|
Dr. Hooters #18: A Teenage Giantess in Hialeah
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
=================================================================
DR. HOOTERS - Part XVIII
A Teenage Giantess In Hialeah
[by Servax]
Marsha's wrists and ankles began to itch. It was no big issue at
first, but it soon became almost unbearable. Her mother bought
all kinds of steroid creams and hydrocortizone, but the itching
wouldn't go away.
Some summer break, thought Marsha. Sherry was gone to North Car-
olina, and all her other friends were making plans for the sum-
mer- Spain, South America wherever. She was stuck working in her
mother's t-shirt factory, loading boxes of t-shirts onto trucks.
OK, so it paid well, and it was good exercise, but it wore her
out, so that she didn't have much time for fun in the evening,
and all the guys who worked for her mom were illegals from
Guatemala or some other rathole country, and were scared to death
of her mom, of her, and of the INS.
One good thing about Sherry being gone for the summer was that
there wasn't anyone left in town to tattle on her for drinking
milk out another girl's breast like she was a baby. Marsha shud-
dered at the memory. It was as though she drawn by some kind of
compulsion to Amanda Quinteros' colossal milky breasts and she
remembered the warm, sweet milk gushing into her mouth and down
her throat. She woke up that morning wanting more, but Amanda
had disappeared.
Marsha had made Sherry swear not to tell anyone. Sherry agreed,
and no one was ever the wiser for it. Marsha came home later
that same day, and never heard anything further about Amanda's
odd disappearance. The itching around her wrists and ankles
started the next day. It grew more and more pronounced, until
Marsha was acutely uncomfortable, then, as suddenly as it had ap-
peared, it vanished. Marsha was relieved, until she found she
couldn't get into her clothes.
Marsha was not a petite girl. She stood about five-seven(170cm)
and weighed about one-thirty(58.5kg). She filled a respectable
36-B(91cm) brassiere, but now she found herself wrestling to get
it wrapped around her boobs. In addition, her wrists and ankles
were sticking out of her shirts and jeans. She panicked, and
tried to call Sherry at the cottage in Boca. No reply. Marsha
confided in her mother. She told her everything she knew about
Amanda Quinteros, and everything Sherry had told her about their
night together at Hurricane Tony's, about the growth of Amanda's
breasts, her lactating, and her drinking.
"Mom", Marsha confessed, "things could get pretty weird. I could
end up with a ninety-inch bust. Anything could happen. " Mar-
sha's mother consoled her, running her fingers through her daugh-
ter's hair.
"Don' worry, honey", Marsha's mother said in her accented En-
glish. "Wha'ever you need, we get it, OK?" The two women em-
braced. Within a week, it was obvious that Amanda's milk was
having a major effect on Marsha. She had shot from five-
seven(170cm) to six-two(188cm), and her bust line had swollen
from a 36-B to a dramatic 40-D. Fortunately, there were plenty
of clothes in her mother's factory that could fit her, and she
cut a remarkable figure in the warehouse district where her moth-
er's factory was located with her tied-off-at-the-midriff X-Large
t-shirts and her 34-inseam jeans. Her strength grew as well.
She singlehandedly tossed boxes of shirts onto the trucks that
she had formerly loaded with a fork lift. She began to take
pride in her powerful new body and swelling breasts. Guys start-
ed noticing. Before long, there was no end of chatter about the
Giantess of 34th Street.
At six-four(193cm), Marsha weighed only 175(79kg), so she was
comparatively more slender than she was at five-seven(170cm).
Her hair turned from a dull brown to an lustrous auburn. She
loved wearing midriff-revealing blouses that exposed her flat,
well-defined abdominal muscles, as well as outlining her generous
new expanse of breast tissue.
Marsha continued to grow. No matter how big she got, her mother
always managed to find, alter, or design clothes for her. When
she hit six-ten(208cm), her breasts had ballooned to fifty-two
inches(132cm), and Marsha's mother estimated that she would need
a 44-FF brassiere to handle them. Her strength was becoming leg-
endary. At closing time, crowds of the curious would gather out-
side the warehouse to watch Marsha carry the 55 gallon(208 l)
drums of used cleaning fluid out to the street. She could carry
the four hundred pound(180kg) drums as easily as a normal woman
could carry a card board box full of newspaper.
*********************************************
When Marsha had grown to about seven-six(229cm), her mother got
on a step ladder and measured her for a new swimsuit. They were
both awed at the measurements. Marsha measured fifty-two inch-
es(132cm) around the rib cage underneath her majestic breasts,
which jutted to a breathtaking seventy inches(178cm), making her,
as best as they could calculate, a 58-K, or 58-L . Her waist
measured a svelte 39 inches(99cm), and her hips 56 inches(142cm).
A couple of days later, Marsha hit the beach in her new thong
bikini.
No one had ever seen quite so much woman on display before. Mar-
sha towered contemptuously over the crowds that gathered around
her. Glaring down at the tiny people from over the tops of her
magnificent breasts, she moved through them as effortlessly as a
ship through water.
There were some muscle guys working out on the beach. Intrigued,
Marsha strode over to take a look, and sat down on her picnic
table sized beach towel. Seated, she was about eye-level with
the shortest muscle guy, a dark fellow about five-one. The
tallest muscle guy was doing set of curls with about two hun
dred twenty pounds on the bar. Marsha watched. She liked to
watch guys sweat.
The muscle guy stared back at the enormous beauty opposite him.
Despite his apprehension, he felt his cock stiffen. This girl
had just too much everything. Her breasts were the size of fully
inflated basketballs, her suit revealed a deep canyon of cleav-
age. Her legs, even folded underneath her, looked like tree-
trunks, and her waist-length hair could stuff a mattress. Marsha
saw the muscle guy's hard-on and smiled. She had never really
had this effect on guys before, and she was relishing it. "Go
on, little man", she taunted, "lift it!"
The muscle guy, who stood about six-three, and, at two hundred
sixty pounds solid, was not used to being called 'little man',
set the weights in the sand. "Let's do some overhead presses",
he said to his companions.
Marsha watched, completely entertained, as the muscle guys lifted
more and more weight over their heads. She loved watching their
muscles stand out on their glistening skin. Soon, only the
tallest one was able to keep going, putting more and more weight
on the bar, standing over it, pulling it to his knees, snapping
it to his chest, thrusting it over his head. He slapped more and
more weight on the bar; two hundred forty, two hundred sixty, two
hundred eighty. The crowd was impressed. This guy was pretty
damn strong. Marsha was impressed, too, al though she was hard-
pressed to keep from laughing. The muscle guy looked like a
five-year-old on steroids to her, and she loved the way his lit-
tle muscles bulged out with the effort.
Finally, he put three hundred twenty pounds on the bar, and with
an enormous effort, lifted it to his knees. Trembling, he
snapped it to his chest, and, with a mighty shout, he thrust the
bar over his head. The crowd, and Marsha, applauded wildly.
Marsha stood up and walked over to the bar. She knelt down, now
about eyelevel with the muscle guy, and wrapped her ham-sized
hands around the weight bar. She rose effortlessly to her full
height, snapped the bar to above her big breasts as easily as if
she was lifting a Lincoln Log, and hoisted it over her head. The
muscle guy almost fainted. His weights were almost twelve feet
in the air. "Please", he pleaded to Marsha, "don't drop them".
Marsha put the weights on the ground. "Put some more on. " The
muscle guy put another forty pounds on the bar, and Marsha re
peated the performance. She put the weights down again. "How
much weight you got for this bar?", she asked.
"About five hundred thirty", replied the little guy.
"Put it all on", Marsha said. The tall muscle guy complied.
Marsha knelt and put her hands back on the bar. The five hundred
thirty pounds did finally give her some resistance, and she
struggled a bit to stand up, making her great thigh and calf mus-
cles stand out like cables. The effort expended in lifting the
weight to her chest popped out her roaster-chicken-sized biceps.
With a mighty thrust, she pushed the bar over her head, far over
the heads of the marveling crowd.
Half-drunk with the effort, and high on her own power and
strength, Marsha walked slowly to the water's edge. With a pow
erful heave, she tossed the weight bar about six feet out into
the surf. Laughing carelessly, she tossed her hair wildly in the
wind, whipping it over the heads of the astounded muscle studs.
Then, she turned and began walking away.
"Hey, lady", pleaded the short guy to whom the weights belonged,
"who's gonna fish my weights outta the ocean?"
Three days later, the thong suit was too small.
****************************************
To Marsha's relief, as well as her mother's, she stopped growing
by the end of June. However, in one short month, Marsha had gone
from a rather non- descript young teenager to a spectacular moun-
tain of a woman. She topped the tape at eight foot four(254cm),
towering over her mother, who at five foot four(160cm) barely
came up to her waist.
Marsha found it difficult to get around. She had to get in and
out of her house by ducking through the doorway. Once inside,
her huge bulk took up too much space for any room besides the
family room, where Marsha's mother had purchased a special mat-
tress, and had a carpenter build a special bed for her 'growing
girl'.
Marsha's mother also traded in the Buick for a panel van. It be
came a familiar sight in the city to see Marsha stepping out of
the panel van and ducking through a door to get into a store, or
into the warehouse. Naturally, she became somewhat of a local
celebrity. She had been on the local news several times, usually
because of her rescuing an animal from a tree or some other place
inaccessible to ordinary humans. She had appeared on 'Hard
Copy' and 'Inside Edition', and had charmed the reporters and
news-people by being what she was, a typical, cheerful teenage
girl who had happened to grow to eight feet four inches. The
bigger she got, it seemed, the more beautiful she got as well.
When she was normal sized, Marsha was a bright, perky, but not
particularly outstanding-looking girl. At eight-four, people
started remarking not just about her size, but about her extraor-
dinary looks as well. Her face had slimmed and her cheekbones
had raised. Her lips were fuller and her nose, which had been on
the short side before, had lengthened and flaired, and her eyes
had darkened.
Her hair had grown faster than the rest of her, and now cascaded
down her back, past her hips to her knees, and it was as full and
thick as it was lustrous. Indeed, her hair was longer than most
people were tall. Often, although she didn't know it, men who
wouldn't dare even fantasize about making love to her would stare
at her chocolate-colored tresses and dream about running naked
through that thicket.
But Marsha's breasts, ah, her breasts were her glory. They were
magnificently full, round, and firm. Marsha had never been par-
ticularly large as a normal-sized girl, but she found it gratify-
ing and somehow approp- riate that, as a giantess, she should be
stacked beyond all possible envy. Proportionately, perhaps, her
breasts were not as large as she remembered Amanda's being, but
they were quite large enough. Marsha couldn't see her feet, and
had to continually peer over her huge hooters to make sure she
wasn't stepping on some animal or small child, or maybe on the
hood of a car. Marsha's mother had measured her, and thrown up
her hands in despair. If a bra could have been made for her, it
would have had to have been a 64-Q, as Marsha measured a spectac-
ular eighty-two inches(208cm) across the fullest part of her
bust.
Wearing the largest t-shirts her mother manufac tured, the volu-
minous XXXXL, as halter tops, Marsha's breasts were on permanent
display, her LifeSaver-roll sized nipples punching into the tor-
mented fabric. These had the added advantage of revealing her
world-class abdominals, which were as hard and cut as a tor-
toise's carapace.
Marsha's mom hit upon the happy idea of using Marsha as a bill
collector. She made the rounds of the merchants who owed her
money, and introduced Marsha to them. Most of them paid immedi-
ately, in cash. One man pleaded for more time, saying that he
didn't have the money available. Marsha brought her great fist
down on the man's desk, shattering it into kindling wood. The
shaken merchant pulled the money out of a strong-box and handed
Marsha's mother the whole amount in tens and twenties.
"His mistress is gonna be pissed when she doesn't get that new
dress and necklace!", Marsha's mother laughed. Soon, Marsha was
working part time with a collection agency. With the extra mon-
ey, Marsha's mother was able to contract out Marsha's wardrobe,
and Marsha was as well dressed as any young titaness could wish
to be.
*****************************
|
|
