#also sorry it's been a nutty week and I fully forgot this was sitting in my inbox

[ftm2bbw]

As you stood outside in the 95°F sun, dressed in a full-length cow print onesie and twirling a sign around to this shit-ass chain restaurant, you were wishing you could be doing literally anything else. The cheap, polyester fabric was completely unbreathable, trapping in every ounce of sweat as you put on your little show shilling for the overpriced food and underdressed servers. It wasn’t like you even liked this place; it was a low-rent gimmick restaurant called “Out to Pasture” and their claim to fame was that their waitresses would wear skimpy cowgirl costumes: cow print bikinis with elbow-length gloves, cowbell chokers, and a horned headband with cow ears on the sides. It was all pretty ridiculous, and you couldn’t even appreciate the view because you were stuck out here in the sweltering heat. You needed the money though, and they didn’t give you any hassle about covering your hormones on their health plan, so you figured you would just have to grin and bear it.

Or at least you would later, because as your watch started beeping, you knew that it was break time. Drenched in sweat, you made your way through the lobby to the breakroom in the back, hoping to cool off. Parking yourself in front of a fan, you unzipped the onesie down your navel, exposing the top of your ample stomach and showing off the plain, black fabric of your binder. Your friend Cathy, one of the bustier servers and the one who helped you get this job in the first place, stared at you like she had another one of her brilliant ideas. She pulled out a little pill bottle and handed it to you.

“Try it,” she said sweetly, “I always take one to take the edge off when I’m on the job. It gets pretty warm in here too. Take it with water and you’ll be cooling off all day.”

And with that, she bounded off back to her shift, bouncing in her uniform all the while. You had your doubts about her mystery pills, but you were sweltering out there, so it wasn’t like you had many options. With pill in hand, a paper cup with water, and some cheesecake you snuck from the fridge (you were hungry, shut up), you took a moment to dab away some of your sweat and zip yourself back up. Standing on the sidewalk and back in the sun, you had to admit, you did feel at least a little cooler. Maybe she was on to something with those pills. You’ll have to ask her where she got them fr-ACK!

You suddenly felt a rumbling sensation in your stomach. It gurgled and complained like you wouldn’t believe. “Fucking Cathy: never listening to one of her stupid ideas again,” you thought to yourself as you clutched at your mid-section. Just as soon as it came on, it stopped, but was soon replaced with the feeling of your chest vaulting forward. They surged in size, swelling to watermelons in a matter of seconds. Your binder was no match for them and you felt the spandex collapse and burst inside the onesie. The titanic, swelling bust pushed against the polyester fabric, filling out the bust of your onesie and threatening to burst out. Little tears were forming in your sides, exposing puffy bits of chest and back fat. Your nipples rubbed and chafed against the fabric and you fell to your knees in pleasure. You might not be sweating from the sun anymore, but you were feeling sweaty for an entirely different reason.

Hearing the commotion, Cathy had come running outside to see what was the matter. She asked you what was wrong.

“Those stupid pills you gave me did this!”

“You didn’t take any dairy with it, did you? If you took any dairy with it, you’d start producing truckloads of milk.”

“...just a little bit of cheesecake.” you whimpered sheepishly, feeling an unbearable stirring in your womb and chest. “A bunch of cheesecake.”

With that, you could feel wet patches on the inside of your onesie. Your continually swelling teats, compressed and squished by the now unbearably tight polyester, had begun seeping milk from the pressure. Pressure that now was about to burst out. The tears in the sides of the fabric had grown, showing off whole windows of tit meat, holding their integrity for dear life. They finally give up and collapse in a resounding rip. You could finally see the full size of your swelling bust: enormous beach balls filled to the brim and leaving streams of cream on the sidewalk. You were a more appropriate mascot for Out to Pasture than ever before. Kneading your fat teats and blushing at the size of them, you asked Cathy how big you would get. She admitted that she didn’t know.

You gave her a wry look, held out her pill bottle, and asked, “want to find out?”

Mmm, I do love cheesecake...

I wouldn't be able to stop feeling up my heaving udders, even there on the sidewalk. Hefting them and kneading into all that heavy softness, working my hands towards my nipples to milk myself and get some relief.

I wonder if I'd get a promotion then, after such a transformation. I'm sure it would come with enough of a pay bump I'd have a hard time saying no. Encouraged to show off and revel in my newfound assets, even as my brain ping pongs between embarrassment and pleasure.

And I wonder if there'd be an incentive to swell even bigger...