“Oh no, please, no,” Twist pleads under her breath, “I can't be getting bigger...” She rolls her shoulders in an attempt to pull any slack from the shirt, but to no avail. Snap.
Since the weather has been getting warmer, Twist decided to go through her Spring clothing. She normally has to before every season or be caught unprepared. And trying to work in baggy clothing all the time can get uncomfortable. Even when she lowers the temperature in the store to compensate, she feels guilty that her customers have to endure it. “Oh, the flavor lasts longer in the candy this way,” she usually lies.
With another grunt, she leans forward and tries to button the blouse. It wrinkles in an almost perfect ring from one hand, around her back, to the other hand. Pushing inward, trying to displace her hemispheres more upward so she can get the room to fasten, the button above snaps open.
A feeling of defeat begins to creep in. It's always going to be like this, she thought, I should just hire a permanent seamstress since I don't have the time to do it all. But that would cost so much money. A reminder of that sleazeball trying to hire her as an “exotic model” comes to mind. He did offer a lot of mon-
“No!” She huffs and bends forward, a wave of determination taking hold. Placing one foot forward to prepare for the heaving weight, her boobs separate from her abdomen and almost spill out her brassier. With two more popping buttons, she gets one done. Tilting to the right, she redoes one of them. Nearly falling over, Twist hops on one leg at the cost of another button. Holding that position, she undoes the top one since her struggling has turned it into a noose.
Her bra starts to dig into the left shoulder too tight. Twist knows what this could lead to, a loss of another eighty dollars, and takes appropriate action. She quickly undoes the entire blouse in an almost Superman-esque fashion, but with giant knockers instead of a stylized S, and throws it to the ground with a grunt. Then her upper-decker-flopper-stopper. Reaching back, yanking the seven tiny steel reinforced hooks out of the other strap, she releases the torpedoes from their bays.
The flapjacks flop out from underneath with an audible, fleshy pap and take a second of slight jiggling to come to rest. Twist takes a deep breath to catch up with her surprise workout. With annoyance, she flings the chest baskets out of sight.
Picking the shirt back up to try again, she thinks that maybe now it'll fit without that double-boulder-over-the-shoulder-holders taking up room. After both arms are in the sleeves, she mentally prepares again.
Looking down at her fleshy slopes, Twist tries not to think about how they angle outward, giving a view of the center of her ribcage. She starts slow, getting the bottom ones done. Each snap is both one step closer to being done but also a reminder about the eventual struggle.
With half of them done, her cha-chas are overlapping the shirt. Using one hand to heave a fun bag up, she wraps the fabric over and settles the breast inside. The other one will be harder since it now has to compete for room. Lifting the other milk canteen and bowing forward to create a pocket, she drops the bombshell. Almost makes it.
With a few near jumps, Twist bounces the melons into position. Now comes the hard part. The next two come easy enough, the third with some battling, but the fourth is a no go. Flanking the enemy, she snaps some on the top. The aftermath is a boob-window in the shape of a wavy diamond, cleavage from the top point all the way down, and two slightly elevated nipply protrusions.
She wishes this was good enough to call it quits, but being a super heroine of candy and jugs won't pay the bills. There are enough jokes about her being a mascot as it is.
Slowly tugging the fasteners together, Twist feels the top becoming taunt. With bated breath, another one is done. Pulling the next set, she exhales and breaths shallower to compensate. Thinking it's safe, she carelessly aligns and pinches an outcrop of bust.
“Ow!” Twist jerks at the sting, undoing some of her work. “Oh no, I'm not giving up that easily... this is war.” Getting into a fighting stance, the battle breaks out.
Writhing, squirming, bending, Twist twists about in her efforts. The sounds of shuffling, grumbling, and popping echo in her bedchambers. “You thupid thirt!” her lisp comes out, “Ith not fair! Thith ith a greath pathern! It makths me look thmaller!”
In her conflict, she bumps her bed and plops on the mattress. Now prone, she tries twice as hard. Her vocals escalate to frustrated growling. Blankets and sheets become dispersed in the firefight. It takes everything she has to writhe into a new position of attack, swinging and dragging her bosom along.
Riiiiiiiiiip.
Twist stops moving. She freezes at the sound of defeat, head down, ass up, jawbreakers all in her face. Rocking back, adjusting for the swinging weights, she gets ready to see the collateral.
The seam from the neck to down the front is gone. Buttons are open and closed in misaligned patterns. Her boops spill out of the openings, covered in tiny nicks of casualties.
Almost crying, Twist crumbles on her bed and gives up.
The next day, the door's bell of the candy shop rings as Sweetie walks in. “Hiiii,” she exaggeratedly greets, “how's business?”
“Oh, kind of slow today,” Twist says, “but that's fine, I have to take inventory.”
“Then minus one sucker,” Sweetie informs while taking a small lollipop from a jar and starts sucking. “Oh, I like your new vest. Where did you buy it?”
“I made it from some... spare cloth I had.” Twist says while adjusting it back.
“You're just like my sister. I can never do anything fashionable, and every time I try, she just shoots me down.”
Twist shakes her head, “No, not that good. It's just something I had to learn to do, you know.”
“Oh, I know all right,” Sweetie puts her arms out front and gestures holding two giant globes while puffing out her cheeks and rocking side to side, with the appropriate follow through. Twist gives her a disapproving glare. “I'm kidding, besides, it looks good on you. I like the pattern.”
“Yeah, I guess it turned out okay in the end...”