Ms. Americana: The Rise of Bliss
Chapter 3:
The power belt I use is powered by sexual frustration. Since I just had really good sex (thanks to RXL6-2 I can’t have bad sex) I’d have to wait awhile before the powers returned. I figured I’d just wear the belt so I’d know when it charged. It could be two or even three days though. That’s a long time to wait in a hotel room but I wasn’t sure about risking the public again. This was some strange city that legalized rape and hated Americans.
I set up my laptop to check in with work. The hotel was fancy but their wifi setup was complicated. I spent ten minutes on the phone with tech support before I was connected. For some reason I was having trouble analyzing all the reports. Normally I just skimmed them for important things but today I really had to focus. It took me way longer than usual to get things done.
At first I blamed my boobs. I had to type at a weird angle because my chest was larger than it was before. I had to squish the girls in to get both hands on a keyboard. They were in my sight the whole time. It was distracting. I was used to my own tits but these were newer and bigger and…oh god, they didn’t fit into any clothes I brought with me.
I’d have to finish browsing work stuff later. I called up the concierge to find me a nearby boutique that makes custom clothes, secretly, money is no object. Just to be safe I asked for a car to take me there and back. The Platinum Card helps.
I had to go braless. None of my shirts fit quite right and my damn nipples were suddenly aware of everything. The bouncing with each step was not helping. On the other hand, all this teasing would get me quite frustrated. Maybe I’d have my powers back sooner.
The car dropped me off at a posh little boutique called “Chrystalize.” The mannequins in the window had some amazingly stylish clothes and breasts as big as mine. How are there enough oversized racks in this town to support such a business? Was something in the water making women big for some sick man’s gain? WadeCorp would have to look into it, but later. I needed clothes.
A sales girl greeted me at the door before I could take in the brightly colored scenery. She had bright blonde hair that hung down her sides in incredibly long, thick pigtails. While her makeup was modest and professional, I thought she had too much lip gloss. Her outfit was short and cute, but I could barely see her dress past her breasts. They were almost as big as mine but (I’m used to this) I was looking down at her. I couldn’t even see her shoes without moving my head. She was chipper.
“Like, hi! Welcome to Chrystalize, I’m Suzi. Are you Brenda?”
“Yes. How did you know my name?”
“Your hotel called and told us you needed service.” She actually moved her head to get a good look at my entire chest. Then she spared me the embarrassment of asking another “how did” question. “Happens all the time in this town, especially to tourists. No bra, shirt doesn’t fit, extra ‘wobble’ in the step, girl you have definitely been Chrystalized. Come on, Brenda,” she chirped, “let’s get you measured.”
With a clap of her hands and a grab of the tape measure I was whisked away to a triple mirror and had just as many people fussing over my outfit. There was something off about these girls, something that might upset me, but I’d already learned the hard way not to let my temper get the better of me. Actually, it felt like I couldn’t get mad. Part of me wanted to preach about how girls should act and dress, but instead I said “chrystalize?”
“Yeppers,” said Suzi. “That’s what we call it when someone runs into a power or a psychic and gets her angry. Most of them just swell your chest a little to make a point, maybe a little sex, you know, nothing harmful.”
I’m finally in a town that uses “her” instead of “him” for a thing called a “power” and it’s the same town that legalized public rape? Suzi reached up to my chin and closed my mouth.
“Brenda, you’re not from around here, are you,” she said as she lifted my boob in one hand. She struggled under it’s weight while getting the tape measure under it. “Oh flop. Cindy! I need a lift!” Gentle and slender arms wrapped around me from behind and lifted my tits up for Suzi to measure. From what I felt on my back Cindi must have been big too.
“No, I’m not. I’m from Delta City actually. Here on vacation before I got…umm…chrystalized. Did you get…you know…”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, like I’d asked if she had braces as a kid. “You’d think people here would quit picking fights in coffee shops. I tried to cut in line and ‘fooom,’ titties.” I was worried and it showed.
“Is it…is it permanent?”
“Nah, not unless you pissed of a major power or an Original. I had mine permanented though,” she said with a giggle. I asked her why she would do such a thing. Didn’t she know that oversexing women made…I couldn’t remember my feminist rant. It was so organized too.
“Why have them permanented? Well, why not? They look and feel great, I can fill out so many more cute tops, my lovers love them, and I love them. They’re just awesome. You shouldn’t get these permanented though. They’re way too big for your frame. ” That was scary. I have a big frame.
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that so I stood there until they finished and Cindy handed me a size 46KK bra. It wasn’t very pretty but they told me it was a temporary until they could custom make all my clothes. The hotel would send my tops over and pick them up when they were done. As I paid the rush fee to have my ‘favorite’ star-spangled bikini top finished by tonight, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how common my situation was.