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Loving wife pulls out all the stops to please her man.

Marge's just having one of her boyfriend fits. Yes, that's it. Just boy trouble. Just feed her some chocolate cake and listen to her whine for a while.

"Marge-! Come-on-come-on-come-on! Are you there?"

No reply, again. But after a few seconds, the door lock went buzzz.

~~~

She ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. The door of Marge's flat was ajar, and the one to the bedroom gaped open, too. Connie found her friend curled up in her futon-style bed, wrapped in the sheets, sobbing quietly. All she could see of Marge was a mess of black hair and trembling shoulders. A few crumpled, soggy hankies laid strewn over the floor.

Boyfriend. Phew!

Connie exhaled quietly, sat down on the edge of the mattress and extended her hand.

"Don't touch me!" came the muffled yelp from the blankets.

Connie recoiled. "Marge, I-"

"It's all your fault," slurred Marge.

"My -?! What's my fault?" Connie bowed closer. "Phew! You've spent the night out again? Marge, that's not okay. You promised to cut back, but you smell like a distillery. Oh come on, what happened?"

"This!" yelled Marge, sat bolt upright in her bed and threw off the sheets. "Your crazy plants did that! See them? Huh?!"

Connie recoiled and gulped. Marge had always had a sporty figure, and her breasts had been below the proverbial handful, nice and firm, not exactly of the abundant kind. Granted, she had put on a little weight since she took up studying, but it hadn't gone to her chest. She hadn't jiggled.

Hadn't.

Now, after she sat up so quickly, the taut orbs - melons! - on her chest kept on bouncing with heavy, pumped volume, their perpendicular motions too light to be natural. Connie could barely tear her gaze away from them. Marge kept on saying things. Connie didn't care. She just stared. Her punky, rebellious, flat friend hat turned into the kind of thing fetishes were born from. Over night.

Then Connie noticed it. There was a faint, barely noticeable sheen to Marge's skin, the same kind of vague luminance Connie saw in the plants.

"Wait, let me close the blinds!" Connie interrupted the ramble she hadn't listened to anyway, mesmerized by those breasts. As the room grew dark, she could hardly believe what she saw.

"Marge, you're - you're glowing all over!"

"What? Where?" Marge rubbed over her arms, frantically, bringing more jumping motion into her breasts. In the dark, the glow gave her an ethereal, ghostlike appearance.

Connie grabbed her friend's wrists. "All over! Stop scratching, it's coming from inside. Calm down. What did you do?"

"Yesterday, I drove out to water the plants, and I - I must've accidentally gotten some of the stuff on my hands and then on my dinner! I must've eaten it! I didn't see it! I can't see it! And today, I wake up with those! And they are so - so big! And it's too late!"

She hefted her sizable breasts. Connie pulled up the blinds again.

"No, leave them down! Don't look at my face," Marge yelped.

Of course Connie had to look now. She brushed back the black wool of her friend's hair, and Marge didn't protest. For a moment, Connie thought she even felt her friend lean in to her soothing touch.

Marge's eyes were swollen and red, and streaks of black mascara ran over her cheeks. And then suddenly Marge collapsed on her bed and started sobbing again, before she burst out:

"Danny! That bastard dumped me! For Pearl, that rich bitch! Sends me a fuckin' text message 'Sorry, wasn't meant to be.' Dunno what I did then. Had a drink too many, I guess. I only remember seeing him with that cunt, getting all snugly and making out in her Porsche outside the diner! I hate her! Hatehatehate!" She slammed her fist into the mattress. "Oh heavens, if I only had her figure, I'd get back at him! I'd show him what he missed out on! Hell, I'd fuck through the whole football team and send him the pictures!"

"Well, maybe your wish came true! I mean, your breasts are much better than hers now-," stammer

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