"Oh, my God! My breasts!"
She stared down at herself, at the swelling softness which stretched the black silk cups and straps of her bra. Professional poise forgotten, she pressed her hands against her breasts, feeling the expanding flesh pushing back.
She looked up and met his eyes through the glass, and knew from the light of lustful appreciation that her transformation came as no surprise to him. "Are you doing this?" she asked. The question seemed absurd to her ears; then again, so was her increasingly pneumatic front. He nodded, his eyes meeting hers only momentarily before returning to her chest. She felt the straps of the bra dig into her shoulders and back, and the stitching of the cups into her breasts. "Why?" she demanded. "How?"
"How you wouldn't understand," his reply came through the speaker. "Why is easier. You do call this service Private Fantasies. Well, this is my private fantasy."
She grimaced at the constricting bra, and tried to reach behind her to unhook her bra. She could touch the hooks, but the creaking tension on the fabric held them as fast as padlocks. "I don't understand " she gritted.
Suddenly she heard a pop, then a long fabric-sounding rip, and the pressure vanished. The bra had let go right between the cups, and now hung like a skimpy vest on either side of her breasts. The breasts themselves seemed to burst with growth, but this was just the effect of being released from their constriction.
They bounced free, and the greater weight yanked her forward onto her hands and knees. Her nipples didn't touch the soft floor yet, but they weren't far above it. She sat back and crossed her legs, pulling her growing self into her lap. She regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you doing this to me?"
His face lit in a smile which was saintly in its kindness and sincerity. "Don't be afraid," he told her. "I am merely taking your establishment at its word and fulfilling a fantasy of mine. In return you will keep only as much of my gift to you as you wish."
The beauty of his smile and voice eased her anxiety, though curiosity at how he could do this gnawed at her. Her breasts were a warm, soft weight in her lap and her arms, softly pressing continually outward. "So this is your fantasy?" she asked, trying not to sound scornful. Not fear but pragmatism; if he could do this for pleasure, what might he do from anger? "To sit there and watch my breasts grow?"
"Not quite," he replied. "Actually my fantasy is to watch you discover the pleasure you can give yourself with this transformation."
He wanted to watch her masturbate, obviously concentrating on her breasts. This at least was familiar, and helped her recover some more of her poise. Might as well start the show Better late than never.
She smiled a realistic, practiced smile, and slid her hands out from under the breasts that now obscured her from her neck down and filled her lap. Watching his eyes follow her hands, she slid them up the sides of her mammoth, growing globes. The skin felt soft, sensitive; surprisingly so. She couldn't help a little shiver as she caressed herself, and smiled at the way her breasts oscillated with the motion. She saw him smile, and could just barely glimpse over the swell of her chest the tension in his groin. She felt an answering fire light in her own loins, and the tickling, stinging stretch of her nipples engorging.
She was surprised to feel herself being caught up by the sensation. Her breasts had never been very sensitive, and even less so since she'd had her implants. She'd become very good at pretending a responsiveness she didn't feel, for the customers' sake. Now however the touch of her own hands on her breasts, the soft weight of them pulling on her shoulders and chest, and from the tight, elastic feel of them growing -- she couldn't believe how hot she was getting! She tried to keep eye contact with her "tormentor," but he had eyes only for her front; and she found her own attention being drawn by the fact that she could actually see them swelling up.
They had overflowed her lap, laying in front of her nearly as high as her eyes and as far out as her arms could reach. Could she even reach her nipples now? She leaned forward, reaching out. Her breasts slid forward as she did so, turning the motion into an impromptu calisthenic. She saw his smile edge toward a grin, and couldn't help laughing at herself. Then she felt her nipples touch the cool glass.
"Ahhhh!" she breathed, and her breasts rippled with the spasms of pleasure which racked her body from just that light touch. She hadn't had an orgasm that intense for longer than she could remember, and never from just playing with her breasts!
She pressed her breasts against the glass, delighting in the cool pressure against her aureolae and surrounding flesh. Her nipples stayed hard, pressing back into her, bending against the glass. She could just barely see his face, but his smile was another reward to her exhibitionistic nature. She gathered her legs under herself and bounced on her knees, rubbing herself against the glass. Part from the change in their shape from pressing against the glass and part from their continued expansion, she now felt the bottoms of them come to rest on the cushioned floor of the chamber. She pulled back slightly to settle herself, and felt the weight of her breasts pull heavily against her. She rubbed her hands feverishly over them, feeling the weight of them on the floor and the cool of the glass on her nipples and aureolae.
"Ahhh!" More scream than exhalation this time, and she shook, face slack as she was lost in the orgasmic throes. She rose up on her knees and grabbed feverishly at her own breasts, tugging at them, straining to reach her nipples. She ended up laying partially atop the huge pillows of flesh. >From here she could see him again. His smile was wide and kind and caring and lustful, somehow all at the same time. She reached the hard nubs that were her goal and squeezed them, firing her nervous system a third time. Her vision went gray around the edges, then black. As she fainted she heard him say as if from far away, "Enjoy your gift."
She was awakened by one of her coworkers, who'd gotten concerned when she hadn't come out of the exhibit chamber. She sat up without thinking, then reached for the masses of flesh which she remembered. Instead she found her customary surgically perfect double-D endowments. Could it have been a dream? Some kind of hallucination?
She never saw him again. The shop had no record of his payment or him ever having been there. But three things argued that what she'd experienced had been real. First was the condition of her bra, torn neatly in half between the cups and every stitch stretched near to breaking. Second was her groin, where she could tell she had enjoyed at least one orgasm.
Third and most telling were her breasts. They were no larger than before her mysterious visitor, but they were different in more vital ways, which she discovered while showering that same day. The hard lumps of the implants, previously very apparent behind the fatty tissue of her breasts, were gone. So were the faint scars. Now her chest sat that high and firm on its own. Even more to her surprise the sensitivity which had sent her to such heights remained. She sent herself over the edge twice in the shower, while her hands never went below her waist. Never again would she have to pretend for the customers.