Lingerie

Chapter 1

Lingerie
by Wilson Barbers

Myra found the garments in the bottom of her laundry basket, though she had no idea how they'd gotten there. She was unpacking the weekend laundry in her bedroom, and there they were, intertwined with the rest of her undies. A bra and panties, both more than twice the size of her own undergarments. Where'd they come from? she wondered, fingering the lacy black brassiere.

A pretty-faced woman in her twenties, Myra was slim-bodied and quiet, the kind of girl most men had trouble noticing. She worked as a receptionist on weekdays (possessing the kind of softly direct voice that went well over the phone) and spent her weekends doing household chores. Saturday afternoon was her usual routine - two hours in the laundromat with a Discman to shut out the sound of squalling children - then back to the apartment sorting and folding her freshened work clothes.

Standing in the bedroom in grey sweatpants and a tee-shirt, the sound of white boy soul wailing over her stereo, she discovered the plus-size pieces. It was the bra that first grabbed her attention: dark black, with a lacy outline, it was totally unlike any brassiere she'd ever owned.

She held it up before her, caught a whiff of fabric softener, then disparagingly looked at her figure in the mirror. Her boobs were practically nonexistent, she thought - she'd love to have to wear something this size. It looked to be a 46DD, but that was just guesstimating on her part, as there was no indication of size anywhere on it. Sighing loudly, Myra pulled off her tee-shirt and held the black bra up to her tiny breasts.

It felt soft and warm against her goose pimply flesh; clinging to her like it was charged with static electricity. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own, the young girl thought. Myra pulled the bra firmly against her, watched it flatten against her, then she gasped. Her tits started to push against the garment, push to fill the DD cups. Her reflection in the mirror looked like it was growing into the bra!

She yanked it away and looked at her boobs in amazement: they'd unquestionably grown, had gotten round and firm. But the longer she looked, the more they shrank back to her original size. This was unreal! Quickly, Myra snapped the bra back and saw her chest refill it to capacity. It was amazing how top heavy she looked! She pulled the garment off once more, saw herself diminish back to normal, then reapplied it. Within moments, she was back to buxom. Decisively, the busty girl snapped the straps together and stepped back to look at herself.

Poking the top of her right breast with her fingertip, Myra felt her flesh spring back. Her mam felt full and fleshy and real, brimming over the brassiere's confines. This mysterious garment was somehow responsible for her remarkable growth, she realized, though she'd never heard of anything like this happening before. Watching herself in the mirror the entire time, the top-heavy receptionist took some model steps around the room, striking poses she'd never have dreamed of making an hour earlier. Her breasts settled sexily with every position, nipples stiffening against the bra's silky fabric.

But what about the other unfamiliar undergarment? Returning to her laundry basket, Myra pulled a pair of black lace panties from the spaghetti tangle of lingerie. From the pattern on its leg holes, it was obviously meant to go with the bra. Looked like their owner was even broader in the beam than they were on top. Myra tossed the panties aside, then returned to her mirror.

Whatever magic was behind this magnificent change, she just had to take advantage of it. Pulling her tee-shirt back on (it strained mightily, but seemed to have also grown to fit), she decided to head for the nearest shopping center. The new Myra needed a newer, spiffier outfit: tonight, she was going out for a change!

She ran into Arthur, her duplex neighbor, on her way to the mall. Art was new to his apartment, a recent transfer to one of the area's insurance companies, and Myra had wanted to catch his eye the first time she spotted him. Today, with her new upfront form thrusting itself in front of him, the catch was made. Backing into his apartment with a sack of groceries and a six-pack of Michelob in hand, the young man gawked at the sight of her. Myra thought of being embarrassed but decided she liked his look just fine.

"Ms. Styfle?" the young insurance man gulped, shifting his eyes reluctantly away from her tee-shirt to her face. "You do something new to your hair?"

Myra stifled the urge to giggle. "No," she said. "Not really."

"It looks so full," he said, "so much fuller than yesterday." He paused, momentarily at a loss, then asked, "You want to go out tonight?"

Of course, she did. They went to a Japanese restaurant, and she had sushi for the first time. She'd never known raw fish could taste so good - she ate more that night than she typically did all weekend. After dinner, they hit a small club specializing in seventies cover bands. I'll dance those extra calories off, Myra thought.

It was the best time she'd had since high school. They spent much of their evening on the dance floor, clinging to each other closely, her breasts mashed fully against him. Occasionally, she'd catch sight of herself in the bar mirror, dressed in her new satin top with maximum cleavage, and she'd smile. When the bars closed at one, they wended their way back to their building, both a little drunk, and stood in the hallway in hot embrace. This was marvelous, she thought.

Until Art invited her into his apartment.

The invitation instantly sobered her. This was something she hadn't considered: Art had clearly been attracted to her because of her new body, and once he got her alone, he'd want to see more of it. That (at some point or another) meant taking off the bra, and while she may not have known much about men from experience, she was pretty certain that the sight of deflating breasts was not a turn-on for them.

But before she could say anything, they both were in his apartment, and, there he was, with his right hand under the back of her blouse. Was that him, fumbling with the fasteners? Dismay coursing through her buxom body, Myra felt Art's fingertips unsnap the first of the bra tabs. Two snaps more, and she'd quickly be her old flat self.

She backed away in panic. "Myra?" Art said, puzzled by this shift in attitude. "Is something the matter?"

"I - I just. . ." she stammered, unable to think of the right words, fumbling for the keys to her purse. "It's just so sudden, that's all." She pushed past her befuddled date and shot into her apartment.

Myra flung herself onto her bed and groaned. What a disaster! Her first real date in years, and she'd cut it off like a little kid running from her first kiss. What did Art think of her? She fell asleep in her clothes and had miserable dreams.