The following is a story first published on another web site under a slightly different nom de plume. I decided to post it here as well since there have been several mentions of it in posting for other of my stories. I'm trying to make sure that all of my works are posted here. Please note that aside from this foreword I have made no changes in any way. I hope the reader enjoys the story.



All characters are 18 or older.



Begin



Authors Note:







This is a FANTASY. Never happened. Ain't ever gonna. If you do not like stories about large breasted young women then don't continue to read. There is no sex in this! If you insist on lots of poorly worded descriptions of copulation you won't like this one!



On the other hand, if you like descriptions of boobs, and like stories with lots of descriptions of large breasts you may enjoy this.



*



"Miss Abigail? If I could have a word with you?"



She had almost been out the door when the instructor spoke.



Nervously, she stepped aside while the rest of the class rushed into the hallway, chattering and laughing. Abigail was in her second week at the school, having entered in mid-term.



As the instructor closed the door Abigail moved to stand in front of the teacher's desk, still clutching her books to her chest. It was a familiar pose. Abigail was a plain looking girl with a bookish air about her. Her stringy, mousy brown hair was held back from her face by a plastic head band. Her washed out blue eyes darted nervously behind very large horn rimmed glasses. Her legs below the modest hem of the regulation plaid skirt were quite thin while the standard blue blazer seemed to hang loosely on her shoulders.



"Abigail, you are new here to our little grove of academy." The teacher sometimes sounded a little pompous.



"Yes, sir." The reply was very soft. Almost inaudible.



"You are aware that we pride ourselves on helping to develop the minds and deportment of the young ladies who are fortunate enough to attend here. I feel that I must speak with you in one regard. It has been my observation that your carriage is inappropriate."



Sir?"



"I have noticed that while you always wear the prescribed uniform, you also hunch over a great deal. This is unladylike."



"I don't think the uniform fits me very well, sir."



"Doesn't fit you well? Whatever can you mean? We spare no expense in obtaining appropriately suitable clothing for our uniforms. Now put down those books and stand up straight."



"Yes, sir."



Stepping forward Abigail placed her books on the teachers desk and returned to her position. She stood with her hands clutched prayerfully in front of her, elbows tight to her sides.



"Put your hands to your sides, young lady."



Doing so showed that the arms of Abigail's blazer were too long, reaching almost to her finger tips.



And...



"You are still hunched over, girl. Stand up straight! And take off that blazer. It does not fit you well, its too big!"



"Sir, it's not too big."



"Don't contradict me girl, now do as I say!"



Reluctantly, very slowly, Abigail removed her blazer. Revealed was the regulation plain white button-down Oxford shirt beneath. Still, she hunched over as she placed the blazer on the chair next to her.



"Abigail, I must insist that you stand up straight! Honestly, your posture is terrible. A well bred young lady does not slouch like that!"



"Yes, sir", Abigail was reluctant, her face miserable as she hesitantly straightened her back.



As she did so, the front of her blouse began to expand alarmingly, causing the teacher to take an involuntary step back.



As Abigail slowly completed straightening up, her shirt, which had seemed to hang in a rather baggy manner, was stretched taut. Twin, matching sets of epic stress lines radiated from the broad tip of each breast impression that now strained against the fabric of her blouse. The shirt that might have seemed oversized was almost incapable of holding back the immense pair of breasts that Abigail possessed. At her waist, one tail of the shirt had almost pulled free from the grip of her skirt.



All along the center of the shirt the fabric between the buttons was puckered and gapped. There were additional stress lines evident at each button.



For a long moment, before he regained his composure, the teacher gawked at the young lady standing in front of him.



"You see, sir?" Abigail sniffled, so wrapped up in her misery that she had not noticed the teacher's rapt stare, "I just can't get a good fit. I have not had time to get any tailored shirts and so this is the result." She was almost crying as she gestured at the over-stressed line of buttons.



"Yes," the instructor gulped. "I can see that the fit leaves something to be desired. I think that this requires delving deeper. Please remove your shirt."



"My shirt, sir?" Her voice was even shakier than before, her chin quivering.



"Please, yes. Be assured that I have your best interests in mind."



Cowed and intimidated by the sudden, unexpected attentions of one of the very few male teachers, Abigail did as instructed. Slowly her hands worked their way up, button by button. Finally, having undone the uppermost button, her hands twisted and pulled the shirt tails from under the skirt and pulled off the blouse. She quickly clutched it in front of her, hunching over in her familiar pose.



"Just put the shirt to one side and stand up now, girl!" His voice was firm but kindly, betraying only a hint of a quiver.



"Sir," she responded, as she turned and placed the blouse on top of the blazer.



"Very good, girl. Now let me get a look at you and stop slouching!"



"But sir, I know I look grotesque, sir. I'm sorry."



"Why would you think you look 'grotesque', as you say?"



"Well all my girlfriends at my high school said so and none of the boys I meet will ever talk to me..." Abigail's voice trailed off into a muffled sob.



"But what is it about you that you feel is grotesque?"



"These things sir!" She gestured at her bra. "I just seem to get bigger all the time and nothing fits right." Tears were now slowly sliding down her cheeks. Her hands continued to flutter in front of her as if uncertain of what they should be doing. Or where they might land.



Given the opportunity, the teacher took a quick look at the massive bra that Abigail had revealed. It was an immense, heavy duty, quite utilitarian looking brassiere made of heavy white cotton.



"Nonsense. Your friends at school played a cruel trick on you. They were just envious of you, I'm sure. And most boys are shy in the presence of girls that they are attracted to."



"Oh, sir, it's nice of you to say that but I know that I'm not attractive. And I've never had a boyfriend although I've often dreamed of it." Her voice held a note of hope as if she wanted to be contradicted but did not think she would be.



The teacher took another tack.



"Abigail, where did you go to school before arriving at our institute of higher learning?"



"A Catholic boarding school in Switzerland, sir."



"And were there any boys there?"



"Oh, no, sir! Just the hundred of us girls and the nuns and other a few other teachers. They were all women as well."



"And vacations? Where did you go during holidays and during the summer?"



"Well, usually Mum and Da would pick me up and we would tour Europe although I've been to America twice. That was quite nice!" Her tears had stopped flowing and Abigail stood a little more relaxed in front of the teacher. Her hands had settled at her sides.



"So when you come down to it, you have had no chances to meet boys your own age or even any men at all. You were always in a girls' school or in the company of your parents. How could you have met any men? Let alone have a boyfriend?"



"Well, when you put it that way. But I've seen boys look at me with a funny look on their face. And when they see I know they are looking they look away and never look back. So I don't think boys like me at all, sir."



"More likely they thought that you would be mad at them for staring!"



Again the teacher studied the young lady in front of him.



"There, sir! That look on your face! That's the way most boys looked when I saw them! Then they would turn away and not look at me again!"



A pink glow came and went quickly on the instructor's face.



"Um, ahem, yes. Well, Abigail, you should be aware that there are some people, men that is, that find a young woman such as yourself to be quite attractive. I am sure that there are many young men that would like to be able so see you as I am now."



"I find that hard to credit, sir."



"Well I can only tell you that the look you saw on my face was one of admiration."



"You are kind to try to deceive me, sir. The girls at the school all told me that girls that look like me are not attractive to men. They were quite emphatic about it. I know that the look in your eyes was one of dislike."



"And again I tell you that your schoolmates have misled you. Tell me, were there any other girls at your school who were as blessed as you are?"



"Blessed, sir?"



"With the same kind of figure, that is to say."



"Well, no."



"Have you ever met anyone who's figure is voluptuous as yours?"



"Sir, I am not voluptuous. That would imply broad hips and fleshy thighs. I am quite thin through the waist, hips and thighs." Her interest was in accuracy. She was not bragging, stating fact. "The other girls called me top heavy and that is, in truth, what I am. Top heavy."



"As you say." The student seemed quite a bit more comfortable now. And although her shoulders were still hunched forward a little, her back was straight. The teacher took a moment to examine more closely the young lady in front of him.



She watched him looking at her. At first she seemed about to remonstrate with him but then subsided. There was something, well, warm, that went through her as she felt his eyes upon her body. She wondered if she was beginning to enjoy it.



Seemingly unaware of the reaction of his student the teacher examined Abigail carefully. Her shoulders and arms were very thin as were the legs that he could see below the hem of her skirt. Her collarbone stood out in relief under her porcelain skin and her waist, visible below her capacious bra, was lithely muscled. The contrast between her limbs and the load her torso carried was extreme. Top heavy might not be a strong enough description, he thought. The outer sweep of each bra cup came to about the middle of Abigail's biceps as her looked at her straight on.



Which led him to examine Abigail's bra. Each bra cup consisted of several panels of heavy duty cotton with extremely heavy stitching joining the panels together. Each cup seemed large enough to contain a regulation size basketball with ease. Above each cup, rising toward Abigail's collar bone, was a hillock of flesh which seemed enough to fill an ordinary B bra cup. The visible cleavage extended from the join of these hillocks, about two inches below Abigail's collar bone, for several inches before it vanished into the bra. From the bottom of her bra's body strap to the top of her cleavage had to be at least 18 inches, thought the instructor. Attaching each cup to its shoulder strap was hardware that would have appeared more at home on the parachute the teacher had used while in the Rangers. Each strap was at least an inch wide where its hardware met the cup. At the shoulder the straps widened to almost double that width and were equipped with padding which helped, he supposed, to distribute the weight more easily. Strangely, the straps did not appear to be under much strain despite the size of the cups they supported. There was no ornamentation on the bra at all. Not on the panels, not on the trim pieces, nor on the straps either. The instructor could not hazard a guess as to how far in front of Abigail her breasts projected.



While he had been looking at Abigail she had been watching him watch her. In her mind she was reviewing what the instructor had said to her. Could he be right about her school chums? They had seemed sincere. To a girl they had declared that boys did not like large breasts, at least not ones as large as Abigail's had come to be in her years at the convent school. But then not one of them had a bosom near to the size that she had. Could the other girls have been jealous? And her breasts were even bigger now. She was wearing her newest brassiere, the one that fit the best of all her bras.



While the instructor's attention was still directed at studying her figure she tried to reconcile her school experiences with what he had said and with the feelings that she often felt. At times her breasts could provide her with strangely thrilling feelings. Sometimes, before slipping into bed at night she would examine herself in the mirror. Often, she would feel warm, tingly sensations radiate through out her body as her unrestrained breasts quivered and shook in sympathy with her breathing. Gradually her shoulders straightened up and she stood more comfortably in front of her teacher.



"You know," the teacher remarked at last, "my last girlfriend wore the largest brassiere I had ever seen in my life. She measured 42-28-38 and wore a 36-EE bra. She was quite proud of her large bosom and delighted in wearing tight clothing from time to time; allowing people to see and appreciate how well endowed she was. Why, sometimes, she would even go in public with out a brassiere! She could be a bit of a tease I'm afraid."



The revelation took Abigail aback. Was he really discussing a past relationship with her? And sharing the most personal of information. Still...



Abigail giggled. "Oh, sir! Really? 36-EE?"



"Yes, that is what she told me, in fact she went to some lengths to prove it to me. But I think that your brassiere may be larger even than hers!"



"Yes, I suppose it is, sir." Another giggle. "I wore a Double E bra when I was 13 years old — over six years ago." She could hardly believe that she had said that! But Abigail found that she wanted to continue the conversation. She had decided that she liked the attention she was getting from her instructor.



"Oh? Say you so?"



"Yes, sir! Now I'm much, much larger than that. But with my being so much thinner than your friend I suppose I look even larger than I really am." This was said while her head was bowed forward. But her eyes were on his face while she spoke, gauging his reaction. A moment of tension built up between them.



"What..." He paused to gulp. "What are your measurements?"



The tension was released with this question. Abigail sensed that the conversation was entering a new and exciting phase. Her heartbeat sped up a little and she paused another moment before responding. She was enjoying this conversation!



"I measure almost 31 inches at the hips, about 20 inches at the waist and my rib cage measures 27 inches. I'm afraid I have to have all my brassieres made to custom, sir." Her voice was still quiet but not hesitant. Instead there was a thread of confidence running through her voice now.



"Yes, I can quite understand, Abigail."



Abigail waited for the next question, anticipating what it would be.



"You seem to have been under the impression that no one could appreciate you.Was your mother reluctant to talk with you about your maturing?" This was not what Abigail had expected him to ask!



Abigail had finally found someone with whom she could discuss her figure, a subject that she had never been able to talk about with anyone. Without, that is, feeling that the other person disapproved of her. Or that she should be ashamed of her figure for some reason.



And she had found that she liked talking about her figure — she had felt strange thrills run through her as the teacher had studied her. She had seen no disgust. Instead she had thought she had seen interest! Interest in her and in what she had so long been ashamed of! She wanted to explore this further! And he wanted to ask questions about her mother!



"I am afraid Mother never wanted to talk about such things with me. She felt it would be better if I learned from more qualified instructors at school."



"As if nuns were the best source of information about such things," the teacher mocked.



"Yes, I quite agree. As you pointed out, I only learned from my classmates. Are you certain you don't want me to replace my shirt at least?" She hoped he would not say yes!



"Are you feeling uncomfortable, Abigail?"



"Not as such, sir. I've never been undressed like this in front of anyone before. I feel a little nervous but not scared or anything. You truly don't think I look disgusting?" As she asked she shifted her weight from one foot to the other which caused her vast bosom to shift gently despite the constraint of her bra cups. The movement did not escape the attention of the teacher. And she saw him watching! Wanting to feel his eyes on her even more she shifted her weight back again with another massive wobble as her breasts rebounded from one another within her bra. His eyes did not lift to hers for a few moments



"No. I do not. Abigail, you need to learn that there are a wide range of body types that are considered attractive. Your body type happens to be at one extreme end of a spectrum. Nonetheless, there are many people, many men, who would find you attractive."



As he spoke, Abigail took the moment to adjust her brassiere. Using her right hand she hefted her right breast as her left hand straightened the bra strap, then she repeated this action on the left side. Her hands seemed so small against the vast expanse of the cotton bra cups.



"Thank you for saying so, sir. But I wonder if you would feel so if you were to see just how large I seem to be when I am not in this restrictive brassiere. I feel sure that you would not find it an attractive sight!" How bold she was becoming, she thought to herself! Abigail hoped to gauge the level and nature of the teacher's interest.



"Well, I'm not sure..."



"Please sir, I... well, I've never spoken with anyone about this like this and I would really value your opinion in this matter." She blushed prettily as she looked at the floor in front of her. She was breathing faster now, causing her breasts to lift and fall somewhat in her brassiere.



"Well, if it would make you feel better..."



"Oh, thank you, sir!" Abigail reached behind her with both hands as she said this and began struggling with the hook-and-eye fasteners that joined her bra at her spine. Leaning forward as she did so, she exposed more of the tops of her heaving breasts and the shifting, wobbling crevasse of her cleavage. As she twisted her arms and pulled at the clasps her breasts responded by shifting, lifting, subsiding, shaking and quivering with ever increasing activity. Her bra was an extremely substantial one, of course, but even one made of such heavy duty material was unable to completely contain the activity within it.



The teacher watched with increasing awe as Abigail's gargantuan boobs shook and quivered, the broad points of the bra cups describing ever more complex figures as she struggled with her bra's clasps. Her shoulders thrashed back and forth, her forward lean becoming more pronounced as her struggles continued. Abigail was not unaware of the teacher's increasing focus on her extravagant breasts. She was pleased that he never looked away. In point of fact, she was making it look harder than she had to. Usually, she just pulled the straps and cups down around her waist, spun the clasp around to the front and took it off.



Finally, gasping a little at the effort, she looked up and asked, "Could you help me with this? It seems to be stuck." Not waiting for an answer she spun to face the other way.

