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Several hours later, Cona opened her eyes and climbed up her bureau, feeling cool and clammy. Her chest felt hot and sore from the ill-fitting bra she had been putting on prior to fainting. She reached behind her and unclasped it, letting her plump breasts rise like dough from it. They were full, round, and tender. And as usual, something was pressing against them from beneath. Trying to convince herself it had all been a weird dream, Cona again lifted her breasts and stared into the mirror.

Still present, and looking even puffier, were things – things with – nipples, and as she looked closer, she noticed a developing plate around each nipple - areola. She had developed a pair of breasts beneath the ones she already had!

Cona had to sit down. Had to breathe. This didn't make sense. Maybe she was losing her mind. People didn't just grow extra breasts!

Cona turned to her computer for aid, searching every nook and cranny of the internet she could find on the matter of breasts, but there was nothing concerning her particular – dilemma – except for some weird fetish websites. Cona continued to deeply breathe, her anxiety and soreness escalating. She reached into her shirt, idly massaging her breasts. And then she reached under them to feel the second pair. All four of her nipples hardened.

Cona felt nauseous.

She contemplated calling her doctor, but what would she say? What would he say? She was a freak. Feeling faint again, Cona climbed into her bed, trying not to look at her cleavage.

Denial would have to do.

Cona went to school the next day, as usual, and spent most of her time trying not to groan when one of her breasts rubbed against another one. When finally a moan slipped from her throat, her classmates giggled, and her teacher frowned. Cona quickly excused herself to use the bathroom. Upon rummaging through her gym locker, she found a forgotten A-cup strapless bra. Grabbing it, she locked herself into a stall and jerked up her shirt. She did her best to hold up her fat EEs while wrapping the small bra around her second set of breasts. It did help with the discomfort, and the sheer size of her tender EE-cups seemed to mask the small lower breasts from view. Cona managed to get through the rest of the school day, squirming uncomfortably in her tight sweatshirt. Her upper breasts were bulging out of her bra, while the lower ones were uncomfortably squashed beneath them.

She hurried home after school and pulled off her top, again praying it had all been a bout of insanity, but when she lifted her EE-cups, to her despair, her new breasts seemed more breast-like than ever, with fully developed areola and a hint of plumpness that hadn't been there the previous day.

Dropping her hands Cona began to hyperventilate, her four breasts bobbing accordingly. By the next morning there was no question – she had definitely experienced more growth. She had blatant breasts whereas before she'd been continually skeptical.

Cona tried bounding the extra breasts, but this only made her cry out in pain. She instead fitted the A-cup strapless bra upon them again, just hoping that people didn't notice the prevalence of bras through her clothes.

Her upper breasts were still doing a decent job hiding them. They served as plump, round, honeydew-sized over-hang, but her lower breasts were pressing more and more into them, making the upper ones look even bigger. And beyond Cona's breasts, and more breasts, her "cute little" potbelly had subtly inched forward, becoming a not-so-cute one, sticking out horribly, and making her look like a glutton.

Someone swung their arm around her shoulders that day at school.

Cona looked up at John.

"I called it off with Jenny," he said.

Cona's flood of relief was short-lived, and quickly overwhelmed by her physical crises. "This isn't a good time."

"Cona-"

"I'm going through a lot right now." She unwrapped his arm from around her shoulders.

"What is your problem?" said John in frustration.

"I'm just having some body image issues," said Cona, her face reddening.

And John couldn't help himself. "I'd say more than body image." He smirked lecherously as he opened and closed his hand to pantomime squeezing her breasts.

Flushing in anger, Cona turned, her breasts wobbling before her. "I have to go," she said, stiffly walking away.

"Wait, Cona-" John tried to follow her, but she entered the girls bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face. "Don't be like that."

Her face drawn, Cona entered a stall, locked it, and plopped down on a toilet. She rested her elbows on her thighs as she leaned forward, deeply breathing. Her breasts – some of her breasts – felt really uncomfortable. She zipped down her pullover, her cleavage bulging against the neckline of her stretched undershirt. Cona drew that shirt up and gently raised her sweaty EEE-cups before peering down at the dainty little under-breasts.

They were very snug in the A-cup bra. In fact, they were bulging against it.

And Cona could take no more. She fell into a fit of sobs, her breasts trembling and bouncing with her erratic breathing. The bottom ones were growing. They were growing fast, just like the top ones! She couldn't take anymore of the growing!

The bell rang, but Cona remained in the bathroom, waiting for her tears to subside. By the time her anxiety attack ended, it was time to go home.

Her top breasts pressed against the steering wheel of her car but her legs weren't long enough for her to shift back her seat any farther. Cona gritted her teeth and decided that she would just have to tolerate it. She sped down the road, eager to get home. She consistently groaned as her swollen nipples rubbed the turning steering wheel, then grunted in discomfort as her top breasts bounced against the bottom ones. Cona tried to breathe and focus on the road, but unfortunately enough, she was pulled over.

Cona bit her bottom lip, absently clutching her lower breasts while resisting the urge to massage them. The A-cup bra felt so uncomfortable against them. She looked up as a uniformed officer approached.

"License and registration please."

Cona hastily passed her information to the officer.

"Hands on the steering wheel miss."

"Eugh, but I-"

"Hands on the steering wheel."

She squirmed uncomfortably as he wrote the ticket. The officer paused to eye her, then stared at her breasts before catching himself. "Miss, you seem awfully restless. Are you on any medications?"

"No." Cona released a grunt.

"Any recreational-"

"No - I..o-f course not."

He continued to stare at her fidgeting, sweat-drenched body. "I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle."

Cona panicked. "The twins–"

The officer's eyebrows shot up.

"Eugh – I have new baby twins at home. I was rushing to get back to them. It's their...supper time," Cona managed, cupping one of her breasts for emphasis.

After a moment of blank staring, the officer blinked. "Yes, of course." He lightly shook himself. "I'm sorry miss." If he was skeptical of her being a teenage mother, her massive breasts gave a decent enough argument. "Drive safely, now."

"Thank you officer."

Cona watched him go back to his car before she jammed her foot on the gas and sped off. When she finally reached her house, she trudged through the door, her head bowed. She felt exhausted. Cona struggled out of her top and unclasped both bras.

-

The next morning, Cona stood in her mirror and took a few moments to examine herself. Her lower breasts were demanding space on her chest, and were steadily heaving the others upwards. "No, no, no," Cona moaned despairingly.

At B-cups they were getting harder to conceal, even when she was wearing a tight bra, even with those massive melons perched above them. Cona slid her hands to her stomach, still staring in the mirror. A menace of its own, her belly had continued to press outwards, until it was a blatant, snug mound in her pullovers. It felt tight, the skin unusually firm. What was happening to her?

Cona dragged herself out of the house, if only because she had used up all her sick days. She opted for the bus that morning, hating how her mounds pressed together when she sat down. She walked into homeroom, avoiding everyone's eyes as she slid behind her desk.

It was becoming a...tight...fit.

Her upper breasts were propped upon the high desktop, her belly meanwhile pressing against it. She didn't know where her lower breasts were, just that they were aching like all hell.

Throughout the day she consistently excused herself from class and locked herself in a bathroom stall to scrutinize her condition. Each mound was reliably fattening, to her apprehension. Her lower breasts were continuing to press the others one higher, higher, shelving them, and even beginning to suggest their existence in her tightening top.

She swallowed.

Cona began to unconsciously fold her arms over her lower breasts, ignoring the soreness and irritation. Her upper nipples had gotten rather puffy – swollen to the size of coke caps - but Cona tried her best to ignore the teasing – Jenny's complaint that "those things" were staring at her. Cona just breathed.

When she got home, she stripped off all the clothes on her upper body, and stared at herself in the mirror.

The extra breasts were visible.

Previously she had been content with the mounds hiding beneath her upper breasts, their existence bizarre and fleeting.

But now...now she could actually see them intruding her chest, fattening and fattening into existence, demanding not a second glance, but benumbed attention. "Christ." She cupped one, feeling its plump nipple stiffen.

They had to be C-cups.

The next morning when those C-cups were unbearably, impossibly, and unfairly plumper, making her upper-breasts bulge up higher than ever, Cona attempted several means of compressing them, from tight-fitting sports bras that made them ache, to wrapping them in athletic tape, which made them ache even more. Eventually she settled on bandages. Tight, tight, bandages, that made her bite hard on her bottom lip, and her eyes water. When she pulled on her clothes, her chest looked bigger and puffier than ever, but the existence of her extra breasts was indiscernible. Instead, they just exaggerated the presence of her upper breasts, where she looked like she'd stuffed two honeydews in her shirt. Her top was being stretched at its seams, and she tried her hardest to breathe as she headed to school that morning.

She spent the day with her arms awkwardly folded over her bandaged breasts, the mounds determined to push their way into existence, and the bandages seeming to get more and more constricting with every hour. Her upper breasts were nearly bursting out of her top, and by lunch time people were beginning to notice her misshapen mound. Cona barely cared. She was in so much discomfort she could barely function, or breathe for that matter. She needed to loosen the bandages or she was going to pass out.

She locked herself in a bathroom stall, despite those rumors flying around that bulimia was the cause of her continuous bathroom breaks. She'd once heard Jenny loudly dismiss the idea, saying that Cona had gotten far too fat to have such an eating disorder. Choking back a pained whimper, Cona removed her top and began to unraveled the bandages.

Her lower breasts were flushed, and plumper than ever. She could only stare at them, wondering how she'd ever managed to conceal them in the first place. She cupped them, and began to keenly massage them. She released a long groan. So warm, sore, and tender. They were so puffy and round like the top ones. She continued to kneed them, hoping to sooth the swollen skin.

There was a knock on the stall door and Cona's moan caught in her throat.

"Are you all right in there?" called Cona's math teacher.

Cona reddened. "I'm fine," she managed. "I'll be right out." She waited a few moments, sighing when she heard the teacher finally exit, before she recovered the bandages and struggled to put them back on. It was getting increasingly difficult to heft up her upper breasts to attend to the lower ones, considering how heavy they were getting on top of being sleek with sweat. Cona made several attempts to bandage her lower breasts, but continuously lost hold of the bandages, until she eventually realized the length of bandages had gotten shorter...or she had just gotten larger. Cona lowered her arms as she panted, her mounds rising and falling with her heavy breathing.

The lower breasts had to be Ds by then. Ds.

Trying her best to control her mounting anxiety, Cona assumed a last resort. She reached behind her, unclasping her bra, allowing her upper breasts to swell out and freely squash against the lower ones. They managed to just conceal them.

She would go braless for the rest of the day. Even if her lower breasts weren't fully hidden, Cona suspected that the massive upper mounds would be a sufficient distractions, now wiggling freely on her chest, nipples protruding quite evidently. Her back already beginning to feel sore, Cona pulled on her shirt and walked out of the stall, holding the side of one of her upper breasts as it wobbled precariously on her chest. She exited the bathroom and her classmates stared. She blushed when a boy dropped his books and ran off to the men's bathroom.

When Cona finally got home that evening, she dropped to the bed, feeling hot and mortified. She refused to even look at herself, but squeezed her eyes shut, determined to get some sleep.