TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS
by Some Sort of Dog'On the First Day of Christmas, my True Love Sent to Me
A Partridge in a Pear Tree'
"Bye Jack! Be sure and write."
"Course I will, Mandy, every day."
"And every night, like we said!"
"Twice a night, darling!"
"Love you!"
"Love you!"
The car was on the move, slowly at first, as if it couldn't bear to go, then Jack waved from the driver's window as he turned on to the main road and accelerated to merge with the rest of the traffic. In seconds he was gone.
Mandy watched, but it wasn't c oming back. She reached for her handkerchief as she went indoors.
Christmas. Our first Christmas, it should have been special, but he has to be away until halfway through January. We'll be writing every day. And every night. Twice a night, they had joked. That's the beauty of e-mail, she thought. I write twice a night a nd twice a night is what he'll get. She plonked herself down at the keyboard and started composing the first message.
'Jack. I hope you had a safe journey and this will be waiting for you when you arrive. Write straight back and tell me about the hotel. Only two and half more weeks, darling! And you'll get your Christmas present when you get back.
Your REAL Christmas pre sent, that is! Meanwhile, these little messages will keep us going 'til we see each other and hold each other...'
Shit! She stopped. No good getting all horny. He's not even there yet and I'm talking about what we're going to be doing when he gets back. Early to bed tonight, and have a good cry! She erased the last sentence of the message and typed a nice, safe endin g.
Then Mandy had an idea.
She looked through half a dozen directories on the hard drive, and found the list of pictures. Jack had been nervous about showing them to her at first, until she had come into the room and found him gawping at a picture on the screen. She recalled the co nversation.
"She's pretty, Jack!"
"What? Oh, shit...!" He made the picture disappear and pretended to be studying a spreadsheet.
"Who was she? She was pretty."
"She was nothing. Just a picture one of the guys sent me. I don't know what these blokes see in that sort of thing, they..."
"Can I see her again?"
"You? You want to see her?" He looked at Mandy. She was smiling at him. She nodded.
"Yes please!"
Silently, he clicked with the mouse and the picture filled the screen.
"Wow!" Mandy whispered. "She's BIG! Are those things real?"
Jack laughed nervously. Was she being sarcastic? Was she going to denounce him as a wanker?
"No, they're not real. They're morphed."
"Morphed? Is it painful?"
"Not to her, no. It's just the picture. They enlarge parts of it on the computer. Some of them are quite realistic, like that one. Sometimes they go over the top a bit." He found another file and loaded it. "Like this one!"
Another picture appeared. A slim young woman in a bikini, with such gigantic breasts they lay on her stomach just above the top of her pants.
"I see what you mean", said Mandy, feeling a strange feeling inside. "Could they make mine bigger, do you think?"
"Yours don't need it, Mandy. Well, not huge like these, anyway." It was out, he'd said it. He couldn't take it back now. He wished her tits were a bit bigger. That makes two of us, thought Mandy, looking down at her front. Not enough there to bulge out th e front of her sweatshirt.
She shook herself back to the present. Since that first time, Jack had shown her more and more of the morphed pictures. He had quite a collection, it seemed. Most of them seemed to be of the 'over-the-top' variety. Jack's favourites. But they had enjoyed looking at them together, Mandy wishing she could be just a little bit like the girls in the pictures. Just a little bit...
She found the message she was looking for in the newsgroups.
'LET ME MORPH YOUR FAVORITE PHOTO!'
The rest of the message told her to send 'that favorite photo' and the artist would 'give her the breasts of your dreams!' A dream come true, thought Mandy, switching on the scanner.
She was sure what she was going to send him now for his Christmas present.
This will keep him happy...
There was no reply. Typical. She should have thought of that. It's nearly Christmas. The artist is on holiday. He's probably at some school or other. Or he's busy working away trying to finish off a huge backlog of work before the holidays. Too busy for m y little games.
Jack's messages were coming, regular as clockwork, once a day, twice a night, exactly as promised. They were full of detail, what he'd done today, who he'd met. Just like Mandy's. She came home, exhausted, every night. logged on, did a mail run.
Every night, the same. Even Christmas Eve! It might as well not be Christmas if he's not there. Oh, stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself, Mandy. So read the mail, okay?
'New messages, four', it said. Four? 'Downloading message 4 of 4', read the screen. Come ON, then, machine! What's keeping you? It was taking for ever. At last, it finished. 'Four new messages', it said, proudly. It seemed pleased with itself, for some re ason.
And one of them's a huge one, thought Mandy, sitting up in excitement. Yet she forced herself to read Jack's messages first, before she even looked at the enormous picture file. It had been their favourite picture, taken on the beach last summer. Jack and Mandy building a sandcastle.
They had ribbed each other about it.
"If only I had some tits, this pose would be quite erotic", she said.
"It would, if only I didn't look *quite* as much like Bill Gates", said Jack.
And Mandy had written a polite little note to the artist, saying she'd like it if the lady's breasts could be a little bit fuller. And while he was at it, could he do something about the man's hair? And his glasses, maybe?
She scolded herself. "You daren't look! You went and sent a photo to an artist, and now it comes back and you daren't even look. What's the MATTER with you, Amanda?"
There was a little note with the picture. 'This is a bit out of my usual line, I'm afraid, Mandy, but the picture so took my fancy, and your message, that I have made a few little alterations, as you requested. I haven't quite finished; I will have a few more tries and send them to you as they're done'.
It was signed, 'The Artist'.
The top of the swimsuit was definitely fuller. There was a hint of cleavage, just a shadow, but wow! It was enough to make a difference. Mandy felt the same little churning inside as when she had first looked at Jack's naughty picture. Getting turned on b y a picture of myself, she thought. Get a grip of yourself, Amanda! She looked at Jack in the picture again. The glasses were gone. It made him look funny. And the hair, too. Certainly different! She still felt a little strange when she went to bed.
She felt even stranger when she got up next morning. Christmas Morning!
"That's funny", she thought, sitting up in bed. "This top feels tight." She tugged it down across her chest, frowned, then hurried to the bathroom. The view in the big mirror confirmed her hopes and fears. Hardly daring to look at herself, she pulled up t he edge of the T-shirt she wore to bed.
"Oh, my God!"
Quickly, she pulled it right up, and all was revealed. She stood and looked at herself for maybe a minute.
"Hey", she said at last. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, I think I like it."
Then the T-shirt was off over her head, and dangling from her hand as she stared at her new breasts in the mirror. "They're as big as in that picture from the artist", she thought, rubbing a hand across the softly mounded flesh.
It squashed inwards, and s prang back out again as her hand passed. She dressed in a daze, unable to believe what had happened to her, literally overnight.
Still, there was no time to worry about it. She had been invited to lunch with her girlfriends. At least, her breasts hadn't grown so much that she would have to explain anything. They fitted nicely into her small bra, and her shirt hardly showed any curv es at all.
It was a lovely day, more like October than Christmastide as after lunch the girls decided to go wandering over the hills and through the woods with the dogs. Mandy was pleasantly weary when the taxi dropped her off at almost midnight. So much to say to Jack, she thought, typing away at a long message.
Again, the mail program had four messages for her. Jack's been busy, writing four messages on Christmas Day, she thought, then realised that the fourth message was a long one again. Her heart began to thum p as the modem flashed and the hard disk whirred.
Again, just as last night, she read Jack's messages. Then, and only then, did she view the picture.
"It's the same one, he sent it twice", she thought, with a touch of disappointment. And then she looked more closely. "Jack's hair's a bit tidier", she giggled, then she gave a little gasp as she looked at herself.
Only the slightest difference, but the s hadow in the cleavage was more noticeable, the swimsuit top just a teensy bit fuller. "Hmm, not bad at all!"
She thought the same thing the next morning, too, as she stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. She could even cup her breasts in her hand, now. If she used both hands and pushed upwards and inwards, there was some cleavage there, even. She tried sh aking them from side to side, but there wasn't enough there to jiggle.
"Well, you can't have everything, girl. Be grateful for what you've got. You always have been." She'd had no choice until now. But now, she felt, she did have some say in the matter.
"Perhaps I'll send a message to the artist, say thank you, and ask for just a little bit more titty! After the New Year, perhaps!"
But she had no need to! It happened again the next night, a message from the Artist. It happened the following morning, in front of the bathroom mirror.
It happened again the next night, and the next. It was the Fifth Day of Christmas. Five Gold Rings, she thought. The B-cups she now had under her shirt were the nicest Christmas present she had ever had! And a thought occurred to her. A thought which made her feel positively wet in her knickers!
What if the artist carried on enhancing her breasts until the Twelfth Day?
What was it, Twelve Pipers Piping? Twelve Lords a-Leaping? Never mind what. If he kept going until the end of the carol, the artist was go ing to make quite a difference to Mandy's life.
"I'm in your hands, artist. But whatever you do, go for it! You're doing a grand job. Jack's looking good, too! The hair's great! I only hope he can manage without the glasses." Mandy gasped at the thought. Were the changes happening to Jack, too? If they were, he certainly hadn't mentioned them in his messages. And come to think of it, his messages were getting shorter. Now, he was saying hardly anything about his daily activities.
"Oh, God", she thought. "I'm horny as hell again tonight. It must be these boobs doing this to me, bless them."
It was New Year's Day. Mandy had avoided the festivities on New Years Eve, pleading a touch of flu. In fact, she'd never felt healthier. She could have spent the entire day and night making love, she thought, and as soon as she thought it, she had to go i nto the bedroom and do it to herself all over again. Languidly, she lay back on the pile of pillows and cupped her huge breasts. That morning, in front of the bathroom mirror, she had measured her bust. It had surprised even Mandy when she stretched the t ape around her back and across her thrusting peaks. Forty-five inches!
She wanted to discuss it with Jack, but he was never going to believe such a fantastic story. Anyway, his messages had dwindled to one a day, and there was precious little information in that. He was obviously very busy, and too weary in the evenings to s it and type a long letter. So she said nothing. He'll find out, she thought, when he gets home.
Who could tell what cup size she would need, when she went to buy a new bra!
It would have to wait until the shops opened again after the holiday, but she had a sneaking feeling she was going to need a custom-built one. And if that was the case, perhaps i t would be best to wait until she had stopped growing.
IF she stopped growing! What if she didn't? Whose damn-fool idea was this anyway? Who ever heard of an artist, sitting at a computer, controlling the size of the breasts of a girl hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away?
Ridiculous!
It was getting more ridiculous every day, too. By the Eleventh Day of Christmas, when she hefted her fifty-nine inch breasts in front of the bathroom mirror, she was considering calling the doctor. Here I am, considering breast reduction already, she thou ght, and Jack hasn't even seen the things yet! Well, Mandy, if it IS magic, it all ends tomorrow night. She sat at the computer and looked again at the picture on the screen. She had to hand it to the artist, he'd done a marvellous job.
"Just don't be tempted to go over the top, please!" she pleaded.
He did, rather. That's the trouble with morphing, it's too easy to get carried away. In the twelfth photograph, Jack looked like a combination of all Mandy's favourite movie idols, and her breasts looked as though she was going to need the services of a c onstruction company, not a bra maker.
Mandy was measuring herself the next morning. Or trying to measure herself.
She only had a sixty-inch tape. She had to guess the last eight or nine inches. The phone rang.
"Who can that be?" she hurried to answer it, moving with some difficulty, her massive breasts swaying and bouncing so much, she thought they were going to bring her crashing to the floor. She made it, and picked up the handset.
"Darling? Hi. Listen, I'm on my way home today. Leaving in ten minutes, we finished the job early. I've missed you so much. We've been rushed off our feet, but I'll tell you something. I did have a chance to go and see the hairdresser. And the optician. I got these new contact lenses..."
The End
Source: asatru-religion.blogspot.com
