A New Year at Stonemere Park Ch. 02

Dinner was an awkward affair, for Stephanie, at least. Though cousin Hillary had kindly offered some old bras of her own for Stephanie to wear, the thought of wearing a relative's underwear made Stephanie feel a little weirded out, so she politely declined. She also gratefully but firmly refused Hillary's offer of financial reimbursement, kind though it was. Though she didn't really want to discuss her lingerie modelling exploits, she explained that the bra had been a gift. Easy come, easy go.

Passing "Uncle" Barry the salt, Stephanie was painfully aware of the way her unfettered, unstructured chest smooshed against the edge of the kitchen table, and tried not to fall prey to the temptation to check if her aunt's husband was stealing any furtive glances at it.

'Are you feeling cold, Stephanie?' asked Aunt Susan over dessert. 'The central heating's on. You must be sweltering in that big jumper.'

There had never been any point arguing with Aunt Susan. She had two T-shirts on underneath, and as long as she didn't move too much then the height and shape of her bust could, despite its size, still help her pass for wearing a bra.

So, with a nod and a smile, she pulled the jumper off, and with it up went both T-shirts, scrunching up around her neck before settling above her bare nipples.

'Stephanie!' exclaimed Aunt Susan. Then, 'Barry, look away!' as Barry choked on a mouthful of leftover Christmas pudding. Hillary snorted tea out of her nose in suppressed hysterics.

'Oh goodness!' whimpered Stephanie, hastily yanking her T-shirts back down over her balloon-like breasts. 'Oh I'm so sorry!'

'It's okay,' said Aunt Susan, and gave Uncle Barry, who had turned very pale, a stern look.

The mood had turned unbearable now, and so it was not a moment too soon that Hillary declared that the two of them would be going to a friend's house party for the rest of the evening.

'Don't worry about what happened,' said Hillary as she changed into some going-out clothes back up in her room while Stephanie, jumper back on, sat on the edge of the bed. 'Mum and Dad are used to huge boobs, with me around. They've seen mine plenty of times.'

Stephanie gave her a look of surprise.

'We're all family,' laughed Hillary, stretching a black vest top with great effort over her massive bust. 'It's perfectly normal. Though you should have seen the look on Dad's face!'

Stephanie was glad that with her head lost in the tangled knit of her jumper she had been spared the eerily fascinated gaze of her "Uncle" upon her bare, wobbling chest at the dinner table.

"You want to borrow some party clothes?' said Hillary. 'Something sexy?'

'I'm fine like this, thanks.'

'There will be boys there,' winked Hillary. 'You sure?'

'Quite.' Though she was looking forward to getting out of her relatives' house for a while, Stephanie had had quite enough unwanted attention for one day, and was quite happy to stay shapelessly shrouded in her jumper, or at least as shapelessly as the still not exactly baggy item would permit. Her breasts still jutted far before her beneath it when she stood upright, lifting its hem above her waistline and baring her soft pale stomach.

'Suit yourself.' Hillary shrugged. 'You'll get to meet my boyfriend Jamie!'

'I didn't know you had a boyfriend,' said Stephanie.

'Neither do Mum and Dad,' smirked Hillary. 'So...' She mimed zipping her mouth shut, a gesture Stephanie repeated solemnly back at her in understanding.

Having shouted their farewells into the living room above the blare of the television, they set off down the front path before making a detour around the back of the house into the back garden.

'Where are we going?' asked Stephanie.

'Ssshh!' hissed Hillary. 'You'll get us caught!'

The fallen snow and moonlight provided sufficient light for them to find and open the door of the shed. Inside the small, cluttered wooden hut, Hillary rummaged carefully under the workbench and with a crafty chuckle drew forth a bottle of supermarket-label whiskey. 'Dad's secret stash Can't turn up empty-handed, can we?'

Stephanie was about to follow her back out into the garden when something caught her eye, something oddly familiar. Sticking out from beneath the lid of a cardboard box on the workbench was the end of the white backstrap of a bra. She touched it, ran her fingers over the row of six plastic hooks, and by moonlight cast through the shed window read the label. Storm In A G-Cup. 32GG. But how... why...

'Stephanie!' Hillary's hoarse whisper from outside snapped her back to attention. She let the protruding label go, and followed Hillary back out into the night, closing the shed door behind her

The house party was in full swimg already.

'Lisa's parents are away,' shouted Hillary over the music as the cousins pushed past the drunk teenage throng in the hallway. 'So of course that only means one thing!'

They went upstairs to throw their coats onto the pile on Lisa's parents' bed, then went back down to join in the antics. This wasn't Stephanie's idea of fun, but, when in Rome...

'There's Jamie,' giggled Hillary, pointing to a congregation of good-looking young men at the other end of the crowded kitchen. 'Jamie!'

Stephanie was introduced to the boys, but had a hard time telling them all apart, so uniform were their trendy provincial hairstyles and attire. It didn't help that their names were listed so quickly over the thud and boom of the music from the hi-fi. And so flirtatious was bosomy young Hillary with all of them that Stephanie was confused as to which of them actually was her boyfriend! It didn't matter, though, it was just a flying visit and she'd never be seeing any of them again anyway.

Reluctantly, Stephanie took her first sip of Uncle Barry's cheap whiskey, which Hillary had poured generously into two mugs she had found in a cupboard. Stephanie had always avoided situations involving the drinking and smoking her peers seemed to enjoy experimenting with in their adolescence. Stonemere Park was free of these temptations, at least it was for day girls like her, who were away from the school premises before dark. What went on among the boarders in the dormitories was, thankfully, not her problem.

But there was something moreish about the taste of the whiskey, and before long she had lost sight of her cousin in the bustle of the party and had fallen into conversation with one of the boys whose names she hadn't been able to keep track of. He was really quite fetching, she thought. He asked her if she had a boyfriend, and after briefly considering then dismissing the notion that Adrian might be her boyfriend, she replied that she was currently single. The relationship with Adrian, she decided, had been a purely practical matter in her pursuit of exoneration at the end of her first term at Stonemere Park.

'Goodness, I'm feeling a little woozy,' said Stephanie into whatever-his-name-was's ear.

'You want some fresh air?' he asked.

Stephanie really didn't feel fantastic. Perhaps whiskey was a bit too much for someone who ordinarily didn't drink. She excused herself to the bathroom and left him there.

Upstairs she locked the toilet door and opened the small window, inhaling the winter air deeply as she stood there. Her reflection swam in the mirror. She wondered if she might have to throw up. But the feeling passed.

Stepping out into the otherwise deserted landing, she was surprised to see the handsome boy she had been chatting to leaning against the door frame of the parental bedroom. He held out his hand, and Stephanie allowed him to lead her softly within.

They sat in near darkness among the mountain of coats that had been dumped on the double bed, and the boy planted his lips tenderly on Stephanie's. She hadn't been kissed in so long, and had forgotten how tingly and pleasant it felt, such an innocent pleasure compared to the extreme acts of male sexual disarmament she was coached in at school. Why couldn't encounters with boys be more like this? Why did everything have to be about making them cum as quickly as possibly so they left you alone?

'May I touch your breasts?' the handsome boy asked.

How polite. Stephanie nodded. He was in for a treat.

His hand ran over her cable-knit sweatered bosom, gently at first, then more inquiringly as the penny began to drop that she was braless underneath.

'No way,' he said, losing some of his cool.

'Yes way,' smiled Stephanie. She took his hand and fed it up under her jumper until it came into contact with her bare breasts underneath.

'You have got to be fucking kidding,' he said. 'Oh fuck, I've never been so fucking hard!' His other hand found its way up the jumper and he slowly lifted the layers of clothing to survey Stephanie's domed, nude bust in the bedroom moonlight.

'Are you alright?' Stephanie asked. He had fallen rather silent as he groped and jiggled and caressed her ample chest.

'I... I think I'm going to cum in my pants,' he said, rather unromantically a of a sudden.

Oh well, thought Stephanie, mildly disappointed but not really surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

'Your ti... your b-breasts, I mean,' he went on. 'They're incredible... has anyone ever told you that?'

'No,' lied Stephanie out of politeness.

'I'm so fucking hard, here, feel how hard your boobs are making me.'

It was a rather transparent attempt to get her to wank him off, Stephanie realised, and she tapped his groin. 'Yes indeed,' she said. 'Really very hard indeed.'

'That must make you feel good about your tits, right?'

Oh please. This had begun so promisingly, but now Stephanie just wanted it to be over and done with. He tried to keep her hand where it was, resting on his admittedly seriously erect cock, but she wriggled it away.

'Please?' This was getting pathetic.

Stephanie shook her head. 'Just keep squeezing my bosoms,' she said with a fake smile. 'And let yourself cum naturally. Like a wet dream. It will feel so much better, I promise.'

Her admirer wasted no time in furthering his horny explorations, letting those supple globes wobble and bounce with increasing fervour. His ever sharper intakes of breath signalled imminent relief. Stephanie's own risk of boobgasm was still minimal at this stage, so she felt no need to assist further.

'Given that my breasts are about to make you jizz your pants,' said Stephanie quietly. 'We should really introduce ourselves properly. I'm Stephanie.'

'Jamie,' said the groping young man absent-mindedly.

Jamie? This was Jamie?

A shrill, tipsy voice calling up from the stairs couldn't have been more horribly timed. It was Hillary. 'Steph! Where are you?' The voice was drawing closer.

Stephanie wrestled her T-shirts and jumper down in disgust, pushing the sleazy cheat away from her.

'No! I... I've started cumming!' Jamie protested, his hips jerking in sporadic involuntary response to Stephanie's now-withdrawn buxom perfection.

'Serves you right, you bastard,' fumed Stephanie in a hoarse whisper. 'You'd better bloody hide, your girlfriend is going to walk through that door any second now!' She pushed him over the opposite side of the bed, where, orgasm ruined, he collapsed onto the carpet in pitch darkness, taking several winter coats down with him.

The door opened and Hillary's rosy face and long brown curls appeared, illuminated from behind by the landing light. 'There you are! Are you feeling alright, Steph? I wondered where you got to.'

'I'm feeling a bit sick,' said Stephanie. 'I was just getting my coat. Can we go home?'

'Yes, let's go.' Hillary rummaged around until she found her own coat, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend was cowering with cum-filled pants, mere feet away. Stephanie hoped for everyone's sake that he'd keep deathly silent, if indeed he hadn't passed out already.

'Did you see my boyfriend?' said Hillary. 'I lost him.'

'He seemed quite drunk,' said Stephanie. 'Maybe he left already. Let's go.'

Whether it was the guilt of unwittingly let her cousin's boyfriend feel her up to the point of orgasm, the contemplation of Uncle Barry's increasingly suspicious behaviour, or whether it was just the booze, as the cousins drew closer to the family home Stephanie decided she could hold down the contents of her stomach no longer, and threw up into a hedge while Hillary held her hair back and chuckled sympathetically.

'Thanks,' she croaked, pale and bleary in the moonlight. 'The whiskey didn't agree with me.'

'That reminds me,' said Hillary, lifting the bottle from her pocket. 'We should put this back in the shed where we found it.'

The shed. 'I'll do it,' said Stephanie. They were at the house now. The lights were off, Aunt Susan and Uncle Barry long retired to bed. 'You go on in, I'll let myself in the back door.'

'If you insist,' said Hillary, and tiptoed into the darkened house.

In the shed, door closed behind her, Stephanie deposited the bottle back in Uncle Barry's secret stash, and then turned her attention to his other stash.

She lifted the lid off the cardboard box. There it was, her 32GG bra from Storm In A G-Cup, the one that she thought she had left at home, the pretty one. Or at least, it used to be pretty. As she picked it up she realised with growing dismay that the cups were stuck together, and not with any kind of adhesive you can buy at a hardware shop.

Beneath the bra, another unnerving discovery: the new Storm In A G-Cup full-bust bra catalogue, at the top of a pile of every catalogue and mailing from what looked to be the past two years. No wonder Hillary hadn't been receiving them. Uncle Barry was clearly swiping them from the post before his daughter could even get her hands on them, and hiding them in the shed where he could have his perverted way with them! Dirty Barry!

But the worst part was that this new edition featured Stephanie herself, and the catalogue was open at the page where, smiling coquettishly, she was posing in nothing but a pair of tiny knickers and the very brassiere which was now glued together with Barry's foul seed. No wonder he had been acting so strangely around her. She had been, and now continued to be, the very subject of his most recent flights of masturbatory fancy. Life with enormous-titted Hillary for a daughter in the house must be unbearable for a boob-fetishist married to an ironing board of a woman, but when a visiting teenage lingerie model accidentally flashes her bare double-G's at the dinner table... well it boggled the mind to imagine what long-buried lustful desires might race to the surface.

She felt overwhelmingly queasy again, and had it not been for the fact that she had already voided her stomach into the neighbours' hedge she would have thrown up all over again with disgust. She replaced the lid and made for the door, when a long shadow on the lawn froze her in horror.

Walking down the moonlit path to the shed was none other than Uncle Barry.