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Girl in the High Tower - Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2020-02-16 17:55:39 +0000 UTCA final generous dusting of talcum powder, spread evenly across the vast expanse. Nadya felt her nose tickle as the fine white dust floated into the air, but she had become used to the sensation, and set to work ensuring the depths of her cleavage were coated; Zoya, meanwhile, dutifully managed the regions that were simply too far out of Nadya’s reach.
A moment later, Zoya retrieved two folded squares of white cloth from a shelf to the side of the palatial bathroom, and quickly unfolded each, revealing two white tubes of fabric. In a series of smooth, experienced motions, she stretched the first tube around the the erect, half-tennis-ball-sized nipple of Nadya’s right breast. Without having to be told, Nadya reached forward and held the end of the hem in place while Zoya shimmied the tube along underneath. It was delicate work that required Zoya’s firm hands, and Nadya assisted as best she could by standing from her kneeling position in front of the broad, shin-high table where this new ritual took place.
Finally, with the tube hugging the swollen curve of her breast all the way to where it met her torso, at level with her belly button, Nadya resumed her kneeling position as Zoya ensured that the open end of the compressing garment stayed clear of the delicate skin of Nadya’s broad, amber-hued areola.
As this dance was repeated for Nadya’s left breast, Zoya remained focused on her work, saying very little. Nadya stood again, holding on to her end of the matching tube, and spoke.
“So what will you and Xenia be doing tonight?”
Zoya’s eyes remained on her work, shifting the tube up Nadya’s breast. “We will have dinner. Her nephew is visiting from Pennsylvania, and he is insisting on trying a new restaurant near to where she lives.” Zoya let out a shutter as she sharply exhaled through her nose.
“You don’t sound excited?” Nadya responded sympathetically.
“I am. Xenia’s nephew is a very nice young man. But he is telling me that Ethiopean food is a wonderful thing.”
“It sounds exotic, and mysterious,” Nadya said.
“They eat raw beef with their fingers,” Zoya said with a tone of disgust in her voice. “I came to America for things like hamburgers. Things that have cooked meat in them.”
“And pizza,” Nadya said reassuringly.
Zoya’s gaze rose to meet Nadya’s, and she cracked a small, stiff smirk. “And moo goo gai pan?”
“Yes!” Nadya chuckled; Zoya's returned to her work.
“Decide what you want for dinner tomorrow,” Zoya said, finishing. “We can do take home from your favorite restaurant if you want?”
Nadya nodded her head eagerly. “I will eat 50 spring rolls.”
“Well. What will you be eating tonight?” Zoya asked, walking to retrieve a large roll of canvas from a tall closet on the opposite side of the room.
“I will use the salmon while it is still fresh,” Nadya said. “I found a recipe from Sweden, where it is baked and then topped with a sauce of mustard and dill.”
“That sounds very nice,” Zoya said, unrolling the canvas at her end of the table. “You shall have to make it for me some evening. When you are finished, leave the dishes in the sink, and I will wash them in the morning when I return.”
“No, Zoya,” Nadya said. “I will do the dishes as well. It is no burden for me.”
Zoya sniffed. “As you please. I know how important it is to have these evenings alone, koshka. And knowing that you will be stubborn and do them anyway, I will say no more.” A moment of silence hung in the air as the canvas sprawled at the base of the low table. A dark green rectangle, it was twice as wide as Nadya’s breasts, which were again splayed in two mounds atop the table, dwarfing the face of the young woman they were attached to.
“Just promise me you will be careful with the stove, yes?”
“I will, I will, Zoya…”
Zoya sighed, peeking her eyes toward the ceiling. “This machine… it is a blessing and a curse…”
“Zoya, you promised,” Nadya interrupted. “Once it was finished, you would give yourself one night, every week. And I can take care of myself! You are gone for only 12 hours, and I am asleep for much of that time!”
“But emergencies can always happen, koshka.”
“And what kind. I set the building on fire? There is a flood? A group of bandits?”
“Yes, yes, yes...” Zoya interjected, giving up her argument.
“Do not worry,” Nadya said, patience on her face. “And besides,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. It is nearly 6 o’clock. And Xenia will be upset if you are late.”
Zoya sniffed again. “It is… be good, koshka.”
“I will get into much trouble,” Nadya gave a mischievous smile.
“OK,” Zoya said, shifting her attention to the table. “Much like we did this the last time. Can you stand?”
“I walked in here, Zoya… yes, I can stand,” she said with a placative tone in her voice.
"Yes, but with my help this time," Zoya said. Nadya's face flushed a little.
Slowly, gingerly, Nadya shifted from her knees to her feet, rising slowly to a standing position once more. Though the table was low, her breasts were inclined to hang even lower, and they rested on the surface of the table before her. Reaching for the triangular handle, which hung from a chain on the ceiling, she grabbed on, steadying herself before leaning to take a step onto the tabletop, and then, another, before slowly straightening her back completely, lifting the enormous heft of her breasts off the surface of the table entirely, if only by a few inches.
“Do you have pain?” Zoya asked.
“No, I am fine…” Nadya said defiantly, feeling the strong muscles of her back tense and strain. “How... low do they hang?”
Zoya adopted a tone that was noticeably kinder than her usual neutral sternness. “They look about the same to me since last week.”
Nadya could see through the forced cadence in her voice. “So this means just a little lower, doesn’t it....” Her brow furrowed.
Zoya moved to arrange the canvas sheet under Nadya’s suspended chest. “You know what the doctor says. This will take time. Now,” Zoya said once the canvas was arranged. “Take a few steps forward.”
Nadya abided, feeling her knees press into the flesh of her breasts as she carefully edged herself forward several feet, strutting in a series of lurches, still clutching tightly to the metal handle at chin level.
“Now, stop,” Zoya said, “And rest them.”
Nadya bent her knees, allowing the weight of her breasts to again meet the table, this time, atop the thick sheet of canvas.
“Now step back…”
Nadya lowered herself as she took a few steps backward to her original position, still holding tightly to the handle as she removed one foot from the table, and then, the other. Content that she was stable, she slouched again back on to her knees, her white-fabric clad breasts again an expanse.
“How do... “ Nadya started, “How do you think we will do this… when I…”
“Do not say when, koshka. You think too far.” And that was, as far as Zoya was concerned, the end of the conversation.
A few moments of awkward silence followed as Zoya busied herself clipping a pair of metal bars onto the sides of the canvas tarp, snapping carabiners to sturdy metal rings at the corners. Next, a pair of long chains were clipped onto the ends, each running slightly longer than the length of the bar itself.
“Do you feel comfortable?” Zoya asked, stepping over to a nearby countertop to retrieve a small black box with an attached lanyard.
Nadya didn’t respond, but nodded her head.
Pressing a button on the box, Zoya aimed her gaze at the ceiling. A dull whur emanated from the metal track overhead, as a large steel box slowly glided into position directly over Nadya’s breasts. Suspended from inside the box, yet another length of thick metal chain that was attached to a singular metal metal bar. Zoya moved her head slightly to prevent its erratic swinging from bumping her.
Once in place, another button was pressed, and the bar lowered, slowly, emanating a slightly more high-pitched buzzing until it halted, a few inches above Nadya’s twin horizons.
A few more clipping sounds, with the light jangling of strong metal links. The center of one chain was clipped to the singular bar. Walking to the other side of Nadya, Zoya repeated the process.
“This… should be good!” Zoya said, a feigned enthusiasm in her voice. “Are you still comfortable?”
“Yes,” Nadya softly said. “I am comfortable.”
“Then here you are.” Zoya handed the box to a still-kneeling Nadya, who took it and draped the lanyard around her neck.
“Now remember, koshka,” Zoya said. "The buttons at the top are for —”
“Yes!” Nadya said, trying to purge the sudden impatience she was feeling. “Yes... The top two are for forward and backward. The middle two are for up and down. The dial is for adjusting the speed. And the bottom switch is for changing the track when it splits in two directions.”
“And the red button?”
Nadya glanced at the red button that was covered with a hinged plastic shield. She felt her patience return to her — Zoya was only trying to help, she knew.
“That is for if I need help. Which I won’t, Zoya. I am fine, I promise.”
“But you know I can return in 20 minutes if you need me.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Well.” Zoya said, dusting her hands. “Let us get your settled.”
Nadya was already on it. Resuming a squatting position, she pressed one of the buttons, straightening her legs as the crane lifted her breasts from their position on the table, not letting go until the device automatically stopped rising, with the bulk of her colossal endowments at stomach level. As much as Nadya didn’t look forward to the monotony of this process, there was always one moment of euphoria once she was so equipped — the weight removed from her body almost completely, she hyperextended her back, and rolled her shoulders from side to side, relishing the lightness she so rarely felt. She allowed a moan to escape her lips as the tension exited the strong muscles of her back, neck, and hips.
“Your reading chair?” Zoya asked.
“Yes, I think I may read for a moment before I prepare dinner,” Nadya said. She twisted the dial to medium speed, and before pressing the “forward” button, stepped to the side in a circular fashion, rotating easily in the direction of her reading nook in the much larger adjacent living space.
It was a feeling she had not yet become accustomed to. Perhaps because the majority of her efforts spent walking for the entirety of her adult life were spent burdened by the weight that extended ponderously from her body; by contrast, this felt simple — she wondered if this was how Zoya felt when she walked. Or anybody, for that matter.
But it was strange in a different way, she reflected as, under the hum of the machine, would take a little getting used to. Though she was maintaining a slow speed of walking — barely a shuffle — the thought re-entered her mind that she was being escorted by her breasts. That they were tugging her along on their slow, deliberate journey through her penthouse. Her body was walking… her legs propelled her torso, arms and head. But their direction was determined by her two most prominent aspects, thanks, in part, to a machine that was more suited to a factory than a home.
She didn’t know how this made her feel. But goodness, if it wasn’t more comfortable than what she was used to.
In the hallway that led out of the bathroom, an oversized mirror hung on the wall. Though Nadya didn’t remove her thumb from the “forward” button, she took a moment to gauge her own reflection as she walked straight toward it: Long auburn hair sprawled across the fronts of her shoulders, the ends resting lightly at the crease formed at the top of her cavernous cleavage. From this angle, the canvas sheet looked like a wide letter “U,” firmly supporting her compression-stocking-clad breasts. Her nipples and areola, the only portions of her chest not covered by these “socks,” stared back at her, reminding her of a pair of watchful, cartoonish eyes.
Before she had a chance for determine whether these “eyes” were staring back at her with judgement, or with pity, or some mixture of the two, the craned turned the corner, and her with it, being guided, slowly, until she entered the next room. She finally settled at one of the stops along the crane’s fixed track — between an oversized reclining arm chair, and a rectangular ottoman that, were it a table, could easily accommodate six for dinner, a setup flanked by a wall of bookshelves.
Zoya trailed behind, making sure Nadya could manage on her own. Which, not to the surprise of Nadya herself, she could. With a sweeping motion, Nadya rotated her body until her pajama-clad bottom was fully prepared to take a seat in the large chair. And with another press of a button, her breasts slowly lowered — and her with them — until they rested on the ottoman.
Nadya could almost hear the questions before it was asked. “Comfortable?” Zoya asked. “Any pinching, or tightness?”
Nadya settled into the chair, shifting her butt, and her legs, which were somewhat compressed by the weight, but not in a way she was unaccustomed to. She could always raise the crane a few inches if she needed to. Finding a comfortable position was something she had turned into a bit of an artform.
“Perfect. Thank you, Zoya.”
“Alright, koshka,” Zoya said. “Well…”
Nadya predicted again. “There is nothing else I need. I have my book right here,” she motioned the side table, "and I promise. I will not burn down the building.”
Zoya admitted a rare, genuine smile that cracked her otherwise stolid face. “Very good. Okay! I am going now. Remember, I will return at exactly —”
“6 a.m., yes, I know.”
Zoya fetched her long jacket from a nearby hook. “And remember —”
“I will be fiiine.”
Zoya raised her palms. “Yes,” she said. Another sniff. “Have a nice evening, koshka.”
“And you as well, Zoya. Give Xenia my kind wishes.”
And with that, Zoya nodded, took her purse, and walked toward the front door, closing it behind her.
Hearing the latch click shut, Nadya waited a moment before taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment. Saturday nights, she thought... where she could be left to her own devices for an entire 12 hours. It felt like taking a long vacation, each week, where the whole world was at her fingertips. She still hadn’t gotten used to the solitude — for as long as she could remember, privacy was something she had never been accustomed to. As much as she had been looking to that first night a month before, when the crane had been completed, she found herself a little… scared of the quiet, in the same way she had been afraid of monsters being under her bed when she was little. At one point, she was thinking of pressing the red “emergency” button on her remote control, to summon Zoya back, but thankfully, she decided against it. As much as she had been begging for one night a week, what would Zoya think of her if she took it all back?
And also, Roger. He had made her feel less lonely. Even if it was only through their text messages on Instagram — the only form of communication she had available to her — it made her feel less… lonely. Like a friend was there to keep her company, and make her laugh.
But… there was one new tradition that she and Roger had started since that first day they met, at her bedroom window, nearly two months ago…
Nadya shifted her body and wedged her hand in between the cushion of the chair, until she felt two metallic items. The smaller of the two could wait until later, so she retrieved the black smartphone, with its cracked screen and barely functioning machinery, and clicked it to life — happy, as always, that the ancient device hadn’t chosen today to finally die for good.
Opening Instagram, she clicked on the touchscreen. A single short sentence. Seeing only seconds after sending it that it was marked as 'seen,' another beat was followed with an emoji of a wide smile and hearts for eyes. And then, an emoji of a helicopter.
Nadya placed the phone on the table next to her, and smirked giddily. Between the chair and the ottoman, her toes curled, as she let out a small sigh. Glancing over the crest of her breasts to the vast expanse of empty penthouse, she picked up her book, and opened it to the last page she had been reading. Her eyes flickered over the words on the page, but her attention was diverted. She didn't feel like concentrating.
A few minutes later, she heard it... through the sliding door that opened onto the terrace, a faint approaching buzz.
Comments
Stephen Prandy
This story is AMAZING. I loved every second of it every twist and turn was sublime. I could tell you're indeed a writer. Don't ever stop
