DR. HOOTERS - Part XVIII
by Servax
A Teenage Giantess In Hialeah


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.

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