Her breasts were growing!
She snatched her hands away from the hooks between the cups of her bra and cupped them underneath her bosom. Her sense of touch confirmed what her eyes claimed: the sensible A- cup foundation was stretching and straining as the glands inside pressed outward. Soft flesh bulged around, over, and under the cups. She felt the straps across her shoulders and back stretch and bind, pressing into her. The pressure was distracting, but not enough to divert her attention from the impossible happening before her eyes.
Stitches strained and popped. A metallic creaking brought her attention back to the clasps of the bra. Her eyes goggled as she watched the three small hooks bend straight, at the same time the eyelets began to pull free of their stitching. She shifted her balance to accommodate the increasing bulk, suddenly aware of the now-painful pressure from the straps. She dug into the heavy, swelling softness at her front, determined to pull the much-too-small bra off over her head. At just that added tension the overstressed stitching and warping hooks gave way together. With a tearing, ripping snapping the bra disintegrated.
Her breasts surged and bounced with sudden freedom. She took an involuntary step forward to catch her balance and cradled them in her arms. She felt the soft flesh of them slide over her forearms and wrists and push against her upper arms as they continued to expand. She couldn't see her feet now when she looked down, even with one extended forward. They were heavy, and pulled at her shoulders and back. Yet perhaps because it was alien and not really painful, the sensation was pleasant, sensual... even erotic. She felt a warmth arise below, and her breath caught. Her hips described a slow, languid circle, her eyelids slid halfway shut, and she smiled as she looked down at her breasts, now large enough to spill out of the cradle of her arms.
She took a step back, suddenly awkward in her heels, and half-sat, half-fell onto the couch. Her breasts landed with a slapping sound on her thighs, their weight warm and soft. Breath ragged, she ran her hands over the expanding curves, reveling in their size and softness. A fingertip brushed the edge of one aureole, and her gasp ended in a little cry. Her nipples were erect, achingly so. She reached forward with both hands, straining a little, and lightly, ever so lightly, brushed the tumescent nubs...
As her head cleared she marveled. First at the strength of the orgasm she'd just had; only her time with a Tantric master even came close to such intensity. Second that her breasts seemed to have liked it also. Before they filled her lap. Now they overflowed, spreading out over her knees and to either side, pinning her legs.
A small corner of her mind worried about dealing with such a chest. But the majority of her attention now was on reaching between her legs to pleasure herself. She ached with need. But getting around the bulk in front of her was problematic. She leaned forward, trying to part herself with one hand while reaching down with the other. She watched her breasts swell more as she did so. Her center of balance shifted; with a small cry of dismay she fell forward. Her engorged nipples buried themselves in the short, rough pile of the carpet, and sweet electricity fired through her. She spasmed, cried out -- and felt another orgasm coming on the heels of that one, fueled by her ecstatic convulsions.
She eagerly rode the wave, feeling her breasts swell even larger underneath her. Now they supported her ribs, now her belly. She reached one hand back, arching her back. Down between the cheeks of her rear, she strained and touched her hot, swollen lips. Desperately she parted them, rubbing, flicking the hard nub nestled inside--
OH MY GOD!
Her breasts were huge pillows beneath her, her nipples and clitoris on fire. She didn't ever want this to stop. But that little voice of rationality grabbed her figurative ears and screamed. How could she live with breasts this size? She couldn't even stand up! She was going to keep cumming until she died from exhaustion1 They'd find her stiff, her hand stuffed between her legs, her breasts huge slabs of cold meat--
She sat up with a cry, grabbing her chest. For a few moments she couldn't figure out how she'd gotten clothes on again so quickly, or how she'd gotten back up on the couch. And her breasts were tiny again! Where had gone all that heaving, sighing flesh?
Then she looked around at the messy living room, strewn with the debris of last night's party, and remembered. She looked at the empty little plastic bottle on the table, its label garishly proclaiming its original contents. In pink puffy letters was the legend "BOOBYFRUIT," with the slogan beneath, "Double your cup size, double your fun!" She remembered now getting the little bottle, laughing at the joke on her petite size, downing all the pink jelly beans at one go, making jokes about outstripping Dolly Parton, Wendy Whoppers, and any other large-breasted female who came to mind. And she almost remembered falling asleep on the couch after everybody else had gone home, with one last smile at the little bottle. Of course it had been a dream. Things like that just don't happen in real life.
Or do they?
Did she feel a stirring under her shirt?
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