The Imagine Chronicles
- 4 years ago
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SamChapter 2C free porn video
"So you made all that up about the effects of the drugs?"
"I was making up every word as it came out of my mouth, Sam. A lot of it did not make any sense, but you were not in a position to critique my logic or my performance."
"You should get an award. I was scared to death you were going to cut my nipples off."
"I was scared I would too. I didn't have time to blunt the blades on those clippers. I was being as careful with them as I could and still convince you I was serious."
"Oh, you did! You did! I'll be your little slave forever."
"Promises, promises. By the way, that's the fifth way: daughter, niece, friend, lover, and slave."
"You still owe me for scaring me like that."
"And I'll do anything to make it up to you. What can I do?"
"Take me shopping?"
"Done. Lets get dressed. There is a little store near the mall I want to take you to. They have some darling things that I'd like you to try on."
"Bambi? One more thing: What can we do for Mom?"
"I think I know, honey. I think you do too. So you tell me."
She was right. I knew. I just didn't want to say it. It meant my whole life had to change and I didn't know where it would go from here.
"I need to get away from her. I hate it, but it's best if she doesn't have me there to constantly remind her of how she ruined her life and how she has to keep on doing it for my sake. Maybe she can go back to being herself again."
"I think you are one very smart young lady, Sam. You are perfectly welcome to live here with me, if you like. I know I'd like that very much. And you are old enough to make that decision for yourself."
"I'd like that very much too — Mom, Auntie, Bambi, Dearest Love, and Mistress of Pain."
"Maybe we better leave it at four, honey. I should think you've had enough pain for a long time. Besides, whips, chains, and leather are sooo out this year."
Since there was no way I was going to put that bra back on, I slid my sweater on without it. It had fit well enough before, but now it was really too small. It felt heavy and uncomfortable. The back of the embroidery was scratchy and it hung on me like a tent. School spirit be damned, there was no way I was going to be able to wear a regular uniform now.
It was clear that I was not only going to need a different size, but a different type of clothes, now that my boobs were so much larger. I hoped that I would not have to give up cheerleading, but I had to admit that it was going to be really hard unless I could get a bra that could give me some support without killing me.
After we got dressed, Mrs. Reynolds showed me to my bedroom. It was on the third floor, one floor above hers, down the hall from Jim and across from Bud. When she opened the door I almost fainted. The room was so gorgeous and beautifully decorated that I though a visiting Princess would have been comfortable in it.
There was a big four-poster bed with a floral bedspread in pink and white, a couple of big dressers, a vanity, a blanket chest at the foot of the bed, and some really pretty wallpaper with roses all over it. If I had seen it in a magazine, I would have cut out the photo so I could look at it and wonder if I could ever be lucky enough to live in a place like that. I would also have my own bathroom and a walk-in closet, each of which were the size of my old room.
When she saw how happy I was with the room, Mrs. Reynolds told me, "When we built the house, we were planning on having a boy and a girl, so we decorated two bedrooms with that in mind. When Bud was born, instead of redecorating this room, we put him in the room next to his brother. That room was originally to be a guest room and now the boys share a connecting bathroom. That doesn't bother them, since boys don't need as much time in the bathroom as girls do. It also gives them an incentive to keep it cleaner in there than if just one of them were using it. I wanted to keep this as a girl's room, in case we had more children. I always wanted a daughter, but it never happened. There are two other rooms on the second floor across from my bedroom, but I thought you would like this one better."
"Oh, I do! I really do! It's lovely. Thank you." I said. "But don't say 'never'. Say 'until now'." I could see by the tear that brought to her eye and the way she hugged me that was the best 'thank you' I could have given her. Again I thought how different things were going to be for me, living with someone who loved me and wanted me rather than someone who regretted the day I was born. I wished that I had some things to move into my new room to kind of make it mine. I knew I would have to go back home sometime soon to pack. I didn't want to try to carry over a lot of stuff that would remind me of my life before, but there were some personal things I would need to get — makeup, hair stuff, books, keepsakes and stuff. I had brought enough with me in my overnight bag to get by for a couple of days, and Mrs. Reynolds agreed to drive me over on Saturday morning to fetch the rest. I didn't want to postpone moving out any longer than I had to. The sooner Mom and I got away from each other, the happier we both would be.
We had a really great time shopping. I won't bore you with all the details, but I got some really nice things that I just have to mention. The store that Mrs. Reynolds took me to was a discreet little place that specialized in clothes for women with large busts. A really nice man named Morton ran it. He seemed very excited about finding things that looked good on me. He even told us he could resize my school sweater while we were there. Most of the clothes he showed me were too long and too snug, but he promised he could alter all of it in only a couple of days.
I tried on several blouses and tops, both sheer and opaque; a few dresses with varying amounts of décolletage; some suits; some lingerie; and a variety of casual clothes. The casual clothes were the best fit and I picked out several outfits that would be suitable for school wear and some that were too revealing for school, but which I had no problem wearing anyplace else.
My favorite was a pair of boy-shorts in lycra and a loose crop-top that draped over the front of my boobs and hung just a few inches below my nipples. The shorts looked just like a pair that Mrs. Reynolds had. The top was made of a lightweight synthetic fabric that felt weightless on me. I could move easily in it and only had to worry about a stiff breeze or my own sudden movement making the top fly up. I asked if I could wear that one out of the shop.
"Of course, of course," Morton said. "The fit could be better, but if you like it, by all means." I really did not see how the fit could be improved. Morton was obviously a perfectionist.
Mrs. Reynolds picked out a mini-dress and had me try it on. It was similar to one I had seen her wear, basically a short robe with a belt that could be tied loosely to leave the front open as far down as I wanted to show more, or tightly to pull the dress closed so that only the tops of my breasts showed. I was impressed at how comfortable it was and how light it felt on me. It came almost to my knees and the front would not close all the way over my bust, but Mr. Morton assured us that it would be perfect when we came back to pick it up on Tuesday.
Morton showed me a pair of shorts that were just too cute, but I could not think where I could wear them. They were little more than a four inch wide belt with a large rodeo-style buckle that had a panty built into it. It rode so low on me that the crack of my ass showed as well as the top of my pubic hair. I could see that I would have to shave to be able to wear it. The wide elastic waistband made it feel very secure to wear, even though it looked like it was about fall off my hips at any time. The top was just a pair of bandanas that tied behind my neck and looped under each breast. My back was totally bare down to my callipygian cleft. With a cowboy hat it would be a really cute country-girl outfit.
I also tried on a really attractive outfit in a gray wool blend that had a lot of stretch woven into it. The skirt was a mini that fit snugly around my hips and butt and came down to mid-thigh. The blouse was a lacy bloused-out tube-top that had two elastic bands that held it above and below my breasts. Over this went a short jacket that matched the skirt. It was almost a bolero-style it was so short and it only came two-thirds of the way around my breasts. My midriff was bare. The effect was to frame my breasts and show them off, while still giving an overall conservative look.
We decided on a good selection of even more conservative clothes for me to wear to school. Most were the white-blouse, pleated skirt kind of retro ensemble that was the current 'thing', much to the relief of the school administration. Last year, they came very close to imposing a dress code because several girls came to school wearing see-thru blouses and dresses and quite a few had shown up in Brazilian-cut bikini tops and shorts cut off so high that they were little more than denim g-strings. Threats of lawsuits had stifled the urge to dictate school attire, and the inevitable retreat of fashion back from the verge of total nudity made the whole thing irrelevant. It was the sort of thing you could expect in a part of the country where Winter was the two months of the year that you didn't have to run the air-conditioning very often and the best thing to wear the rest of the year was as little as possible.
I picked out a little black dress in stretch velvet that had a high neck with teardrop cutouts in front and back. I got a green empire-waist dress that made me look like a little girl — although one with really big boobs. I got a slinky gown that just draped over my front and had slits up the sides all the way to my waist. It tied behind my neck and was so loose, that if the tie came undone, the whole thing would just slide right off.
As our selections piled up, I noticed that almost none of the clothes allowed for underwear to be worn with them. They were all either too close-fitting or too revealing for anything but a pair of thong panties. I decided that I needed something at the other end of the scale as well.
"I'm going to need some workout clothes and a good sports bra, too." I said.
Morton didn't have anything like that, apparently neither exercise nor underwear was popular with his customers, but he suggested a maternity-wear shop down the street where I might find a bra. I was put off a little by the idea of shopping in a store for pregnant women, but I figured if anyone would have a bra that could give support to my huge boobs, then that would be the place.
I picked out a couple pairs of casual knit shorts and some t-shirts that would cover a bra if I wore one and we left Mr. Morton to work on altering those things that were too long or too loose.
As I put on the shorts that I wanted to wear instead of my uniform, Mr. Morton brought back my sweater. When I tried it on, it fit much better than before. My breasts did not feel confined and it only hung away from my stomach a little bit. He had moved the embroidered patch so that it was directly across the front of the largest part of my chest. No one was going to miss which school I attended.
I was surprised at how nice the maternity-wear shop was. It was called "Moms". Mrs. Reynolds had to point out the significance of the missing apostrophe to me. I still thought it sounded more like it should be a restaurant.
The clerk was a woman who liked to mother her customers. She told us to call her Madge. We hadn't been in her store for a minute before she had us sitting in comfortable chairs and offering us snacks. I could see why she would be very popular with the pregnant women who were the majority of her clientele.
"And what may I do for you and your lovely daughter today?" Madge asked Mrs. Reynolds. Being mistaken for Bambi's daughter shouldn't have been a big shock to me. We have the same basic coloration: blonde hair and lightly tanned skin. Her eyes are ice-blue and mine are sort of green, but I think the clerk was going by our other obvious shared attributes when she assumed that we were related. I really didn't think Mrs. Reynolds looked old enough to be my mother. I thought she looked more like my older sister. Bambi did not even bat an eye at being taken for my mother, though. I realized that she had been serious when she said she thought of me as a daughter, among other things. I reached over and took hold of her hand, which I thought was a very 'daughterly' thing to do. She held it and patted it with her other hand — a very 'motherly' response. I could see that the clerk's misapprehension was not going to be corrected and from the way Bambi was holding my hand in both of hers that she was perfectly willing to be 'Mom' for the moment. It dawned on me that by choosing to move in with Mrs. Reynolds, I had basically consented to be adopted and that the beautiful woman holding my hand had already agreed to be my mother in fact.
I was almost overcome by the feeling of warmth and closeness that I felt for her then that my eyes started to tear up. The strong emotion must have showed on my face, because both Bambi and Madge reached for tissues to give me. As I dabbed my eyes, Madge said, "It's all right, dearie. It's perfectly normal to feel bursts of joy and sadness for almost no reason. The hormones are jumping all over for someone in your condition."
I held the tissue to my face to hide my grin and looked at Bambi to see what she thought about 'my condition'. She smiled warmly at me, as she pictured me pregnant. I waited for the other shoe to drop and I could tell instantly when the word 'grandmother' surfaced in her mind. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open with a look of horror. It was really delicious to see her become a victim of her own fantasy. I almost burst out laughing.
Madge had to have me help her get the tape measure around my bust. When she read off 48 inches she sounded impressed. She said she had never seen a 48-inch bust that could pass the 'pencil test'. Bambi had never heard of the 'pencil test' and we had to explain it to her. Basically, you lift a breast and put a pencil right underneath against your ribs. You let go of the breast and then the pencil. If the pencil falls, you pass. It's supposed to be the way you know when your breasts are big enough so you need to wear a bra. I heard about it from my friends at school. I thought that story had been around, like forever.
They had a sports bra in my size that felt really good. It had strong underwire that was padded, a wide band with Velcro instead of hooks, and reinforced cups made with spandex so they gave a lot of support when I jumped. I was very glad to have something that would make it possible for me to stay in cheerleading.
Madge also wanted to show us a bra that she said would make nursing easier for me. At first I hesitated, but I couldn't think of a polite way to avoid trying it on and I was glad I did. The band didn't have hooks; instead, it stretched enough that I was able to pull it on over my head. The cups were lycra and felt really soft and smooth. Madge showed us how the cups were made so they could each be pulled aside with one hand. The one I tried on was really smaller than my size but the cups felt so good that I didn't mind at all. I bought a couple to wear under my school clothes.
On our way out of the store, Madge gave me a pamphlet on breastfeeding and how to induce lactation so I would be ready to nurse when the 'big day' arrived. Ever since Mrs. Reynolds had used the threat of making me lactate as part of her campaign to scare me into allowing my breasts to be tortured, I had been thinking about that. The image of milk coming out of my breasts had figured in many of my fantasies. Now that I was so much bigger than before in the boob department, I found the idea even more interesting.
Bambi saw me reading the pamphlet and said, "In case you are wondering: Yes, they will work. You will be able to breastfeed when the time comes. I had more than enough for my boys. In fact, I probably overdid it. I let them decide when to stop nursing."
"How old were they when they quit?" I asked. This was something I had guessed at and I would never have a better opportunity to get an answer. At first I thought she wasn't going to say, but she finally mumbled something I did not quite catch. I asked her to repeat it.
"Three," she said. "They were three and a half, actually. Well, closer to four." She trailed off at the end. I got the impression that they had really been closer to five, but I didn't want to embarrass her.
"You breastfed for four years?" I tried not to sound incredulous, but I'm sure she heard it in my voice. I had always heard how hard it was on the mother and how they used to recommend bottle-feeding babies because of the toll it took on you. I knew that had changed, that breastfeeding was the best thing you could do for a baby, but a lot of girls still thought it was something you had to endure for only the shortest possible time.
"Yes. I did. I enjoyed it. They enjoyed it. Look, I know everyone thinks that's an awful long time, but one day you will find out for yourself that feeding your child from your own body is the most beautiful and emotionally satisfying experience you will ever have. I know some women find it exhausting, and it does take quite a large amount of energy to make all that milk, but if you are in good shape you should have no problem. And one of the benefits is you get to eat like a horse... well, actually a cow, but you get the idea."
"So you think I should do it?"
"What? Breastfeed your children someday? Certainly. Wait... what are you asking?"
"Should I induce lactation and donate the milk?"
"What? Let me see that flyer. Hmmm. Human Milk Bank Association of North America. Locations. Qualifications. Clinical uses. I had no idea. I never knew about this when I had my children. This is interesting. You think this is something you would like to do?"
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