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Goddesses’ Bet - 1/7
🕑 Added 2024-10-23 13:00:11 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: This story contains adult themes. It is not suitable for minors or the easily offended.
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Contains: Breast Expansion, Giantess
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Goddesses’ Bet
I
Fulla found Titania lounging on a silk-upholstered divan in one of her favorite sitting rooms. The walls and pillars were gleaming white marble with veins of gold and hung with tapestries and curtains to match. The young goddess wore a long gown in a white even brighter than the room, cinched at her narrow waist with a braided gold belt. Her arms were bare to the shoulders, and the dress’s neckline plunged all the way to her navel, showing off an expanse of flawless bronzed cleavage barely contained by the flowing gown. Titania didn’t see her enter the room—her focus was elsewhere.
“Good morning, Titania.”
Titania’s eyes snapped to her, then drifted down and back upward as she gave the older goddess a once-over. Fulla’s outfit was as hard as Titania’s was soft. Instead of a flowing gown, she was clad in gleaming armor, from golden breastplates to layered scale skirts. Not that Fulla felt inferior to her counterpart in the slightest. Her creamy white legs were on display, from plush, perfectly-turned calves to strong thighs. The bare midriff spanning the gap between her skirt and bikini-like breastplate was flat and well-defined. And between the bronze orbs near to spilling out of Titania’s gown and the pale ones testing the buckles on Fulla’s breastplate, they were a near-match for mammary abundance.
“I’m so bored, Fulls,” Titania said.
“I have asked you not to call me that.”
Titania sighed. “Whatever.”
“Whom are you observing?” Fulla asked. “Some of your acolytes?”
The two goddesses reigned in the realm of fertility, sexuality, and feminine beauty. Fulla represented the power and strength of a womanly form, while her younger counterpart celebrated the joy and delight of healthy breasts. Both had many followers in the modern world, though few knew them by name.
“Not really,” Titania said, “just a couple of mortals making shotgun prayers.”
Fulla quirked a red-gold eyebrow. “Shotgun… prayers…?”
“You know,” Titania said, “all that ‘To anyone up there’ kinda stuff.”
“I see. What is their petition?”
“See for yourself.”
Fulla stepped up to Titania’s chair and laid a hand on her bare shoulder. Her emerald eyes unfocussed like Titania’s sapphires, and they saw two mortal girls. Each knelt beside her bed, elbows on the mattress and fingers clasped tightly.
***
Haley whispered into her empty bedroom, squeezing her eyes shut. “…and I get an A on my math test and that Miss Evans, the librarian, gets better. She has a cold. And especially, please make Mark like me. I’ll do anything; I love him so much…”
Haley was nine years old with wavy white hair just past her shoulders. She wore a wool nightdress that covered her past her feet. Her room had two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and three more books were stacked on her bedside table. When she was done praying, she took her glasses off before climbing into bed.
Fulla was intrigued by this mortal. She seemed responsible and studious, the kind of girl with her priorities in the right place. Aside from her childish crush, of course.
In another room, in a house nearby, Taylor’s prayer was not whispered, though she also kept her eyes closed. “…that we’ll beat Elm Grove Academy on Friday, that Savannah will make her free throws for once, and that I don’t fail that stupid math test. Most of all, Mark will like me. He’s just a stupid boy, but I love him so much…”
Taylor was the same age as Haley, with red curls in a messy tangle. She wore shorts and a T-shirt, and her bedroom walls were covered in posters of athletes. She even had a lamp shaped like a basketball on her bedside table.
Titania liked Taylor; she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. She was the kind of girl who would make the most of her younger years, making memories with her teammates she’d carry her whole life.
***
Titania drifted back to herself, waiting for Fulla’s reaction.
Fulla said, “They are rather young for declarations of love. Why do you concern yourself with such supplication?”
“I told you,” Titania whined. “I’m bored.”
“It seems they are pining for the same boy. The neighbor with whom they walk to the bus every morning. By the time they come of age, one or the other will have moved on from their puppy love. Likely both.”
Titania rolled onto her back and sat up. “Want to make it interesting?”
Fulla raised that eyebrow again.
“If Taylor ends up with Mark, I win, and if Haley gets him, you win.”
“Gambling? Truly?”
Titania rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude.”
“With what will we wager?”
“Bragging rights?”
Fulla gave her a flat stare.
“Fine, fine,” Titania said, waving her off. “Whoever wins gets all the boob worship for… ten years, twenty?”
Fulla’s lips spread into a firm line. “Put plainly, the winner of the wager shall have sole prominence over the domain of feminine beauty for a generation, from such time as either mortal forms a reciprocal romantic relationship with Mark.”
Titania sighed. “Yes, exactly.”
“I agree to these terms. But no interference.” Fulla wagged a finger at her like a scolding aunt. “Observation only.”
“Of course.” Titania stood and held out a hand, which Fulla shook. “It’s a bet.”
***
The goddesses watched Taylor, Haley, and Mark grow from children into awkward teens. The girls each continued to pine after Mark while he remained painfully oblivious. Over the years, Haley and Taylor had little crushes on other guys, often nothing more than infatuation with one celebrity or another, but they always came back to Mark. The trio spent time together almost every day, so neither young woman could imagine a future without Mark in it. Taylor dreamed of becoming a professional athlete, waving at Mark where he sat in the exclusive box for player’s husbands. Every time Haley read a book with a romance plot, she pictured Mark as the love interest. She had pages in several journals filled with his last name attached to hers.
Every so often, something would almost happen. In their first year of high school, while Taylor was away at training camp, Haley tried to give Mark a surprise kiss, but they were interrupted by his mom. When they were sophomores, Mark asked Taylor for help shooting baskets. Standing behind him to correct his form, Taylor pressed her body against his and was sure he’d respond, but half the boy’s basketball team decided to use the court at that precise moment.
Titania and Fulla thought the time had finally come near the end of senior year. The girls were sick of waiting for Mark to ask them to prom. Haley knocked on his door first and was greeted by his mom.
“Haley? You girls never use the front door…”
“Hello, Carrie,” Haley said, “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
“Oh my, sounds serious. Why don’t you come in?”
Too nervous to sit, Haley paced in the kitchen while Mark’s mom filled two glasses of iced tea.
“I promise I won’t bite, Haley. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Alright, well… it’s, um, about prom…”
“No. Fucking. Way!”
“Taylor!” Carrie cried, “Language.”
“Sorry,” Taylor mumbled. Then, to Haley, she added, “Are you really ‘bout to ask Mark to prom?”
Haley nodded.
“I was gonna ask him!”
“What‽ I didn’t even know you liked him!”
“Only since, like, sixth grade… I thought you knew!”
“Well, I’ve liked him at least that long; I told you I did!”
“You totally did not!”
“Well… I thought I had…” Haley said, trailing off.
“Oh, girls,” Carrie said, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mark already has a date for prom.”
“What! Who?”
“Her name is Anna; her parents live over in McDoel Meadows.”
Haley and Taylor hung their heads in a way that broke Carrie’s heart.
“Did I not predict this outcome?” Fulla said.
“Shut up.”
Carrie said, “I’m sure two pretty girls like you can find someone to take you…”
Getting no response to that, she added, “Or you could always go together as friends—that’s what I did when I was your age.”
“Yeah, maybe…” Taylor mumbled.
“Thanks for telling us, Carrie.”
Mark’s mom opened her arms, pulling both girls into a hug.
Haley and Taylor went to prom together, which had the unintended consequence of giving Mark the wrong idea. He wanted to ask them about it but couldn’t find the right words. And so high school ended, and the trio made plans for college; they all got into the same school a few hours from home.
II
“Mine!” Taylor shouted to her new teammates as the ball soared toward her. She clapped her hands together and bumped the ball. It flew in a perfect arc to her left, where Shantel, a junior, leaped up to spike it over the net.
The ball hit the gym floor with a loud smack, and the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. Taylor felt a brief pang of jealousy but reminded herself that Shantel couldn’t have spiked the ball without her assist. And besides, they won! She’d won her first game as a college athlete. Going from a high school superstar to a college freshman hadn’t been easy.
Taylor was five-four, technically above average height for a woman but definitely below average for a volleyball player. She’d tamed her red curls into a pixie cut, which often made people underestimate her. She knew she was hot in her own way; she never struggled with her weight, and her body was all lean muscle. Her face had hints of a heart shape, with good lines in her cheeks and jaw. Yet, as she watched Shantel high-five her other teammates, Taylor couldn’t help but wish that she’d been a little more blessed in the curves department. Shantel was a gorgeous black woman, five-ten with a round bubble butt and a healthy pair of E-cups that not even a jersey and doubled-up sports bras could hide.
Taylor had a natural talent for sports despite her height, and she maintained borderline obsessive workout routines to push herself to be even better. She’d spent all four years of high school showing up other girls and even some of the boys in every sport she played. But at college, she wasn’t special. Every girl on her team was both talented and hard-working. She was starting over at the bottom. As her mom said, no doubt believing she was being helpful, Taylor wasn’t a big fish in a small pond anymore.
The team high-fived, and a few tapped asses in congratulations. Then, they lined up to shake hands with their opponents. Shantel caught Taylor’s eye and said, “Nice one, girl. I played Libero in high school, but you’re way better at it than me.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said, forcing a smile. She knew Libero was the ‘workhorse’ position, essential for a forward like Shantel to make plays. Yet she couldn’t help wishing it was her making flashy plays instead of just playing support.
As she shook hands with the girls on the other team, Taylor thought, “I bet if I made some game-winning spikes (and had great big boobs), Mark would pull his head out of his ass…”
***
Haley refreshed the test results website for the dozenth time. She pulled the strands of hair from her mouth and slid a few fresh ones in, chewing nervously. She’d spent high school eagerly anticipating getting to college—finding more people like herself who actually tried in class. Four years of getting scowled at when she answered a teacher’s question, stuffed in lockers when she got perfect test scores, and eating lunch in the school library. Well, the lunch thing didn’t happen every day. If it hadn’t been for Mark and Taylor, Haley might have gone through all four years of high school without any real friends.
College students turned out to be only slightly less cliquey than high school, but Haley still managed to find a few of her people. People who did their homework early and whose textbooks were stuffed with sticky notes. Unfortunately, this also meant Haley had legitimate academic competition for the first time. They were barely a month into the semester, and Haley already met a guy who did the NYT crossword every day and a girl who’d started her own software company before graduating high school.
The test results page finally changed as Haley compulsively refreshed. She’d scored 97.5%, 11th place in a class of almost 150. It was a perfectly respectable grade, but Haley seethed. The reason for her frustration was the name in the number one slot.
Kennedy was the perfect student. With billionaire parents—or at least millionaires—she’d had the best tutors since she was four years old. The only reason she was at a State school was because her parents wanted her to “come out of her shell” and have a “normal” college experience. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was also gorgeous. Jet-black hair hung like silk curtains past her shoulder blades. Her skin was smooth and clear in a way that only happens with perfect genetics or years of expensive laser treatments. Or, in Kennedy’s case, both. She stood half a head taller than Haley at five-ten and could probably hold her own against Taylor with that extra height if she ever played sports. She’d had personal trainers to go along with the tutors and had not an ounce of spare fat on her body apart from a pert round bottom and a pair of D-cups that looked massive on her skinny frame. She’d been accepted into the cheerleading squad without an audition, and Haley heard that the only reason Kennedy wasn’t made captain on her first day was because the current captain and her cadre convinced the coach it was against the rules to have a freshman captain.
Kennedy was not one of Haley’s people. Yes, the people she’d connected with and compared herself to all had naturally high intelligence and a drive for academic success. But Kennedy had so much nepotistic advantage that Haley felt it was profoundly unjust that she existed at all, let alone that the “Privilege Princess” was at her school humiliating them all instead of attending somewhere like MIT or CalTech.
Some of her friends said she was just as pretty as Kennedy, but Haley didn’t believe them. She’d been taller than Taylor since middle school and wore her white hair in a single thick braid that reached almost to her waist. But where Kennedy possessed flawless curves, Haley was simply skinny. She’d needed glasses since middle school, but nobody teased her for them anymore—most said the oversized half-wire frames were super cute.
None of this stopped Haley from fuming in the study hall, despising Kennedy. “I bet if I had private tutors and the top grade spot (and perfect breasts), Mark would see me as more than a friend…”
***
Mark was reviewing his lecture notes when his roommate got back to their dorm room.
“Man, are you studying?” Chet asked. “It’s only our first week of classes.”
“I’m just getting a head start so I don’t fall behind.”
Chet scoffed. “These are hundred-level classes; they’re easy as fuck.”
Anxiety flared in Mark’s chest; he was already feeling overwhelmed by the material. “Well, I’ve got chem with Doctor Pierce; everyone says he’s really tough.”
“Oof, yeah. I’ve heard that.” Chet grimaced. “Sucks to be you. Who do you have for lab?”
Flipping through his notes, Mark found his chemistry syllabus. “Professor Sinclair.”
Chet rocked back on his heels and let out a low whistle. “Dude, nice! I heard she’s smokin’ hot.”
“Uh, cool,” he said with a shrug.
“Anyway,” Chet said, collapsing into his desk chair, “you missed the girls’ volleyball game. This school’s got some major babes.”
“My friend is on the team,” Mark said, “I was gonna go, but I had to meet with my advisor.”
Chet kept talking as if he hadn’t spoken. “…way better than the girls at my high school. I’m gonna pull so much tail in college. These are real women, you know?” He held both hands in front of his torso as if cupping a pair of breasts.
Mark mumbled noncommittally, but Chet must have noticed the look of discomfort on his face. “Sorry, are you…” He paused as if searching for more polite words. “Do you like girls?”
“What? I mean, yeah, of course I do. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not my top priority right now. I’m not really into casual stuff, you know?” Mark almost shuddered, imagining what his mother would say if he treated women the way Chet apparently did.
Chet shrugged. “Fair enough. Are you at least coming to the party tomorrow night? I hear the Gamma-Delts throw some real bangers.”
“Maybe,” Mark said, “I’ll see if my friends want to go.” He knew Taylor would definitely be up for a party, and maybe they could talk Haley into coming. He wasn’t much of a partier, but Haley would live in a library if she could.
