The Harley Quinn Files

Harley Quinn was fed up. Trying to get the Joker's attention was running her ragged, and the Batman didn't help when
he busted her for anything she tried. She had been forced to try different means, and walking into an old, dusty shop
with actual intent of buying something... well let's just say it wasn't her thing.

She had found the glowing bottle under a mound of items piled into a basket for $1 each (or $5 for six) and had
purchased it purely out of curiosity. She hadn't found anything else that she felt like buying, and had left planning to
go straight home, not wanting the feeling of being a 'customer' to come back.

The bottle was old, but clean - the only clean item in the shop, she thought, which had probably intrigued her all the
more considering that it had been buried under hundreds of other objects, all of them filthy - and had a strange cream
color to it, glowing brightly. Upon examining it she had discovered that the bottle itself was ordinary glass, but the
fluid inside was making it glow so brightly that it hurt her eyes a little. Blinking, she looked away.

Something was bothering her though. The liquid seemed to be calling to her, willing her to use it right away. Well, no
harm in that, right? Harley barely had to think; she broke the nearest darkened window and climbed in, looking for 
signs of life in the residence before settling down on the edge of a large table in the kitchen. She set the bottle down,
and read through the tiny script on the back to find out what to do with it.

Drink me. Fair enough. A bit cliche, but if that's the way it is...

She drank half of the liquid, hoping that she could save some in case the results looked promising. Then she swore at
herself - how stupid can you get?! Drinking from a bottle just because it tells you to? Come on Harley, you know better
than that! What if it had been poison? Idiot!

Then the tingling started. No way, it wasn't actually poison was it? Her first purchase in months and its sole purpose
became an unwilling attempt at suicide? But wait, no, this feeling wasn't painful. It was nice.

She lay back on the table, slightly uncomfortable but not bad, and let the feeling wash over her. She allowed her hands
a run over her body, an emphasis of the tingle she was already feeling, reading her body and describing her own
curves to her in glorious detail, firm breasts and rounded thighs which she knew curved round into an wonderfully
cute butt. Thin but tight muscle on her arms and her legs, as well as over her stomach.

Suddenly her chest rose into her vision. Was she breathing so deeply? No, she was holding her breath in admiration
of her own body, she was sure. She ran her hands over the soft flesh and pressed down lightly, a rush of air escaping
her lips as she touched the sensitive flesh. Immediately her chest rose again - her breasts grew a little, forcing
themselves into her hands and moulding around the fingers like so much bread dough. It felt glorious, and they weren't
stopping, so Harley decided to lay back and let it happen, her hands at her sides as they swelled.

Her boobs strained at the skintight body suit she wore, red and black on alternating sides with white ruffs on the 
collar and wrists. They pushed into it further and further as they expanded, pulling it tighter with each swell and 
forcing the lycra into her groin. She gasped at the sensation, the fabric stretching over her nipples in a slow 
continuous caress as her slit was pulled into and rubbed in the same fashion. It was bliss... her hands were hard put 
upon to remain where they were, clasping at the table on which she lay. unwilling to interrupt the pleasurable number 
her suit was performing but aching to aid it in stimulating her. Her breasts must have been each the size of her head 
by now at least, and were still growing bigger by the minute. 

She finally gave in, her hand flying up to squeeze the stiff bump which clearly indicated where her nipple lay. This 
time she moaned out loud, unable to contain herself. Her flesh was considerably more sensitive than it had been and
she hadn't expected the near-orgasmic wave of pleasure that had hit her. She continued to knead her swollen
mammaries with both hands, wave upon wave of pleasure coursing through her, added to by the surprise she felt
when she discovered that her bosom was just as soft and pliable as it had been before it all began, if not more so. As
they swelled now past the size of basketballs she pushed her boobs up and buried her face in her advancing cleavage,
squealing with glee into the soft flesh as the resulting squeeze made her groin wetter than ever.

The suit was starting to get uncomfortably tight (although any pain was outweighed by the pleasure she felt), but it was 
also starting to give. Holes were starting to form wherever strain was severe, like a too-far-stretched balloon, under her
burgeoning bosom and around her thighs, where the suit was stopped from being pulled further by the top of each leg.
Directly over her breasts the fabric was tight and adding its own squeeze to the contributions already provided by her
hands, each spurt of growth like a thousand hands applying pressure and caressing her simultaneously.

The first orgasm took hold, her whole body tensing up to accomodate it as she practically screamed in pleasure and
bringing on another spurt of growth, almost two cup-sizes worth in a few seconds, which only made her orgasm again.
Her breasts surged forward once more, bringing her to a size greater than that of a pair of giant beanbags. Her suit burst
off her front and floated limply to the sides of the table where she lay panting her appreciation, bare-chested and
heaving mightily.

The growth had stopped, although she could tell from the tickling sensation the air was providing that her boobs were
still extraordinarily sensitive.

Harley looked back to the fluid. It still glowed, although less intently. The Joker was forgotten.

"Let's go one more time..."