[qzar9999]

Because I like you people, I'm going to post the first part of Wednesday before I leave for vacation, rather than make you wait. Here we have probably one of the most well-known growth sequences in the fetish community, as seen through the lens of my imagination. I do hope you enjoy, and I'll be back with more story next week.

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ONE WEEK AT WOLF LAKE
DAY THREE: WILD WEDNESDAY
CONTAMINATION: 55%

Linda Connor packed the last few things back into her picnic basket, stood up, and folded the blanket she'd been sitting on. “Okay, ladies. Time to pack up and get moving. We don't want to be late for the matinee.” The five other women sitting in the circle began stuffing things into coolers, lunchboxes, and baskets. She smiled relaxedly as she reflected on how well this group of theirs was doing. The six women were all in their late twenties or early thirties, they all didn't have to work, and they were all married to Talbot-Lucian executives (which was how they'd met). Instead of sitting at home alone and bored all week while their husbands worked, they got together one or two days a week for group activities, usually involving getting fresh air and being out of the house for a while. Today, since the weather was so nice, they'd gone to the park for a picnic and were going to the movies.

“What are we going to see again?” asked Hannah Archer, absently brushing crumbs off her skirt.

“That new one with Julia Roberts. Um... I don't remember what it's called, give me a second...”

Joanna Ross grinned slyly. “Wait, don't tell me. It has that guy in it, and it's about that place, where that thing happens, right, Linda?”

“Oh, knock it off, Joanna. You know I'm terrible with titles,” Linda replied.

“Yeah, I know. We've been doing this for four months now and we still don't have a name for our little club, here.”

“Not this again. Nobody can come up with a good idea. Anyway, why do we need to name it? This isn't some formal gathering.”

“Hey, I had a good idea. Not my fault you wouldn't use it,” Joanna said, grinning even wider.

“We're not calling it 'The Stepford Womens' Association,' already.” She sighed. “Look, I don't remember the name of the movie, okay? It's that romantic comedy that just came out last week.”

“Another chick flick?” moaned Cristi Parker. “Can't we go see something with car chases and explosions for a change?”

“You're such a tomboy, Cristi,” said Pamela Palmer, smoothing out her sundress as she stood up. “Nobody else here likes those brainless action films.”

“You're just jealous because my husband doesn't get bored with the movies I like. And for your information, not all action films are brainless. For that matter, not that many romantic comedies are intelligent,” snapped Cristi.

“Such as?”

“Compare the Terminator or Indiana Jones films to, say, that damn Paris Hilton movie, or pretty much anything on Lifetime,” Cristi sneered. “Besides, you like those stupid slasher movies, so who are you to talk?”

“Knock it off, you two. We don't have time to stand around arguing,” said Linda as she started crossing the open field to where they'd parked.

“Hey, does anyone else hear that?” The group turned to look at Marion Allen, who had her head cocked to one side and was peering around the field with a curious expression on her face.

“Hear what, Marion? I don't hear anything,” said Joanna.

Hannah frowned. “I think I do. Kind of, I don't know, like a hissing sound? What is that?”

Something clicked in Marion's head. “Uh-oh. I think we'd better—“

She was interrupted by a sudden burst of loud hissing, gurgling noises as the park's sprinkler system kicked on. The group of women shrieked and almost as one dropped their belongings and sprinted toward their cars, getting drenched along the way. When they cleared the field and reached the cars, they all stopped, out of breath from the sudden exertion. They were all thoroughly soaked and dripping everywhere. Their wet clothes clung to their skin and their hair was plastered flat against their heads.

“Dammit!” snapped Cristi. Her ball cap had fallen off her head during her run. “We're soaked! Does anyone have any towels or anything?”

Linda put up her hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down, Cristi. I'm sure someone will have something.”

“I hope so. It's not like I brought a change of clothes,” Pamela said miserably.

Unfortunately, a quick search of the parked vehicles turned up no towels or anything else that might be useful.

“Well, I guess we're out of luck,” muttered Cristi.

“It's not the end of the world, you know,” said Joanna. “Why are you so concerned about getting wet, anyway? It's not like you to be fussy about your looks or anything.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Cristi said sharply.

“Whoa, whoa, I didn't mean anything by it. Geez.”

Cristi rolled her eyes and sighed. “Forget it. Sorry, I'm just irritable. I hate being stuck in wet clothes.”

“You know, it's funny,” Marion said after a moment. “I don't think we got as wet as we thought. My hair doesn't even feel wet.”

“That's weird. Me too,” said Linda. “But I could have sworn we got drenched.”

Hannah shrugged. “It's not like we got caught in a sudden rainstorm, or a...or a...” She trailed off. Her friends turned to look and noticed that her attention seemed to be fixated on her wedding ring. She was staring at it as if it were some previously undiscovered species of bug that she had just found crawling on her hand. As they watched it, the golden band went plink! and simply snapped in half and fell off. Hannah's eyes went wide with surprise, but the other women stopped paying attention as they felt their own bands clamping their ring fingers viciously. In moments, the other five bands followed the same sequence, breaking apart and falling off their owners' hands. None of them knew what to make of the bizarre event, but before they could try to get a grip, they all heard another strange sound, a kind of ripping sound, followed by a pained exclamation from Hannah.

Looking down, they all saw the ripping noise was coming from the plain white canvas of her tennis shoes. The tops of the shoes were splitting right down the middle from tongue to toe, revealing her feet, which looked oddly larger and seemed to be causing the shoes to bulge outward. Hannah wasn't alone in this either; the rest of the group soon felt pressure from their own shoes, accompanied by a chorus of sounds of destruction. The distinctive crackling of velcro coming undone could be heard from Marion's sandals as the straps pulled themselves open. A machine-gun series of pops came as the laces on Pamela's sneakers broke in quick succession. Joanna's toes were pushing outward from the open-toed flats she wore, causing a tear to form down the sides even as the heel split open. The rear straps on Linda's crocs broke away accompanied by the sounds of the rubber stretching. Cristi had opted for simple flip-flops; she watched as the thongs popped free of the bottoms, then broke away at the sides. The stunned women looked up from their unexpectedly bare feet and destroyed shoes, to the angry red welts on their left ring fingers, and finally around at each other's shocked faces.

“Okay, that was weird,” Joanna said finally, breaking the silence. “I've never heard of shoes or wedding rings self-destructing. What the hell is this?”

“Beats me. I think it's stopped now, though,” Marion replied.

“Um...not so sure about that, Marion...” Pamela gestured at Hannah.

The blond woman looked confused. “What? What's...” She looked down to where Pamela was pointing. “Ohmigod!” Under the long-sleeved white blouse, Hannah's breasts were visibly growing, rapidly pressing against the front of her garment and causing it to start pulling apart, straining against the buttons that held it closed. The crystal pendant she wore was rising up above her swelling chest. She looked up at her friends, astonished. “How is this—aaagh!” She finished with a strangled cry as the gold chain that held the crystal squeezed tight against her throat. A look of panic registered briefly on her features before the chain snapped and the crystal dropped out of sight within her increasingly deep cleavage. The other women, beginning to detect a pattern, looked down at their own endowments, and surely enough, they were all developing larger breasts. This was most noticeable on Cristi, who was normally a 34B. The loose-fitting t-shirt she had on wasn't so loose-fitting anymore, as her engorging mounds were lifting it up and pushing it outward. The entire group was starting to feel pinched by their clothes. Linda and Joanna were the only other women wearing necklaces, and they, too, were nearly choked by them before the chains snapped. Linda's necklace also disappeared down her shirt, but Joanna's much smaller and lighter pendant went flying off when the necklace broke.

The next sound to be heard over the noises of fabric under stress was a creaking. The group's attention turned to Hannah yet again. The belt at the waist of her white skirt was creaking as it pulled against the buckle. In seconds, it tore, leaving the belt hanging loosely from the loops. The failure of this restraint was simultaneous with tears appearing in the seams at the sides of her blouse, both near the waist and around her sleeves. Right after that, the buttons at the front of the blouse shot off rapid-fire, exposing a white bra that was a few cup sizes too small and was consequently overflowing with boob flesh and creating deep chasm where the two orbs were squashed together in the middle. Her friends suddenly realized they were looking up—somehow Hannah's chest was higher than everyone else's eye level, and still rising! As they continued to watch, she rose higher and higher, almost twice as tall as the other women on the field.

“What's happening to me?” she cried, panic evident in her voice and expression. Her friends merely looked on in slack-jawed amazement as her unexplained growth continued. “Aaah!” came her pained shout as she looked down to see her formerly long sleeves creeping up her arms and tightening. They reached a point a little below her elbows and seemed stuck; seconds later, the seams split apart as the top of the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders. The stretched and torn bits of fabric fluttered to earth as she darted her gaze from one seemingly shrinking friend to another, unsure how any of them could help her but seeking aid anyway. The waist of her skirt was so tight it felt like it was cutting off her circulation, but after a few painful moments—SNAP! There was a loud sound from behind her and she felt the skirt jerk forward. She could feel a slowly-growing tear moving down the back, revealing her panties. She felt as much as heard another SNAP! from the middle of her back; a split-second later she found out what had given way when her bra shot off her burgeoning breasts, trailing a broken clasp and torn straps behind it as it fell to the ground. Her growing melons easily pushed aside the torn-open blouse and she was exposed to her startled friends.

Hannah shrieked in embarrassment and put an arm across her breasts, which had the effect of destroying the shoulder seams. The shredded blouse dropped away from her, leaving her feeling even more naked, but her humiliation was briefly pushed out of her mind when she noticed that her breasts felt huge—they seemed to have gained at least a few cup sizes in the last few minutes! Her thoughts turned right back to embarrassment when the rip in her skirt finished its southbound trip and the ruined item with its broken belt rained down to join the growing pile of fabric scraps on the ground. She was now totally nude except for her white cotton panties, which had inexplicably not ripped apart yet...though she could feel them gradually shrinking on her as her perspective continued to rise and her ass seemed to be filling out disproportionately faster than the rest of her. They stretched out around her blossoming derriere, getting thinner and thinner until they looked like a thong...and then her growth stopped.


Still not really believing what had happened, Hannah looked around for a moment and realized she was eye level with some of the treetops. She shook her head as if trying to clear it and felt her blond hair brush against her naked back. Evidently it had grown, too. She stared down at her friends. Way down. From her perspective, her friends only stood about as tall as her knees. “What the hell? What just happened?” she shouted. “Sorry,” she said in a lower tone as the group of women covered their ears. It occurred to her shortly to wonder why, exactly, she was still looking down at her friends. “Wait. Why did this only happen to me?”