Hot Flash! Bigger Is Better!

When the package arrived, Tara had forgotten all about ordering it.  One of those late night impulse buys off the web that was just cheap enough to slide under the financial radar.  The box was white, mostly nondescript, save for the picture of a busty girl in a bikini on the cover, leaning back with sunglasses on as if to say that a girl this beautiful could certainly not have a care in the world.

Always thin, always swallowed by her clothing if they were the least bit loose, she felt that she was invisible most of the time.  While her friends were swarmed with guys, Tara, with her hard angles and slender appendages, seemed to repel the glance of any guy who looked her way.  She was, she believed, the most dismissible woman on the planet.  She wasn’t ugly by any means, but neither did she possess the appeal of the more voluptuous appearances of the girls she ran with.  Even in high school, she had always been painfully shy, and her awkward appearance coupled with a reluctance to draw attention to herself meant she could leave a party before anyone noticed, much less care.

So, after a night of drinks with a friend, Tara had come home to check email and go to bed, which led to her surfing the web for images of the kind of guy she liked – tall and muscular, hairless torsos and defined Vs that pointed to bulges hidden by boxer briefs.  As she idly browsed through pics of some guy who had been candidly caught by a camera on the beach, she saw an ad in the right column that promised “ALL THE CURVES YOU NEVER HAD!”  Her drunken fingers entered all her payment and shipping information, as well as the odd request for her measurements, and promptly passed out.

Now that it had arrived, she felt embarrassed she’d ever ordered it.  A jar of cream that assured her it would “MAKE YOU THE WOMAN MEN WANT!”  All you had to do, according the folded users guide within the box, was rub the cream over your body once in the morning and once at night.  It even suggested that it worked better when applied in the shower and could even be used as a shampoo.  Looking at the blue and white label, Tara thought it could just as easily be called “Snake Oil.”

Still, when she climbed into the shower that evening, she took the jar with her, tying up her loose brown hair as she relaxed under the warm stream.  For the first time, she opened the jar and bent her head toward the pale cream.  A sniff detected nothing unpleasant, quite the opposite.  It had a vaguely floral scent and an inherent coolness that made her fingers tingle when she scooped a small amount onto her fingertips.  She rubbed it between her fingers, then tentatively rubbed the cream into her flat chest, marked as feminine only by the pointed nipples and the very slight undercurve.

The same tingling erupted around her stiff nipple, a pleasant sensation to be sure, and she was soon scooping more of the stuff out, rubbing it into her pale skin as her hands roamed down her belly, around the disappointing plane of her ass, over her thighs and calves.  By the time she had finished, her body was alight with a distant pleasure, slightly distracting but in such a wonderful way that Tara could hardly resist the urge to try it between her legs.  Blushing at the lewd thought, she instead decided she might like to try its efficacy as a shampoo.  Letting down her hair and wetting it under the shower head, Tara worked the cream into her long locks, surprised by the lather it created.

Finished, Tara rinsed herself and dried off with the fluffy cotton towel she liked.  Any normal night would conclude with her stepping into a pair of plain panties and donning an oversized tee for bed, but she felt so basically good, she couldn’t bring herself to cover her body.  It didn’t occur to her how out of character it may be, or the oddity of her hand resting between her legs, occasionally stroking her unshaven mound.  As Tara drifted to sleep, it was only bright, glowing happy thoughts that followed her into slumber.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, grinning into the mirror.

While the change was subtle, it was definitely there.  It looked like there was more padding around her hips, even some on her thighs and calves.  The most impressive change had come to her chest, which was easily up a cup size.  When she cupped them, she could feel their weight, the softness of them.  In fact, gently squeezing her enhanced tits and running her fingers over the stiff tips of her enlarged nipples.  There was no disguising how delightful her body felt, how absolutely tingly and perfect.  She grinned wide at the sight of herself and the bounce that her chest now possessed.

She had no idea how much time she lost to the mirror, but Tara found the sun already creeping up towards noon by the time she dressed.  Fortunately, the weekend had come and she had no real obligations, only a half-hearted maybe for a party with her friend Stacy.  The thought of a crowd always put her off, but squeezing her chest into a top she fit loosely in before and seeing the new curves there made her rethink the idea of stepping out.  It would be nice to see if the confidence she felt extended to more appreciative looks from her college classmates.

The next two hours were spent sifting through her wardrobe, her relaxed smile dipping into a frown as she realized how boring her clothes were, the kind of outfits intended to hide rather than display.  A little shopping might be in order later, but first, she had an undeniable urge to lather herself with the cream again.  The sensation began between her legs, a soft-burning arousal that guided her back to the shower, shedding the latest unwanted outfit and leaving it trailing behind her like a breadcrumb trail of discarded clothing.  Her bare feet found the tile of the bathroom floor, and she was nude already, easing herself into the shower as the water turned from cool to hot.

Her fingers dipped back into the jar, curling to collect as much of the cream as she could.  Turning under the stream of water, she leaned her hair back to dampen it, rubbing her hands together to coat them with the cream.  She began with her hair, lathering it, savoring the tingling feeling as it returned with renewed intensity.  Even the trails of water carrying the soapy cream down her body left behind licks of pleasant humming.  She greedily rubbed more of it into her skin, caressing her expanded breasts and the growing bulge of her ass.  More, over her stomach, her cheeks and belly and legs and then the center of her.  When her fingers danced across her slit, she found that she was delightfully wet.  Her teeth pressed into her lower lip while her fingers continued to explore her sex, parting the folds and inserting a cream-coated finger into her canal.  The resulting tingling made her knees bend, and she lowered to the floor of the shower, hungrily inserting another finger and pumping hard.  The pleasure the quick rhythm brought was unlike anything she could recall, enhanced by the whole-body tickling of the cream’s presence on her skin.

She came, crying out in her apartment, unafraid of disturbing the neighbors with the volume of her exclamations, unburdened by any thought other than to continue, to coax another climax and then another from her greedy pussy.  She continued until the water turned cold, driving her out of the shower and onto the tile floor to finish off the peak interrupted by the sudden temperature change.

When she finally collapsed to the floor, blinking heavy as her chest heaved with deep breaths, she giggled at the wantonness of her behavior.  She loved the feeling her body rewarded her with and the lazy way her thoughts went to how good she felt to thoughts of how much she needed a proper fucking and back again to how good she felt, an endless loop of happiness and vague frustration.

At some point she slept, for it was nearly dark when a knock came at her door, startling her awake.  Rising, there was no question that her body had continued its expansion.  She could feel the weight of her breasts shift as she rose to a sitting position.  She giggled again looking down to see the heavy breasts, far larger than a simple B-cup that she had last felt.  These were big, pendulous tits, and that word locked in her brain.  They weren’t breasts any longer, for breasts were simple secondary sexual characteristics.  These were big, squeezable, bouncy tits, and the pride Tara felt in their size and weight was the most important thing to her.  They defined her, made her sexy and happy.

The knock came again and Tara found her feet, gasping in happy surprise as she saw that the growth had extended to her hips and ass, giving her round, rolling, wide hips and a curvy rear that bounced along with her big tits.  It never occurred to her to dress, even as she stepped over the clothing she shed before her shower.  She looked through the peephole and saw no one beyond, opening the door shamelessly to expose herself to whomever might be in the apartment hallway.  There were no faces to greet her, only the mechanical hiss of elevator doors sliding closed.  At her feet, a box had been placed before her door, plain and white with a pink bow criss-crossing the top, replete with ribbon.

She squealed happily and bent to collect the box, admiring the way her tits sagged weightily as she did so.  Hugging the box to herself, she swung the door closed with the heel of her foot and placed the unexpected gift on her second-hand dining room table.  Her hands pulled the ribbon away and lifted the lid, exposing tissue paper within.  This, too, Tara pushed quickly aside and her eyes widened at the clothing within.

It looked like a sailor’s uniform, but much smaller, a pink ribbon on the front of the top, clearly designed to reveal her belly.  Beneath was a pair of pink panties and a matching pink-and-white frilled skirt.  She clapped her hands together, giggling anew.  They looked perfect – both in fit and the image they projected.  She donned the panties first, easing them over her rounded ass and newly widened hips.  She wiggled when they settled into place, enjoying the subtle pressure against her still-sensitive pussy.  Next came the skirt, which fixed to her hips snugly, covering her only enough to hide the supple flesh of her bottom while still allowing a generous look at her legs.

She struggled into the top, as it was designed to cup her chest.  As her fussing with the clingy fabric was satisfied, she felt the support of the top and the way it both covered and highlighted her ample assets.  Again, she found herself distracted by the feel of them, her hands cupping and squeezing, making her new panties dampen.

She supposed she hadn’t locked the door behind her, for the pair of men who entered her apartment showed no signs of difficulty in entering.  She tried to call out, but her hands would not stop their caresses, and her tongue was too busy licking her lips to form words.

“You got the bill?” one asked, a squat-looking man with short dark hair and a thick accent that spoke of European heritage.

“Says this one is a custom job.  Guess somebody likes cartoons.”

“She is hot,” the dark-haired European said.

The statement elicited a groan from Tara, who could not seem to stop touching herself in her new outfit.  It made her so happy to be dressed this way, to be so deliriously horny and satisfied all at once.  She wondered if one of these men wanted her the way she wanted them.  One or both, she realized, as long as she could be filled up.

“Let’s get her in the van.  Tag her.”

The dark-haired man bent forward and for a brief moment, Tara was sure that he was going to kiss her, which meant he might fuck her, too, and how amazing would that be?  Rather than touch her lips, he placed a steel device against the base of her neck and depressed a trigger.  A flare of pain pierced Tara’s haze, quick fading to be cast into an abyss of nothingness that contained her life before.  The chip inserted into the base of her neck activated, an electrical shudder coursing through her.

“She’s online.  You want to stand up, honey?”

Tara rose, giggling.  These men were here to help her, she understood.  They were going to take her somewhere she could be happy.

“Good girl.  Man, look at those hips,” the second wrangler said, giving Tara an appreciative smack on her padded ass.

Tara giggled and wiggled.

“Her new owner is a lucky guy,” the dark-haired man agreed, closing the apartment door behind them, guiding Tara to her new life.

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