Chapter Ten

She had slept all the way through the flight to Berlin: the stewardess on board had woken her up just before landing. But while helping to fasten the seat belt for landing, the girl had leaned across so that her arm could not avoid the Danish girl's swelling frontage, exerting a slight but continuous pressure on Lisa's bosom as she cinched the belt. At her astonished gaze, the girl suddenly blushed and whispered a few words of apology. Lisa smiled condescendingly: "No, no, please - touch me if you want. Feel, you can tell how real they are. See?" The girl’s face turned red. Lisa was now quite comfortable with her mammoth bulk. She quite liked it that displaying herself in public brought out these reactions in women, to have them pay so much attention to her and approach her hesitantly, knowing they had to ask permission to be in her presence. It pleased her to think that this fascination with her body could somehow transcend mere human sexuality: she and her gigantic mammaries inspired wonder and deference, not merely lust.
"They are so ... awesome," the stewardess whispered, embarrassed. Lisa in turn cast an eye down the girl's neckline, and with a single glance dismissed her: a B-cup. Hopeless, in her world. Too flatchested to be any kind of woman at all; the narrow bandeau and silly loose cups, hardly worthy of being called a bra.
The car Gunther had sent to pick her up at the airport that evening: a wretched Mercedes. Lisa hated sedans. She always felt like she was suffocating, the struggle of maneuvering her grossly top-heavy body in and out, with handbags, heels and all the apparel she inevitably brought with her; and it was always ridiculously uncomfortable. She had, simply, grown far too big to fit into an ordinary car easily. She decided she had to talk to Gunther about it - next time she wouldn’t get into anything smaller than an SUV. But at the moment she was tired; cursing, she got in.
The change of scenery was startlingly abrupt - since she'd napped on the plane, she found herself disoriented, seeing such a different landscape when she looked out the window. The whole place seemed inhospitable, compared to Ibiza; then, when they left Berlin and the city traffic, the warm light of sunset threw a golden haze over the windows of the houses and over the treetops, pervading everything with an aura of silent tranquility.
About three weeks had passed since that first trip, and Lisa didn’t know what to expect: the night before, in retrospect, she had concluded that what she had seen, couldn’t be true. Somehow, that bra had been stuffed - those suddenly-swollen breasts could not be real. She distinctly remembered what Milena had looked like, in that proletarian-housing building outside Berlin: utterly nondescript, certainly from the tit point of view. Maybe, she thought, Milena had a twin sister with two frighteningly big boobs and Gunther had taken the opportunity to make up this stupid joke. But then she also thought about Greta’s mammary glands ... the girl who had been the prize of the experiments in the seventies, whose breasts seemed to be completely genuine. Lisa had some experience with the tricks of morphing images on a computer, and the shape of Greta's watermelon-like breasts, their contour lines into her torso, the shadows projected on her thin body ... that photograph just didn't look like it had been manipulated.
In conclusion, Lisa was torn between two contradictory desires: she wanted to believe that this was possible, but she instinctively denied that it could happen to any woman other than her.
While these thoughts were running through her mind, the car pulled up to the country house's gate; she recognized the dirt road leading up the hill. The car took the road slowly, winding through the woods, finally arriving in the large courtyard. It was almost dark, and bright windows on the first floor cast large squares of light on the ground. The door opened, even before she approached, and a smiling Gunther appeared.
"Lisa, finally! " He embraced her unusually warmly - he, who always showed such a controlled manner in public.
"We were waiting dinner for you. I invited Hans to join us." Then he added, almost in a whisper: "Really, he invited himself. I think he couldn’t wait to see you again. Come this way."
They entered the great hall, and then went into the adjoining room, the source of the bright lights showing outside. There was a blaze in the large fireplace, and beside it, despite the warmth of the season, stood Professor Bohm and Milena, as if they were waiting to attend her. It was the man who greeted her first - asking about her flight - how she had been doing in Ibiza - cordial and solicitous. Milena stood shyly behind him, and looked almost embarrassed, like a younger schoolgirl hoping upper-school Lisa would notice her. Lisa began instead to talk with the doctor, ignoring his experimental subject. Lisa had of course given her a quick appraisal immediately upon entering the room - the sweater covered a more than ample bosom, but she couldn't tell whether or not that was real flesh filling out the sweater. Superficially, the big, round boobs seemed very natural, bouncing gently as Milena walked, the whole mass wobbling and its shape shifting – not at all the rigid outlines of a filled bra. If Gunther was indeed pulling some kind of joke, he was going to be paying a heavy price for that joke, she thought to herself.
Gunther himself was trying to defuse the tension in the room; when there was a momentary pause in the conversation between Lisa and the professor, he made a quick sort of presentation.
"And this is Milena - you remember her, right?" Lisa looked over from the Professor to Gunther and replied: "Do you think I'd forget?" Nobody said anything else.
Lisa struggled to present a detached demeanor, but she was really dying to know what was actually going on in that house. And particularly in the laboratory in the greenhouse.
Dinner was announced, and Gunther led them into the dining room. Lisa excused herself for a moment to the adjoining drawing room, and quickly took off her blouse and freed herself from the sturdy, heavily-wired travel harness. She replaced it with one of her light, sexy, lace demi-cups that offered ludicrously little support to the fatness of her extremely pendulous breasts, but it eased the soreness she felt from being constricted all day, and let her breathe. Lisa sighed with relief, and slipped the blouse back on, now showing impressive décolletage befitting her awesome body. Looking around the dining room, Lisa noticed that everything about the house was perfectly chosen, all exactly appropriate and placed just so. It was like actually going back in time, traveling back to the home of a noble family of the nineteenth century. It even seemed like the soft, warm golden illumination in the dining room came only from the many lighted candles.
The dinner was absolutely superb, and she could hardly fail to notice that each course was one of her favorite dishes: fish, oysters from the North Sea, a giant lobster with an incredible aroma. Lisa, who always had a hearty appetite and no compunctions about indulging herself, took substantial servings of everything; but halfway through the lobster, she noted with surprise that Milena was easily outdoing both her and the two men, eating voraciously and sending her plates back for additional portions which she wolfed down greedily. The woman sat quietly and said nothing after dessert, but she had a definite expression of disappointment when the meal was over. The menu was typical Gunther - treating her like a queen - especially if he felt he had done something which needed forgiveness. Now, the perfect host, he entertained the guests with a nostalgic recounting of his childhood incidents connected to the place. Apparently just seeing her again had really made Gunther a different man, putting him in a friendly and confidential mood, but as Lisa sat there his voice became muffled, sinking to a sort of background hum in her ears. Her thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the two other guests; she would dart her eyes back and forth from one smiling face to the other, until involuntarily stopping on Milena, forced to look down, and finding her gaze riveted to a swollen breast. As she watched the woman, moving around naturally, completely at ease with her new big bosom, it was like finding the tiny discrepancy that revealed some farce was being played out in front of her. Because now she was convinced - it was all too perfect. It couldn't be what it seemed.
After dinner they moved into the sitting room. Lisa, who rarely smoked, accepted a cigarette from the professor and then, as nonchalantly as possible, asked him how the study was proceeding. She said "study" and not experiment, not wanting to reveal intense curiosity with her choice of words; she would let the doctor choose to talk about anything, even something related to his university research.
Instead, with a sympathetic smile, Professor Bohm went straight to the point.
"We are replicating the same protocols that we initially implemented years ago, and I must say that the results are extremely interesting. Of course the technology of today makes it easier, and the laboratory that my friend Gunther set up, need not envy even the most advanced research centers ... "
Lisa, sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and listening to him intently, leaned forward and encouraged him to continue.
"Our Miss Milena, she is responding well to therapy. At this early stage we are causing her body to produce essential hormones, such as prolactin, in precise dosages, for the growth of mammary tissue. The second phase will begin shortly, and involves administering animal-derived hormones, in addition to mechanical stimulation." He said this in a completely clinical tone, while Lisa was opening her eyes wider and wider at every word he uttered.
She finally found the courage to ask. "And for that thing ... you know ... that she has to be pregnant ..."
"We are working on it, and I think that particular obstacle could be overcome. Of course, we will need other volunteers who are not in a postpartum condition such as Milena was. I spoke with Gunther about this, and he believes that we will have no problem finding one or two girls with the ... let’s say ... vocation for science."
He said this with a smile, but Lisa was anything but amused. "Doctor," Lisa interjected, "I know Gunther - we have been business partners for years - and I'm sure he will not mind me saying that there will be no more volunteers. I will be the next girl to submit to your treatment."
He looked puzzled: "But ... you know, my dear, it is especially because you are business partners, that Gunther made it clear your body is too valuable to be subjected to experimentation. This process may be successful; however, there is the possibility, albeit very small, that it might pose health risks. I'm certain, considering your present enormity - natural enormity, that is - you would surely be a perfect subject ... and I have no doubt you would respond very well to our therapy ... "
"Well, you know doctor, fuck it - if the next girl you help grow more tit isn't me, it won’t be anybody." She finished speaking, with an effort heaved her top-heavy body up from the couch, and made as if to stalk from the room. The angry tone of her final words caught the attention of Gunther and Milena, who had withdrawn to the front terrace and left the two of them alone to talk.
They now hurriedly returned, and Milena also said that she felt compelled to leave.
"Excuse me, but I'm tired, and I think I'm going to turn in for some sleep," she said.
But as she said this and turned, the two reached the doorway simultaneously and almost collided; as it was, they had to shove their overflowing bosoms against each other and squash the protruding flesh to the sides, in order for both women to be able to fit in the doorway at the same time. Milena then actually leaned forward and pressed herself even more into the yielding pillows of Lisa's breasts, mouth next to her ear, and said softly: "I wish we could be friends. Come and see me anytime, I'm in the room down the hall to the left." Then she pulled gently away and squeezed past Lisa’s big shelf of tit.
Lisa was livid at the woman’s effrontery – actually pressing against her, touching her – but as she started to upbraid Milena, she had felt the prongs of two big nipples burrow into her own jelly-soft breasts. "Shit!” she thought, “I can't believe it - those things honest-to-God do seem like they're real."
She needed her pills immediately. She said goodnight to Dr. Bohm, and asked Gunther to accompany her to her room. First floor corridor to the left, second door on the left. Before she went in, she looked at the closed door down the corridor.
The maid had prepared everything, unpacked her suitcase, laid her silk pajamas out on the bed, put her toiletries in the bathroom. Too much order.
She prepared herself for bed - lingering in the hot shower to ease the soreness in her neck and shoulders from carrying those ponderous breasts all day, carefully washing each oversized gland and rubbing aromatic oils into the sore flesh. She hummed softly to herself as she kneaded the exquisite mountains of flesh, giggling as she would attempt to lift first one and then the other. "So big! Big and heavy beyond belief! How could I have ever dreamed I would grow so large?" Then she put on her pajamas and slipped under the covers.
She knew she was not sleepy, despite the tranquilizers. Staring at the old beamed ceilings, she felt an idea start to form in her mind - the desire to go and see exactly what Milena was really like now.
Were those really her tits, ballooned to such an impressive size so quickly? And if so, would they be natural to the touch, or would they feel like those silicone monstrosities she saw all the time in the magazines?
While Lisa lay sleepless in the dark, thoughts chasing each other around in her mind, she heard a swish, at first light and then more and more determined. She might have been wrong, but it seemed like the creak of a bed. Shortly after, the squeak became the dull thud of a headboard banging against the wall; and then it was clear, unequivocally, that someone was screwing. And judging from the muffled moans resounding over the bed creaks and bangs, they were indeed having fun ..
She reached her hands under her pajamas, to her thighs, stroking, and then wandering to her vagina. Then, finally, sleep took hold of her.