in his arms, his body delighting in
the softness of her sweat-slickened skin. His mind felt amazingly clear. It
was obvious that he should not be able to come with this kind of frequency or
force. He might not be setting some world's record for male stamina, but he
thought he might be able to if she could take him again and again. He could go
at her right now if she awakened and indicated that another round was in
order. Her body twitched suddenly, and then she relaxed again.

"Glenn?" Her voice was barely audible, sounding far away.

"Yes. I'm here."

"I never knew that sex could be like this."

"Neither did I."

"You're... incredible."

"So are you, Belle."

"I've never come so many times before. I didn't know that I could."

"It's the best for me, too. The absolute best."

"So many times...", she whispered, and then sleep overtook her again.

He held her close and closed his eyes, wondering about this exquisite woman.
Would he see her again, or was this that one magical night, the only night for
the two of them together? A woman this beautiful could not be completely
unattached. There had to be somebody somewhere who was completely in-love with
her. He wanted her to stay with him, to call in sick so that they could fuck
each other all the next day and night. He felt that he would be able to do
that - to fuck her again and again and again. He wondered about this new cock
of his, how it had come to be, and what it all meant. And he wondered whether
memories of his ex-wife had lost some of their power to haunt him now that he
had finally made love to a more beautiful and spell-binding woman? He wondered
about horny young mothers with titanic, milk-filled tits, and gorgeous girls
with boobs that defied gravity. He wondered about many things, until he, too,
was pulled down into the world of dreams.

His fourth go with Isabella was very much like a dream. He was sound asleep,
and then a bouncing on the bed next to him told his senses that she was
moving. He felt something - maybe her hair - on his legs, and then her lips
were playing with the head of his penis. He thought that he still might be
dreaming, but then her tongue began a journey along his hardening shaft, and
his heart began to dance to a more insistent beat. He lay there, his mind
somewhere between the two worlds, even though his body was very much awake.
And then her mouth left him, and some moments later she lowered her pelvis
down from above, guiding his fully erect cock into her dripping wet pussy.

He mumbled something and she replied softly, "Just lie still, lover," and he
did, and she fucked him while he half-slept. He wasn't sure how long she'd
been going up and down on him when she began to whimper, and then scream, and
he was becoming much more awake now, the sensations clearly real as his cock
was drenched and squeezed by her quivering pussy, and then everything changed
and he was inside of her mouth again, and he was the one screaming as she
pulled him deep down her throat, sucking him into his fourth orgasm of the
night.

And then they slept again, finally engaging in this fifth and last go- round
of the long, adventure-filled night. Five - count them - five times that he
had come this night, and God knew how many times for Isabella. The blue light
that he had noticed outside was steadily becoming brighter, and he wondered
how soon it would be before she had to get up and get ready for her flight to
L.A. He was going to miss her. Terribly. It was going to be so hard to go to
his office and go through the motions of his regular life, knowing that this
gorgeous, cock-devouring enchantress was 30,000 feet above the earth and half
a continent away from his body.

She was still sleeping when he could make out a wall clock in the dim light.
Ten to six. He didn't want to do it, but he knew he should.

"Ten minutes to six," he said, nudging her. "When do you need to get up?"

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Isabella looked completely wind- swept, her
hair going every which way, yet she was still by far the most gorgeous
creature to ever share a bed with him.

"I should shower in about twenty minutes," she said.

He expected some look of sadness in her face, an expression that it was time
for the two of them to turn into pumpkins. Instead, she met his gaze with
smoldering eyes and wet lips.

"That's just enough time for a quick trip to paradise," she commented, her
hands already wrapped around his cock. They were going to go at it again! He
felt her lips swirl around the tip of his cock, hardening him instantly. This
woman was just too amazing to be true!