Two days earlier, Dixie stood on a wood chair in her kitchen. Her lips pursed around the base of a light bulb in her mouth. She reached her arms up to a burnt-out bulb mounted overhead.
Feeling vertigo, she murmured a steadying whine through her light bulb gag, lowered her arms then carefully balanced herself again before attempting to reach up - an action that lifted her naughty nighty above her hips, revealing her lacey panties underneath.
She hated heights. She stopped to debate her actions. Maybe she should have taken off the high heels? She looked down at her new shoes centered on the creaking wood chair. Nah, she thought: keep 'em on - for sure-zies. What could go wrong? She reached up again and twisted a burnt bulb loose. She had been going through a lot of light bulbs lately. All week, in every room she entered, she felt static electricity when flipping on a switch.
"Got ya's, ya little sucker," she mumbled, almost spitting out the new bulb. The screw-in gag slightly muffled her bubbly voice as she finished twisting the glass globe above. She paused. Again steadying herself, she lowered an arm and tried to switch the bulb from her mouth to a free hand.
A stiletto heel popped to the side.
"Ah!" she screamed, throwing her body backwards. She grabbed the light fixture, yanking it out of the ceiling. Sparks flew. The bulb in her mouth did a camera flash. She hit the kitchen floor hard.
Several moments passed.
"Oh god, where am I?"
She found herself on her back, her head and shoulders up against the refrigerator. She spat the bulb out of her mouth. It rolled down, stopping with a rocking motion to rest on her double-D bosom, centered between her soft supple pillows.
A high pitch tone rang in her ears, but she hadn't hit her head - too hard anyway. How important could that be anyway? She felt around her skull. Her hair was fine at least, and nothing was broken. She smiled. She checked her hair again. Yep, it was fine. The new bulb was fine too. She put it back between her plump lips. Definitely something to learn here, she thought: keep her weight even on her heels when standing on the chair. She got up to try again.
The next day at work, the high pitch sound increased. At times, it seemed to become a low buzzing sound felt inside her chest. Most times it rang in her ears. As she tended to visitors in a large office building lobby; she found herself shaking her head, wanting to clear her ears, and doing exaggerated yawning motions with her jaw. There was no relief.
"You a swimmer?" asked a male visitor.
"What?" said Dixie.
"You look like you're trying to shake water out of your ears."
His eyes did what other guys do. They glanced down at her chest. One-Mississippi. Two-Mississippi. Back up. Why did guys do that? After all, she had a brain - and new eye make-up too, but no comments so far on that. Of course, she had a massive new boob job. But come on. Eye contact. She looked away annoyed. Then again it was nice that he cared so much in his own special way. She smiled and looked sideways back at him. He walked into a doorframe - poor thing, she thought.
On the bus home, Dixie squeezed into a seat between a bearded hipster and grumpy businesswoman. The buzzing sound returned. Dixie raised her delicate fingers up the row of buttons stopping where her blouse struggled to close, where she proudly realized that for this snug blouse the opened top buttons could never meet ever again - not with her new boob job. Straining ripples of white silk blouse bridged her new mountain peeks making it clear that she had blossomed in a blonde sort of way, with silicone.
Her fingertips felt the buzz again. It became a deep vibration. Looking down at her cleavage, her boobs actually looked blurry. Dixie squinted, her eyes fixated on her exposed soft shelf of skin. She realized that she could set her purse on this rack - wait, back to the odd vibration. Maybe - and she thought this had to be the one true answer - the bumps in the road could make her bigger chest jiggle. Maybe this was the price for perfection? Then again, not like this. This was the tiniest fastest of all jiggles ever, more like a vibration. Squinting harder and with a few glances around the bus, which she could see in total clarity, it wasn't her eyesight. Nothing else buzzed in a blur like her chest. She peered down again, pursing her lips in the deepest of thoughts - pensive for her anyway - so she could really study the situation.
Her boobs really were buzzing.
She felt it in her ribcage now. She wanted to pull off her clothes and grab hard onto her enhanced self and squeeze, but she wasn't alone. Also everyone was already looking at her. She hated their judgmental looks. What was wrong with fine fashion? And, no, not all blondes were dumb! She cupped her breasts and looked down at her cleavage. "Wooh," was all she said. It was like hearing a late night party through a cheap apartment wall. She looked up again. Now even the bus driver had stopped to stare. Fuck them. She ogled down again giving herself a squeezing support. The feeling was like her vibrator, but inside her chest. Maybe if she had pushed three dildos up inside herself, and forgot to remove them, then - well - that would have explained it, but a series of vibrators go up inside along her spin could not go up that deep. Could they? Surely, it would hurt when pushing opening the cervix. Her fingers prodded her midriff. How far up was her cervix anyway?
Dixie focused her eyes again, ignored her fellow passengers, and starred at the tops of her boobs. Her head tilted a bit like a cat looking at a dangling string. She was thinking - thinking hard.
The bus started moving. The grumpy businesswoman turned away in agitation. The hipster obliviously continued to text on his phone. Some huffy women left before their normal stops. All the men stayed, many actually remaining well beyond their normal stops.
She squeezed her boobs hard. Her bright red painted nails surrounded the round perimeter outlined by her blouse. She undid a couple more buttons. The lace of her new white bra showed. The voluminous flesh buzzed more. It tingled her fingertips. It was like the time she had sex on a table saw while it was cutting lumber. The pulsation was drastically less than the time she had sex sitting on the handles of a jackhammer. That didn't work out at all. Poor guy.
Oh, but it was more than the time she fingered herself as she road a Harley behind a long ago boyfriend, who never realize what she was doing behind him as they swerved between cars stuck in traffic. She hated that ride - until she started to touch herself. Oh god, that was good.
She looked up.
Fellow bus passengers tried to look away as if they never notice her. Yeah right. Her eyes glared at them: you were looking. She knew it - oh, wait. More vibrations.
"Hm," she huffed, annoyed at her audience. For some reason, people always found her fascinating. She stopped cupping her boobs, switching to what she thought made a clear sophisticated regal appearance for a woman, done by keeping her chin up and raising her eyebrows. She pretended as if nothing concerned her.
Buzzzzzzz.
She ignored her vibrating chest, but then she realized she couldn't any longer.
Did others hear it too?
She didn't own three vibrators, so the idea of accidentally pushing a chain of them high up inside her body was out.
That's when it hit her. It was so clear now. The blasted doctor! She heard stories of doctors messing up surgeries before. Her doctor had left something inside her when doing her boobs, her new gorgeous boobs. But what? Her bimbo mind struggled. The dickhead must have accidentally dropped a cell phone inside her. It was obviously on vibrate and they were calling after all this time. They wanted their phone back. She looked down at her chest again. Did he drop in two phones in there?
Others bus passengers looked too. One man stood to get a better angle.
