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Coed Turned Housewife, Ch. 1 – “The Late Bloomer”
The first in a series about innocent Chelsea Pelham and her handsome professor, Dr. Mark Benning.
Chelsea Pelham had grown up to be a slim, athletic girl, with bouncy chestnut curls that framed a very pretty face anchored by large hazel eyes. She had recently turned 18, and was now a college freshman at a large public university. Her plans for college were a bit fuzzy, but she was excited to be learning and on her own. Although her major was undeclared, she had been able to unexpectedly find a part-time internship in the laboratory of Professor Mark Benning.
Dr. Benning was an extraordinarily young professor, a PhD in biochemistry and molecular biology. He had a handsome, rugged face and was a very kind, if somewhat reserved, supervisor of the lab. He had thick dark hair, occasionally wore a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, was rather tall and well-built without betraying any specific athleticism. He had a quiet, unassuming manner with the students, but was known to sometimes make a stray sarcastic remark that seemed almost…flirtatious. He was widely liked, even lusted after, by many of the female undergrads. Of course, as befitting a professor, he seemed oblivious, but sometimes smirked when he caught unsuspecting females ogling him.
Chelsea Pelham biked every other day to her job at the lab. She had decided not to live in the dorms, but was near the campus in an apartment with her best friend since middle school, Karen Connors. She and Karen had a lot in common: they were both thin, with A-cup breasts, for one thing. Neither of them ever discussed it, but Chelsea thought she and Karen must have had similar problems with boys because of it. Very few boys seemed interested in either of them. They were a little too thin, too mousy, too interested in studying. They still did their best to make friends on campus, and were both involved in their church student group, where they often studied and shared snacks with other girls and even the occasional wholesome young gentleman, none of whom ever asked for their numbers.
During Labor Day weekend, Chelsea and Karen were swapping bikini tops for a last weekend at the pool. Chelsea noted that she and Karen shared the same cup size still, a circumstance that had persisted since junior prom, when they had swapped dresses at the last minute. Chelsea appreciated having such a close and similarly-proportioned friend.
Three days a week, Chelsea arrived like clockwork to her job at Dr. Benning’s lab. The research there was focused on frog ovarian stimulation, which Chelsea didn’t understand much about. She mainly worked in the office space, where she could still smell the mysterious chemicals they were using, but she didn’t have to actually see any frog dissections.
She figured the frogs must have grossed a lot of people out. Whenever she told other students about her work in the lab, their expression grew odd. A little smirk seemed to form on their lips, or – if it was a girl – she might sniff a little contemptuously and say something like, “That seems about right.” Chelsea couldn’t quite figure it out, but it definitely seemed like Dr. Benning’s lab had some kind of running joke going on about it.
The end of August was gone in a flash, September slowly ground by and by October, Chelsea had planned a long weekend with her parents. She was going to drive the two hours to her home and enjoy some quality time shopping with her Mom and playing tennis with her Dad, two retirees who had moved the family ten years ago to a tony subdivision on the affluent side of town.
As she was packing, Chelsea felt a little frustrated. She was trying on some shirts, making sure she brought the appropriate underwear, and she noticed with confusion that none of her bras seemed to fit. The casino şirketleri elastic was a little too tight to fasten around her, but more importantly, her breasts simply would not stay in the A-cups. They spilled out repeatedly, exposing her nipples while she wore a t-shirt. She had been noticing this problem, but was confounded when she went through her wardrobe and realized the situation was the same for Every. Single. Bra.
Reluctantly, she wore a cami under her t-shirt on her first day home. Her mother, Mrs. Pelham, never let anything escape her notice.
“Sweetheart, it looks like you’re still growing!” she exclaimed when Chelsea blushingly admitted they needed to purchase new brassieres.
They visited a variety of shops for fittings, and determined that Chelsea had definitely grown from an A to a C cup in only six weeks. “Is that normal, Mom?” Chelsea asked uncomfortably. “It seems like a big jump, when they hardly grew at all in high school.”
“Nonsense, honey,” said Mrs. P. “It’s probably a little of that Freshman 15. You’re lucky to gain weight where it’s flattering! The boys will be coming out of the woodwork after you now, so you better be careful. Don’t let anyone follow you home!” They shared a laugh.
Chelsea returned from the break to continue her work in Dr. Benning’s lab. She had learned a lot about some of the administration needs of the lab, filing, data analysis, the basic of grants administration, scheduling. She enjoyed the work, but she didn’t really understand why so many female undergraduate students – all without any specific scientific background – were working there. She knew that in the other labs, any admin help was usually someone with much more experience or background in the work at hand. Nonetheless, she continued executing her duties unquestioningly.
Late October was glorious. Since coming back with the new bras, she felt more put-together lately. Her pert bosom glamorously filled her tailored shirts and cute tops. Karen had been giving her some noticeable side-eye, and the clothing swaps had abated somewhat. Chelsea couldn’t wear the tight garments that were so flattering to flat-chested Karen, and Karen felt overwhelmed by the presence of darts in Chelsea’s fashionable blouses. Neither acknowledged it, but the difference had slightly punctured their friendly camaraderie.
Thanksgiving was approaching quickly, and Chelsea was too busy studying for mid-terms and keeping up with the lab to notice much about her appearance. She had noticed more young men speaking to her now, but she figured all girls in college were pursued by overly eager boys. She stayed friendly with a few of them at the Christian student center and otherwise was largely unaware that her body was continuing to undergo a dramatic transformation.
It finally hit home while she was packing for Thanksgiving break. She experienced a replay of her October disaster, only this time the problem felt even more embarrassing since her Mom had just spent so much money helping her pick out new things.
She was deeply distressed to find that her new blouses would hardly button across her chest. Her formerly generous sweaters were now scandalously tight, stretching lewdly across her generous bosom in a way that made each breast hang as if suspended like a large globe. She couldn’t believe it. How can she have missed it? Her breasts were BIG. Running her hands across them, they overflowed her handful, lifting up and down with a heavy resistance to gravity, forming a deep and alluring cleft of cleavage when she cupped them together.
She felt too embarrassed to ask Karen for help. She found some sports bras that helped compress things down a bit, and packed a few bulky items that wouldn’t immediately suggest to her mother that her daughter’s chest was attaining pornographic proportions. casino firmaları
Despite these precautions, Mrs. Pelham didn’t miss a beat. “Chelsea! They’re bigger!” was almost the first thing that came out of her Mom’s mouth. “What happened, honey?”
Chelsea could only shrug and felt hot tears of embarrassment starting to form in her eye. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve been wearing the bras you bought me, but now none of the new bras seem to fit. I don’t think they shrank somehow.”
She looked down. She felt so deeply ashamed of her voluptuous new body.
Mrs. Pelham patted her back lovingly. “Don’t worry honey, we’ll go for some more fittings. I want to know how big you’ve gotten. I think we might schedule a doctor’s appointment just to make sure no funny business is going on.”
New visits to the mall revealed that Chelsea was up to a DD cup. How she would have loved to have such a full chest last summer, when she was on the beach trying to flirt with Michael Johnson, the young Christian lifeguard she had had a crush on through so many Sunday School classes. Now in her college life, when fall and winter clothes were expensive and she had so many responsibilities, this mammary growth spurt was totally inconvenient. And worse, embarrassing. Quite a few men turned to ogle Chelsea as she left the mall with her Mom, the shopping bag full of very large bras with underwires and stiff cups, to give structure and support. Chelsea had never worn an underwire before. Not her mother, nor any of the other women in the family, had ever had DD’s.
This became more obvious when Chelsea was alone with her father, Mr. Pelham. “Poor Dad,” she thought. He couldn’t seem to meet her eye. She knew how devout he was, and how much he spoke about resisting temptation and seduction from sin. She felt responsible for his discomfort, as if his newly buxom daughter was more sinful than the previously flat-chested teenager.
For her part, Chelsea hadn’t really gotten used to the way the big, heavy (still growing?) breasts changed the mechanics of her body. Going up stairs quickly or running with such a large chest was a very uncomfortable activity, with a lot of painful bouncing. She felt like she could lose her balance easily, somehow. The heavy shelf of her bosom felt especially large and awkward when she was driving, the seatbelt cutting uncomfortably between the rampant globes. During her period that month, they swelled almost an entire cup size, and were so sensitive she could barely stand to wear a shirt. She had never experienced these intensely physical problems with her former flat chest.
Before Thanksgiving break ended, Mrs. Pelham brought Chelsea to the family doctor, Dr. Hastings. Chelsea felt intensely embarrassed to have Dr. Hastings – her doctor since childhood – inspect her now-womanly chest. At least he mercifully had asked Mrs. Pelham to leave the room. Dr. Hastings took his time, running both hands along each large breast, cupping and lifting them in turn, squeezing gently, then roughly, then rhythmically, lightly caressing the sides, running his finger around each dark pink, distended nipple, pulling each nipple, running his thumbs in circles around each nipple as his hands lifted and cupped the big swollen bosom of his squirming patient. He seemed hypnotized by them, and Chelsea was not sure his inspection was fully medically appropriate, or necessary. Chelsea coughed. “Dr. Hastings, what do you think I should do? What caused this?”
Dr. Hastings peered at her through his glasses. “My dear, this is perfectly normal. You’re just a growing girl.” He assured Mrs. Pelham that breasts changed size and shape throughout a woman’s life, and that Chelsea was simply what they called a late bloomer. She could have sworn he winked at her as she left.
Back on campus, Chelsea was relieved güvenilir casino to return to her routine. The new bras seemed to be big enough, and she had large-enough shirts that there was no immediate danger if they did grow a little more. She was still perturbed enough to mention it to one of her new large-breasted friends, another girl in the lab named Candy.
“Candy, this is gonna sounds dumb. Have you ever felt like you had unusual breast growth? Like that your boobs got a lot bigger really fast?”
Candy snorted and rolled her eyes.
“You mean, you haven’t noticed??” Chelsea looked up at her sharply. “I mean, that’s everybody here, Chels!”
Chelsea looked down at Candy’s blue sweater stretched over large pert melons. They looked fuller than Chelsea’s DD’s, but Candy had a broader frame, so it was a little hard to tell. In the next seat, their friend Janice was typing at a laptop. Her profile suggested a very full bosom, maybe twice the size of Candy’s. Chelsea wondered with compassion how Janice ever found bras that fit properly. The only small chest in the room was that of the new girl, Kim. She had transferred in two weeks ago, but was already starting to look more voluptuous than a competitive volleyball player had any right to. As of this week alone, Kim probably no longer passed the pencil test.
“Whoa,” Chelsea said to Candy. “What’s up with that? Are you saying all the girls who work in the lab get bigger boobs?”
Candy nodded, smug in her superior depth of knowledge. “The longer you stay, the bigger they get.”
Chelsea felt a little horrified. She liked the lab work, but she really didn’t want to face another round of bra shopping with her mother.
“Well, WHY?? Why does it happen?”
Candy shrugged. “I think it has something to do with the compounds Dr. Benning is working on to stimulate frog ovaries.”
Chelsea reflected on Dr. Benning’s quiet reserve – almost secrecy – about the work the lab was conducting. She considered how only the undergraduate girls worked in the areas exposed to the compounds. She also wondered why she hadn’t noticed previously that all of the graduate students were men, and they wore masks and goggles when conducting lab work. The women were unprotected and exposed to whatever fumes or chemicals were in the air.
Chelsea was distressed by these realizations, but she couldn’t act immediately. She had to finish out the semester at least, and look for a reassignment in January. Staying late one day that week, Chelsea was bending down to clean out a drawer, obscuring her from the view of the rest of the lab. Suddenly she heard a graduate student and Dr. Benning enter the room, speaking loudly in a way they didn’t usually do when in mixed company. Chelsea stayed hidden, embarrassed to surprise them and also interested in what she might overhear.
Dr. Benning was assigning instructions rapidly in his clipped, professional voice.
“If you can track breast growth on number 19 over the break, I want to add those results to the database for analysis. We are almost ready to offer these preliminary results for pharmaceutical testing, but need more data. We also need additional recruits for the expansion study. I need someone to pick up the supplies for my overnight fertility study on number 16 tomorrow.”
The grad student said anxiously: “That data measurement on number 19. You want me to track it manually? I’m, um…I’m not sure when I’m seeing her again.” Chelsea could almost hear the student blush.
Chelsea heard Dr. Benning give a snort. “Raid the drug cabinet if you have to put her under for a little while. It works wonders. Enjoy yourself while you’re at it.” The student gave a knowing chuckle.
They strolled off before Chelsea lifted her head, her jaw hanging open. She could hardly breathe. She hastily gathered her books and hustled out of the now-empty lab. She didn’t realize a pair of dark eyes watched her from opposite corridor as she hurried – her bag strap awkwardly cutting into her swollen breast – to the stairwell.
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