Tit Duel
by TOABO



 I read once where a car rolled on top of some kid and pinned his leg.  His
mother, scared to death about her child, lifted the car up so he could
escape.  Just her bare hands and the strength born of fear.  That story
used to amaze me.  Not anymore.

 I came face to face with that fear, the fear you're about to lose someone
you love.  I have seen firsthand what it can make a woman do.  A word of
advice:  if you cause this fear in a woman, be prepared to do two things.
Run far.  Run fast.

 Oh, my name's Amy.  Plain old Amy, that's me.  It is important that you
remember that, so you can keep track of who is doing what in the following tale.

 As you might have guessed, I fell in love once.  Actually, more than once,
but let's stick to this story for now.  It was with a guy named Sean.  He
was a young attorney while I was a biochemist.  We met in the supermarket.
That's not important, though.  What you need to remember is that I loved him.

 I didn't start out loving him, but just sort of drifted into it after a
few months of dating.  I kept quiet about it, though.  One of the quickest
ways to scare off a guy is to declare your love for him before he's ready.
I learned that the hard way, too.  So I kept my little secret to myself.
Besides, I felt pretty sure that Sean felt the same way about me; he just
didn't know it yet. <g>
 Sean was a pretty good catch.  He had started out as a tax attorney and
now worked for one of the more prestigious firms in New York.  He made tons
of money, although that didn't sway me too much.  I do just fine with the
pharmaceuticals company I do research for.  Not at Sean's level, but I was
quite comfortable.  He also had a good personality, nebulous as that
sounds.  You know, he had a good sense of humor, an even temperament, a
sensitive side, etc.  He even looked good.  Wavy brown hair, brown eyes,
six feet tall, and a cute little dimple when he smiled just right.  So I
had found a good man after several years of searching.

Finding a good job hadn't taken quite so long.  I started working for
Devlin MacGreger right out of college.  After six years I had finally
gotten my own small research team.  I was happy.  I was in charge of a
small group, so I could still do the research I loved; I dreaded the idea
of manning a desk all day.  I had clout with my superiors, so they let me
run my team the way I wanted and gave me sufficient funds to do it right.
Tack on a good salary and a decent parking space, and you have a nice career.

So to make a long story short, I had a good man, a good job, and I was
content.  Then the fear came in.

It all started innocently enough.  Sean had invited me over to dinner at
his place in mid-December.  He was at the stove while I tossed the salad
when the phone rang.  He wiped his hands on a towel and answered it in his
suave lawyer voice.  Ordinarily I wouldn't have paid attention.  Sean
regularly gets evening phone calls from work that involve tedious (to me;
he loves the stuff) accounting matters.  However, after he paused to find
out who was calling, he did an odd thing.  Sean stumbled.

Now for most people, this would be no big deal.  Everyone screws up a
sentence or mispronounces a word from time to time.  Except for Sean.  He
is a meticulous planner, and his speech is always smooth and clear.  This
time, though, he said "Uh, hello."  I know Sean despises the use of "uh,"
particularly at the beginning of a sentence.  So I glanced over at him.
That's when I saw his face.

His cheery demeanor had been replaced by confusion and uncertainty, very
non-Sean appearances.  This really raised my concern.  The conversation was
fairly short, with the other caller doing most of the talking, since Sean
mainly said "yes" and "no" when he spoke.  When he hung up, I asked him who
called.  Little did I know how much I was going to come to despise this
person.  "Brandy Evans," he replied.

Over dinner he filled me in.  Apparently Brandy was a girlfriend of his
from college.  When she was a freshman, she'd started dating him, a junior.

After a year, things had started to look serious, with marriage a
possibility.  Then she'd broken it off and started up with a young doctor
soon after.  He'd hadn't heard from her since.  She'd heard he was living
in New York and since she was in the area, Brandy suggested they get
together to catch up on what had been going on.  I was a little nervous
about the idea of him going out with one of his old flames, but he assured
me that this thing was long over with.  Brandy had even asked if he was
seeing anyone and had invited me along.  So I felt reasonably secure about
the whole thing and quickly forgot about it.

Besides, I had bigger things going on at work.  A few months prior to the
phone call, Teri, one of my assistants, had come to me with an interesting
discovery.  We were currently working women's fertility stuff, like birth
control, fertility drugs, etc.  Most of it involved  creating and testing
"new and improved" drugs on women.  At any rate, Teri reported that some
strange symptoms had been reported by the test group for one of the latest
experimental pharmaceuticals, code named (to prevent industrial espionage)
Lilac 4.  Apparently all of the women receiving the drug reported that
their breasts felt swollen.  Now occasionally we have adverse reactions in
individuals, but it was a bad sign for all of them to be feeling this
discomfort.  It could be the formula would have to be scrapped.

We ran tests on the women and found nothing wrong with their blood work.
Everything looked OK, so I told the women that everything looked fine and
that it wasn't anything serious.  However, a few days later, Teri came to
me again with the same problem.  Several of the test group were now
complaining that their bras no longer fit.  (Well, actually, most of them
weren't terribly upset that they had larger breasts but they thought that
something serious had gone wrong with the medication.)  I began getting
similar reports from the other assistants, Paul, Geena, and Carol.  I
conducted physical examinations and indeed all of the women in all the test
groups showed significant shifts in their breast size, as much as a whole
cup size in some cases.  (I knew since I compared it to their initial
measurements in their files; we are thorough in my department.)  The change
had also affected breast shape slightly, for even women well into their
forties had the firm breasts of a teenager.  (Yes
, we had pictures, too; we're very thorough.)  I called the team together
and we searched for the cause.  We eliminated lactation, weight gain, water
retention, and a slew of other possibilities.  Finally, the only
alternative we had left was that somehow Lilac 6 was inducing breast growth.

I took all the test groups off Lilac and switched them to placebos.  (If
I'd taken them off he drug entirely, it might have spooked them.  I also
wanted to find out if the change was permanent or not.)  For about a month
nothing changed.  The women reported no further changes in their breasts.
Then 27 days after the last cycle, we began getting reports that breasts
were shrinking.  Sure enough, within a week, all of the women had returned
to their original cup size.  Once again I did my little song and dance
about how the breast increase was some random side effect that we'd found a
way to correct for.  A lie, but you can't let things like this get out.

My team met in secret to discuss the situation.  We decided that it was
best to keep this discovery to ourselves, at least for the time being, and
to research it exclusively.  Over the next month we isolated the agent
responsible for the growth and dubbed it (not without a trace of a grin)
Bloom.  We conducted tests, refined the medication, did more tests, etc.
By the end of November we had Bloom 6.  It no longer was an injected
medication, but a liquid ingested orally.  The test women liked that part
since getting jabbed in the arm with a needle on a regular basis is no fun
at all, even if you are being paid; they even liked the taste, which they
described as a "lemony-mint."  We liked the oral form because the results
could be observed more easily.  When injected, Bloom acted slowly, over a
period of days, and the its effects were also diminished.  Taken orally,
Bloom acted much faster, often in a matter of hours, or even minutes in the
5 and 6 versions.  It was fascinating to wa
tch a subject's chest begin expand.

Of course, we couldn't tell the women what we were doing.  The risk of
leaking this data was too great.  It was one thing to develop a better
pill, but if the public got wind that we were conducting experiments in
chemically induced breast enlargement, all our work would be devoured in
the subsequent media frenzy.  This also meant that we had to pay strict
attention to the dosage levels.  We could get away with telling the women
they "might experience tenderness, swolleness, and possibly slight changes
in breast size during the treatment,"; the sudden increase in size was
still a bit of a jolt, but they would believe it was nothing more than we
predicted.  However, there was no way we could find out what a large dose
would do.  All research indicated that a larger dose would cause a larger
increase in mass, but we couldn't think of a plausible reason to explain
away an increase larger than a cup size in mere minutes.  Even if we could
think of an excuse, one of the subjects might fi
gure out what we were really testing.  Premature disclosure was unacceptable.

However, we were at odds as to what we should do.  Clearly we couldn't
continue to experiment indefinitely without my superiors discovering our
true intent.  Paul and Geena favored coming forward.  Geena argued that
women would jump at the chance to have full breasts.  Since the treatment
was also temporary, users would have to take booster doses every month or
so to maintain their figure; therefore, not only would demand be large, but
also continuous.  Paul said that this was more natural way of increasing
bust size and therefore safer than breast implants.  (I think Paul was also
excited by the idea that every woman could have big breasts, but perhaps I
am being unfairly sexist.)  Carol and Teri were equally opposed to it.
Teri, ever the feminist, felt that this would just allow men to further
reduce all women to sex objects.  Carol, who once had a hefty set of D cups
before getting them reduced to B cups, believed that it would create an
unfair pressure on women to have big brea
sts, regardless of the unpleasantries of having large breasts (whereupon
she would launch into a tirade about how her big breasts used made her back
hurt, how she had had trouble seeing her shoes, how she was always being
ogled back then, etc. that just annoyed the crap out of the rest of us,
esp. Geena and her A cups).

As group leader, I had to make the tie-breaker.  Trouble was, I couldn't
decide one way or another.  I knew that there was a gold mine to be made
with Bloom 6.  But Teri's arguments also reached me as a woman.  I may have
only a B cup, but I am attractive enough to know what it is like to be
treated as a piece of meat.  Would women be able to retain their respect if
they all had D cups?  So at that fateful meal in December, my mind was
still preoccupied with my dilemma and the portent of the phone call escaped
me at the time.  I would regret my inattention later.



The next day I met Sean at the restaurant.  Brandy wasn't there, so we got
a table.  I listened with half an ear to Sean talking about his latest case
at work while flipping absently through the menu.  I barely heard the
sultry voice say, "Sean?"

Glancing up, I had to strain to keep my jaw from dropping.  Standing in
front of the table was an incredibly attractive woman.  She was tall,
probably close to 5'9" without the three inch heels.  A mass of blonde
curls tumbled artfully past her shoulders and framed a lovely face.  She
had large blue eyes, cute nose, and full, pouting lips that were painted a
vibrant red that matched her scarlet dress.  Atop her long legs rested
curvy set of hips that swept to slim waist before flaring out again
dramatically into heavy set of breasts.  Her outfit was a red number that
was form fitting without looking tight.  It gave a very good impression of
the trim body and grapefruit sized tits concealed beneath, but without
being openly revealing (read:  slutty).

This demi goddess was Brandy.  I was now uneasy.

Granted, I didn't expect Sean to have dated some cow or stick in college.
He was an attractive guy with an eye for attractive women.  But I was not
prepared to meet this Morgan Fairchild lookalike.  Now, I do keep in shape
and have a pretty face.  If I'd been dressed to the nines like Brandy, I
probably could have come in a reasonably close second.  However, I'd come
from the lab, where appearance is unimportant.  My dress was sensible, not
sexy.  My hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of my face.  I
had only a bare minimum of makeup on.  As such, I felt sorely inadequate
the whole meal.

Not that it mattered much.  Brandy was quick to dominate the conversation.

She detailed how she had married that young doctor and then gotten
divorced after he'd become embroiled in a malpractice suit.  She was now
involved with some marketing firm in Manhattan.  The fact that she was no
longer married sent up a red flag in my brain, especially after she subtly
got Sean to divulge that he and I were not engaged.  She proceeded to pry
into Sean's life, particularly his material possessions.  By the end of the
meal I was decidedly nervous.  Brandy was a very attractive, single woman
who was flirting with my boyfriend while inquiring about the size of his
wallet.  That to me spelled gold digger.

Sean of course brushed off my comments on the subject after lunch.
"Brandy always was friendly like that," he told me.  I shot back a comment
about how "friendly" it was for her to continually lean over the table and
give him such clear shots of her cleavage.  Our conversation went downhill
from there and ended with both of us upset.

Had I been a little more paranoid or a little less distracted by work, I
might have been able to head things off.  But I wasn't and I was, so I just
let the matter slide and planned to patch it up after we'd had a chance to
cool off.  I just hadn't expected the speed of Brandy.

When I called the next evening, she answered the phone.  I was shocked and
demanded to speak to Sean.  She laughed and I could hear the mockery in her
chuckles.  I sort of lost it at that point and the following conversation
developed into a shouting match quickly.  I started demanding to know why
"that bimbo" was in his apartment.  Sean got defensive and then angry.  I
can't blame him too much; I did sound like a possessive bitch.  Still, he
didn't have to slam the phone down on me.

The next week was hell.  I started carrying around a couple vials of Bloom
around in my purse to remind me that I had to make a decision, and fast.
It didn't help much.  The pressure at work (my team wanted the matter
settled and looked like they could split up if I didn't) and my guy
problems had me totally depressed.  I moped around and didn't even try to
talk to Sean.  I was never one to wallow in misery long, though, so I gave
up the self pity after several days and decided to do something about my
problems.

I decided to deal with Sean first.  After the last couple weeks, I figured
that I'd better make the first move.  I thought about calling, but decided
he might just hang up on me again (I was still a little miffed at that).
So one evening I showed up at his apartment.  I knocked, but there was no
answer.  I figured that he'd just gone out for something (he likes to shop
at night, I still don't know why) so I let myself in with my keys.  Naive,
naive.

I had not taken but a few steps into the apartment when I heard it.
Noises.  Human noises.  Human sexual noises.  I don't know what bizarre
emotion pushed me forward, but I walked in a daze towards the source.
Sean's bedroom.  The door was half open, and I slid in noiselessly.  It was
dark, but I could make out two forms moving in the darkness.  I could
certainly hear them.  Wet smacking sounds of lips caressing each other.
Grunts and groans of pleasure.  Whispered sweet nothings.  Heavy breathing.

I was appalled.  I was disgusted.  I was pissed off.

My hand reached for the light switch on the wall.  The sudden blaze of the
overhead lamp got their attention.  My Sean was wearing nothing but a pair
of boxers and a confused expression.  As I suspected, Brandy lay beneath
him, her massive tits slick with sweat and (I shudder to say it) saliva.
However, her visage matched my own:  anger and malevolence.  We stared at
one another, like two predators facing off over a piece of meat (sorry Sean).

"What the fuck?!" Sean gasped.

"I might ask you that!" I shot back.  "What the hell is she doing in your
bed?"  A stupid question, really; everybody knew what had been going on.

Sean stumbled for a moment, obviously incredibly rattled.  Brandy jumped
in for him.  "Listen up, honey!  You no longer have any business here.  He
may have been your man once, but that ain't true anymore!"

I managed to be a little shocked at her bluntness.  (Sean should have been
able to see this bitch stalking him a mile away; just goes to show that a
man's mind turns to mush when you shake a pair of tits in his face.)  "Oh
yeah!" I fired.  It was weak, but I hadn't expected her to admit so
blatantly her plans to steal my boyfriend.

"That's right!  You may think you're hot stuff, but you're nothing
compared to me.  You never could satisfy him.  You could never give him
what only a real woman could.  You don't have the tits for it!"  Malice
dripped from her words like acid, and it did burn.  I looked at Sean for
him to deny it, but he couldn't meet my gaze.

That really hurt.  I knew he preferred large breasted women, but so do
most guys.  I just figured it was like women liking men with tight butts.
Sean never once indicated that my B cups were less than satisfactory for
him.  Now it felt like he'd been faking his passion the whole time.  I was
crushed.  Tears sprung to my eyes and I began to wail.

Then, it happened.  Somewhere, deep inside my psyche, something snapped.
Some feral part of me that I had locked into a little cage broke loose.
The animal in me surged and I no longer thought.  I just acted.  My hands
went of their own volition to my purse and dug frantically till they found
what they sought.  The vial of Bloom.  Half-screaming, half sobbing, I
said, "I'll show you who's got the tits for it!"  (I guess even the animal
in me has a sense of pathos.) and swallowed the contents of the vial.

Now, in retrospect, I realize that I would never have considered this rash
move if I'd been thinking clearly.  This latest version of Bloom required
only a few drops to induce mild breast growth.  We had never used more than
a teaspoon in our experiments.  The vial contained several times that
amount.  Oh, the things fear makes you do.

Sean immediately demanded to know what was in the vial.  I suppose if I'd
been calmer I might have been touched that he still cared.  As it was, I
just waved him off.  Brandy just stared quizzically at me from her
languorous position in bed, figuring that I was just pulling some stunt for
attention.  I disabused of that notion in short order.

The tingling started almost immediately as the Bloom left a fiery trail
down my throat.  The sensation started in my nipples and spread to my
areolae and then my entire breast.  I expected this.  However, the power of
this dose kicked like a mule in my brain.  My knees got weak and I felt
dizzy.  Then the growth started.

It began with my nipples.  I felt them get taut and erect.  I glanced down
and saw them make tiny dents in my cotton blouse.  The nubs grew and
extended, making sizable indentations in the fabric.  The friction between
them and my bra felt good, helping the process along.  I was soon rewarded
with expansion of my breasts.

They started slowly.  My bra began to feel restrictive, and then
constraining.  The size went from tennis balls to large oranges.  My
breasts were forced up by my Miracle Bra, and soon cleavage became apparent
in my neckline.  Sean's mouth hung open and Brandy now sat bolt upright in bed.

My tits continued to expand, becoming large grapefruit.  I shook my torso,
causing my breasts to bounce.  The bra was becoming decidedly
uncomfortable, so I undid the strap at the back.  My breasts dropped down
and out, shoving out the front of my blouse.  My nipples stabbed an inch
deep into the fabric with the rounded mounds behind.  My blouse came
untucked as my volleyball sized breasts lifted it out.

By now the blouse was beginning to show signs of strain.  As my breasts
became the size of basketballs, I started losing buttons.  First one, then
another, then another, until my blouse looked more like an open vest.  I
shrugged it off, putting my massive mammaries on display.  My nipples
looked like rolls of quarters, firm and strawberry red.  My areolae were
the size of soup bowls.  My tits extended over a foot from my chest and
hung level with my navel.  When the growth process finally shuddered to a
stop, my breasts looked like pumpkins on steroids.

Brandy, who had gone from cool confidence to uncertainty now stared at me
in terror.  She mouthed wordlessly and then lost all control.  uttering a
shrill scream, she fled past me.  Sean stared blankly at me for a long
time, seemingly unaware that Brandy was gone or that he had a massive
erection in his boxers.  I said nothing, and set about to satisfy the
burning craving in my belly.  I led him over the bed and mounted him.  The
sex was very good and went on a vey long time.  I'll spare you the gory details.

So, there you have it.  A mild mannered scientist turned into into a
warrior goddess protecting her male.  Amazing what strength fear can giv
you.  Oh, and one more thing.  Hey Brandy!  Run far.  Run fast. <g>

