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Prompt of the Week - Week 98
🕑 Added 2022-06-11 14:35:31 +0000 UTCTAGS: Bra Magic, Hyper/Hyper Breasts, Growth/Expansion
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It had been a hot minute since Clara had gone out bra-shopping, and almost immediately she came to regret not doing it sooner.
The treatment was going along nicely, more so than she could’ve imagined; while her doctors had made it clear that she shouldn’t expect too much out of it for the first few months, she’d already gone up a whole two cup sizes, enough that she could justify buying a whole new set of bras for herself based on nothing but her own projections. It wasn’t linear; the physicians had made it clear that whatever gains she had would be staggered and hard to predict, but that didn’t stop the serval from setting aside a couple hundred bucks just to give herself a treat.
It was less the actual practicality or use and more just the simple act of buying bras in the first place. After twenty-seven years of being flatter than a two-by-four, suddenly having actual tits was an experience that she had long given up on ever going through; but, thanks to the miracles of modern genetic science, as well as a multitude of NDAs and responsibility waivers, she could finally have the bust of her dreams…
… in theory, at least. In practice, it was up in the air whether or not she’d be able to develop a bust of average size, let alone one that even remotely close to what she considered to be “goals”; those were lofty, perhaps even unrealistic as some people would put it, but the soon-to-be-big cat didn’t care. She joined that experimental group for a reason, and that reason was now plainly evident upon her chest, for all the world to see!
Granted, it wasn’t yet so obvious that people would have to stop and stare just to make sure it was actually real, but she was getting there. Nevermind how the doctors kept telling her that she was eventually going to reach a maximum size, that there was a cap to how much breast mass she could develop; as far as Clara was concerned, this was all, to put it lightly, horseshit. If she wanted to grow, she would, even if through pure willpower, and if her body knew what was good for it, it would obey her whims and get started on giving her a reasonable pair of tits before she had to start employing drastic measures.
That day, though, was a good day. She hadn’t woken up feeling like her dreams would never be fulfilled, nor did she spend an hour in front of the mirror obsessing over whether or not that inch of bustline she gained was real or in her head; quite the contrary, as after her eight hours were done, the serval felt more refreshed and restored than she had in months, likely as a result of the treatment finally getting through the dreaded adaptation phase. Now, whether this meant that it would stop causing her breasts to grow, or it would keep doing so without the previously-regular discomfort, was entirely up in the air; personally, Clara hoped very much for the former.
Still, she was having a good day, and there was no point wasting one of those when she could use the momentum gained to do something stupid: something like spend a couple hundred bucks on bras that she would most likely end up returning after she came back to her senses a few hours later. For the time being, however, nothing remained of her good sense to stop her from doing it; in fact, whatever she might’ve once had of it had been replaced by a voice constantly repeating the words “do it” in an increasingly louder internal volume.
Thankfully, no one at the shop itself bothered to stop her: if she wanted to waste money on items of clothing she had no business wearing, that was her problem, not the supplier’s. Besides, Clara was having the time of her life going through the catalogue, and even if she discarded most of the pieces she picked up, the serval did eventually end up accruing enough of a stack of bras to justify picking out a changing room to do something with them.
Positively giddy, she closed the door behind her and got to work deciding on how best to tackle the dilemma in front of her. She hadn’t just brought in stuff in her own size; there were a few, mostly replacements for bras she already had but had begun to chafe somewhat (or just outright grew too small), but most of the stack was decidedly above her weight category. Most of the bras there would best belong on someone with more of a bust than Clara already had, but that was no obstacle for her; what she saw there was promise, her future self shining through, seeing as, if everything went according to plan, she would definitely be wearing those things in due time.
Thus, the simplest way to approach would be through a simple progression: start with the bras that she actually fit inside of, then go progressively larger just so she could fantasize about herself actually filling out so much space. Why, the largest one she had there wasn’t even fit for non-hypers; she had to make up some random excuse about it being for someone else to get the clerk to stop raising their eyebrows at her.
Still, all in due time. First came the bras that were of her current size: a bit more frilly than she would’ve normally gone for, but she was in the right state of mind to experiment with styles that, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t even be considered. One of the pieces even had the dumbest print on it: strawberries with cups of similarly-coloured drink interspaced, as if anyone was interested in a novelty bra that looked like it belonged to someone half her age. The serval had to stifle a few giggles as she put it aside, only then finding that she’d reached the first item in the pile that was above her current bust size.
It felt like a momentous occasion. Whereas beforehand, picking up anything like that plain black bra would’ve been a moment of pure daydreaming, just something she did to give herself some measure of joy in imagining a better, bustier self, now it was reality; she might not have gotten to that point yet, but her breasts had grown visibly in a very short timespan, so the odds were decent that, at some point in the near future, that piece would actually fit her properly rather than hang loose. It was a promise made to herself, that soon enough, she was going to have to use it, and everything below that size would have to go into the goodwill basket.
Clara smiled. It hung from her when she put it on; clearly, there was work to be done, seeing as it wasn’t even snug so much as it was just… wide. Baggy. Not even there, at times; it brought to mind far too many of those days where she’d put on bras for people with actual tits and just had them hang off her shoulders, swinging from side to side, waiting for something to fill them. It took some willpower for her to remind herself that she was getting there; no point commiserating with her past self when it was just that: past.
When turning to pick the next bra though, there was some clear hesitation. If she felt that way already with one that was just barely above where she was then, how would her brain react to being given even more of a letdown? Much as her conscious self might be warded against such feelings, Clara knew more than anyone else how fragile her inner desires were, how much of herself was still held up by a precarious house of cards. When she picked up the next bra in line to be tried out, she did so with a level of trepidation that bordered on the comical; any more and she might’ve just used her fingertips, as if the piece were radioactive and she needed to keep it as far away from her as possible.
But it was then that she came to the conclusion that it had to happen. It was there, in that changing room, that she had to innoculate herself against future disappointment; much as she might not want to think about it, there was still a non-zero chance that the treatment might not go as far as she wanted it to, and ignoring that for the sake of fantasy wouldn’t do her any good. She needed a healthy dose of realism, even if it hurt; thus, the best thing for her to do was to take her bra off and try that next one, even if she knew it would just make her miserable.
On doing so, however, something strange took place. The piece she had on fell to the floor, landing with an imperceptible rustling, and after the new one went on, it was just as loose as the one that had come before it. The serval flinched, looking at herself in the mirror: the bra was about two cup sizes above the previous one, which itself was already over what her current size was, so clearly this one should’ve been even looser; hell, it should’ve looked comically oversized on her, given how little tit there was to fill out the cups.
Instead, the more she looked at herself, the less the bra seemed to be oversized at all. Indeed, with her eyes planted firmly on the reflective surface of the full-body mirror, Clara got to observe as not only did the bra stop swinging with every motion of hers, it was pushed out, her breasts fitting snugly into the fabric and forming a perfectly-shaped cleavage as they were pushed together. By the time the process was done, and she convinced herself she hadn’t just imagined it, the bra fit her perfectly: not too small, not too large, just right.
Her first reaction was to rub her eyes. Clearly, this couldn’t be happening: her tits were growing, but they weren’t growing that fast that they literally went through multiple cup sizes right in front of her eyes. Therefore, what she saw was a hallucination; either that, or she had fallen and banged her head on the corner of a table, with everything since then having been one long, oddly realistic coma fantasy cooked up by her concussed mind.
Her second reaction was to bring her hands up to her breasts, because even if it was entirely in her head, she was going to make the best out of that situation and abuse it to hell and back. She had tits! Actual, proper tits, not like the little mosquito bites the treatment had given her so far! She had breasts that required a bra, a bust large enough that she could, sort of, kind of, feel its weight on her back!
Sure, it was probably her imagination at play, but that was hardly important when compared to the truth: she had tits! Clara could barely contain herself, kept in check only through the changing room not offering enough space for her to jump around and shout like a lunatic; even then, she absolutely wanted to do so, eventually smashing into one of the walls and having to explain to one of the staff members at the shop that she’d just slipped, was all.
It took a while for her to calm down. Whenever she was close, her eyes inevitably veered downwards and remained firmly stuck on a bust that hadn’t been there just moments before, a wide grin spreading across the serval’s face as she tried, and failed, to contain her excitement. Only through a great deal of breathing exercises did she finally get a hold of herself… that, and the fact that she still had a whole stack of bras to go through.
It was impossible to explain, and likely the result of her brain coming up with something to fill in the gaps before she woke up, but the fact was, she had grown only after putting on a bra that was much too large for her. The second one wasn’t nearly as baggy as it should be, implying perhaps that the first changes had taken place in the first size upgrade, and only became noticeable once she really pushed the envelope.
If that was the case, and assuming the progression was maintained, that meant that, whenever she wore a bra bigger than her current size, her tits would grow to match! Obviously impossible, and definitely the result of a concussion, but it was happening and she was feeling it, so for Clara, it filled out all the requirements for decision-making: it was internally logically consistent, and that was good enough for her!
Already giggling to herself from what she knew was about to happen, Clara took off her bra, letting it fall on the ground while her brand new breasts bounced just enough for it to be noticeable. They were free now: lacking any clothing to keep them imprisoned, their soft mass could sway from one side to another, having just enough there that they could actually do so, rather than remaining pitifully still no matter what Clara did.
Not for long though. The serval didn’t know what was going to her once the next bra came on, nor how her tits would react, but she knew that it was there, and she knew she was going to use it. Caution thrown to the wind, the serval went so far as to dig through the pile for a few sizes bigger still, before strapping the bra on and fixing her eyes on the mirror once more.
She saw her bust, as it was before the change. She saw the bra, begging to be filled. And soon enough, she saw her tits, burgeoning outwards as more mass was deposited into them, seemingly from nowhere; like two pumps had been hooked up to each mound, filling her to the brim and beyond, her tits swelled and bloated, yet never quite looked anything other than perfectly natural. It was like watching puberty go by in fast-motion… albeit, a very generous puberty, one that left Clara significantly bigger than her own had.
They just kept going. Her hands moved up, cupping her bosom as if wanting to make sure that it was still there, that her tactile sense wasn’t giving her wrong information, that she was actually growing. And when they did, when Clara truly felt what it was like to have a pair of breasts that filled her hands… nothing else mattered. She did wait for the second big change to finish; it was important to let her chest settle before she gave it its next upgrade, especially when it was done growing only after each tit reached a size comparable to her head.
Clara turned sideways, looking at her profile in the mirror and nearly climaxing on the spot from the sight alone: a massive rack, jutting out from a comparatively thin and lithe torso, large and heavy enough that she legitimately felt its weight tugging down on her spine. It was a warning, she knew, from her body to her mind: stop now before it was too late, before she was left too big to even walk without needing a metallic structural frame to keep her back from automatically bending forward.
Alas, the serval didn’t care enough to listen to her better judgement. All she saw were her breasts growing to the size of her head, and she wanted more; it wasn’t enough that they were that large already, they needed to be bigger, they needed to stretch out the biggest bra that the store had available, they ne-
The biggest bra.
Immediately, Clara’s head snapped to face her prize: the one hyper-sized piece she had taken from the shelves. It wasn’t meant for her to even wear; initially, she picked it up only so she could have a cheap laugh, imagining herself as having tits fit for a hyper. It didn’t even fit her shoulders either: it was so large that even the parts that weren’t meant to go over her bust were much too big for her to comfortably fit onto her. Then again, so they were for most people who bought that model, as the idea was to let one’s prodigious rack fill out the bra and serve as a self-supporting structure, the strain of holding up two tits large enough to crack necks keeping the whole thing stable.
So, why not replicate this? She knew how to put it on, so it was just a matter of holding the whole thing in place and waiting for her breasts to fill in the negative space. It was just a matter of making sure the straps were properly secured so that, when her bust grew to the size that it was meant to be, it wouldn’t spill out too much and cause the bra to fall off; who knew what might happen then, if her tits decided that the room was what they needed to fill!
Biting her lower lip, trying her best not to think too much about what that meant, Clara prepared herself. Each hand cupped one half of the ridiculously massive bra, each finger making it clear just how much mass would be in her tits by the end of it. She couldn’t avoid blushing or rubbing her thighs together anymore: looking down, her breasts, already larger than anything she could’ve ever hoped for, looked pathetically miniscule next to this one, colossal piece. The size of her head, and yet, they might as well not even be there at all for how enormous the hyper-sized bra was.
And she was going to fill it. All by herself. With her rack. Soon enough, a warmth spread across her; she could feel the weight of it, pulling her down. She could hear her skin, creaking, her soft flesh expanding. She could see herself growing.
But she didn’t see herself stopping.
