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The elaborate stitching continue uninterrupted all around your torso. No hint of a zipper to open, or buttons to release. You're sealed inside the dress. Thankfully, it adjusts as your height is washed away.
However, it's the other changes that are more worrying. As you feel your bust swell. Your hands flutter uselessly in the air, as you consider jamming your bust back into the dress. But the idea of touching your new flesh, just feels wrong, as if you're confirming that it's real. Until you touch your bust, it's somehow deniable.
Your will snaps, and you maul your bust. Working your bust, like a baker kneading bread, you knuckle and fold the girls. Trying time and again to force them back into your dress. Try to deny their sheer size. It's horrifying how prominent they are. Nobody's gaze will rise to your face. Absolutely certain every mans' leer will stop at your bust.
An echo of laughter accompanies your efforts, and you stop. Planting your fists defiantly on your hips. You hope she knows that you're not broken to her will.
Your body responds to her words rather than your will, and you flex your hips, twisting to enhance your look. Proudly you show off your curves... Inside you want to sob, rage, wail... But a sultry pout is all you can manage.
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