Charisma Part 1

Tiffany De Vine wondered whether the ladies’ dressing room in which she was about to try on a brassiere was under surveillance by some fat, obese fucker with a day’s stubble of beard and a cum-stained crotch. Probably, she thought; it would be just her luck. Well, if some slob was drooling over her image on a “security” monitor somewhere, she’d give him a little something to remember after she’d tried on the bra.

A fancy item of clothing, pink and frilly, it was adorned with lacy lavender bows and ribbons--and the tag attached to it promised that the bra would “lift and separate” to provide “cleavage enhancement.” Despite the hormones she’d taken for the past year, Tiffany was a little on the petite side, with “B” cup breasts. She’d never had any complaints, but, well, like a lot of women, genetic girls included, she’d like to have bigger boobs--provided that she didn’t have to undergo more surgery. She’d had quite enough operations lately; she didn’t want any more.

She looked around the small, curtained cubicle once more, looking for a hidden camera. She didn’t see any sign of such an instrument, but she wasn’t reassured. Shrugging, she unbuttoned her blouse, removed the top, and hung it on the hook that had been provided for this purpose. She wasn’t wearing a bra of her own, so, if anyone was watching her, he (or she) would be feasting his (or her) eyes on her tits right now. Tiffany glanced at the smooth, creamy mounds that rose from her chest, topped with puffy, pink areolas surrounding her stiff, swollen nipples. She had beautiful breasts, she thought. She was proud of them, even though they were, perhaps, a little small. She smiled. If the bra performed the magic that it promised, in lifting and separating her boobs, it would give her plenty of eye-catching cleavage.

She lifted the cups to her breasts, slipped her arms through the straps, and secured the clasp behind her back.