by Wilson Barbers
Myra found the garments in the bottom of her laundry basket, though she had no idea how they'd gotten there. She was unpacking the weekend laundry in her bedroom, and there they were, intertwined with the rest of her undies. A bra and panties, both more than twice the size of her own undergarments. Where'd they come from? she wondered, fingering the lacy black brassiere.
A pretty-faced woman in her twenties, Myra was slim-bodied and quiet, the kind of girl most men had trouble noticing. She worked as a receptionist on weekdays (possessing the kind of softly direct voice that went well over the phone) and spent her weekends doing household chores. Saturday afternoon was her usual routine - two hours in the laundromat with a Discman to shut out the sound of squalling children - then back to the apartment sorting and folding her freshened work clothes.
Standing in the bedroom in gray sweatpants and a tee-shirt, the sound of white boy soul wailing over her stereo, she discovered the plus-size pieces. It was the bra that first grabbed her attention: dark black, with a lacy outline, it was totally unlike any brassiere she'd ever owned.
She held it up before her, caught a whiff of fabric softener, then disparagingly looked at her figure in the mirror. Her boobs were practically nonexistent, she thought - she'd love to have to wear something this size. It looked to be a 46DD, but that was just guesstimating on her part, as there was no indication of size anywhere on it. Sighing loudly, Myra pulled off her tee-shirt and held the black bra up to her tiny breasts.
It felt soft and warm against her goose pimply flesh; clinging to her like it was charged with static electricity. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own, the young girl thought. Myra pulled the bra firmly against her, watched it flatten against her, then she gasped. Her tits started to push against the garment, push to fill the DD cups. Her reflection in the mirror looked like it was growing into the bra!
She yanked it away and looked at her boobs in amazement: they'd unquestionably grown in size, had gotten round and firm. But the longer she looked, the more they shrank back to her original size. This was unreal! Quickly, Myra snapped the bra back and saw her chest refill it to capacity. It was amazing how top heavy she looked! She pulled the garment off once more, saw herself diminish back to normal, then reapplied it. Within moments, she was back to buxom. Decisively, the busty girl snapped the straps together and stepped back to look at herself.
Poking the top of her right breast with her fingertip, Myra felt her flesh spring back. Her mam felt full and fleshy and real, brimming over the brassiere's confines. This mysterious garment was somehow responsible for her remarkable growth, she realized, though she'd never heard of anything like this happening before. Watching herself in the mirror the entire time, the top-heavy receptionist took some model steps around the room, striking poses she'd never have dreamed of making an hour earlier. Her breasts settled sexily with every position, nipples stiffening against the bra's silky fabric.
But what about the other unfamiliar undergarment? Returning to her laundry basket, Myra pulled a pair of black lace panties from the spaghetti tangle of lingerie. From the pattern on its leg holes, it was obviously meant to go with the bra. Looked like their owner was even broader in the beam than they were on top. Myra tossed the panties aside, then returned to her mirror.
Whatever magic was behind this magnificent change, she just had to take advantage of it. Pulling her tee-shirt back on (it strained mightily, but seemed to have also grown to fit), she decided to head for the nearest shopping center. The new Myra needed a newer, spiffier outfit: tonight, she was going out for a change!
She ran into Arthur, her duplex neighbor, on her way to the mall. Art was new to his apartment, a recent transfer to one of the area's insurance companies, and Myra had wanted to catch his eye the first time she spotted him. Today, with her new upfront form thrusting itself in front of him, that catch was made. Backing into his apartment with a sack of groceries and a six-pack of Michelob in hand, the young man gawked at the sight of her. Myra thought of being embarrassed but decided she liked his look just fine.
“Ms. Styfle?” the young insurance man gulped, shifting his eyes reluctantly away from her tee-shirt to her face. “You do something new to your hair?”
Myra stifled the urge to giggle. “No,” she said. “Not really.”
“It looks so full,” he said, “so much fuller than yesterday.” He paused, momentarily at a loss, then asked, “You want to go out tonight?”
Of course, she did. They went to a Japanese restaurant, and she had sushi for the first time. She'd never known raw fish could taste so good - she ate more that night than she typically did all weekend. After dinner, they hit a small club specializing in seventies cover bands. I'll dance those extra calories off, Myra thought.
It was the best time she'd had since high school. They spent much of their evening on the dance floor, clinging to each other closely, her breasts mashed fully against him. Occasionally, she'd catch sight of herself in the bar mirror, dressed in her new satin top with maximum cleavage, and she'd smile. When the bars closed at one, they wended their way back to their building, both a little drunk, and stood in the hallway in hot embrace. This was marvelous, she thought.
Until Art invited her into his apartment.
The invitation instantly sobered her. This was something she hadn't considered: Art had clearly been attracted to her because of her new body, and once he got her alone, he'd want to see more of it. That (at some point or another) meant taking off the bra, and while she may not have known much about men from experience, she was pretty certain that the sight of deflating breasts was not a turn-on for them.
But before she could say anything, they both were in his apartment, and, there he was, with his right hand under the back of her blouse. Was that him, fumbling with the fasteners? Dismay coursing through her buxom body, Myra felt Art's fingertips unsnap the first of the bra tabs. Two snaps more, and she'd quickly be her old flat self.
She backed away in panic. “Myra?” Art said, puzzled by this shift in attitude. “Is something the matter?”
“I - I just. . .” she stammered, unable to think of the right words, fumbling for the keys to her purse. “It's just so sudden, that's all.” She pushed past her befuddled date and shot into her apartment.
Myra flung herself onto her bed and groaned. What a disaster! Her first real date in years, and she'd cut it off like a little kid running from her first kiss. What did Art think of her? She fell asleep in her clothes and had miserable dreams.
She woke feeling muzzy and depressed, so she shucked her nightlife clothes and reexamined herself in the vanity mirror. This magic bra, with its transitory effects, was a cheat, but she still was reluctant to cast if off. Pulling on a pair of sweat clothes, Myra left her apartment to walk and clear her head. Even in sweats she looked good, she noticed; where once she appeared small and childlike in them, her massive mams announced her womanhood.
The day was cool and bright, but Myra was too lost in her thoughts to pay much attention. “Hey, you!” a voice cried, startling her out of her ruminations. Myra looked up to see where she was: she'd walked about three blocks from her home, close to the laundromat. By the building, an obese brunette in black stretch pants and a blue wind breaker was waving at her. “Were you in the laundromat yesterday?” the fat woman shouted.
Here it comes, Myra thought, walking up to her inquisitor. She had long dark, hair and appeared to be in her early thirties. Her face was round and full. “Yes,” Myra finally said. “Why do you ask?”
“You find any lingerie in your laundry? Think they might've gotten stuck in the dryer!”
“I found 'em,” Myra admitted, getting a closer look at the woman. She looked about three times Myra's weight, much too large for either bra or panties.
“Thank Goddess!” the woman cried. “I know I shouldn't have let my husband do the laundry by himself! He's been after me for years to get rid of them!”
“Rid of 'em?” Myra gasped, looking the dark-haired woman over. Super-sized and bottom heavy, with thighs individually thicker than Myra, she looked incapable of squeezing herself into either undergarment without doing major damage to both.
In answer, the fat woman lead her into the empty laundromat. “Well, from the look of you,” she said, “I'd guess you figured out these weren't ordinary garments.” Myra nodded. “All I can tell you is they work through some kind of magic that's beyond anything I've ever read.
“What they do is fit the individual wearer, compensate to give you an exact fit. If you have a small physique, the garments build it up to garment size; if parts of you are too big, the lingerie diminishes them.”
“'Too big?' How big is that?”
“Like this,” the sorcerous bra's owner said, pulling open her windbreaker to show a pair of mams so pendulous that they drooped over her voluminous paunch. They quivered atop her globular belly insolently. “Not that my husband cares,” she continued. “He had his way, I wouldn't have any of these smaller numbers. I'd be twice as fat as I am now all the time.”
“You're kidding, right?” Myra said, mentally doubling the woman's weight and coming up with a figure in the lower seven hundreds.
“Not at all,” the fat woman said, as she rebuttoned her front. She leaned against a Big Boy washing machine, wide hip flattening against it. “There are guys who like big women like you and me.”
“'You and me?'” Myra echoed, momentarily puzzled. Then she got a glimpse of her reflection in the Big Boy.
She still had the breasts to die for, but the rest of her had grown to match it. Her belly ballooned beneath her mams, forcing both her top and sweatpants to gap; her hips had spread alarmingly. Even her legs had swollen into fat shapeliness, pressing against her no-longer baggy pant legs. What the hell was this?
“So how much weight you lost with the bra and panties?” the woman was asking.
“L - lost?” Myra gasped, feeling underneath her sweatpants to a pair of briefs that she knew she hadn't donned earlier that morning.
“You've gained?” the woman said, holding up a dollar bill to the laundromat's snack machine. “You have a fat loving boyfriend, right? Well, I bet he's happy to see you like this!”
Frantically, Myra dashed into the women's washroom. Locking the door behind her, she pulled up her top and stared at her now fat torso. Her breasts were pale and lightly veined, overflowing the confines of her bra; her waistline had disappeared, replaced by a paunch that fought to keep up with her top measurement. Peeling off her taut sweatpants, she saw, beneath her belly's lower hang, the black bikini briefs.
“What is this?” she asked herself, staring into a face with a lot more chin to it than she had ever seen before. In the space of minutes, she'd doubled her weight, gone from thin to zaftig. She had to be at least two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. Where were her old panties?
Take off the underwear! her inner voice shouted. So she quickly kicked off her sweats and peeled off the panties. Reflexively, Myra started to unsnap her bra underneath her tee-shirt, but she stopped before she could discard it altogether. Wait and see what parts diminish with the panties first, she told herself.
“You okay in there?” the fat woman was asking on the other side of the door.
“Fine!” Myra answered, as her body once more started to change. “I'll be okay in a few minutes,” she said, tracing her hips with her hands. Already, they were starting to shrink.
When she left the washroom, she was down to her slim-hipped, big-breasted self. Tossing the panties to the woman, she smiled and asked, “Where did you get this stuff?”
“Mail order,” the woman explained. “Got a catalog, if you'd like to see it.” She balled the undergarment into the right pocket of her wind breaker, then extended a blubbery arm. “Name's Patty, by the way. Where's the bra?”
“Still got it on,” she said. “If that's okay.”
The super-sized woman considered this. “They're a matching set,” she said. “Don't know what it'll do to only wear half of it. Besides, what's your boyfriend going to think when he sees how much weight you've lost?”
Myra laughed. “It's not that way,” she said, then she described her experience with the brassiere and her date the night before with Art.
“Shows what happens when you try to break up the set,” Patty said with a laugh. “After a while, you wound up wearing the panties, anyway.”
“And growing all over to fit them properly,” Myra finished.
“Too bad this Art of yours isn't into plumper women,” Patty said, pulling two candy bars from the snack machine and offering one to Myra. She took a tentative bite, then a bigger one. She'd missed breakfast, Myra realized, and while that usually didn't mean much, she suddenly was feeling ravenous.
“Your husband really attracted to - umm - 'plumper women'?” she asked.
“My husband's into fat women,” Patty said, polishing off her candy bar. “Which is fine with me because I've always been big. Where we differ is in how fat I should be. There are days when it's just plain more convenient to be a smaller size.”
“So how many of these things have you got?”
“These are the smallest,” Patty told her. “Got a dozen in progressively bigger sizes. From super-sized to talk show sized.”
“Got any single bras?” Myra asked. “One that you might be willing to lend until I can make my own order, say?”
“Might at that,” Patty replied. “C'mon over to my place - it's just five blocks away.”
Of course, Myra agreed. She followed the super-sized woman to her van outside the laundromat, then rode to a comfortable looking house in one of the older neighborhoods.
“You hungry?” Patty asked, as she pulled her keys from her wind breaker's right pocket. “About time for lunch,” she said, fishing through her pocket. “Wait a minute. Where'd the panties go?”
The answer was obvious once as she got a fresh look at Myra. The girl stood beside her, once more grown to fit her panties. Myra looked down at herself, but instead of looking appalled, she shrugged and said, “Let's do lunch. I can take off both the bra and panties afterwards. Once you find that single bra.”
The two women made their way into Patty's kitchen, and the super-sized woman put together some sandwiches and chips. Myra's appetite seemed to have grown even stronger to accommodate her plumper physique: where just one sandwich and a handful of chips would have been sufficient in the past, she went for seconds and half the bag.
“So where'd you get this catalog?” Myra asked at one point.
“Got some friends with - umm - unusual interests,” Patty replied, pulling out a Sara Lee French cheesecake. She cut it into quarters and gave a slice to Myra. One thing about being able to magically change your size, Myra thought - it sure made dieting seem ridiculous. She happily bit into her slice of cheesecake and didn't say no when her new friend slid a second piece her way. She could get used to this!
They talked over lunch and swapped life stories. Patty was a former secretary who'd given up work once she'd gotten married. She'd been big all her life but didn't really blossom until she started to stay at home. “Love to cook and eat,” she said, “and my husband loves to watch me do both. The catalog's allowed me to be as large as I want at home and still go out into the world without being stared at.”
Finally, it was time for Myra to bid adieu to her current size. She followed Patty out of the kitchen and into a bedroom that was almost as large as Myra's bed and living rooms combined. Pulling out a cardboard box from the back of her closet, Patty gestured Myra over to take a look.
“These are all brassieres that I ordered from the catalog back when I first got married,” she explained. “Thought my husband was into tits, but he's more of a belly man.” She gestured to a photo on the wall; there, Myra saw a mid-sized version of Patty in a wedding gown, tall Italianate man by her side.
“Here we go,” Patty said, pulling out a tan lace brassiere. “Close to the one you've got on now. Try it on.”
Myra peeled out of her top, unbuttoned the brassiere and doffed the new item before she could start shrinking. Her breasts held firm. Then she pulled off those pesky panties and put her sweats back on. It seemed to take longer for her to shrink back to size, but perhaps that was her impatience.
“Just out of curiosity,” she said, “I wouldn't mind seeing what I looked like in one of your bigger bras.”
Patty snickered. “Why am I not surprised?” she said, and she once more rummaged through the box. “Why not this?” she finally said. “As long as you're just trying them, why not go all the way?” She slowly lifted a brassiere so large that it would have been baggy on Patty's impressive cleavage, and handed it over to Myra. “70EE,” she explained.
“My God, how do you even keep your balance?” Myra gasped.
“Helps when you've got some ballast on the lower half, of course,” Patty said, tossing the garment onto the bed.
Myra scooped it up and replaced the smaller garment. She felt her mams grow into its cups then push even further, until tit flesh was bulging about an inch out on all uncovered sides. She looked like an exotic dancer capable of taking a major wad of money in her cleavage. If only she could be this big all the time, Myra thought. . .
“Never seen that happen before,” Patty said, uncertainly. “Maybe you should take that one off!”
“Sure,” Myra said, but when she tried to reach the snaps in back, she found her mams interfered with her movement. “Could you unsnap it?” she finally asked.
“I'd like to,” Myra said, “but there don't seem to be any snaps. Sure they aren't in front?”
Myra looked, then examined her back in the bedroom mirror. There did not appear to be any snaps anywhere on the bra!
“Cut it off!” Myra gasped, suddenly frightened. Patty rushed out of the room and returned with a kitchen knife. Quickly grabbing the back strap, she sliced through it with next to no resistance. In an instant, the entire bra disappeared.
“It's gone,” Patty panted.
“Maybe. But I don't seem to be shrinking any!”
Myra was right. They watched both boobs intently, but neither one changed. Each mam hung magnificently down her torso, swaying with every movement Myra made.
“So I don't need your lingerie, after all!” Myra exulted. “And I don't have to worry about Art being disappointed either!” She held her zeppelin breasts up proudly - looked as if she'd need to be investing in some real special order brassieres for some support. No more messing around with any of this magic shit, though.
“You look pretty hot,” Patty declared. “Though my better half would probably think you were a little unbalanced.”
Myra laughed. “Art's the one who matters here,” she said, “and I bet he had no complaints!”
She borrowed a plain bra from Patty that was several sizes too small but better than nothing. As before, her sweatshirt had apparently grown to fit her voluminous top. With that, she headed back to her apartment; for the first time, she noticed what a gorgeous day it was.
What was Art going to think when he saw her now? Myra suspected that once he got a good look at her, he wouldn't be doing much thinking, but perhaps she needed a cover story. Blame the old bra, she thought.
“It was just too damn tight,” she said out loud, giggling, as she entered their apartment building.
With that, she knocked on Art's door to see if he was in. He was. He stood in the doorway, wearing jeans and a sleeveless tee-shirt, television soundlessly broadcasting a b-ball game behind him. First things he saw were her breasts, of course, but he had the sense to quickly look up into Myra's eyes.
“M - myra?” he said. “Wasn't expecting you after last night.”
“That was rude of me,” she cooed, casting her eyes downward to even further emphasize her cleavage. “But if you're willing to forgive me, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off last night. . .”
They raced for the insurance man's bedroom, and this time, Myra eagerly unveiled herself. Art went at her with a happy enthusiasm, mouthing each nipple until it poked out appreciatively, massaging each fulsome globe with so much absorption that she felt herself swiftly moistening. She'd never had a man so turned on by her body before, and the sensation was nearly overwhelming. Art grew large in his jeans (no magic briefs needed here!) between her thighs. Then they separated and quickly disrobed.
Her lover sat on the edge of the bed, erection rising dramatically, and gestured towards his lap. Myra straddled his legs, boobs bouncing gelatinously in front of his face, and lowered herself onto his shaft. She was tight but wet enough to make slow penetration possible. Soon as she settled as far as she could go, Art began to tongue and suck her breast flesh avidly. It made Myra squirm and push him even deeper into her. Pushing his face between both mounds and hugging her torso passionately, he began to thrust up against her clitoris. Breasts flopping against the side of his head, she quickly came and came again.
Finally, she stiffened and arched back, breasts settling to both sides of her body. Art pushed them back together, but they were too much for him to manage at the same time. Myra grinned and put her hands over her lovers', feeling both his muscular fingers and her overflowing flesh. “You're really something,” Art told her. “I can't believe I didn't notice you earlier. You've got a killer shape.”
Myra just smiled and leaned into his face, obscuring Art's features against her bounteous boobs. He took her right nipple between his teeth, lightly flicking it with his tongue. A warm feeling washed across her body, and in that moment, Myra started to change again.
She noticed it first beneath her breasts. As her belly quickly started to fill the space between her and Art, it pushed her mams up towards her chins. She felt it droop between her outstretched thighs, which themselves were widening over Art's legs. Suddenly, she realized, the edge of her butt cheeks were no longer resting on her lover's knees.
She was growing down below, again, filling to accommodate her 70-plus FFs!
How could this be happening? She wasn't even wearing either bra anymore! Myra brought a pudgy hand to her mouth, felt her bulging cheeks, then looked down at Art in horror. He looked like a cartoon character facing an oncoming boulder. Art was disappearing behind her growing forefront, still connected to her where it mattered.
“Can't. . . support you. . .” Art gasped, and in that moment his legs collapsed beneath her weight. Myra felt herself fall back onto the bedroom floor, Art following. Though he nearly slipped out, Art reasserted himself heroically. Belly still ballooning between them, hips and legs still broadening, she couldn't believe he still wanted her. But if looks were to be believed, her growth had made him even harder.
As she continued enlarging, Art redoubled his efforts. Her growth seemed to simultaneously help and hamper their congress: while her burgeoning belly presented an ever growing obstacle, her buttocks were lifting her higher. Using his knees for support, Art thrust against her, sending thrills throughout her jiggling form.
Though she should have been horrified by the changes that were happening to her, Myra was too swept up by her sexual excitement. She came just as she hit her maximum weight. Breasts and belly looming up ahead of her, Art's head visible behind the crest of her paunch, she was overcome by the strongest orgasm she'd ever felt. She came repeatedly a second time, tremulous body shuddering all around her.
Art quickly followed suit, shooting into her with force.
“You're fantastic,” he said, once they'd both settled down enough to separate. “I wondered about those breasts of yours, but I thought it might've been the results of something medical. I never imagined anything as exciting as this could happen!”
“You like me like this?” Myra asked, rolling onto her side. A pair of panties were around her ankles; she knew without even seeing them that they were the force behind her transformation.
She couldn't even see parts of herself, but she knew she was huge, twice the size of Patty. (What was that earlier guesstimate? Seven hundred plus pounds?) Her forefront pushed ahead out of reach of her blubbery arms; her hips rose to a height almost parallel with the top of Art's bed. It was going to take some major effort to get up off the floor, she thought.
When she did, she found her clothes still fit (though she wondered about the rest of her wardrobe). Waddling to the mirror, Myra took full stock of herself.
She was as fat as expected, a massive round figure with breasts that shelved on top of her pre-eminent stomach. Her face had filled out; her chins sagged in front of her neck. Lifting her upper arms, she saw they hung halfway down her upper torso, pushing her mamfat out further. Her belly drooped to her knees, its folds still visible in her sweats. Her rear nearly swelled out as far.
“I love you like this,” Art was saying, as he came up beside her to kiss her. “But how in the world did it happen?”
Myra gave him all she knew, but it still wasn't enough to explain this last change.
“Sounds pretty far-fetched,” he said. “But I can't argue with the evidence in front of me.” He patted her belly affectionately. “We need to talk to Patty in person,” Art decided. “Maybe she can straighten it out.”
“Okay,” Myra said. “But can we hit a drive-thru first? All of a sudden I feel famished!”
Art grinned. “No problem,” he said. Looked like he was as into the thought of Myra eating as Patty's husband was with her.
It took some work negotiating Myra's new frame out of the building and into Art's car. But they succeeded, even if Myra did have to stop every fifteen feet or so to get her breath. They hit a Burger King, where the newly super-sized beauty ate a second lunch large enough to feed a carload of high school students. Myra couldn't believe how hungry she was - if she ate like this every day, she was going to be even twice her size in no time!
There was no car in the driveway of Patty's home, but Myra and Art made their way to the front door, anyway. They found a large flat box in-between the screen and main door with Myra's name written on one of the flaps. Pulling it out, they found a note peaking on the inside.
It read:
“Had to go out, but I knew you'd be back.
“By now you've probably guessed what I've done. That second brassiere also had a matching pair of panties, and you've no doubt grown to fit them. Inside the box, you'll find some sample underclothing that will make it easier for you to go work without raising any eyebrows. Their effectiveness is only as short-term as that first pair of lingerie.
“Inside, you'll find a mail order catalog from Ample Stuffing, the company that produces all these items. You'll also find a form for their Incentive Program which offers great bargains to anyone who's signed up someone new.
“If you wish, you can also order longer wear items like the last bra you put on. But, I warn you, they're pretty expensive. Perhaps you won't want to if that boyfriend of yours is the fat admirer I suspect him to be. A lot of breast men are, you know - it's about the only socially acceptable outlet for fat acceptance that our culture allows.
“Call me and let me know how the rest of the weekend turns out.”
“Pretty elaborate way to drum up repeat customers,” Art said, reading the note over her shoulders. “But it's probably a lot less work than a lingerie party.” Myra held a bra between them. It was close to her old size but a bit fuller in the cups; she could wear this at work without exciting too much comment. The panties looked just the ones she'd been wearing for years, but, of course, they had one significant difference.
A second pair rested in the bottom of the box. The two would do until she could make a bigger order.
Art's words aside, there was more behind this than just drumming up a larger customer base. Growing to super-size, Myra felt like she'd discovered a whole new world. There was a lot, she suspect, that she'd be learning from Patty in the future.
But for now there was the rest of the weekend with Art.
“What you thinking?” Art was asking.
“I think,” Myra answered, swinging a brassiere over with her index finger, “that these will come in handy Monday morning. Right now, I want to go back to your place.”
Art beamed happily. “Perhaps we should stop at the grocers first?” he said, anticipating the evening's meal.
“Sure,” Myra answered, and she patted her forefront. She was five times the woman she'd been when she woke up that morning, and she never felt better about herself. She didn't think she'd be wearing her workclothes much outside the office. And she was also wondering if the catalog went into even bigger sizes.
She wouldn't be surprised if it did.
Copyright (c) 1996 - OakHaus Designs
