Lingerie

Chapter 2

She woke feeling muzzy and depressed, so she shucked her nightlife clothes and reexamined herself in the vanity mirror. This magic bra, with its transitory effects, was a cheat, but she still was reluctant to cast if off. Pulling on a pair of sweat clothes, Myra left her apartment to walk and clear her head. Even in sweats she looked good, she noticed; where once she appeared small and childlike in them, her massive mams announced her womanhood.

The day was cool and bright, but Myra was too lost in her thoughts to pay much attention. "Hey, you!" a voice cried, startling her out of her ruminations. Myra looked up to see where she was: she'd walked about three blocks from her home, close to the laundromat. By the building, an obese brunette in black stretch pants and a blue wind breaker was waving at her. "Were you in the laundromat yesterday?" the fat woman shouted.

Here it comes, Myra thought, walking up to her inquisitor. She had long dark, hair and appeared to be in her early thirties. Her face was round and full. "Yes," Myra finally said. "Why do you ask?"

"You find any lingerie in your laundry? Think they might've gotten stuck in the dryer!"

"I found 'em," Myra admitted, getting a closer look at the woman. She looked about three times Myra's weight, much too large for either bra or panties.

"Thank Goddess!" the woman cried. "I know I shouldn't have let my husband do the laundry by himself! He's been after me for years to get rid of them!"

"Rid of 'em?" Myra gasped, looking the dark-haired woman over. Super-sized and bottom heavy, with thighs individually thicker than Myra, she looked incapable of squeezing herself into either undergarment without doing major damage to both.

In answer, the fat woman lead her into the empty laundromat. "Well, from the look of you," she said, "I'd guess you figured out these weren't ordinary garments." Myra nodded. "All I can tell you is they work through some kind of magic that's beyond anything I've ever read.

"What they do is fit the individual wearer, compensate to give you an exact fit. If you have a small physique, the garments build it up to garment size; if parts of you are too big, the lingerie diminishes them."

"'Too big?' How big is that?"

"Like this," the sorcerous bra's owner said, pulling open her windbreaker to show a pair of mams so pendulous that they drooped over her voluminous paunch. They quivered atop her globular belly insolently. "Not that my husband cares," she continued. "He had his way, I wouldn't have any of these smaller numbers. I'd be twice as fat as I am now all the time."

"You're kidding, right?" Myra said, mentally doubling the woman's weight and coming up with a figure in the lower seven hundreds.

"Not at all," the fat woman said, as she rebuttoned her front. She leaned against a Big Boy washing machine, wide hip flattening against it. "There are guys who like big women like you and me."

"'You and me?'" Myra echoed, momentarily puzzled. Then she got a glimpse of her reflection in the Big Boy.

She still had the breasts to die for, but the rest of her had grown to match it. Her belly ballooned beneath her mams, forcing both her top and sweatpants to gap; her hips had spread alarmingly. Even her legs had swollen into fat shapeliness, pressing against her no-longer baggy pant legs. What the hell was this?

"So how much weight you lost with the bra and panties?" the woman was asking.

"L - lost?" Myra gasped, feeling underneath her sweatpants to a pair of briefs that she knew she hadn't donned earlier that morning.

"You've gained?" the woman said, holding up a dollar bill to the laundromat's snack machine. "You have a fat loving boyfriend, right? Well, I bet he's happy to see you like this!"

Frantically, Myra dashed into the women's washroom. Locking the door behind her, she pulled up her top and stared at her now fat torso. Her breasts were pale and lightly veined, overflowing the confines of her bra; her waistline had disappeared, replaced by a paunch that fought to keep up with her top measurement. Peeling off her taut sweatpants, she saw, beneath her belly's lower hang, the black bikini briefs.

"What is this?" she asked herself, staring into a face with a lot more chin to it than she had ever seen before. In the space of minutes, she'd doubled her weight, gone from thin to zaftig. She had to be at least two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. Where were her old panties?

Take off the underwear! her inner voice shouted. So she quickly kicked off her sweats and peeled off the panties. Reflexively, Myra started to unsnap her bra underneath her tee-shirt, but she stopped before she could discard it altogether. Wait and see what parts diminish with the panties first, she told herself.

"You okay in there?" the fat woman was asking on the other side of the door.

"Fine!" Myra answered, as her body once more started to change. "I'll be okay in a few minutes," she said, tracing her hips with her hands. Already, they were starting to shrink.

When she left the washroom, she was down to her slim-hipped, big-breasted self. Tossing the panties to the woman, she smiled and asked, "Where did you get this stuff?"

"Mail order," the woman explained. "Got a catalog, if you'd like to see it." She balled the undergarment into the right pocket of her wind breaker, then extended a blubbery arm. "Name's Patty, by the way. Where's the bra?"

"Still got it on," she said. "If that's okay."

The super-sized woman considered this. "They're a matching set," she said. "Don't know what it'll do to only wear half of it. Besides, what's your boyfriend going to think when he sees how much weight you've lost?"

Myra laughed. "It's not that way," she said, then she described her experience with the brassiere and her date the night before with Art.

"Shows what happens when you try to break up the set," Patty said with a laugh.
"After a while, you wound up wearing the panties, anyway."

"And growing all over to fit them properly," Myra finished.

"Too bad this Art of yours isn't into plumper women," Patty said, pulling two candy bars from the snack machine and offering one to Myra. She took a tentative bite, then a bigger one. She'd missed breakfast, Myra realized, and while that usually didn't mean much, she suddenly was feeling ravenous.

"Your husband really attracted to - umm - 'plumper women'?" she asked.

"My husband's into fat women," Patty said, polishing off her candy bar. "Which is fine with me because I've always been big. Where we differ is in how fat I should be. There are days when it's just plain more convenient to be a smaller size."

"So how many of these things have you got?"

"These are the smallest," Patty told her. "Got a dozen in progressively bigger sizes. From super-sized to talk show sized."

"Got any single bras?" Myra asked. "One that you might be willing to lend until I can make my own order, say?"

"Might at that," Patty replied. "C'mon over to my place - it's just five blocks away."

Of course, Myra agreed. She followed the super-sized woman to her van outside the laundromat, then rode to a comfortable looking house in one of the older neighborhoods.

"You hungry?" Patty asked, as she pulled her keys from her wind breaker's right pocket. "About time for lunch," she said, fishing through her pocket. "Wait a minute. Where'd the panties go?"

The answer was obvious once as she got a fresh look at Myra. The girl stood beside her, once more grown to fit the panties that had somehow reappeared on her. Myra looked down at herself, but instead of looking appalled, she shrugged and said, "Let's do lunch. I can take off both the bra and panties afterwards. Once you find that single bra."

The two women made their way into Patty's kitchen, and the super-sized woman put together some sandwiches and chips. Myra's appetite seemed to have grown even stronger to accommodate her plumper physique: where just one sandwich and a handful of chips would have been sufficient in the past, she went for seconds and half the bag.

"So where'd you get this catalog?" Myra asked at one point.

"Got some friends with - umm - unusual interests," Patty replied, pulling out a Sara Lee French cheesecake. She cut it into quarters and gave a slice to Myra. One thing about being able to magically change your size, Myra thought - it sure made dieting seem ridiculous. She happily bit into her slice of cheesecake and didn't say no when her new friend slid a second piece her way. She could get used to this!

They talked over lunch and swapped life stories. Patty was a former secretary who'd given up work once she'd gotten married. She'd been big all her life but didn't really blossom until she started to stay at home. "Love to cook and eat," she said, "and my husband loves to watch me do both. The catalog's allowed me to be as large as I want at home and still go out into the world without being stared at."

Finally, it was time for Myra to bid adieu to her current size. She followed Patty out of the kitchen and into a bedroom that was almost as large as Myra's bed and living rooms combined. Pulling out a cardboard box from the back of her closet, Patty gestured Myra over to take a look.

"These are all brassieres that I ordered from the catalog back when I first got married," she explained. "Thought my husband was into tits, but he's more of a belly man." She gestured to a photo on the wall; there, Myra saw a mid-sized version of Patty in a wedding gown, tall Italianate man by her side.

"Here we go," Patty said, pulling out a tan lace brassiere. "Close to the one you've got on now. Try it on."

Myra peeled out of her top, unbuttoned the brassiere and doffed the new item before she could start shrinking. Her breasts held firm. Then she pulled off those pesky panties and put her sweats back on. It seemed to take longer for her to shrink back to size, but perhaps that was her impatience.

"Just out of curiosity," she said, "I wouldn't mind seeing what I looked like in one of your bigger bras."

Patty snickered. "Why am I not surprised?" she said, and she once more rummaged through the box. "Why not this?" she finally said. "As long as you're just trying them, why not go all the way?" She slowly lifted a brassiere so large that it would have been baggy on Patty's impressive cleavage, and handed it over to Myra. "70EE," she explained.

"My God, how do you even keep your balance?" Myra gasped.

"Helps when you've got some ballast on the lower half, of course," Patty said, tossing the garment onto the bed.

Myra scooped it up and replaced the smaller garment. She felt her mams grow into its cups then push even further, until tit flesh was bulging about an inch out on all uncovered sides. She looked like an exotic dancer capable of taking a major wad of money in her cleavage. If only she could be this big all the time, Myra thought. . .

"Never seen that happen before," Patty said, uncertainly. "Maybe you should take that one off!"

"Sure," Myra said, but when she tried to reach the snaps in back, she found her mams interfered with her movement. "Could you unsnap it?" she finally asked.

"I'd like to," Myra said, "but there don't seem to be any snaps. Sure they aren't in front?"

Myra looked, then examined her back in the bedroom mirror. There did not appear to be any snaps anywhere on the bra!

"Cut it off!" Myra gasped, suddenly frightened. Patty rushed out of the room and returned with a kitchen knife. Quickly grabbing the back strap, she sliced through it with next to no resistance. In an instant, the entire bra disappeared.

"It's gone," Patty panted.

"Maybe. But I don't seem to be shrinking any!"

Myra was right. They watched both boobs intently, but neither one changed. Each mam hung magnificently down her torso, swaying with every movement Myra made.

"So I don't need your lingerie, after all!" Myra exulted. "And I don't have to worry about Art being disappointed either!" She held her zeppelin breasts up proudly - looked as if she'd need to be investing in some real special order brassieres for some support. No more messing around with any of this magic shit, though.

"You look pretty hot," Patty declared. "Though my better half would probably think you were a little unbalanced."

Myra laughed. "Art's the one who matters here," she said, "and I bet he had no complaints!"

She borrowed a plain bra from Patty that was several sizes too small but better than nothing. As before, her sweatshirt had apparently grown to fit her voluminous top. With that, she headed back to her apartment; for the first time, she noticed what a gorgeous day it was.

What was Art going to think when he saw her now? Myra suspected that once he got a good look at her, he wouldn't be doing much thinking, but perhaps she needed a cover story. Blame the old bra, she thought.

"It was just too damn tight," she said out loud, giggling, as she entered their apartment building.