The days passed. Lisa kept up her normal daily activities, but unenthusiastically. In the morning she would go down to the office still wearing her pajamas, get a cup of coffee, and turn on the computer.
Her job mainly consisted of managing the websites. Created years ago, they had proved to be real gold mines. They stood out from everything else on the international network, first for their quality, but more importantly, because they showcased her.
She personally did not find operating the websites particularly stimulating – to her, web users were a faceless entity, anonymous numbers rising or falling. A company in Munich ran all the public relations, and had two secretaries doing nothing but answering emails sent to her personal address.
Lisa's main occupation was finding new girls willing to pose. She spent her time randomly surfing the net, including chatrooms and webcam girls looking for anyone who, in her view, had talent. The largest pool of candidates was the U.S., but the American girls were almost all excessive: too much fat, or too much silicone. Eastern European girls were perfect as far as their looks went, but often unprofessional in action - with the first paycheck they disappeared, often for weeks, fucking up months' worth of work. About girls from the Far East she knew absolutely nothing – it might as well be another planet.
This morning she was looking at some new models, in a photo portfolio that had just arrived in the mail. She quickly flipped through the pictures, finding little of interest.
Sabrina, Kiev. Black eyes, olive skin, long and dark hair. 47-28-41 .... Katrina, St. Petersburg, blue eyes, fair complexion. 46-26-43 .... Lara, Kosice, black eyes and brown hair. 48-30-42 ... They all looked just passable, nice bodies, nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, none of them had anything comparable to her own huge, sagging breasts, not even remotely approaching her extraordinary size, but since the revelation in Berlin, every woman on the web seemed so .... flat. That was the exact word. By now, Lisa was dreaming of a row of beautiful models with truly mammoth tits. That human cow, on hands and knees with her enormous breasts hanging down so far they rested on the ground, was still in her thoughts: Greta, Greta ....
The phone rang - it was Gunther. He called often, just to see how things were going and to make sure that Lisa was alright. This morning, though, just from his voice, she knew immediately that something had come up.
"Do you have your computer on, dear?"
"Sure, it's always on."
"We just installed the webcam, and Milena wanted to say hello ... just go ahead and connect ..."
She typed in the web address, and a few seconds later Gunther appeared in the foreground.
"She just finished the first session of treatments and ... well, it seems the procedure is working fine, though perhaps it’s a bit early to say ..." Lisa bit her lower lip; she was excited by the news. Milena appeared in the frame and waved at her with one hand. Lisa immediately noticed a change - it looked like a different girl, she even appeared younger. But as soon as Lisa got over the disorientation of Milena's altered appearance, she spotted the significant protrusions under the older woman's sweater. Lisa had an expert eye, and those were no B-cups anymore ...
"Come on, show Lisa our surprise," said Gunther. Milena disappeared from view, pulling her blouse up, and reappeared wearing only her bra. Gunther moved her close to the camera so that the now-very-badly-fitting brassiere completely filled the screen. Poor Milena was stuffed into the bra; she wriggled uncomfortably, tugging at the straining garment where masses of flesh overflowed the cups and even the sides.
Lisa's eyes widened in disbelief. Those fat tits were at least twice the size they had been before; Milena had been inflated, at a guess, to around forty-eight inches. No woman could have added that much titflesh in just over two weeks. It wasn’t human.
Lisa didn’t want to see any more of it; she suddenly turned off the camera, then the computer. She felt a growing sense of irritation; and all of a sudden irritation became, quite irrationally, full-fledged anger.
She had to be be there, that very moment - she had to be undergoing Professor Bohm's treatment. Lisa took the coffee cup from the table and violently flung it to the floor. She stood still for a moment, staring at the shattered cup and waiting to see if it lifted her mood of resentment. Nothing changed; the petty tantrum was not enough. So she stalked through the office, looking around, and stopped in front of the wardrobe: jerked a club out of Gunther’s golf bag - a sleek, cold and heavy 7-iron. She stood a little to the side of the computer, took a deep breath, then swung the club horizontally at waist-level, smashing the screen and knocking the monitor over. And then it was the turn of the keyboard, the mouse, the router, whatever was on the table. Finally she threw the club through the French doors overlooking the pool, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces.
Luis came running, fearing some disaster, and found the mistress standing stock-still, fists clenched and arms stiff at her sides. Her enormous breasts were still quaking as she gasped for air, out of breath from the uncharacteristic exertion.
She looked up, panting, when she saw him. "I was thinking about playing some golf," - she said to him - "they say it's relaxing."
Lisa had never in her life done any kind of exercise and, to tell the truth, her body was hardly up to physical activity - she was indolent and sedentary, quite soft, and lacking muscle tone, but she had a naturally sleek and well-proportioned body.
The only sport that she liked was horse-back riding, which she indulged in almost every day.
So after that morning's tantrum, she told Luis to have her horse ready for a late afternoon ride. The phone rang several times, always Gunther, but she didn’t want to talk about what he had shown her that morning. So towards evening, she got on her horse wearing very casual clothing: wide linen trousers, t-shirt, and denim jacket.
She had begun riding as a child in Denmark, on her uncle's farm, and she had always enjoyed it. As soon as she could, in Ibiza, Lisa had purchased a beautiful and docile bay horse. She named him “Old Man” after Pippi Longstocking’s horse, a reminder of her childhood memories.
Furthermore, horse-back riding, the gentle rhythmic gait of the animal and the rocking contact of her pussy with the hard saddle, always brought back memories of her first sexual arousal. "If only everything were that easy, today!" she thought as she let Old Man pick his way down the dirt road toward the beach.
She always kept the animal to a slow pace; her breasts weighed so much she couldn't tolerate a gallop. The sedate ride let her just enjoy the sea and the beach around her, and also let her luxuriate in the gentle tremors that shook her body with every step the horse took. It was her firm rule never to wear a bra when riding, so of course Old Man's steady plod sent her large bosom swaying and wobbling against the rough denim of the jacket, exciting her nipples. And, even better… like most women whose breasts had grown very big naturally, Lisa had extraordinarily large, wide and sensitive areolae. And she enjoyed the erotic, pleasure discomfort of her breasts bouncing unrestrainedly from side to side. The total effect was incredibly relaxing for her.
Lisa tried to think rationally about what had happened that day. Basically nothing had happened! She remained unique in size and beauty, incomparable, no matter how much that girl Milena had grown.
But the fact remained, Lisa had to return to Berlin as soon as possible; there was no doubt at all. That woman was stealing her heart's desire, her dream of becoming the woman with the biggest tits on earth. ‘Cause now, after what had happened, she could clearly see the final outcome of the incredible saga. She would be remembered forever, as the model with the most incredible, gigantic, natural breasts of all time.
When she returned to the villa she went online and purchased her tickets, and gave instructions to the staff. And two days later Lisa left, destination Potsdam.
Her job mainly consisted of managing the websites. Created years ago, they had proved to be real gold mines. They stood out from everything else on the international network, first for their quality, but more importantly, because they showcased her.
She personally did not find operating the websites particularly stimulating – to her, web users were a faceless entity, anonymous numbers rising or falling. A company in Munich ran all the public relations, and had two secretaries doing nothing but answering emails sent to her personal address.
Lisa's main occupation was finding new girls willing to pose. She spent her time randomly surfing the net, including chatrooms and webcam girls looking for anyone who, in her view, had talent. The largest pool of candidates was the U.S., but the American girls were almost all excessive: too much fat, or too much silicone. Eastern European girls were perfect as far as their looks went, but often unprofessional in action - with the first paycheck they disappeared, often for weeks, fucking up months' worth of work. About girls from the Far East she knew absolutely nothing – it might as well be another planet.
This morning she was looking at some new models, in a photo portfolio that had just arrived in the mail. She quickly flipped through the pictures, finding little of interest.
Sabrina, Kiev. Black eyes, olive skin, long and dark hair. 47-28-41 .... Katrina, St. Petersburg, blue eyes, fair complexion. 46-26-43 .... Lara, Kosice, black eyes and brown hair. 48-30-42 ... They all looked just passable, nice bodies, nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, none of them had anything comparable to her own huge, sagging breasts, not even remotely approaching her extraordinary size, but since the revelation in Berlin, every woman on the web seemed so .... flat. That was the exact word. By now, Lisa was dreaming of a row of beautiful models with truly mammoth tits. That human cow, on hands and knees with her enormous breasts hanging down so far they rested on the ground, was still in her thoughts: Greta, Greta ....
The phone rang - it was Gunther. He called often, just to see how things were going and to make sure that Lisa was alright. This morning, though, just from his voice, she knew immediately that something had come up.
"Do you have your computer on, dear?"
"Sure, it's always on."
"We just installed the webcam, and Milena wanted to say hello ... just go ahead and connect ..."
She typed in the web address, and a few seconds later Gunther appeared in the foreground.
"She just finished the first session of treatments and ... well, it seems the procedure is working fine, though perhaps it’s a bit early to say ..." Lisa bit her lower lip; she was excited by the news. Milena appeared in the frame and waved at her with one hand. Lisa immediately noticed a change - it looked like a different girl, she even appeared younger. But as soon as Lisa got over the disorientation of Milena's altered appearance, she spotted the significant protrusions under the older woman's sweater. Lisa had an expert eye, and those were no B-cups anymore ...
"Come on, show Lisa our surprise," said Gunther. Milena disappeared from view, pulling her blouse up, and reappeared wearing only her bra. Gunther moved her close to the camera so that the now-very-badly-fitting brassiere completely filled the screen. Poor Milena was stuffed into the bra; she wriggled uncomfortably, tugging at the straining garment where masses of flesh overflowed the cups and even the sides.
Lisa's eyes widened in disbelief. Those fat tits were at least twice the size they had been before; Milena had been inflated, at a guess, to around forty-eight inches. No woman could have added that much titflesh in just over two weeks. It wasn’t human.
Lisa didn’t want to see any more of it; she suddenly turned off the camera, then the computer. She felt a growing sense of irritation; and all of a sudden irritation became, quite irrationally, full-fledged anger.
She had to be be there, that very moment - she had to be undergoing Professor Bohm's treatment. Lisa took the coffee cup from the table and violently flung it to the floor. She stood still for a moment, staring at the shattered cup and waiting to see if it lifted her mood of resentment. Nothing changed; the petty tantrum was not enough. So she stalked through the office, looking around, and stopped in front of the wardrobe: jerked a club out of Gunther’s golf bag - a sleek, cold and heavy 7-iron. She stood a little to the side of the computer, took a deep breath, then swung the club horizontally at waist-level, smashing the screen and knocking the monitor over. And then it was the turn of the keyboard, the mouse, the router, whatever was on the table. Finally she threw the club through the French doors overlooking the pool, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces.
Luis came running, fearing some disaster, and found the mistress standing stock-still, fists clenched and arms stiff at her sides. Her enormous breasts were still quaking as she gasped for air, out of breath from the uncharacteristic exertion.
She looked up, panting, when she saw him. "I was thinking about playing some golf," - she said to him - "they say it's relaxing."
Lisa had never in her life done any kind of exercise and, to tell the truth, her body was hardly up to physical activity - she was indolent and sedentary, quite soft, and lacking muscle tone, but she had a naturally sleek and well-proportioned body.
The only sport that she liked was horse-back riding, which she indulged in almost every day.
So after that morning's tantrum, she told Luis to have her horse ready for a late afternoon ride. The phone rang several times, always Gunther, but she didn’t want to talk about what he had shown her that morning. So towards evening, she got on her horse wearing very casual clothing: wide linen trousers, t-shirt, and denim jacket.
She had begun riding as a child in Denmark, on her uncle's farm, and she had always enjoyed it. As soon as she could, in Ibiza, Lisa had purchased a beautiful and docile bay horse. She named him “Old Man” after Pippi Longstocking’s horse, a reminder of her childhood memories.
Furthermore, horse-back riding, the gentle rhythmic gait of the animal and the rocking contact of her pussy with the hard saddle, always brought back memories of her first sexual arousal. "If only everything were that easy, today!" she thought as she let Old Man pick his way down the dirt road toward the beach.
She always kept the animal to a slow pace; her breasts weighed so much she couldn't tolerate a gallop. The sedate ride let her just enjoy the sea and the beach around her, and also let her luxuriate in the gentle tremors that shook her body with every step the horse took. It was her firm rule never to wear a bra when riding, so of course Old Man's steady plod sent her large bosom swaying and wobbling against the rough denim of the jacket, exciting her nipples. And, even better… like most women whose breasts had grown very big naturally, Lisa had extraordinarily large, wide and sensitive areolae. And she enjoyed the erotic, pleasure discomfort of her breasts bouncing unrestrainedly from side to side. The total effect was incredibly relaxing for her.
Lisa tried to think rationally about what had happened that day. Basically nothing had happened! She remained unique in size and beauty, incomparable, no matter how much that girl Milena had grown.
But the fact remained, Lisa had to return to Berlin as soon as possible; there was no doubt at all. That woman was stealing her heart's desire, her dream of becoming the woman with the biggest tits on earth. ‘Cause now, after what had happened, she could clearly see the final outcome of the incredible saga. She would be remembered forever, as the model with the most incredible, gigantic, natural breasts of all time.
When she returned to the villa she went online and purchased her tickets, and gave instructions to the staff. And two days later Lisa left, destination Potsdam.
Great as always! Keep it up! :)
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