Chapter 9 - the bra store

A day out shopping with my wife can be fun. Sometimes. And on this particular day, it seemed like that would be the case. Little did I know that the tide would turn on me...

We'd been going to the stores that my wife wanted to go to. It was tiring, involving a lot more walking than I like to do, but one thing made it worthwhile: We stopped at one of my favorite downtown restaurants. Not only was the food fantastic (and plentiful!), they had a fantastic selection of craft beers, of which I got to try several. It was delightful. Full, and a little buzzed from the beer, after a few hours at the restaurant, I suggested we head home.

"Can I just go to one more store? It's right across the street," she said. I groaned in protest. I just wanted to go home and lie down. "It's the best bra store in the city, and I need new bras."

Rather than protest - which I knew was pointless - I merely groaned and nodded. I knew she'd been wanting to replace some of her bras because she'd been complaining about them for over a month. Her exercise routine had been having such an impact on her physique that her old bras weren't fitting very comfortably anymore.

So I finished my beer, we paid the tab, and we walked for about a block before we reached the bra store. I followed her in, trying to be inconspicuous (which is virtually impossible at my size). It was a nice, kitchy sort of place. She engaged a lady at the check-out counter.

"I'm looking for some new bras," my wife said. "Is there someone who could measure me?"

The lady at the counter motioned for my wife to follow, and we paraded to the back of the store. We entered a somewhat secluded area at the rear of the store, made more private by maroon velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling. There was a bench seat, and I quickly took the opportunity to sit down, lowering my bulk onto the wooden structure. It held, to my relief!

The woman from the store introduced herself as Darla. She asked my wife to remove her top and bra. My wife did so in a quick motion - it always impressed me how she was completely comfortable with her body. Darla took several measurements with a long measuring tape, asking my wife to move her arms and re-positioning her as she required. When she was done, she made some notes on a pad of paper.

"What size of bra do I need?" my wife asked, while Darla continued to write.

"A 36D, according to my measurements, although it will vary from one manufacturer to the next," Darla said.

My wife looked at me, she was excited. "I have been wearing 32 or 34DD or 34E! I knew I needed new bras!" She looked back to Darla. "I knew the band felt like it was too tight."

Darla nodded. "You could almost got to a 38, if you wanted. Let's try a few."

And so my wife tried on six or eight different bras, eventually settling on a few to purchase. I thought we were done, and could head home.

"Hey sweetie," my wife said, her voice sweet as syrup, "how about we get you measured?" She looked at Darla. "Could you do that for us?"

Darla, her eyebrows raised, looked from my wife to me. I swallowed, and tried not to show my terror on my face. She shrugged. "Sure."

"C'mon babe," my wife said, clearly delighted, "stand up and get that top off." I looked up at her, silently pleading with her not to ask me to go through with this. I could see in her expression she'd made up her mind. She grinned widely at me and winked.

I could already feeling my face turning red. I hauled my arse up off the seat and started to unbutton my shirt from the top. My wife assisted, unbuttoning the lower buttons for me. As we pulled the shirt open, and peeled it off my arms, I noticed Darla's expression. When she saw my chest binder, her eyebrows raised again. The chest binder is a solid, super-tight, super-stretchy sort of undershirt that goes down to the bottom of the chest, squishing the flesh down flatter and holding it tightly in place. I use it to minimize the appearance of my moobs, and also to keep them held in place, to keep them from bouncing and jiggling too much. Darla's surprised expression told me that she wasn't expecting to see such a contraption, and while I'm sure she knew what it was, she had probably never seen anything as large as a 4X binder before.

Two large sacks of flesh splooshed out from under the tight binder as I struggled to pull it up with help from my wife. Getting the elastic fabric over my head and getting my arms out was a bit of a struggle, it took maybe half a minute. Once I'd been freed I looked back at Darla - by that time she had managed to contain her shock at the visage before her.

"Doesn't it feel good to let those babies free?" my wife asked. She pressed her hands into my moobs and jiggled them around. She let out a little giggle. If it was possible for me to turn any more red, I did then. With her hands still pressed into the flesh of my chest, she turned to Darla and said,"Have you ever seen tits this big?"

"Well, yes," Darla said, stretching her measuring tape out, "just not on a guy." That really made my wife laugh.

Darla went about the incredibly awkward process of measuring me. She had me raising and lowering my arms, my wife helping her feed the tape around my girth. She ran the tape under my moobs, over them, and across them. She paused frequently to jot down numbers. Some of the measurements had to be done over a few times when the tape slipped off the soft, shifting mounds of flab. My wife smiled the whole time, and when the tape was pulled tight, lightly digging in to my squishy breasts, she bit her lower lip and fixed her gaze on my eyes. As soon as she did that, my embarrassment gave way to arousal. I was starting to feeling pretty turned on.

Once she was finished with the tape, Darla took down the last of her measurements. My wife went back to pawing at my chest, rubbing my moobs and gently shaking them. Her attention, in front of Darla, was making me really self conscious, and I just wanted to get my clothes back on.

Suddenly my wife clutched each of my moobs in her hands, and she squeezed them, pressing the up. Flesh bulged between her fingers as she pushed them up, making cleavage between them. I almost yelped in discomfort. "So what size are these big girls?" she asked, punctuating her teasing comment with a cruel smirk.

"You want to know what his bra size would be?" Darla asked. My wife nodded eagerly. "Well, he measures out to be a 54H."

My wife's mouth opened into a wide smile, and her gaze turned slowly to me. "Wow!" I was so embarrassed, I just wanted to hide myself under my clothes, I turned away from the girls to pick up my binder. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more humiliated in front of Darla, my wife asked, "Can we try a bra out on him?"

My cheeks felt like they were on fire! I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but in another way I wasn't really surprised by my wife's behaviour. In all honesty, she'd made me wear bras before, but just jogging bras. Doing it here in the store, in front of this stranger, was another thing altogether, though!

"Sorry, we don't carry anything in sizes that large," Darla said.

I can't remember the last time I'd felt so relieved! I finished putting on my clothes while my wife followed Darla to the cash to pay for her bras. I followed after, waddling slowly behind the ladies. Darla was adding up the purchases on the cash register when I arrived at my wife's side. She hugged me, and brought one hand up to the side of my moob. She gently massaged it, its softness feeling unusually firm, held tight under the compression vest. Once she'd paid, we said our goodbyes and walked back out into the street.

My wife clung to my arm, hugging it tightly. "You did very well, my plump little moo-cow," she cooed to me. "I think we should head home and you should be rewarded."

"That sounds nice," I said.

"Mmmm. I have some nice treats for you... They're just a little bit fattening, though..." She grinned in her sexy way. "Maybe we can work on growing these to an I-cup?" She grabbed one of my tits with her hand, and gripped it tightly.