Thirty minutes. Just half an hour, and the last shift Heather would ever work in this pumpkin-spice-obsessed-rat-hole would be over. No more pushy customers. No more overbearing supervisors. No more having to shower to get rid of the stench of coffee beans. She could take the rest of the week off, walk at graduation, and then start anew at That Tech Company's downtown headquarters.
She still had to finish this shift though. Her manager, who she never could get along with, was so by-the-book he would withhold pay for clocking out five minutes early. She was supposed to finish up yesterday, but he added another six-hour shift (to "make up for lost time from early clock-outs" as he put it), then muttered something about how her last shift was "going to drag." Whatever. Extra money to celebrate her freedom in style that night.
Heather noticed it not even half an hour in. A tightness. Her bra straps digging into her back, then her panties into her sides. It wasn't allergies--she didn't have any--but her requests to leave early and see a doctor fell on deaf ears. Not showing any other symptoms? Nothing serious then. Finish the shift or take another one next week. Her co-workers were somewhat more sympathetic, but also nonplussed and otherwise unhelpful.
Heather's desire to get the hell out overrode her panic, even as her panties rode uncomfortably up her gradually growing ass. She hated damn near everything about this job before, but now Heather had to turn sideways to squeeze herself behind the counter, temporarily smothering herself as she heaved her tits over the display of branded mugs. She couldn't turn around without her butt smacking into a set of drawers, the pots under the brew machines behind her, or another employee. While her bra gave out, her uniform was holding up... though the polo's neck stretched to reveal nearly six inches of cleavage (the rest of it being blocked by her apron). And her khakis, while still in one piece, left her tortured panties and a mortifying amount of bubbling butt flesh rising up for all to see.
Heather found only slight comfort in working the register. While she could rest her breasts on the countertop and not worry about jiggling her way all over the shop, some dickheads used their cellphones to snap photos of her and, as time passed, the line grew longer, now nearly out the front door. Each customer took longer and longer to order, staring blankly at something other than the menu. Her co-workers hustled to fill each order, brushing past her ass cheeks or having to push them aside to get to the brewers directly behind her.
Thirty minutes. Just thirty more minutes.
Tags: breast expansion, ass expansion, hourglass, clothes ripping
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Story by Nonomorea |
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Artwork by Vincenzo Pietropaolo, Yuri Di Curzio |
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