*************I AM NOT THE AUTHOR!!!!******
ALL CREDIT GOES TO 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 Carolina, and all her other friends were making plans for the summer-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 shuddered 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 appeared, 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. " Marsha's mother consoled her, running her fingers through her daughter's hair.
"Don' worry, honey", Marsha's mother said in her accented English. "Wha'ever you need, we get it, OK?" The two women embraced. 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 mother'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 started 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 legendary. At closing time, crowds of the curious would gather outside 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 inches(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. Marsha 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 hundred 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 cleavage. 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, although 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 little 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 eye level 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 repeated 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 muscles 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 powerful 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 nondescript young teenager to a spectacular mountain 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 mattress, 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 became 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 extraordinary 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 flared, 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 particularly large as a normal-sized girl, but she found it gratifying and somehow appropriate 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 spectacular eighty-two inches(208cm) across the fullest part of her bust.
Wearing the largest t-shirts her mother manufactured, the voluminous XXXXL, as halter tops, Marsha's breasts were on permanent display, her LifeSaver-roll sized nipples punching into the tormented fabric. These had the added advantage of revealing her world-class abdominals, which were as hard and cut as a tortoise'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 immediately, 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 money, 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.