Sara

Chap­ter 1

Ever since the start of the school year, Melis­sa couldn’t shake the feel­ing that some­thing was very strange about what was hap­pen­ing at her daugh­ter’s high school. Sara, of course, did noth­ing but roll her eyes when­ev­er Melis­sa men­tioned the slight­est bit of un­ease. It was all too ob­vi­ous that Sara thought her moth­er just didn’t get it—that she was act­ing sil­ly and prud­ish and old. Though she wouldn’t ever ad­mit it, Melis­sa some­times won­dered if per­haps her daugh­ter was right: maybe this was how Melis­sa’s own moth­er had felt all those years ago when Melis­sa had been Sara’s age, and maybe she ought to just ac­cept that stan­dards change, and what once would have seemed scan­dalous was now ut­ter­ly nor­mal.

Still, some things were hard for her to ac­cept. The dress code was bad enough, es­pe­cial­ly since she couldn’t re­mem­ber any­thing at all like it from pre­vi­ous years. She gen­uine­ly hadn’t be­lieved Sara when she’d first come home and told her that she need­ed to go shop­ping for stilet­tos and panty­hose, but the pam­phlet Sara had brought home with her was very clear and per­fect­ly of­fi­cial. She bare­ly even re­mem­bered what it had said—some­thing about read­ing it had made her head feel strange­ly fog­gy—but it was enough for her to re­sign her­self to com­plete­ly re­plac­ing her daugh­ter’s wardrobe.

If that had been the end of it, Melis­sa felt she could have got­ten used to it. Sure, it made her a lit­tle un­com­fort­able to see her daugh­ter run­ning off to school in three-inch pumps and thigh-hug­ging ny­lons, but what both­ered her even more was how good Sara was be­gin­ning to look in them. Melis­sa swore that when she first bought them, she’d looked about as one would ex­pect: like a fif­teen year old girl try­ing on her moth­er’s cloth­ing. But just a few weeks in, Melis­sa was be­gin­ning to won­der if she had sim­ply been re­luc­tant to ad­mit just what Sara was be­com­ing.

Even now, just think­ing of Sara was enough to put a mild blush in her cheeks. There was just no way around it: Sara was beau­ti­ful. She tried not to ever let her daugh­ter no­tice the way her moth­er’s eyes some­times lin­gered on her wide, moth­er­ly hips or her soft, round ass, mar­veling at the way the panty­hose high­light­ed her smooth, soft thighs with such a per­fect lit­tle gap in be­tween. She tried not to think about how en­tic­ing Sara looked with her midriff show­ing, nor did she have the guts to ask her to please show less of that eye-catch­ing­ly deep cleav­age be­tween her big, lus­cious breasts. Ask­ing a ques­tion like that would mean ad­mit­ting how dis­tract­ing she found them, and some­thing about those feel­ings seemed ter­ri­bly wrong. Melis­sa couldn’t re­mem­ber ever feel­ing so lost in the body of any woman, and she was pret­ty sure it was un­am­bigu­ous­ly wrong to feel this way about her own daugh­ter.

So Melis­sa just sighed, pushed the men­tal im­age of her daugh­ter’s gor­geous, wom­an­ly fig­ure out of her mind, and forced her­self to fo­cus on work.

Sara pulled her lips away from Julie’s and ran her fin­gers through the oth­er girl’s soft, red hair. “I should prob­a­bly get go­ing,” she said, her voice laden with hints of melan­choly. “But it’s been so nice to meet you!”

“Oh, the plea­sure is all mine,” Julie cooed, press­ing their soft, warm breasts to­geth­er and pep­per­ing her new friend’s cheeks with kiss­es. Some part of her won­dered mo­men­tar­i­ly if that might be act­ing too for­ward around some­one she’d met ear­li­er that day… but she quick­ly dis­missed the thought as a base­less anx­i­ety. Ob­vi­ous­ly there was noth­ing wrong with warm, lov­ing af­fec­tion be­tween two girls.

Sara thought idly about how much she loved the way she could feel their semi-erect cocks press­ing against each oth­er through their lay­ers of lin­gerie, and she squeezed two hand­fuls of Julie’s sexy, yum­my ass be­fore fi­nal­ly pulling her­self away. “See you to­mor­row, cutie,” she trilled, then picked up her bag and start­ed home.

Sara couldn’t help but sa­vor how good she felt late­ly. Ever since the start of the school year, every­thing just seemed to keep get­ting bet­ter and bet­ter. She’d al­ways been so shy be­fore, and when she’d found out the new prin­ci­pal had in­sti­tut­ed a manda­to­ry “so­cial skills” class, she’d ini­tial­ly dread­ed the awk­ward­ness she’d be in­evitably sub­ject­ed to. She was pleas­ant­ly sur­prised, how­ev­er, when she met the course’s teacher, who had a tru­ly re­mark­able abil­i­ty to put every­one ut­ter­ly at ease. Her class­room al­ways smelled so nice, and it was hard to dis­agree with any­thing she said in that de­light­ful­ly warm, sooth­ing voice. Girls should love one an­oth­er, Sara re­peat­ed to her­self. Girls are beau­ti­ful, and they de­serve to feel good.

Sara def­i­nite­ly felt good, and in­creas­ing­ly, she also felt beau­ti­ful. Every time she looked in the mir­ror, she was awestruck by how amaz­ing her re­flec­tion looked. Some­times it was hard not to get lost in her sparkling blue eyes and her plump, kiss­able lips, and she’d lost track of time tak­ing mir­ror self­ies of her de­light­ful­ly hefty boobs on more than a few oc­ca­sions. For­tu­nate­ly, every­one was al­ways so un­der­stand­ing: even the teach­ers who she swore she thought had a rep­u­ta­tion for be­ing strict were noth­ing but gen­tle and en­cour­ag­ing, and they al­ways re­as­sured her with hugs and kiss­es when­ev­er she need­ed them.

Sara’s cock strained proud­ly against her panties as she ad­mired the way her breasts bounced with every step. Some­thing about the ex­pe­ri­ence seemed new… no mat­ter how much she tried, she couldn’t re­mem­ber when ex­act­ly she’d got­ten her first erec­tion, and she re­mem­bered so lit­tle about her cock that some­times she al­most thought she must not have al­ways had one. But that thought was sil­ly—girls don’t just sud­den­ly grow cocks. In any case, think­ing about why she had a dick just didn’t seem all that im­por­tant; what was im­por­tant was that she had one, and it was very, very sexy. She ca­su­al­ly stroked her bulge as she strolled down the side­walk, en­joy­ing how warm it felt squeezed be­tween her fin­gers and the silky smooth skin of her low­er stom­ach.

Be­fore long, Sara was walk­ing through her front door, and as much as she loved school, she was al­ways hap­py to be home. “I’m home!” she yelled, drop­ping her bag on the floor and slip­ping out of her heels.

Melis­sa ap­peared at the door­way at the oth­er end of the hall and smiled weak­ly at her daugh­ter. “Hey, sweet­heart,” she said, try­ing her best to main­tain eye con­tact. “How was your day?”

“So good,” Sara purred as she threw her arms around her moth­er and pulled her into her pil­lowy chest. Even with­out her heels, she was sev­er­al inch­es taller than Melis­sa—and nei­ther of them could quite re­mem­ber when that growth spurt had hap­pened. “I met a new friend!”

“O–Oh, real­ly?” Melis­sa was vague­ly aware of the fact that Sara wasn’t wear­ing any bot­toms be­sides her panty­hose and un­der­wear, and she felt like that must be wrong, and she ought to chas­tise her, but it was so hard to think straight when en­veloped in those big, soft, pret­ty boobs. She al­most leaned for­ward to kiss her daugh­ter on the lips, then caught her­self and kissed her on her cheek, in­stead, which for some rea­son felt less in­ap­pro­pri­ate. “What’s she like?”

Sara glowed just think­ing about her, and she kissed each of her moth­er’s cheeks in re­turn. “Oh, just amaz­ing,” she mur­mured, sway­ing her mes­mer­iz­ing­ly wide hips from side to side and lick­ing her invit­ing­ly soft lips. “She has a body like an ath­lete, and her cock is even big­ger than mine.”

“…than yours?” Melis­sa looked faint.

“Yeah, I know,” Sara gig­gled. “I’ve been hard just think­ing about her the whole way home.”

Melis­sa’s eyes were glassy as her daugh­ter pulled away. Did Sara have a cock? A quick glance made it very ob­vi­ous that yes, she did… so why did that feel so weird to her? She felt like it was at the very least un­usu­al for girls to have cocks, but Sara’s voice sound­ed so non­cha­lant, so that couldn’t be right.

“God, girls are so hot, aren’t they?”

Melis­sa’s an­swer came to mind im­me­di­ate­ly: ab­solute­ly not. She was straight! She liked men! So why couldn’t she just say that?

Sara was un­but­ton­ing her blouse. She wasn’t wear­ing a bra, so Melis­sa was forced to watch as her daugh­ter’s per­fect tits spilled out of her shirt and swayed with every mo­tion of her heav­en­ly body. “Mmm. Julie doesn’t even wear a top, you know that? I kind of like her style.”

Melis­sa bare­ly even heard the words, as she was still try­ing to process her own feel­ings. Sara’s boobs looked so good. Why did boobs look so good? Sara was hug­ging her again, and she felt so warm, so safe, so loved…

“I love you so much,” Sara mur­mured… and with­out warn­ing, she kissed her moth­er on the lips. Melis­sa stiff­ened for a mo­ment in sud­den shock—then, less than a sec­ond lat­er, com­plete­ly melt­ed. Sara’s lips were so soft, and her tongue tast­ed sweet and nice. Why had this felt wrong? Melis­sa couldn’t re­mem­ber. All she knew was that right now, it felt good, warm, lov­ing, close… she leaned into the kiss and, with­out con­scious­ly think­ing about it, sub­tly spread her thighs. She could feel the con­tours of Sara’s firm shaft nes­tled be­tween them, and she felt a mo­men­tary swell of pride at the phys­i­cal sen­sa­tion of her own daugh­ter’s viril­i­ty.

And then Sara pulled away, and it all end­ed as quick­ly as it start­ed.

“Any­way, I should get start­ed on my home­work.” Her voice seemed strange­ly dis­tant. Melis­sa could only nod in con­cealed dis­ap­point­ment.

Sara picked up her bag and left for her room. Melis­sa stood where she was in stunned si­lence. What the hell is wrong with me? she won­dered, strug­gling to un­der­stand what she’d just felt. It had been so good, so all-en­com­pass­ing, and she want­ed so much more… but no. Some­thing about it had to be wrong, right? This was go­ing too far. She felt like she had to do some­thing, even if she couldn’t quite ex­plain why… but what?

“Hel­lo?”

Melis­sa took a deep breath. She wasn’t even sure this was the right num­ber.

“Hi, yes—is this Lu­cille Al­bright?”

“Speak­ing.”

The right num­ber, then. Melis­sa didn’t know if that was bet­ter or worse.

“Right. Um… my name is Melis­sa Rosen­thal. I don’t know if you heard, but my daugh­ter, Sara, re­cent­ly met Julie at school.”

“O–Oh.” There was a brief pause. “Yes, Julie, uh… men­tioned her to me yes­ter­day.”

“I see.” Melis­sa swal­lowed. She had no idea how to broach this sub­ject, so she fig­ured she might as well just be di­rect. “Yes, well, I don’t want to sound alarmist, but I’ve been feel­ing like my daugh­ter’s been act­ing sort of… weird late­ly.”

A weak laugh came out of the tele­phone re­ceiv­er. “You know, I think I can re­late to that.”

Melis­sa breathed a sigh of re­lief. “You can?”

“Yes, ab­solute­ly. I was be­gin­ning to wor­ry I was the only one.”

“So, the dress code—?”

“To­tal­ly weirds me out, yes,” Lu­cille fin­ished for her. “But it’s way more than that, ac­tu­al­ly… Julie’s been… god, how do I put this?”

“Dif­fer­ent?” Melis­sa of­fered read­i­ly. “Maybe even phys­i­cal­ly?”

“Yes, I think so, but some­how I find it so hard to be cer­tain why. I just can’t re­mem­ber her be­ing near­ly so…”

Melis­sa bit her lip. She knew the word Lu­cille was look­ing for: sexy. It was what kept pop­ping into her head when she tried to de­scribe Sara, un­com­fort­able as that fact made her. “Yes, I un­der­stand. I take it from your tone you’ve also been hav­ing sim­i­lar­ly, uh… con­fus­ing feel­ings.”

“You could say that. In fact, just yes­ter­day, I—”

“Yes?”

Melis­sa blushed. Some­how, the idea of Lu­cille mak­ing out with her daugh­ter had sud­den­ly vivid­ly leapt into her mind, and to her great em­bar­rass­ment, it tit­il­lat­ed her. It re­mind­ed her of how good it felt to taste Sara’s lips, and for an in­stant, she felt over­whelm­ing re­gret she hadn’t just giv­en into her feel­ings last night and in­vit­ed her daugh­ter to sleep in the same bed with her.

Lu­cille re­mained silent for sev­er­al sec­onds. Then, fi­nal­ly: “It’s noth­ing.”

Melis­sa forced her­self to wres­tle her thoughts back un­der con­trol, re­mind­ing her­self that this was all but con­firm­ing her sus­pi­cions. She had to stay fo­cused. “Right. Well, in any case, it sounds like you have been, uh… see­ing the same things I’ve been see­ing.”

Lu­cille au­di­bly in­haled. “Prob­a­bly, yes.”

“I ap­pre­ci­ate you telling me. I’m go­ing to look into this fur­ther, and I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Thank you—I’ve been a bit wor­ried I’ve been los­ing my mind.”

“Well, if you have been, that makes two of us,” Melis­sa laughed. “But no, I’m sure there’s a per­fect­ly mun­dane ex­pla­na­tion for all of this—there must be, right? I’ll let you know.”

Melis­sa tried not to look too hard at the peo­ple she passed as she en­tered the front doors of Pine Crest High School. She told her­self it was be­cause it all felt un­can­ny, but in truth, she was equal­ly anx­ious about sim­ply be­ing dis­tract­ed. Ever since yes­ter­day af­ter­noon, she’d been strug­gling not to spend most of her spare mo­ments day­dream­ing about girls. For as long as she could re­mem­ber, she’d nev­er found any­thing about oth­er women par­tic­u­lar­ly ap­peal­ing, but ever since that kiss, she seemed un­able to go thir­ty min­utes with­out catch­ing her­self think­ing about breasts, or hips, or long, curvy legs. The thought of touch­ing them, hold­ing them, cud­dling with them, lov­ing them… it was over­whelm­ing, so much so that she kept catch­ing her­self think­ing about it for min­utes at a time! Some­thing was very strange about it all, and she need­ed to get an­swers.

“Ex­cuse me,” Melis­sa said to the re­cep­tion­ist at the front desk, her voice a bit un­steady. “I have a meet­ing with Mrs. Hart­ford?”

The woman looked up from her desk and smiled at Melis­sa warm­ly. Melis­sa was grate­ful she ap­peared to be pro­fes­sion­al­ly dressed, al­beit with one less but­ton done up on her blaz­er than she would have liked, and the gen­tle­ness in her voice was dis­arm­ing. “Oh, you must be Mrs. Rosen­thal, right? Yes, Cyn­thia men­tioned you were com­ing to see her. Two doors down that way, on your left.”

Melis­sa thanked her and knocked on the in­di­cat­ed door, only to hear a light, melo­di­ous voice from with­in in­form her it was al­ready un­locked. She cau­tious­ly en­tered the small per­son­al of­fice, and she was sur­prised to find it ut­ter­ly or­di­nary look­ing, with piles of pa­pers stacked tidi­ly atop fil­ing cab­i­nets and a white­board scrawled with en­tire­ly mun­dane notes and dates. Cyn­thia Hart­ford was seat­ed at the oth­er end of the room, be­hind a large, oak desk, and she wasn’t at all what Melis­sa had been ex­pect­ing.

Cyn­thia wasn’t a par­tic­u­lar­ly large woman, and in fact she had a rather slen­der fig­ure, though her chest was not ex­act­ly flat. She wore a long, black dress, tight around her bo­som but per­fect­ly mod­est, and her long, black hair was tied up in a pony­tail. Her flaw­less­ly smooth skin was a pleas­ant shade of olive, and her eyes were a deep, warm, red­dish brown, with a depth that made her look old in spite of her oth­er­wise youth­ful ap­pear­ance. Melis­sa had come pre­pared to be scan­dal­ized, but the soft­ness of Cyn­thia’s vis­age com­plete­ly dis­armed her, and she stood stock still for sev­er­al mo­ments be­fore the prin­ci­pal fi­nal­ly spoke up.

“You’re Sara’s moth­er, right?” Her voice was warm and rich, like a soft blan­ket left in the sun.

Melis­sa just nod­ded.

“She’s a love­ly girl, isn’t she? You should be so proud.” Cyn­thia smiled, and her eyes seemed to turn al­most gold­en when the sun­light struck them just the right way. “Come—please sit down!”

Melis­sa did as she was told. She did feel proud. Sara was amaz­ing… even if her re­cent feel­ings about her made her un­easy, her daugh­ter was un­am­bigu­ous­ly beau­ti­ful. Think­ing about how she had brought Sara’s beau­ty into the world made her feel nice.

“You want­ed to talk about some­thing with me, yes? I promise you can tell me any­thing, and I won’t be of­fend­ed: I take every­one’s con­cerns very se­ri­ous­ly.”

Up close, Cyn­thia was even more breath­tak­ing. Her body looked im­pos­si­bly soft, and the light seemed to glit­ter off her gor­geous skin. Her eyes were big and round, and her ex­pres­sion was one of gen­uine care. Melis­sa felt equal parts put at ease and sud­den­ly deeply self-con­scious. “Um… yes, well. Some­thing about this year has seemed dif­fer­ent.”

Cyn­thia nod­ded. “Yes, I’ve been do­ing my best to make the pro­gram work for each and every girl here.”

Every girl? Melis­sa thought to her­self. Wasn’t that a weird thing to say? It wasn’t an all-girls school… but then, had she ac­tu­al­ly seen any boys on her way in? She sud­den­ly wished she’d been pay­ing more at­ten­tion.

“Is there some­thing wor­ry­ing you about my ap­proach?”

Melis­sa swal­lowed. Cyn­thia seemed so kind, so gen­tle… how could she pos­si­bly ac­cuse her of any­thing? But no—she forced her­self to re­mem­ber the con­ver­sa­tion with Lu­cille. “The dress code—” Melis­sa stam­mered. “I just… it’s un­usu­al, isn’t it?”

Cyn­thia tilt­ed her head. “Yes, per­haps a lit­tle bit. But is there any­thing wrong with be­ing un­usu­al?”

“It’s… it’s scan­dalous!” Melis­sa blurt­ed, then im­me­di­ate­ly blushed. “My girl is not a whore!”

“No, of course she isn’t,” Cyn­thia replied, calm and col­lect­ed in tone but with deep con­cern on her face. “Whyev­er would you think such a thing?”

“She… she went out to­day not wear­ing a shirt—!”

“Well, that isn’t against any school pol­i­cy that I’m aware of. With all due re­spect, Miss Rosen­thal, isn’t her choice of style most­ly your busi­ness, as her par­ent?”

Melis­sa was grow­ing ex­as­per­at­ed. This was ab­surd, she knew it was ab­surd, but she couldn’t ar­tic­u­late why. “Mrs. Hart­ford—”

“Please, call me Cyn­thia.”

“Cyn­thia. I don’t know what’s go­ing on here, but ever since the be­gin­ning of this year, some­thing very strange has been hap­pen­ing to my daugh­ter. She is not even six­teen, yet sud­den­ly she looks… looks…”

“At­trac­tive?” Cyn­thia of­fered, then laughed, and her laugh was as warm and com­fort­ing as every oth­er part of her. “Sweet­heart, I’m afraid it’s per­fect­ly nor­mal for girls Sara’s age to go through some changes. Sure­ly you know that as well as any woman.”

Melis­sa was grasp­ing at straws. “She kissed me yes­ter­day! On the lips!”

Cyn­thia raised an eye­brow. “Oh?” Her eyes sparkled as she leaned for­ward slight­ly. “And how did that make you feel?”

Melis­sa mouth hung open for sev­er­al mo­ments, and her cheeks went slight­ly pink. “It’s in­cred­i­bly in­ap­pro­pri­ate.”

“Why?”

Melis­sa didn’t know how to an­swer.

“Melis­sa, dar­ling,” Cyn­thia soothed, and some­thing about her voice made Melis­sa shiv­er. “Isn’t it won­der­ful that your daugh­ter has such love for you?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you like it, don’t you? I know I would. Sara is beau­ti­ful… I can only imag­ine how nice it must feel to have those love­ly breasts pressed against mine.”

“Cyn­thia! That’s—”

“You like boobs, don’t you, sweet­ie?”

No, she didn’t. She wasn’t sup­posed to. She nev­er had! And yet…

“I think you love big, soft, warm, girl­ish chests.”

Why did the words feel so right?

“It’s quite un­der­stand­able, real­ly. Girls are so soft, so nice to touch, so nice to love.”

Melis­sa’s head felt cloud­ed by some sort of thick, soft fog, and every word out of Cyn­thia’s mouth was mak­ing her body feel warmer.

“Re­lax, okay? You’re just need­less­ly stress­ing your­self out wor­ry­ing your­self so much. Lov­ing women is nice—it’s nat­ur­al to want to hold them, feel them, get lost in their beau­ty…” Cyn­thia smiled, and her eyes glit­tered mis­chie­vous­ly un­der the af­ter­noon sun­light. “Af­ter all, I of all peo­ple should know.” She reached one arm be­hind her back and be­gan to slow­ly un­zip her dress.

Melis­sa was mes­mer­ized. Cyn­thia was slip­ping out of the sleeves, and sud­den­ly her breasts were bare, much big­ger than they’d looked con­fined by the fab­ric, their big, round nip­ples cute and perky.

“It’s real­ly quite al­right to ad­mit it to your­self, sweet­heart. Just say it: ‘I love boobs.’”

Melis­sa’s head felt so fuzzy, and she was grow­ing dis­tract­ing­ly aroused. You’re straight! her sub­con­scious plead­ed, but it was no use. “I…”

“That’s right,” Cyn­thia en­cour­aged, lick­ing her lips and gen­tly cup­ping her bo­som in her palms. “It’s just three lit­tle words.”

“I… I love boobs.” Melis­sa’s eyes were wide and glassy. The word felt strange­ly nice to say. “Boobs,” she mur­mured again, and a shiv­er ran up her spine.

“Yes, dear. Breasts, tit­ties, won­der­ful, girl­ish mel­ons… there’s noth­ing at all wrong with want­i­ng to get lost in them, is there?”

Melis­sa’s heart was beat­ing very quick­ly, and she still felt very afraid, but Cyn­thia’s voice soothed her. “I do want that,” she whis­pered to no­body in par­tic­u­lar, and she tilt­ed her head slight­ly and bit her lip. “God, I… I love women.” She looked up at Cyn­thia’s eyes with a new sense of awe, and she seemed sur­prised by her own force­ful­ness and cer­tain­ty, but say­ing the words out loud felt free­ing, like she could fi­nal­ly stop re­sist­ing and just be hon­est with her­self.

“There’s a good girl,” Cyn­thia grinned, and she dropped the dress the rest of the way and got to her feet. As she did so, Melis­sa gasped.

Cyn­thia did not just have beau­ti­ful breasts. She had six of them.

“That’s much bet­ter—that dress was hope­less­ly tight.” She stepped out from be­hind her desk and stretched, and Melis­sa just gawked. Cyn­thia wore noth­ing but a pair of lacy, black panties and black heels, and her bare legs were long, slen­der, and gor­geous. The six breasts—each pair slight­ly small­er than the one above it—gave her body a beau­ti­ful­ly ex­ot­ic al­lure, but they were not the only un­usu­al thing about her. Hang­ing from her back was a long, fleshy, flex­i­ble tail—and as she stretched, she curled it around her right leg, then lift­ed it be­hind her, where it idly waved to and fro.

Melis­sa just sat there in shock, and with­out think­ing, au­di­bly whim­pered.

With­out an­oth­er word, Cyn­thia strode to the of­fice door and pulled it open. “I’m so sor­ry to in­ter­rupt your class, cutie,” came Cyn­thia’s dreamy voice, di­rect­ed at some girl who had ap­par­ent­ly been wait­ing just out­side. “I just thought your moth­er would ap­pre­ci­ate see­ing you.”

Melis­sa stared help­less­ly as Sara en­tered Cyn­thia’s of­fice, and her daugh­ter’s face lit up with de­light when she spot­ted Melis­sa sit­ting on the oth­er side of the room. “Oh, of course! Re­al­ly, I should thank you for let­ting me know.” And to Melis­sa’s as­ton­ish­ment and dis­may, Sara wrapped her arms around Cyn­thia’s slen­der body and be­gan to pas­sion­ate­ly make out with her.

Melis­sa watched in stunned con­fu­sion as Cyn­thia wrapped her tail around her daugh­ter’s de­li­cious­ly round ass and be­gan to tease her cock with its tip. Sara, for her part, made no in­di­ca­tion that any­thing was out of the or­di­nary as she tast­ed her prin­ci­pal’s tongue again and again and squeezed her low­er pair of breasts. The two women fon­dled each oth­er for al­most thir­ty sec­onds—which, to Melis­sa, felt like a small eter­ni­ty—then breathi­ly pulled away and smiled at one an­oth­er.

“I love you,” Sara cooed, and Melis­sa’s trance was bro­ken by an un­ex­pect­ed surge of jeal­ousy. That was her daugh­ter!

“I love you, too,” Cyn­thia purred, then glanced back at Melis­sa with that warm, gen­tle, in­no­cent smile. “I’ll leave you two girls for a bit. It sounds like Melis­sa has some feel­ings she’d like to have some time to share with you.” Cyn­thia gave Sara one last peck on the cheek, and be­fore Melis­sa could ob­ject, Cyn­thia was gone.

Sara smiled hap­pi­ly at her moth­er, ut­ter­ly un­aware that any­thing was amiss. She non­cha­lant­ly strolled over and plant­ed a fresh kiss on Melis­sa’s lips, and every move­ment caused her gar­gan­tu­an breasts to jig­gle and sway. Were they even big­ger than they were yes­ter­day? They looked big­ger. In spite of every­thing she was feel­ing, Melis­sa liked that.

“You want­ed to tell me some­thing?”

The words jos­tled Melis­sa out of her stu­por, but her head still felt so fuzzy, and her words from ear­li­er were echo­ing in her mind. I love boobs. She couldn’t stop ad­mir­ing how amaz­ing Sara’s looked. She won­dered mo­men­tar­i­ly if Sara would make out with her as pas­sion­ate­ly as she’d made out with her prin­ci­pal if her moth­er had six breasts, too.

“I love your boobs,” Melis­sa mur­mured, only half con­scious of the fact that she’d just said that out loud. Then she re­al­ized she had, and the re­al­iza­tion felt nice.

“They’re sooo nice, aren’t they?”

“Heav­ens, yes,” Melis­sa mur­mured, then blushed. Wasn’t there some­thing weird about every­thing she’d just seen? She couldn’t re­mem­ber.

Sara squeezed her soft, pil­lowy tits to­geth­er and wag­gled her hips. “Wan­na touch them?”

Melis­sa did. She bare­ly even no­ticed as she got to her feet; all she knew was that one mo­ment she was sit­ting down, lust­ing over Sara’s chest, and the next mo­ment she was knead­ing them in her hands as warm, soft, hap­py feel­ings filled her mind. She loved girls, and she loved boobs.

“I love you, mom,” Sara trilled, run­ning her fin­gers through Melis­sa’s hair.

“I love you, too, hon­ey,” Melis­sa breathed, and re­lief washed over her as she was ut­ter­ly en­veloped in her daugh­ter’s sweet, com­fort­ing scent. This felt in­cred­i­bly good. Why hadn’t she done this be­fore? She couldn’t come up with an ex­pla­na­tion. Still, some­thing gave her pause, some­thing made her hes­i­tate. Some­thing she said to Lu­cille… what had she said to Lu­cille?

Melis­sa didn’t have a chance to re­mem­ber. Sud­den­ly, one of those gor­geous breasts was right in front of her face, and Sara’s hand was on the back of her head, pulling her to­wards the teat. “Drink,” came a soft, gen­tle voice—pre­sum­ably Sara’s, but in the mo­ment, Melis­sa nei­ther knew nor cared. She wrapped her lips around the perky, pink nip­ple that had been of­fered to her and shud­dered as warm, creamy milk flowed over her tongue.

Bliss.

“Feel­ing bet­ter, sweet­heart?”

Melis­sa re­luc­tant­ly tore her­self from the mir­ror and looked for the source of the light, play­ful voice.

“Oh!” Cyn­thia had some­how walked in on her with­out her even notic­ing, she’d been so cap­ti­vat­ed by her own re­flec­tion. “So much bet­ter,” Melis­sa purred, ad­mir­ing Cyn­thia’s fas­ci­nat­ing body in a new light. She loved how cute and full her own voice sound­ed now, and she thought it com­ple­ment­ed her moth­er­ly de­meanor.

“Don’t let me in­ter­rupt you ad­mir­ing your­self—you should! You look gor­geous.”

Melis­sa glowed at the praise and gra­cious­ly ac­cept­ed Cyn­thia’s of­fer to con­tin­ue in­dulging her new­found nar­cis­sism. She was so sexy! Some­how, the skirt she’d put on that morn­ing no longer had any hope of fit­ting around her heav­en­ly hips, so she stood in Cyn­thia’s of­fice wear­ing noth­ing but her blouse, un­der­wear, and san­dals. Her pussy lips were still a bit puffy from ear­li­er, and she thought the way they pressed against the fab­ric of her panties was noth­ing short of adorable. Her poor bra had snapped be­fore she’d man­aged to get out of it, so it laid in pieces on the floor, and the peaks of her nip­ples were clear­ly vis­i­ble be­neath her shirt… a fact Melis­sa didn’t mind one bit.

Amaz­ing­ly, the wrin­kles had com­plete­ly dis­ap­peared from her face, and as she ran her fin­gers over her de­li­cious­ly curvy body, her skin felt al­most un­be­liev­ably soft. It struck her that she and Sara could eas­i­ly be mis­tak­en for sis­ters, and the thought was enough to make her swoon. They had the same eyes, the same lips, the same creamy thighs and tight, round ass… and the longer she looked, the more Melis­sa found her­self want­i­ng to make out with her re­flec­tion, though she knew in her heart it wouldn’t be re­mote­ly sat­is­fy­ing. If only Sara hadn’t need­ed to go back to class!

Melis­sa twist­ed around to get a bet­ter look at the gen­tle curves of her cute, new butt, only to re­al­ize that Cyn­thia was still stand­ing just a few paces away, watch­ing her with in­ter­est. The prin­ci­pal did not look away af­ter be­ing spot­ted, and in­deed, she made no at­tempt to hide the fact she had been ad­mir­ing Melis­sa’s body just as much as Melis­sa was.

“The ap­ple doesn’t fall far, and all that,” Cyn­thia gig­gled, and her tail flicked play­ful­ly be­tween her legs. “You two seem won­der­ful for each oth­er.”

Melis­sa glowed with pride. She had promised Sara she’d take her lin­gerie shop­ping that week­end, and truth­ful­ly, she was every bit as ex­cit­ed about it as her daugh­ter was. “I’ve nev­er felt so in love.”

Cyn­thia looked be­side her­self with joy. “Love be­tween two girls is al­ways such a beau­ti­ful thing, isn’t it?”

Melis­sa found her­self get­ting lost in Cyn­thia’s big, round, gold­en-brown eyes. “I couldn’t agree more,” she mur­mured, mar­veling at how won­der­ful­ly warm and safe and de­sired she felt. How had she ever felt any­thing but af­fec­tion for some­one so kind and so beau­ti­ful?

Cyn­thia bit her lip, and Melis­sa felt blood rush­ing to her cheeks. Was this real­ly okay? It felt so strange, so scary to be feel­ing so over­whelm­ing­ly drawn to­wards some­one her in­stincts told her was some­one she was sup­posed to be noth­ing but pro­fes­sion­al with, but the sight of the warm kiss Cyn­thia had shared with Sara was still fresh in her mind, and the mem­o­ry stirred the seem­ing­ly in­sa­tiable new heat in her loins. There was noth­ing wrong with this, was there? She couldn’t come up with any.

“Re­lax,” Cyn­thia mur­mured, bare­ly loud­er than a whis­per. “Be­lieve me, I feel it, too.”

Melis­sa swal­lowed. She want­ed this. Cyn­thia want­ed this. She stood there for sev­er­al mo­ments, frozen to the spot, and then…

“God, just take me al­ready,” Melis­sa sighed, and that was enough to break the spell.

They moved for each oth­er with­out a sec­ond thought. Cyn­thia’s hands perched upon on Melis­sa’s wide, plush hips, and Melis­sa’s hands start­ed ex­plor­ing Cyn­thia’s chest. Sara’s body had felt so in­tense­ly like her own, but Cyn­thia’s was dif­fer­ent—her flesh was slight­ly firmer, skin slight­ly smoother, hair slight­ly coars­er, smell slight­ly rich­er—but the ex­pe­ri­ence of be­ing pressed up against her was no less won­der­ful. Their lips locked, and Melis­sa felt be­side her­self with joy. There was no re­luc­tance, no ner­vous­ness, no ques­tion­ing her feel­ings: all of that had been re­placed with pure, pas­sion­ate love—both for her­self and for the woman in front of her.

Melis­sa could feel Cyn­thia’s tail play­ful­ly snaking along the in­side of her thighs, and she in­stinc­tive­ly widened her stance to give her bet­ter ac­cess. Every­thing felt so in­tense. Her chest was so warm—why was it so warm? She didn’t think it was nor­mal­ly like that… it re­mind­ed her of some­thing she’d felt just a lit­tle bit ear­li­er, but she couldn’t re­mem­ber ex­act­ly what. Her thoughts were in­ter­rupt­ed as the tip of Cyn­thia’s tail found her clit, and Melis­sa loud­ly gasped through their con­tin­ued kiss­es. There was a sound of rip­ping fab­ric, but Melis­sa bare­ly even no­ticed it: the tail was slid­ing in­side her, and she start­ed to gen­tly grind her crotch against Cyn­thia’s thigh. Were her breasts bare? She could have sworn she’d been wear­ing a shirt, but maybe she’d tak­en it off. It was so hard to think when her mind was so over­whelmed by bliss.

“Yesss,” Melis­sa gasped. “Right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop—” Cyn­thia was nib­bling her neck, her fin­gers were play­ing with her nip­ples, and Melis­sa re­al­ized some­thing warm and sticky was pe­ri­od­i­cal­ly drib­bling out of them. It was a nice, pleas­ant, com­fort­ing re­al­iza­tion. She was so close now, she just need­ed a few more strokes from Cyn­thia’s tail, and then—

“Yes, yes, yes, oh my god I love you I love you I love you!”

Melis­sa squirmed in the arms of daugh­ter’s high school prin­ci­pal as her body was rocked with the most in­tense or­gasm she’d ever felt in her life. Her thoughts swam with love, af­fec­tion, com­fort, and plea­sure as she sank into Cyn­thia’s mirac­u­lous chest and shud­dered as her fin­gers stroked up and down her back. Gone were any and all mis­giv­ings that had trou­bled her so dear­ly ear­li­er that morn­ing.

Now, all she could think about was just how hap­py she was she’d de­cid­ed to make that ap­point­ment.

Chap­ter 2

Lu­cille stood in front of her open fridge and sighed. She knew she’d told Julie to pick up more milk from the store yes­ter­day, but she sure couldn’t find any. No, it wasn’t the end of the world to drink her cof­fee black, but it was just one more rea­son to be frus­trat­ed with her daugh­ter. She had just about giv­en up when she spot­ted a small, glass bot­tle in the door, filled with some sort of milky, white liq­uid.

Con­fused, she picked it up and turned it in her hands, search­ing for some sort of la­bel. As far as she could tell, it was en­tire­ly un­marked.

“Weird,” she mut­tered to her­self, clos­ing the fridge and un­screw­ing the bot­tle’s cap. She gave it a sniff, and it sure smelled like milk. She ven­tured a taste, and to her sur­prise, it was ab­solute­ly de­li­cious—what­ev­er it was, it was thick, creamy, and fla­vor­ful, though it didn’t taste quite like the milk she nor­mal­ly bought. Lu­cille shrugged. Maybe it was some sort of farmer’s mar­ket cream, but even if it wasn’t quite what she’d asked for, it was prob­a­bly good enough for cof­fee. She put a splash in her mug, gave it a stir, and car­ried it back with her to her desk.

She glanced at the post-it note she’d writ­ten her­self yes­ter­day: Melis­sa Rosen­thal, it read, with a phone num­ber im­me­di­ate­ly un­der­neath. She hadn’t heard back, which dis­ap­point­ed her a lit­tle… she’d even stayed up longer than she nor­mal­ly would just in case she got a call. She re­mind­ed her­self that it had been less than a day since they’d spo­ken, and it would hard­ly be po­lite to call back so soon just to pester the poor woman for an­swers. Sure­ly, if she cared so much, she could speak to the school ad­min­is­tra­tion her­self.

No, for the time be­ing, she would pa­tient­ly wait. Still, it did wor­ry her. Why was it sud­den­ly so hard to push back against any­thing Julie did? She’d re­solved her­self over a week ago to con­front the girl about her in­creas­ing­ly lack­adaisi­cal ap­proach to mod­esty, but some­how, every time she tried to do it, she’d com­plete­ly lose her nerve at the slight­est protes­ta­tion. Some­thing about Julie’s pres­ence made her feel weird­ly woozy… even just think­ing about her made her head a lit­tle fog­gy.

Lu­cille took an­oth­er gen­er­ous gulp of cof­fee. Maybe the caf­feine would help clear her thoughts.

She woke her com­put­er and be­gan her usu­al rou­tine, which meant catch­ing up on email. She sighed: some­how, Rob had sent out the wrong sched­ule again, though at least An­gela had al­ready cor­rect­ed him this time. Lu­cille liked An­gela—she’d been a risky hire, but two months in, and she was al­ready do­ing half her man­ag­er’s job in ad­di­tion to her own.

Plus, she’s cute, Lu­cille thought to her­self, then jumped a lit­tle when she re­al­ized ex­act­ly what had just gone through her mind. Since when was she even re­mote­ly into women, much less her own em­ploy­ees? Un­for­tu­nate­ly, now that she’d thought it, it was hard to ig­nore. An­gela was cute—she had such pret­ty, blonde hair, and her face was ap­peal­ing­ly soft-fea­tured. Sure, her tits weren’t any­thing to write home about, but not every­one could be as busty as her daugh­ter.

What the hell am I think­ing? Lu­cille snapped at her­self, and she tried to ig­nore how the mere thought of her daugh­ter’s body made her feel. She took an­oth­er gulp of cof­fee and rubbed her tem­ples. Fo­cus.

She moved to the next mes­sage. Ap­par­ent­ly Spencer was try­ing to vol­un­teer her to man­age the new train­ing process, which was cer­tain­ly cre­ative. She didn’t think the mes­sage de­served much more than a curt re­ply: “Ab­solute­ly not, I am far too busty al­ready.” Wait, no, that wasn’t right. Lu­cille blushed as she cor­rect­ed the typo, then hit send. Why oh why were tits of all things at the ab­solute fore­front of her mind?

Mmm, tits. They were nice, weren’t they? Es­pe­cial­ly big ones—if only she ac­tu­al­ly thought she was suf­fi­cient­ly busty! As it was, her chest was aw­ful­ly mediocre, sig­nif­i­cant­ly out­classed by even her own daugh­ter. Maybe that’s where this new ob­ses­sion was com­ing from? Not at­trac­tion, but jeal­ousy? That didn’t sound quite right to her, all things con­sid­ered, but it would at least be eas­i­er to ex­plain.

She had to ad­mit, the thought of her­self with a rack like Julie’s kind of ex­cit­ed her. She’d learned to ac­cept her body decades ago, but sud­den­ly, her teenage fan­ta­sy of be­ing well-en­dowed had re­turned, and frankly, it seemed stronger than she’d ever re­mem­bered it be­ing. Lu­cille bit her lip and leaned back in her chair, and she gen­tly cupped her breasts and imag­ined what it would feel like if they were big­ger.

Why did she want big tits, any­way? In her teens, she sup­posed it was be­cause she want­ed to be ap­peal­ing to guys, but it was hard to con­vince her­self that was a par­tic­u­lar­ly plau­si­ble ex­pla­na­tion now. Lu­cille had nev­er had any se­ri­ous in­ter­est in re­mar­ry­ing, and she’d stopped think­ing of her­self as an ob­ject of de­sire a long time ago. The ex­pla­na­tion had to be some­thing else—per­haps she real­ly did just want them for her­self? Breasts were fun to touch and play with, af­ter all, and she did still mas­tur­bate some­times, even if she’d giv­en up on sex. Did she real­ly just want to have more to play with when she touched her­self?

Lu­cille slipped her hands un­der her shirt, closed her eyes, and cau­tious­ly al­lowed her fan­tasies to wan­der. She imag­ined her­self with big, lus­cious boobs, ly­ing naked in her bed, fondling them. She tried her best to pic­ture what it would be like to squeeze them, to lift them, to feel their weight in her hands… and the thought ex­cit­ed her. She ran her fin­ger­tips around her nip­ples and sighed—had touch­ing her breasts al­ways felt this good? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t par­tic­u­lar­ly com­plain­ing. She need­ed eas­i­er ac­cess, so she tugged her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, then re­turned to her min­is­tra­tions, rub­bing and squeez­ing and lov­ing­ly ca­ress­ing…

“Mmmh.” Why did it feel so good? In fact, her whole body felt a bit tingly. She be­gan run­ning her left hand along her stom­ach, en­joy­ing the nice, slight­ly tick­lish sen­sa­tion it brought her. Her fin­gers danced across her body, first down her side, then be­tween her thighs, then up to­wards her chest, and then—

“Oh!” Lu­cille’s eyes flew open in sud­den sur­prise, and she looked down at her chest. What on Earth had she just brushed that was so sen­si­tive?

She ten­der­ly re­turned her fin­gers to the same place and shud­dered at the plea­sur­able sen­sa­tion that ran down her back. The spot was im­me­di­ate­ly be­low her left breast, a cou­ple inch­es from the nip­ple, and it didn’t look like much more than a small in­sect bite. Per­haps that was all it was, but Lu­cille had nev­er heard of an in­sect bite do­ing any­thing oth­er than hurt or itch, and rub­bing this lit­tle bump felt more like rub­bing her nip­ple.

Come to think of it, the bump even looked a lit­tle like a tiny nip­ple.

Sure­ly there’s no way…

Lu­cille’s eyes flit­ted a few inch­es to the right, and her heart skipped a beat. There, a few inch­es be­low her right breast, was a sec­ond lit­tle bump. Ner­vous­ly, she low­ered her right hand to brush its tip… and as soon as her fin­gers made con­tact with the skin, she was re­ward­ed with a wave of strong, warm, un­am­bigu­ous­ly sex­u­al plea­sure.

This can’t be real, Lu­cille tried to re­as­sure her­self, but her heart was beat­ing faster by the mo­ment. She was cer­tain she’d nev­er no­ticed any­thing like this be­fore, and one doesn’t sim­ply sud­den­ly grow ad­di­tion­al nip­ples… but what could pos­si­bly ex­plain what she was cur­rent­ly see­ing and feel­ing? A dream, per­haps, but—she pinched both of the lit­tle bumps, and the re­sult­ing plea­sure made her in­vol­un­tar­i­ly gasp and squirm a lit­tle in her chair—it sure felt aw­ful­ly real.

Of course, did she real­ly have much cause for alarm? The bumps, nip­ples, what­ev­er they were… they felt good. Re­al­ly good. She was al­ready a lit­tle aroused from her ear­li­er fan­ta­siz­ing, and the com­pul­sion to play with her­self was un­usu­al­ly strong… sure­ly a lit­tle fur­ther ex­plo­ration couldn’t hurt, right?

In truth, Lu­cille wasn’t sure if she was ful­ly con­vinced by her own at­tempts at ra­tio­nal­iza­tion, but in her aroused state she cer­tain­ly want­ed to be, so with some trep­i­da­tion she be­gan to ex­plore her body’s new anato­my in earnest. The re­ward was swift, and soon her fin­gers were danc­ing be­tween her breasts and her strange, aux­il­iary nip­ples, and she rapid­ly be­gan to lament the fact that she had only two arms. The warmth in her bo­som was rapid­ly spread­ing to her loins, and she very much wished she could slip a pair of fin­gers into her panties to re­lieve the grow­ing heat, but that would mean aban­don­ing half her chest, and she was al­ready fail­ing to fon­dle all her up­per body’s sen­si­tive places at once. She felt fair­ly cer­tain that nor­mal­ly that wouldn’t mat­ter so much—rub­bing her clit had al­ways been far more sat­is­fy­ing than play­ing with her tits—but for some rea­son, her nip­ples sud­den­ly felt like the most sen­si­tive places on her body.

As the plea­sure built high­er and high­er, Lu­cille be­gan to vo­cal­ize her en­joy­ment, gasp­ing and moan­ing and pe­ri­od­i­cal­ly whis­per­ing words of ex­cite­ment. There was no doubt in her mind where she was head­ed: just a few more min­utes, and she was go­ing to or­gasm from this alone. She was more than ready for it, she just need­ed a lit­tle more—

It was at that mo­ment that Lu­cille’s phone be­gan to ring.

Curs­ing un­der her breath, she reached to her right, com­plete­ly pre­pared to blow off who­ev­er could pos­si­bly be call­ing her un­sched­uled. She lift­ed the phone and si­lenced the ringer, but just be­fore she set it back down, she spot­ted the name on the caller ID: Melis­sa Rosen­thal.

It was as if she’d been sud­den­ly plunged into a bath of cold wa­ter. What was she think­ing? This was real­ly, real­ly weird! Lu­cille chas­tised her­self for get­ting so car­ried away and hasti­ly ac­cept­ed the call, grate­ful that Melis­sa would have no way of know­ing what she’d just been do­ing (or, for that mat­ter, that she wasn’t even wear­ing a shirt).

“Melis­sa?”

“Lu­cille! I’m so sor­ry for not get­ting back to you soon­er… I promise I’ve been ea­ger to speak with you again.” Melis­sa’s voice was marked­ly dif­fer­ent than it had been when last they spoke—now it was warmer, soft­er, more con­fi­dent—but Lu­cille was too pre­oc­cu­pied to no­tice.

“Oh, that’s… that’s quite al­right. There’s real­ly no need to apol­o­gize.” Lu­cille was only half pay­ing at­ten­tion, as she was a lit­tle dis­tract­ed star­ing ap­pre­hen­sive­ly at the bumps on her chest.

“I spoke to the school prin­ci­pal yes­ter­day,” Melis­sa mur­mured, “and I learned some very in­ter­est­ing things.”

That made Lu­cille perk up a bit. “Re­al­ly?”

“Oh yes, it was a far more pro­duc­tive vis­it than I ever could have hoped for. Sara also briefly in­tro­duced me to Julie be­fore I left, by the way, and she seems like an ab­solute­ly love­ly girl.”

Lu­cille blushed slight­ly at the com­ment. “Well, thank you—I’m sure Sara is love­ly, too.” She didn’t un­der­stand why that elicit­ed a small gig­gle from Melis­sa, but she shrugged it off.

“They real­ly seem to have hit it off, haven’t they? It was cute to see them fawn­ing over each oth­er.”

Lu­cille’s heart sank. “Fawn­ing?”

“Don’t you know? One could be for­giv­en for think­ing they spend most of their time to­geth­er kiss­ing.”

“I… I see.” Lu­cille felt con­fused… she didn’t think her daugh­ter was gay, but Melis­sa sound­ed so non­cha­lant, so maybe she had al­ready known that Sara was. More dif­fi­cult to ex­plain was why Lu­cille sud­den­ly felt green with envy.

Melis­sa con­tin­ued, ig­no­rant of Lu­cille’s dis­com­fort. “In any case, I can’t real­ly blame them for it—they’re both such aw­ful­ly pret­ty girls.”

“Y–Yes, Julie’s def­i­nite­ly, uh… grown up re­cent­ly.” Don’t think about breasts, don’t think about breasts—

“She’s dreamy, isn’t she? I could get lost in that bo­som of hers.”

Lu­cille’s face flushed, and her mouth went dry. “E–Ex­cuse me?” Her chest was tin­gling again, and she want­ed so bad­ly to touch it, but she couldn’t pos­si­bly let her­self.

“Her boobs, dear. Wasn’t that what you were re­fer­ring to yes­ter­day? The feel­ings?”

Lu­cille’s head was spin­ning. “Oh, err… yes, I guess so.” Of course, that was what this con­ver­sa­tion was about; she should have re­al­ized Melis­sa was just get­ting back to busi­ness.

“Right. Well, let me tell you what I found out about the new prin­ci­pal.”

Lu­cille tried des­per­ate­ly to stay fo­cused. “Tell me.” Don’t think about breasts, don’t think about breasts—

“She has six boobs, sweet­heart.”

Lu­cille went very pale. “N–No, that can’t be—” She was sud­den­ly all too con­scious of the ex­tra pair of nip­ples on her chest, and she stared down at them in re­newed hor­ror.

“They’re not small, ei­ther.”

Lu­cille just whim­pered. Six big, round, heavy breasts, all nes­tled to­geth­er on one woman’s body… god, that was so hot. Why was that so hot?

“You could meet her, if you want­ed! She told me she’d be hap­py to see you, too.”

“Wh–What? Why?” She couldn’t re­sist, she had to touch.

“Why would you want to, you mean? Isn’t that ob­vi­ous? Be­cause she’s gor­geous, of course! Heav­ens, we must have made out for hours…”

“What are you— I thought—” Lu­cille pawed need­i­ly at her own body, try­ing to muf­fle her gasps as the ra­tio­nal part of her brain strug­gled in vain to un­der­stand why Melis­sa wasn’t fo­cus­ing on what was so ob­vi­ous­ly, over­whelm­ing­ly wrong at Pine Crest High School.

“Thought what, sweet­heart? Didn’t you say you loved Julie’s boobs?”

“Yes, but that— but I— it’s just—”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t un­der­stand,” Melis­sa mur­mured, her voice more car­ing and moth­er­ly than Lu­cille had ever heard any­one sound. “You love big, pret­ty, yum­my boobs… what’s not to like?”

Her whole chest felt like it was en­veloped in a cloud of warm, sticky bliss. “N–No— I don’t— I’m just not—” She fum­bled with her phone and even­tu­al­ly man­aged to put Melis­sa on speak­er so she could use both her hands to play with her­self.

“Lu­cille, lis­ten to me: re­lax. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Melis­sa’s voice sound­ed so far away, yet the ten­der­ness was si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly com­plete­ly dis­arm­ing. “There’s ab­solute­ly noth­ing wrong with not be­ing able to re­sist girls’ soft, pil­lowy, milky tit­ties.”

The thought of be­ing smoth­ered by a woman with six huge breasts en­veloped Lu­cille’s mind as she aching­ly pinched and played with each of her nip­ples. “No, I— I want—”

“What do you want, sweet­ie?”

Lu­cille was des­per­ate to cum, so close to cum­ming, yet some­how she sim­ply couldn’t quite get there. “B–Boobs,” she stam­mered through the gasps. “I— I want… boobs.” Re­lief washed over her al­most im­me­di­ate­ly. It felt so much bet­ter to be able to ad­mit what she was feel­ing.

“Well of course you do. You love boobs.”

“I— you’re right, I— I love boobs,” Lu­cille mur­mured, eyes wide as strange and con­fus­ing thoughts and feel­ings swept over her.

“There’s a good girl. Es­pe­cial­ly big ones, right?”

“O–Oh god yes.” Lu­cille moaned as she squeezed her chest and be­gan to mum­ble to her­self as if she were in some sort of trance. “Big, heavy, pret­ty, perky, girly…”

“Sexy,” Melis­sa sug­gest­ed, and Lu­cille just gasped in ap­proval. “You want yours to be big­ger, too, don’t you, cutie?”

“Yesss,” Lu­cille replied with­out hes­i­ta­tion. “Big­ger… please, please make them big­ger…”

“The milk, love.”

“The milk—?” For a few mo­ments, Lu­cille was ut­ter­ly lost. Then, as the words echoed in her mind, it sud­den­ly clicked. “O–Oh.” Of course.

Lu­cille leapt out of her chair and bolt­ed into the kitchen, snatched the un­la­beled milk bot­tle from the fridge door and prac­ti­cal­ly tore the cap off its threads, and be­gan to pour it into her mouth with a thirst not un­like that of some­one dy­ing of de­hy­dra­tion. The milk was cold, and sev­er­al spoon­fuls splashed across her face and body, but she didn’t care—it tast­ed un­be­liev­ably good, and there was plen­ty of it.

She braced her­self against the counter as her bo­som bal­looned out­wards. Her orig­i­nal pair of breasts was soon joined by a sec­ond, small­er pair nes­tled snug­ly un­der­neath, and Lu­cille hun­gri­ly played with them both us­ing her free hand, urg­ing them big­ger and big­ger, pray­ing the swelling would not stop. Her body felt so hope­less­ly in need of more touch, far more than her one spare hand could pro­vide—un­til sud­den­ly there was not one but three hands toy­ing with her mag­nif­i­cent bust while her fourth hand clutched the bot­tle tight. The warmth in her breasts be­gan to spread across the rest of her body, rip­ping straight through her sweat­pants and panties as her ass, hips, and thighs flared out into an ex­ag­ger­at­ed­ly curvy hour­glass shape. By the time the bot­tle was ex­haust­ed, Lu­cille stood com­plete­ly naked in her kitchen, a four-armed, four-breast­ed fer­til­i­ty god­dess, and as the bot­tle fell from her hand and clat­tered to the floor so that all four of her hands could fi­nal­ly lov­ing­ly ca­ress her breasts, she arched her back and spilled into or­gasm, droplets of warm, fresh milk spray­ing from each of her teats as her mam­moth breasts jos­tled and bounced against one an­oth­er.

For ten beau­ti­ful, in­de­scrib­able sec­onds, Lu­cille rel­ished in the im­pos­si­ble ec­sta­sy of her cli­max, then breathed a deep sigh of re­lief as she crest­ed the peak and sank into warm, gen­tle af­ter­glow that fol­lowed. Slow­ly, she dropped to her knees and sup­port­ed her weight with her low­er pair of hands while she ran her up­per pair through her hair in joy­ous re­lief. She felt in­cred­i­ble: her whole body ra­di­at­ed youth like she hadn’t felt in twen­ty-five years, yet she si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly felt more warm and ma­ter­nal than she had ever imag­ined pos­si­ble. She ran her hands over her silky skin and breathed a deep sigh of sat­is­fac­tion.

She sa­vored the feel­ings for sev­er­al min­utes, but when she even­tu­al­ly picked her­self up, her mind wan­dered to Julie, and the thought of her daugh­ter filled her with a warm, lov­ing de­sire of the sort she had nev­er ex­pe­ri­enced be­fore. How won­der­ful it would be to hold her daugh­ter in her pil­lowy em­brace with two of her arms, run one hand through her soft, fiery hair, and use the oth­er to lov­ing­ly ca­ress her cock? Lu­cille licked her lips and glanced at the time, ex­cit­ed to think how few hours she would have to wait be­fore her daugh­ter would dis­cov­er just how beau­ti­ful her moth­er had be­come.

In the mean­time, Lu­cille stum­bled back into the cor­ner of the liv­ing room she used as her home of­fice and picked up her phone. “Hey, Melis­sa? Are you still there?” She put the call into the back­ground and switched to her phone’s cam­era.

“Of course, love­ly. Feel­ing bet­ter?”

“Oh, dar­ling. You have no idea.” Lu­cille held her phone at arm’s length, did the best she could to cap­ture her di­vine body with its self­ie cam­era, and im­me­di­ate­ly texted Melis­sa sev­er­al of the re­sults.

“What do you m—” Melis­sa start­ed, only to be in­ter­rupt­ed by the sound of an in­com­ing text mes­sage. “…o–oh my god.”

Lu­cille grinned. “How about I text you my ad­dress?”

Melis­sa whim­pered soft­ly on the oth­er end of the line. “Y–Yes, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” Lu­cille played with her low­er pair of breasts while she typed out the street name. “Oh, and sweet­heart?”

“Gor­geous?”

“Why don’t you tell Sara to walk home with Julie to­day?”

It had been most of a day now, but the fact that the re­flec­tion Lu­cille saw in the mir­ror was ac­tu­al­ly her still hadn’t quite sunk in. She was stun­ning. Noth­ing she owned had any chance of fit­ting her any­more, so she’d stayed naked… and hon­est­ly, that was just fine with her. All the bet­ter to show off her ut­ter­ly, mag­nif­i­cent­ly per­fect body.

Every mo­tion made her breasts sway and jos­tle, yet they re­mained firm and round and end­less­ly perky, and with so many arms, she could al­ways be fondling at least one of them. Her whole body was un­be­liev­ably soft, with just enough fat in just the right places to be a won­der­ful­ly plush cush­ion in al­most any arrange­ment. Her gen­tly slop­ing ass made sit­ting down feel like rest­ing on a cloud, and her creamy, mus­cu­lar thighs and toned calves meant that sup­port­ing her hefty up­per body and weighty breasts felt ef­fort­less.

She want­ed peo­ple to see her. She want­ed peo­ple to love her. Es­pe­cial­ly girls—she felt such a strong, moth­er­ly af­fec­tion for every girl in the world, and she want­ed to be there to love and be loved by ab­solute­ly all of them. She want­ed to cud­dle them, cher­ish them, and es­pe­cial­ly… she want­ed to breast­feed them. The ea­ger­ness with which she want­ed to do it made some lin­ger­ing part of her blush, but she didn’t care: it was so ob­vi­ous­ly fun­da­men­tal to her beau­ti­ful new ex­is­tence that she could not se­ri­ous­ly feel shame about want­i­ng it. Girls’ lips be­longed on her teats, and her warm, creamy, life-giv­ing milk was meant to help fill out their beau­ti­ful breasts, butts, and thighs.

And truth­ful­ly, Lu­cille knew she might not even be fin­ished grow­ing, her­self. Al­ready, her breasts were even big­ger than they’d been when they first grew in ear­li­er that morn­ing, and her hips seemed to get im­pos­si­bly wider as the day went on and she felt more and more cer­tain of who she was sup­posed to be. The thought ex­cit­ed her, and she licked her plump, full lips as she imag­ined what she might have yet to dis­cov­er.

“Lu?”

Lu­cille was bro­ken from her rever­ie by that now-fa­mil­iar voice, and it was so much more beau­ti­ful in per­son than the tele­phone could have ever done jus­tice.

“Yes, dar­ling?”

“Come cud­dle with us!”

It took only a mo­ment for Lu­cille to ap­pear in the bed­room door­way, and for a cou­ple sec­onds, she just stood there and gazed lov­ing­ly upon the three oth­er girls. None of them were naked, but none of them were par­tic­u­lar­ly cov­ered up, ei­ther: Melis­sa was wear­ing a sheer night­gown, Sara had stripped down to a pair of white, ny­lon thigh-highs and a match­ing cock­sleeve, and Julie still wore her day’s out­fit of lacy, black stock­ings paired with match­ing panties and bra. Lu­cille wast­ed lit­tle time in clam­ber­ing into bed be­tween all of them, and Julie’s eyes sparkled with af­fec­tion as she snug­gled up against her moth­er’s warm, plush body. Sara fol­lowed suit, hap­pi­ly set­tling in just be­side Julie, and as two of Lu­cille’s arms wrapped around them both, the daugh­ters clasped hands and be­gan to lov­ing­ly make out.

Melis­sa just smiled at the three of them and set­tled into a re­laxed po­si­tion on Lu­cille’s oth­er side, and she ran her fin­gers through the four-armed woman’s hair and gig­gled soft­ly as Lu­cille ca­su­al­ly groped Melis­sa’s chest. “I love you,” Lu­cille mur­mured, and the moth­ers mir­rored their daugh­ters in a pas­sion­ate kiss.

“I love all of you,” Melis­sa purred, and she nuz­zled against Lu­cille’s cheek. “I’m so hap­py we’ve had such good for­tune to meet one an­oth­er!”

Julie nod­ded in agree­ment. “You’re both wel­come to stay the night, if you’d like—right mom?”

Lu­cille nod­ded and kissed her daugh­ter on the top of her head. “Of course they are. And we have an­oth­er bed if they’d pre­fer to sleep sep­a­rate from the two of us, or if you and Sara want to sleep by your­selves… though it’s not quite as roomy as this one, of course.”

“No way I’m not sleep­ing with you tonight,” Julie gig­gled, “but where they sleep is ob­vi­ous­ly up to them.”

Melis­sa grinned. “Some­thing tells me my sweet­heart isn’t go­ing to pass up an op­por­tu­ni­ty to sleep with you two, and I hard­ly want to sleep by my­self.”

“Are you sure there’s enough space?” Sara asked. “We’re kind of on top of each oth­er as it is, but you still look like you’re in dan­ger of falling off the bed.”

Melis­sa and Lu­cille ex­changed glances. “I think it’ll be fine,” Melis­sa gig­gled, slip­ping clos­er into Lu­cille’s ten­der em­brace to il­lus­trate her point.

“I should prob­a­bly get to sleep pret­ty soon, ac­tu­al­ly,” Lu­cille mused. “I have to go into the of­fice to­mor­row.” The thought of be­ing able to flaunt her stun­ning body be­fore all her cowork­ers ex­cit­ed her, but she was try­ing not to let the an­tic­i­pa­tion keep her awake.

“I have a pret­ty chill day to­mor­row, per­son­al­ly, but I don’t know about Jules here.”

Julie feigned be­ing cross and bapped Sara on the nose for call­ing her that. “Not much for me un­til the af­ter­noon, so I could stay up. What’d you have in mind, any­way?”

Sara bit her lip and looked at her moth­er. “Well, I was kind of hop­ing we might… y’know.” She wig­gled her hips sug­ges­tive­ly.

Melis­sa laughed and shook her head. “If you want to fuck me, dear, you can just tell me you want to fuck me. I’m your mom, af­ter all.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t hers!”

“Do you think I’m se­ri­ous­ly go­ing to refuse to ex­tend the cour­tesy to your in­cred­i­bly hot friend?”

Sara glowed and looked at Julie. “Well—how about it?”

Julie looked down­right flat­tered. “Of course, I’d love to! Though noth­ing too loud, okay?”

Sara kissed Lu­cille on the cheek and nod­ded. “I’ll be mind­ful, of course. Not that I real­ly think Lu ab­solute­ly re­quires any beau­ty sleep.”

“Have a nice time, girls,” Lu­cille said with a laugh. “I’ll be here for when­ev­er you de­cide you’re ready for a pil­low.” She kissed each of the oth­ers good­night, and Sara and Julie gid­di­ly wan­dered down the hall, hand in hand, to Julie’s room.

Melis­sa lin­gered be­hind just a lit­tle longer to ad­mire Lu­cille one last time while she slipped out of her night­gown. “Had a nice day?”

“Nev­er had bet­ter.”

Melis­sa climbed atop the oth­er woman and vig­or­ous­ly made out with her, en­joy­ing once more how it felt to have so many hands hold­ing, grop­ing, stroking, and ca­ress­ing her. “You and Julie will have to stay at our place some­time soon to make things fair, or I’ll feel guilty.”

“I’m sure we’d both love to.”

“Good girl. I love you so much.”

Lu­cille glowed with hap­py com­fort. “I love you, too.”

Melis­sa re­luc­tant­ly pulled her­self off of Lu­cille’s soft body, turned out the light, and blew her a fi­nal good­night kiss. “Sleep well, sweet­heart,” she whis­pered, then shut the bed­room door and hur­ried down the hall to join the love­birds.

Lu­cille placed a hand on each of her per­fect, pil­lowy breasts and slow­ly closed her eyes. It was re­mark­able, real­ly.

For the first time that she could re­mem­ber, she felt com­plete­ly, ut­ter­ly at peace.

Chap­ter 3

“…An­gela?”

An­gela blinked. Was some­one talk­ing to her? She turned her head, and to her sur­prise, she spot­ted her cowork­er stand­ing not two paces away. “Oh! I’m sor­ry, I must have spaced out for a mo­ment there.”

Claire looked a lit­tle wor­ried. On pa­per, there wasn’t any­thing es­pe­cial­ly trou­bling about An­gela be­ing a lit­tle dis­tract­ed, even if it was a lit­tle un­usu­al for her. Even the most fo­cused of peo­ple zone out some­times, af­ter all. Still, some­thing just felt ever so slight­ly off about the glassy-eyed gaze she’d walked in on, and even the way An­gela was eye­ing her now made her un­easy in a way she couldn’t quite place.

“That’s al­right,” Claire said qui­et­ly. “I was just won­der­ing if you’d got­ten a chance to take a look at the up­dat­ed de­signs I sent over.”

An­gela looked sud­den­ly sheep­ish. “Oh, I swear I’ve been mean­ing to, but I got tied up in an im­promp­tu meet­ing with Lu­cille that end­ed up last­ing most of the morn­ing.” At the men­tion of Lu­cille’s name, An­gela’s eyes seemed to get a lit­tle glassy once more, but it passed af­ter only a mo­ment. “I can look at them right now, if you’d like?”

Claire felt mild­ly ir­ri­tat­ed, but she was strug­gling to iden­ti­fy why. This real­ly wasn’t ur­gent, and she had no rea­son to be­lieve An­gela was at all at fault. She did her best to hide the feel­ing and sim­ply shrugged. “If you’re free, then yeah, that’d be help­ful… in fact, if you have a mo­ment, I could walk you through the re­vi­sions my­self?”

“Sure,” An­gela said, her voice un­mis­tak­ably cheer­ful. “I’m all yours.”

“Right,” Claire mur­mured, still hav­ing trou­ble shak­ing the weird feel­ing she was get­ting. “Well, um… let’s do that at my desk, then, if you don’t mind?”

An­gela shook her head and got to her feet, and Claire fol­lowed her around the cor­ner, she found her­self ad­mir­ing how pret­ty her long, chest­nut curls looked from be­hind. Claire had al­ways kept her hair quite short, and she’d nev­er real­ly thought twice about it—she viewed it as lit­tle more than an an­noy­ance to take care of—but for some rea­son, the beau­ty of the soft locks flow­ing halfway down An­gela’s back took her com­plete­ly by sur­prise.

“I guess I should have brought a chair.”

“Huh?— Oh, right.” Claire sud­den­ly re­mem­bered what she was do­ing. “Why don’t you take mine, and I’ll be right back with an­oth­er—”

Be­fore she could fin­ish the thought, An­gela was al­ready tak­ing a seat, and some­how, watch­ing her do so felt in­de­cent. Claire had nev­er no­ticed be­fore, but An­gela’s butt was… rather am­ple, to put it light­ly. As she squeezed her­self into Claire’s (fair­ly roomy) of­fice chair, her thighs seemed to spill over the sides and strain against the arm­rests. Which was, Claire re­al­ized, com­plete­ly ab­surd. An­gela was an inch or two taller than she was at most, and she wasn’t a par­tic­u­lar­ly large woman… so she just stood there for sev­er­al sec­onds while her brain tried to make sense of the im­pos­si­ble pro­por­tions she seemed to be see­ing.

“Hon­est­ly,” An­gela be­gan, look­ing back at Claire af­ter get­ting her­self com­fort­able, “I’d be to­tal­ly fine if you want­ed to just sit in my lap.”

Claire blinked. “Your… lap?”

“Yeah, if you want­ed!” Her voice sound­ed com­plete­ly ca­su­al, and it lacked any hint of irony. “It’s real­ly up to you, though… I just thought it might be eas­i­er, you know?”

Claire looked like a deer in head­lights. The fact that An­gela had even sug­gest­ed such a thing was un­be­liev­ably in­ap­pro­pri­ate. That was just… ob­vi­ous­ly true. Cowork­ers don’t sit in each oth­er’s laps.

“…Claire?”

She vis­i­bly start­ed, and she quick­ly avert­ed her eyes. “Sor­ry, I just—” Why did she feel so warm?

“Claire, is every­thing okay?”

Claire’s sud­den re­luc­tance to meet An­gela’s gaze had meant her eyes be­gan to wan­der else­where, and with­out con­scious­ly think­ing about what she was do­ing, they set­tled upon An­gela’s re­mark­ably heavy chest. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. It’s just…” An­gela’s boobs hadn’t al­ways been that big, had they? She felt like she sure­ly would have no­ticed if they were.

An­gela seemed to shift in her seat, and she was sud­den­ly over­come with a need to stretch. She lift­ed her arms and arched her back, and as she did so, her bo­som no­tice­ably swelled, its flesh strain­ing the but­tons on her blouse. “Mmh,” she mur­mured, then looked at Claire and smiled coy­ly. “Just what?”

Claire’s heart was pound­ing. There was no way that had just hap­pened. It was com­plete­ly im­pos­si­ble. “An­gela,” she be­gan, bare­ly loud­er than a whis­per, “what did you just do?”

An­gela licked her lips, and some of that glassi­ness had re­turned to her eyes. “Just stretched, I think… but it felt… weird­ly good.” She squirmed and arched her back once more, and Claire could only stare in dis­be­lief as An­gela’s bra au­di­bly snapped, the top but­ton on her blouse was sent fly­ing across the room from the strain, and two enor­mous hemi­spheres spilled out from un­der­neath.

Claire felt she must be dream­ing—there was no doubt about it, she’d just watched An­gela’s tits grow­ing be­fore her eyes—but what both­ered her most of all was how im­por­tant it was that she didn’t wake up. She was en­thralled by every­thing she was wit­ness­ing, and she could not have torn her eyes from An­gela’s body if she tried.

“…are you sure you don’t want to sit in my lap?”

Claire’s willpow­er melt­ed. She near­ly tripped over her­self as she hasti­ly clam­bered to take her cowork­er up on her of­fer, and sud­den­ly she was there, seat­ed atop An­gela’s pil­lowy thighs, pressed against her warm, silky bo­som, a hand gen­tly pulling her close. It felt ten times bet­ter than any dream she had any mem­o­ry of, yet still, some­thing nagged at her. “This is… so wrong.” She could ac­tu­al­ly feel An­gela’s bare nip­ple against her back.

“Wrong?” An­gela asked, con­fu­sion in her voice. “What’s wrong? I thought you were go­ing to show me the new de­sign.”

Claire froze, and her whole body grew tense. The new de­sign. For the posters. That was what she was sup­posed to be think­ing about. Not how hor­ri­bly im­prop­er it was to be cud­dling on the job in a cowork­er’s lap, and def­i­nite­ly not how soft and cute and nice An­gela felt un­der­neath her. Why did all of that sud­den­ly feel so far away?

“R–Right, um…” Claire turned to face her desk and reached for her mouse, and she opened the up­dat­ed doc­u­ment. She could feel An­gela’s bo­som slow­ly rise and fall be­hind her, and the steady rhythm was sooth­ing. “I was think­ing that, real­ly, the… copy we were us­ing here felt too… su­per­fi­cial, you know?”

An­gela nod­ded, and she gave Claire’s shoul­der an en­cour­ag­ing lit­tle squeeze. “Yes, I do see what you mean.”

Claire sup­pressed a shud­der and tried her best to re­main fo­cused. “So I thought— well, I thought maybe we could try to—”

An­gela leaned for­ward to look more close­ly, and her cheek brushed against Claire’s. That felt so good. Every­thing about An­gela felt so good.

“It’s okay, sweet­heart,” An­gela cooed, “you don’t have to ex­plain; I can read it my­self.” She plant­ed a kiss on the side of Claire’s neck and pulled her even clos­er. “And per­son­al­ly, I think it’s great.”

Claire’s breaths were com­ing quick­ly, and she lost all that was left of her abil­i­ty to pre­tend that any of her cur­rent thoughts were about any­thing on her com­put­er screen. “How are you so warm?” she whis­pered, too afraid to turn to look at the girl hold­ing her as she asked the ques­tion.

“I’m not sure I’m much warmer than you are,” An­gela gig­gled, and Claire felt An­gela’s hand slip­ping un­der her skirt. Ex­cept it wasn’t her hand—both of An­gela’s arms were wrapped around Claire’s chest. It was some­thing else… some­thing she couldn’t quite ex­plain. Claire glanced down and opened her mouth to scream.

Be­fore any sound could leave her lips, some­thing warm, fleshy, and pli­ant pressed against her face, just as some­thing else just like it was slid­ing up the in­side of her thigh. But the ten­dril that had muf­fled her soon re­laxed, and it flicked at her cheek in a play­ful, stroking mo­tion. “An­gela,” Claire said, voice still trem­bling af­ter the ini­tial shock had passed, “what ex­act­ly are you?”

“Why does it mat­ter?” An­gela purred, and a third, fleshy ten­ta­cle slid un­der­neath Claire’s shirt. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Claire was em­bar­rassed to ad­mit ex­act­ly how good it felt, but her com­plete lack of re­sis­tance an­swered for her as the tip of one of An­gela’s strange, flex­i­ble new limbs ex­plored just how much she’d soaked her panties. (An­swer: quite thor­ough­ly.) “A–An­gela, how can you even be ask­ing that quest— ohmigod.” Claire’s whole body shud­dered as some­thing that felt ex­treme­ly alien—but not at all un­pleas­ant—slipped in­side her with nei­ther warn­ing nor hes­i­ta­tion.

An­gela kissed along Claire’s neck as all eight of her new ap­pendages stroked, ca­ressed, and ten­der­ly ex­plored both of their bod­ies and Claire moaned in sat­is­fac­tion.