Revenge Of A Scientist Ch 01

Britney Engel, a bright 18-year-old student at Westbrook High, had many things in common with her mother. She was a grade A student, soon to be class valedictorian. Her boyfriend, Brock, was the star quarter-back -- they were both attending Yale University after the summer. She had a small, dainty build with pale skin and bright red hair. The only thing different (glaringly so) was her cup size. Although Britney was a respectable C cup (proportionate to her frame), her mother was into the Ks and still growing.

It probably sounded petty and insignificant to most, but her grandmother had been the same. What made her so different? Mostly she tried to put it to the back of her mind but, periodically, it would crop up again. She just so happened to be thinking about it in class when her professor was called out suddenly. A few minutes later, another guy in a lab coat replaced him and started talking about chemicals. Britney, for a change, was not paying attention.

When the bell rang he asked that she stay behind, so as the other students packed their bags and left, she remained in her seat. A teacher had never asked her to stay behind before -- perhaps he could tell her heart wasn't really in the lesson today. She hoped she wouldn't be in too much trouble. After all, graduation was only next week!

"Miss Engel," said the professor. He was a tiny man, with greying hair and round Harry-Potter-style spectacles. A history of acne was spread across his face and though he smiled, it did not quite reach his eyes.

"Yes, sir?" Britney responded, trying to sound sincere.

"Perhaps I know your father. Quarter-back for the Westbrook Wasps in 82?"

"Oh, yes. That's him. Brad Engel," she smiled. A lot of teachers asked her this.

"And your mother..."

"Stephanie Mason. Valedictorian, same year,"

The professor nodded, as though she'd confirmed his suspicions. "You look a little alike," he told her. She nodded, smiling sadly. She got that a lot too. "But for one thing, of course. Two, more accurately." Britney's mouth made a perfect 'o' shape, and she immediately turned a dark shade of scarlet. "I take it that has not escaped your notice either. Well, Britney, there may be something I can do to help with that. I am a scientist, after all. Is that something that might interest you?"

Britney was still in a state of shock. Teachers didn't say things like this. They weren't supposed to. Although he wasn't being... sexual, really. I mean, she thought, he is a scientist. Maybe he just wants to help... to experiment?

"You don't have to answer right away," the man said, "Here," he handed her a long, black flask, "Take this. If you are agreeable with the... experiment, you must drink this in the next 24 hours. The sooner, the better. Keep it warm and it may last a little longer. You don't have to let me know. I can observe the progress over the next week, I'm sure."

"So," she said, confused, "Professor Miller is not coming back before graduation?"

"No, Britney. There is, I believe, a family emergency he must attend to that may take some time. Off you go now,"

* * *

That night Britney lay awake in her bed, the flask nestled between her legs to stay warm. She lived in a beautiful house at the end of one of the most expensive roads in Westbrook, with her father. Her mother worked abroad as a lawyer for the third world. Brad Engel was a businessman. So most nights she kept to her room. She didn't want to get in his way, or in the way of any of the clients he was entertaining during the evenings.

Her laptop, which lay next to her head, gave a ping!

Brock: send us a pic

Britney rolled her eyes.

Britney: uve got lots of pics

Brock: none of ur tits

Britney bit her lip.

Britney: y would u want 1 of my tits?

Brock: r u serious?

Britney: yes. Do u like them?

Brock: baby I love them!

Britney: and u wouldn't change them at all?

Brock: ...

This was it. The verdict. She decided that if Brock saw her size as a problem, then she was going to have to do something about it. After all, she was his girlfriend!

Britney: u wouldn't make them... smaller?

Brock: definitely not!!!

Britney: bigger?

Brock: u r perfect the way u r baby. But bigger is always better ;)

* * *

The next morning Britney woke with a sore back. She rubbed it all the way to school. And after science the teacher kept her behind again.

"So, Britney. How did it taste?" He asked.

"Warm," she said, "and salty,"

"Did you like it?" She shrugged, uncertainly.

"You will come to like it more and more as we increase the dosage. I can see that it has already had some effect. I won't measure you now, but I can see you were at least a C to start out with. I think we're making good progress. Now, as well as drinking it you should think about applying some directly to the targeted area Nipples are best. And don't forget to allow it to dry!"

That evening Britney hopped past her father and up the stairs (pleased that she was bouncing a little). Once the door was closed she immediately stripped off her shirt and bra, knelt down in front of her full length mirror and opened the flask.

She poured out the goop within. It was white and sticky, but didn't taste bad. She took a long drink and poured the remains over her chest. Once she'd set the flask on the ground beside her, she massaged the medicine into her breasts, concentrating on her nipples as she'd been told. She knew immediately that she had applied too much. Allow it to dry, the professor had said. Her door didn't have a lock and her father was in and out of her bedroom most of the evening. She leapt up and placed a chair against the handle -- like they did in the movies. She then sat on her bed and opened the window, allowing the fresh air to sweep across her breasts. She was sat there for a good half an hour before she was sure it was dry. The cool night breeze had hardened her nipples until they were like tiny diamonds.

The next morning not only did her back ache, but her breasts were practically pulsating. They seemed to jiggle with every beat of her heart. She could not get her bra to clasp, so had to wear a tshirt that had been too big just a week ago, and now hugged her titties to her tiny frame like cling film. At first she kept a sweatshirt on but after a while she got used to the attention and started enjoying it, so began to walk with a little more bounce.

"When I said apply a little to your nipples, you didn't listen to me, did you?" the professor said at the end of the day. Britney went bright red and shook her head, her jugs swaying with her. "You have grown at least 2 cup sizes since yesterday. But no matter, at least I can see you are eager. There is no danger, I shall simply have to start you on the next phase of the program sooner than expected. Here is your dose for this evening," he gave her the flask, "And here, on this memory stick, is an audio track I'd like you to put on while you sleep. As low a volume as you can manage. Wear headphones if possible. Don't concentrate on the sounds, just go to sleep as you normally would. Okay?"

Britney could hardly wait to go to bed that night. After dinner, she told her father she was having an early night. She stripped off, took a small gulp of medicine and lathered her breasts until they were saturated. She lay down on her bed, topless with the window thrown open and hit the spacebar on her laptop. She could barely hear anything, but that is what she had been told was right. And Britney always did what she was told. She was a good girl for master. She opened her eyes. That was an unusual thought.

When she woke she was still topless, her breasts gleaming in the morning sun -- still a little wet and sticky. The door was slightly ajar -- had she left it like that? She hurried to shut the door, then jumped in the shower and brushed her teeth. Her mouth still tasted like medicine.

She returned to her bedroom and tried to get dressed. None of her tops would fit. Five minutes before she had to leave for school she began to panic. She couldn't say 'sorry dad, I'm growing my tits and forgot to buy new clothes for school'! She pulled a raincoat from her closet and zipped it up over her bare torso. It would have to do.

"Good thing you wore a raincoat," the professor said, amused, "It's probably raining inside," Britney smiled, confused. "Now then, I think it's time I had a look, don't you?"

Before she could say anything, the zip was down and the coat was open. He examined her like a doctor. The touching, totally professional. She began to relax. He tugged on her nipples and nodded approvingly. "You're coming along nicely. Did you listen to the track?"

"Yes sir," she said.

"Good girl. Listen to it again tonight -- and every night, until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?" She nodded, "Good girl. I'm increasing your dosage," he handed her two flasks, "you should be ready by the end of the week."

Britney had not known what he meant by 'ready' but she did as she was told. She listened to the track every night. Took a small swig from each flask and drenched her breasts in the remains. She slept every night with the window open, listening to the track and woke every morning still wet and sticky with the door ajar.

At the weekend the professor had given her plenty of flasks to keep her going. When Brock picked her up from her house his jaw dropped to the floor.

"Baby, I've gotta ask. What's happening to your titties?"

"I don't know," she blushed, "They just seem to be growing at the moment,"

"That one's leaking," he said, pointing. Britney gasped, looking down at the small stain on her top, where her nipple was poking out. She did not bother to buy any new bras, but she got a lot of white tshirts. She was stretching this one out to the max. Brock pulled the car over, suddenly. "Let me help you," he lifted the shirt up over her breasts, "mmm, no bra?" Swiftly he took her nipple in his mouth and began suckling.

"Oh!" She cried out in surprise, "Brock! What are you doing?"

"Milking you babe," he reached up, fondling the other tit whilst he sucked. Britney looked all around her. They were surrounded by passing foot traffic.

"Master- I mean, Brock! Come on, there's people everywhere?"

"What did you call me?" She felt him smile against her titflesh. His tongue trailed from one nipple to the other, he then flicked them hard and pulled the tshirt back over them. "We're going to a party,"

"We are?" She asked as he pulled away from the curb.

Soon the 4x4 was full of Westbrook football players, with Britney sitting in the centre of the back seat.

"Babe," Brock smiled at her in the mirror, cocky, "show us your tits," The car filled with hooting as she blushed, hard. And somehow, she found her hands moving. She couldn't stop. Slowly she lifted her top over her head.

"Oh yes!"

"Woo!"

What was she doing? Stop, stop, stop! She begged herself. But she kept going, the tshirt now gone completely. Charlie, a defender, covered his face with it, took a deep sniff and threw it out the window. Brock steered the car into Hollingdale lane -- a street just before the school, with speed bumps every few feet.

"Hands behind your head, baby," said Brock, "It's gonna be a bumpy ride!"

Her hands found the back of the headrest of their own volition. There was nothing she could do about it.

"Yes Brock! Your girlfriend is so hot!"

"Look at these puppies!"

"No!" Britney cried as they went over the first speed bump.

"Whoa!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her enormous jugs flew up and down, then jiggled madly in every direction, constricted only by the seatbelt, which Paul (another defender) quickly removed. Over the next speed bump her butt left the seat and she almost hit the ceiling, but her tits moved the most, hitting her in the face.

"Good girl, you like that don't you?"

There were hands all over her breasts. Squeezing, flicking, tugging. Charlie leaned over and motorboated her hard and soon they were all doing it. Over the next speed bump, Britney moaned with pleasure as her titties flew around.

"Jesus, what a slut!"

Brock handed Paul his cell phone and he trained it on her intently, zooming in on her wild boobs.

"Come on baby, moan for daddy," Brock shouted, over the commotion. The next speed bump the words spilled out like vomit.

"Yes daddy!"

"Woooo!"

"Pull over, man. I can't take much more of this," Eddie, the winger, pleaded.

"Eddie's about to blow his load!" Charlie laughed.

"Screw you man,"

"I'd rather screw her!"

"Ohhhh," over the next speed bump. Brock pulled over, suddenly.

"Push her out, push her out," she felt herself being lifted and thrown out the back of the car. The door closed behind her. It was raining hard. The passenger window opened. "You can walk back from here, baby, right? Then you'll get a good seeing to!"