Pauline Tagerson returned home from the Blossoming Bodies store in a huff and ascended the stairs to the bedroom, undoing her shirt buttons as she climbed. "I've never been so inconvenienced in my life!" she seethed. "I'm going to make them pay for the little slip-up that doctor admitted to making. And Corie! Oh, she'll be happy to know what happened to her nanites!"

        Standing beside her bed, Pauline removed her ascot and shirt. Fanning her overly warm cantaloupe-sized breasts, the redhead continued to think out loud. "I'll call the lawyer in a moment. Then I need a good, long run for relaxation." Briskly, she took off her slacks and donned a jogging suit. Expecting the normal bagginess, Pauline frowned as the top of the suit stretched over her fleshy mounds. So highlighted, the twin mammary bubbles made her look like the proverbial 'balloon smuggler'. "I don't get any breaks, do I?" she sighed. "Well, I'm not going to let a pair of fat bubbles spoil my routine."

        The videocall to the lawyer, one Mr. Edward Coopersmith, was short and to the point. Pauline was a bit irked by the surely unintentional lecherous look in Edward's eye. At least, Pauline hoped it was unintentional. She rightfully suspected that she would be the recipient of more such looks until her bust was made flat again. Walking downstairs brought about a surge of unusual feeling. Her breasts, rubbing up against the material of her jogging suit top, should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it was like the silky hands of a lover playing with her mounds. Pauline knew the overactive nerve endings were responsible. She thought of her daughter Corie, who was to have been the recipient of the nanites. Struggling to control rushes of pleasure with each bounce downwards, Pauline resolved to send a particularly pointed message when Corie reached Outback. Having oversensitive nerves as the default setting for the nanites to work meant only one thing - breast play. Pauline wasn't the kind of mother who raised her kids to be flesh-centered pleasure freaks.

        If bouncing downstairs proved to be an inadvertent joy, then jogging was an irksome bother. The nanites may have made Pauline's breasts bigger, but they weren't imbued with firmness. Snug as it was, the top couldn't prevent all the sway and bounce of Pauline's boobs. Plus it didn't help matters that everyone had to be out this particular Saturday, either doing yardwork or walking the family dog.

        Oh, Pauline wanted to jog and keep to her routine. By showing no discomfort, she wanted everyone who saw her to assume that her endowments were something she wanted. The stares and outright gawking of the spectators along her route were certainly revealing. Some looked dismayed as they tried to comprehend the bewildering sight that confronted them. Others were flustered by what was, surely, a shameless display of bouncing boobs. Gawking and blushing, those people resumed their tasks with a bit more effort. Whatever they did, the memory of watching a short redheaded woman with a pronounced bust doing a midday jog would linger in their minds for a long time to come.

        Then there were those who wore looks of downright disgust as they watched Pauline pass by their homes. Like Pauline, these people disapproved the use of nanites for cosmetic use. However, Pauline wasn't about to explain to everyone she encountered how it came about she had gained a hefty set of ladybumps. She knew that, in all likelihood, she would have been sneering her contempt as well had it been some other busty woman jogging.

        Completing the first four-block lap, Pauline started her second. It amazed her that everyone who saw her the first time was still outside. Presumably they wanted to be sure it was an actual person they saw and not a figment of their imagination. After a while, Pauline began to feel resentful. Had it been her hair that was changed from red to brunette, then no one would have given here more than a moment's glance. People were still gawking and sneering at her from the far end of the street, for goodness sake!

        After eight laps Pauline decided she had had enough. Returning home turned out to be the only good thing about the whole spectacle. Back in the bedroom, Pauline looked at herself in the mirror. The top of her jogging suit was soaked with sweat. The exhaustion she felt was the same as if she had run her regular 15 laps. "It's because of these boobs," she told herself as she removed her jogging suit. "These fat balloons caused me to tire out faster. If they were secured better, I would've been able to run more."

        Having showered and changed, Pauline planted herself in front of a flat panel screen. There was no way she could go to work next week wearing her old blouses. Using her husband's shirts would break unspoken work-clothing rules as well. Making inquiries at local clothing stores, Pauline received another shock - sticker shock. The price for blouses that would minimize her ampleness was high, and bras were worse. It appeared that any bra bigger than a 40C had to be specially ordered. Not ready to admit defeat, Pauline performed an all-encompassing search of the Omaha datanet for her clothing requirements. Reviewing the results produced a major surprise. There was indeed a store in Omaha that could easily satisfy her requirements - Blossoming Bodies. A clothing department was in the Blossom building, and it catered to the needs of buxom women. Pauline realized that there wasn't any viable option left to her in the time available. Holding her pride back as she dressed, Pauline got into her car and went to the Blossoming Bodies store for the second time that day.

The entrance to the clothing department was on the Blossom building's left front corner. Keeping her face neutral, Pauline entered. At first glance the rows of clothing racks and displays seemed normal. Going down a row that contained bras, the redhead was bemused by the size tags: 32J, 36M, and 40Q sounded more like map coordinates than bra sizes. The female mannequins used to show off lingerie combinations looked ludicrous from Pauline's standpoint. Basketball bosoms draped with black lace were like abstract art to Pauline, who had to keep herself from giggling outright.

        "Hello," said someone from behind her. "Do you need assistance?"

        Turning, Pauline was confronted by the bustline of one Jorie Rothschild. Having never met an Angelican woman before, the redhead's initial reaction of a dropped jaw was understandable. How's she able to stand up with those things? she thought as she gazed at the woman's blouse-covered, watermelon-sized breasts. Then her eyes turned toward the woman's face. Hair the color of sunflower petals framed a face filled with youthful joy. Eyes colored blue like the deep ocean radiated the eagerness of their owner. Somewhere from deep inside herself Pauline found the will to speak in the presence of such ampleness of spirit as well as body. "I'm looking for some bras and some blouses that'll fit me."

        "Certainly, ma'am. Do you know what size you are?" Jorie indicated the redhead's chest with a politely subdued gesture.

        "Umm . . . ," Pauline considered for a moment. "I know I measure 102 centimeters on top, but I haven't the slightest clue what my bra size is now."

        "A holographic scan of your bust will tell us. No need to take your shirt off. The scan is non-invasive." Jorie's smile and sincerity were quite genuine, so much so that Pauline couldn't think any condescending thoughts about the woman. Angelicans weren't treated very kindly in the Terran media, and were often portrayed as gross caricatures in any number of Terran sitcoms. Now seeing one close up instead of on the tri-dee, Pauline felt a little uncomfortable that her preconceived opinions about Angelican women were being challenged. Jorie radiated a mature, competent presence that no Terran would've expected from her background.

        The scan was done, yielding a bra size of 32H for the petite redhead. With professional grace and skill, Jorie helped her recently-augmented customer in the selection of sports bras, regular bras, and blouses. Pauline was fascinated by the way Jorie moved, treating her bust like it was an extension of herself and not as a hindrance. Looking down at her own size, Pauline admitted silently that she had felt more involved, more committed to her jogging that morning thanks to her new bust. Then she reminded herself that her breasts were just globs of fat that happened to be on her chest instead of her hips. Soon those unwanted fat deposits would be removed. There was no need to get emotionally attached to them.

        At the checkout counter Jorie quickly dealt with Pauline's credit card. "There you go, Ms. Tagerson," she beamed as she handed over the bag of purchases. "Have a bountiful day."

        "And to you as well," Pauline said automatically. With a subdued bounce in her step, the redhead left the store and returned home. Now she could do her jogging secure in the knowledge that her breasts would be held in check by an Angelican-manufactured 32H sports bra.