Inflation Shirt, The
Tabitha timidly closed the door behind her. It slid into place with a shuddering metal ‘clunk,’ which echoed throughout the small, brightly lit room. Three of its walls were blank, but the fourth had a large mirror, which Tabitha would bet her life was actually a one-way window. In the center stood a dais, about waist high, upon which rested a patch of fabric.
“So, I just, take off my shirt and put this on, right?” she asked, desperately trying to hide her nervousness. She suspected she failed.
“And your bra,” came the voice over some unseen PA. “Don’t want it digging into you when the process starts.”
“And I can take it off at any time? I don’t want to get too big . . . have a sore back.” she explained as she slowly made her way over to the garment.
“You’ll gain size but no mass . . . the process will actually make you lighter as you will displace more . . .” the voice stopped itself. “Yes, you can stop any time, and no, they won’t be heavier.”
Tabitha didn’t really understand, but made her way to the garment regardless. Gingerly, she took it the surprisingly heavy fabric into her hands and unfolded it. “How, how does it work?” she asked.
“The prototype has micro-emitters worked into it that . . . listen, it just works, we’ve tested it before.”
The shirt was Brobdingnagian; at least triple or quadruple XL. Men’s size XL. Setting the crumpled shirt back on the dais, she turned so that her back was to the ‘mirror’ and began to take off her shirt. It wasn’t that she was vain, and she wasn’t that unattractive, she just wished she had a breast size slightly larger. For an instant she felt like stopping, like terminating the test and leaving. That it was vain of her to want larger breasts, that it was stupid. But the treatment was free, and like the man said, what did she have to loose?
She finished removing her bra and let it hit the floor. Then, with much trepidation, she reached behind her for the elephantine shirt . . . and donned it. It was enormous on her, easily dwarfing her smallish frame. The ‘short’ sleeves fell past her elbows and the shirt ended near her knees. The hole for the neck alone was so large that it she could almost fit through it. Gently, to avoid any ‘fashion disasters,’ she swayed herself around, so that the gentlemen behind the mirror could see.
“So when does it-ooh!” There was a slight tingling sensation in her chest, like someone had poured carbonated soda down her chest. At first it was rather unpleasant, but any discomfort subsided almost instantly
Scared of what horrors she might see, of her own body mutating, she reluctantly gave a glance down to her chest. Nothing.
But then she felt it. The shirt around her was shifting, ever so slightly. Riding higher as the intensity in her chest grew slightly more pronounced.
“How do you feel?” came the voice over the PA.
In a trance, Tabitha managed ‘weird’ whilst checking the growth of her chest.
The first bit of visual evidence came small. Like she had padded her bra with a couple sheets of tissue paper. But they were GROWING. And, Tabitha thought, growing faster.
After a time, Tabitha did not know how long, she estimated she had gained half a cup size, growing from a slightly-larger-than-normal A cup to something in the realm of a B. She reached for the hem of the shirt.
But then it happened.
A feeling exploded in her chest, like being wrapped in the biggest, softest, fuzziest blanket in the world. No, no it was better than that. It was like the essence of that feeling, the essence of happiness and contentment was liquid, and was being poured into her. Her body quivered for a moment, her knees went weak. She was. . . she was the happiest she had ever been. She was alive! For the first time in her life she was warm, and content, and happy, and ALIVE!
Her bust’s growth had exploded along with these new feelings, quickly surpassing a size B and making short work of C. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew she should take the shirt off, but that might end the feeling! And besides, it was fun to watch her breasts grow.
It was fascinating watching them inflate, as they searched for more and more room under the shirt that suddenly seemed a lot smaller now. Forcing out, moving around, drawing up more cloth, rounding, CHANGING.
And then they moved in a different way. Still growing, but now moving UPWARDS. The were no longer resting on her torso but . . . moving, FLOATING. The hoisted themselves up, obstructing her view, and Tabitha couldn’t help but giggle.
The shirt was beginning to strain now, she felt that it had run out of slack but didn’t care. On a whim she fulled down the front of her shirt, which acted like a tether, drawing them back to earth. Then she let them go and they immediately flew up to her face, with much more fore than they had before, bopping her on the nose. And Tabitha laughed like she hadn’t since she was a child.
“Get in there, she’s going to ruin it!” came some voice from somewhere, but Tabitha didn’t care, she was having too much fun.
The shirt was really stretching now, she could feel the back of it desperately trying to hold together from the irresistible force of her pneumatic orbs. Creases formed across the fabric, which hardened and straightened into lines of force that dug into her, tying to find some way to encompass her enormousness. Her ever-growing chest started distorting, seeking freedom through the collar or through any means, really, but always up; and ever bigger.
She felt something, some slack in the shirt behind her. Just a tiny bit, a small little burp that gave her breasts a millisecond of unimpeded expansion. And then another, and then another.
And finally the entire seem gave, shredding the shirt in half, the force of her burgeoning spheres threw it off of her . . . and threw her upwards. The men rushed in too late. The only thing in the room now was a ruined prototype shirt and a girl with massive breasts, breasts that were trying to urge her body skyward.
“Heya, you guys got a bigger one?” she asked playfully, skittering across the floor on her tippy toes.