Author's Note: Start of a new ongoing! This one, like Growing Together, will be a lot more sex focused than Futa Note. I'm hoping to get at least one chapter of this out every month, but there may be times when I can't for various reasons.
*****
The mall was swamped, flooded by families doing their last minute back to school shopping, the new school year just around the corner, and already it dragged the life from the children, who whined and moaned about going back. Many claimed they still had things to do, but their parents knew better. Most of the summer was spent playing video games or going out with friends. Nothing productive like practicing a skill.
Though Danielle couldn't judge. She had spent the past two months on her computer, playing any horror game that caught her attention, or talking with her friends on the phone, since they went away for the summer. Several people had invited her to parties or to just hang out, most were strangers, people who saw her walking down the street and decided she was their friend. America was a strange place indeed.
Even after living there for six years, she was caught off-guard by some of their attitudes. The noise, for one. Strolling through the mall, she was bombarded by the shouts and unfettered conversations of passers-by, and more than a few whistles aimed in her direction. Did they think she was a dog?
Impossible. She walked on two legs, just like everyone else, spoke English - though some words still gave her trouble - and ate with cutlery. Maybe they were visually impaired, she thought and headed into a clothes store, the reason for her outing that day. The pocket and crotch of her jeans bulged with her wallet, full to bursting with her birthday money, most of which would fall today for a valiant cause, and her unusual endowment.
Her shirts were all too tight now, as were her bras. Her pants and skirts were snug, but not uncomfortable, though she doubted it would last. Last week, following her birthday, her body decided a growth spurt was in order. Danielle kept her breaths short and shallow, afraid for her shirts integrity.
The store was massive. Racks upon racks of clothes lined the floor, with the walls sporting even more options, though she doubted most would suit her. Unlike the Americans around her, Danielle had a tall, svelte frame that overflowed with her curves. It made shopping difficult, finding the right clothes that fit over her sleek shoulders, but wouldn't constrict or tear around her bosom. Bras were even worse.
Danielle decided against searching for anything herself and approached an employee.
"Hi. Could you help me?" Danielle asked. The employee turned, head tilted down as she checked a shirt's condition.
"Certainly," they looked up now. Her name tag, attached to a purple vest over her fashionable dress shirt, read 'Joan'. Joan's eyes travelled across Danielle's body, head to toe, and she gulped, then recovered, "What're you after?"
"Well," Danielle thought for a moment, making sure she had the words correct before she spoke, "I need a new bra. And a measurement. Also some shirts and pants."
"Okay, there's a changing room over there," Joan gestured to a set of doors a few feet away, "I'll be right back to take your measurements." Her voice lost its power on the final word and her cheeks were flushed. The store wasn't hot, it was quite cool in fact, but Danielle guessed the summer heat was taking its toll on the woman. She smiled and thanked her, then headed into the changing rooms, where she stripped.
A deep sigh escaped her lips as she unclipped her bra. The band size was perfect, but the cups suffocated and smothered her breasts, like a bear hug from a bodybuilder limited to her chest. She tucked a lock behind her ear and glanced to the mirror. It wasn't simply that her clothes felt tighter, the changes in her shape were visible from just a few days ago.
From the way her boobs teetered at the bottom of her ribs, to the flare of her hips. Even her penis was bigger than when she last checked. Her underwear strained against its size, the crotch pulled taut and the band was forced away from her waist to let her glimpse the base. She slid them off with another sigh. Her phallus slapped against her thighs as it tumbled into freedom.
"Sorry for the wait," Joan said, entering the room, "Oh my god..."
"Hmm?" Danielle turned to face her. The woman's face was slack, her lips parted as harsh breaths rasped between them, and her eyes were locked down. Danielle shrugged, "Thanks. I really need to get a better bra."
"I'd bet," Joan murmured and shook her head, "Sorry. Let's start?"
The measurements took longer than Danielle would've liked. Joan kept making mistakes. Her hands slipped and rubbed against a nipple, so she had to readjust the tape, or she wouldn't pull it tight enough, all things a professional wouldn't do. Perhaps she was new, Danielle thought and waited, hopeful that she would improve. The prospect dimmed when Joan got to her hips. She kept pausing and staring at the phallus, which hung halfway to Danielle's knees. Didn't men have them as well?
"Um, I need to touch it. To get a better measurement, I mean."
Danielle shrugged, "Go ahead." Why did she need to give permission? It was part of the job, so surely Joan would have gone ahead without issue. The employee raised it in her hand and stared, lips slightly parted. She gulped and was silent, off in her own world. It took a gentle poke to bring her back.
"Oh? Sorry about that," Joan said and released the phallus, "I think we've got some stock that'll fit. I'll go check." She left, though not without a final glance to Danielle, who shrugged and sat down to wait.
This had always happened. For some reason, anyone who saw her naked, whether by accident or profession, seemed captivated by her. She could understand if she was a celebrity, or if she had some freakish birth defect. All she had was a large bosom and a penis, albeit both were a step above the average even here in America. In Sweden, she was famous for it among her many slim peers. It almost got her in trouble, though she still didn't comprehend why exactly.
Her teacher had kept her back one day and they were talking. Then her teacher started stripping, revealing her body. It was a hot day for Sweden, and the school heating was on full. She was pretty, like most women Danielle remembered from home, and always smiling. She wanted to see Danielle naked too. Why not? Then another teacher walked in and it turned into insanity.
One moment, she was going to school, and the next, she was on a plane going to America with her family at twelve-years-old. Danielle didn't resent them for it. She'd made friends, improved her English and even found that the culture wasn't as obnoxious as she had feared. But it would be nice to go back and visit someday, nothing she'd encountered here replaced that sense of unknown she felt walking around a country that wasn't her own. Instead, she was one of the few girls she knew with naturally bright blonde, almost white hair and sleek shoulders. Everyone kept dying theirs to a rainbow of colours that it became a nightmare to keep up.
A voice broke her reverie, "Hello?"
"Hmm?"
"Sorry to, like, bug you, but, like, I saw you looking at clothes and thought, like, I could totally help."
It was a Bimbo. The voice gave them away, young teens and Bimbos used 'like' so often, even Danielle could recognise them. It didn't hurt that a friend was one, though she sometimes slipped up. Bimbos weren't brain damaged or drugged, they were people, some more intelligent than nerds and geeks who prided themselves for smarts. It was more a lifestyle.
"Sure, I guess," Danielle answered and the Bimbo stepped in. She was a sight. Just because it was an act and lifestyle, didn't mean they held back on the expenses. This one had dyed hair in a mimicry of Danielle platinum locks, large lips painted a glossy red, a shirt cut down to her navel that streamed over her enormous implants like paint, and her mini-skirt left entire inches of her rear hanging out. She also wore a pair of high-heels. In one hand, she held several clothes and a purse in the other.
"Hey baby!" She cheered as if meeting an old friend and set the clothes down, bending over to present her too-firm butt and offer a hint at her naked privates. Danielle smiled back. It was impossible not to when the Bimbo offered such a jovial smirk, "Wow, you're, like, really hot. Who's your doctor?"
"Mallory Preston," Danielle answered, frowning at the odd question, then chuckled, "Oh, you mean plastic surgeon? I don't have one."
"Awesome," the Bimbo beamed at her answer, gawking at Danielle as if she were a priceless idol found after being lost for millennia. She supposed it was true to an extent. So many people got plastic surgery that it was considered strange to be natural, more so when your endowments surpassed most implants. "It's a shame you have to, like, wear clothes. If I were you, I'd totally walk around nude all the time."
"It's against the law though."
"I know," the Bimbo sighed and pouted, "Anyway, I'm here to, like, help you find some super cute clothes to wear. Name's Bethany Shade, at your service." She winked and giggled.
"Danielle Olsen," Danielle said and extended a hand. There must have been a misunderstanding, as Bethany didn't take her hand, not conventionally. Instead, she grabbed the wrist and brought it to her breast. It was firmer than her own, and yielded only enough to get a decent squeeze, and much bigger, by at least three or four inches. Danielle frowned but didn't let go. Perhaps this was how Bimbos shook hands. She shrugged and brought the other into action, squeezing Bethany's untouched boob in greeting.
"Nice to meet you," Bethany said. Her voice was lower now, a gentle husk as if she were coming down with a cold. Danielle glanced at her in concern.
"Are you alright?" The Bimbo's face was flushed too.
"Yeah, it just feels nice when someone plays with my boobies is all," Bethany explained and stepped closer, forcing Danielle's hands deeper.
"Really?" Danielle asked. She'd touched her own bust a lot while wrestling it into her bras, but it never felt all that good, though she couldn't call it unpleasant. Everyone's different, she thought and let go.
"Aww," Bethany pouted, "Like, keep going, babe. I'll, like, totally return the favour."
"I'm fine," Danielle said, satisfied with greeting the Bimbo, and looked at the clothes she'd brought in, "So, what do you think will look good on me?" Bimbos were fashion conscious, more so than others. They had to be. How else would they know what complimented their obscene curves so well?
Bethany sighed and rummaged through, then pulled out a pink, low-cut shirt. It was plain, save for the two stars on each side. Danielle tried it on. The material was soft on her skin, like her mother's touch, and the price wasn't bad either. She stood and examined herself in the mirror. Her bust distorted the stars, causing them to frame her chest, almost like targets. But it looked good.
