“Delivery for ya, Ellen.” The company’s regular surly deliveryman held out a package for the secretary. “I need a signature for it.”
Ellen briefly looked confused before taking the box out of his hands. “I wasn’t- thanks, Bill.” She signed the electronic pad the delivery guys used these days; it didn’t actually look like her signature on paper, but it would do for Fedex. She finished up the email she’d been typing before getting the delivery and then decided to open her package. Ellen thought it was weird there was no sender address, but she continued anyway. The small box opened up and a plain-looking pen tumbled out with a small note remaining behind in the packaging. Pulling the piece of paper out, she read it.
Whatever you write shall be.
“That’s… nice, I guess,” Ellen whispered, dropping the note and picking up the pen. “It looks just like a regular pen…” Resuming her work, the brunette woman mostly forgot about her strange delivery.
-
Ellen came back from her lunch break to find a memo from her boss with a sticky note on it.
Ellen- Could you make copies and distribute around the office? Thanks. -Ed
She sighed. Couldn’t he just email this to everyone? Maybe if he wasn’t near seventy. What is this one even about? Ellen scanned the document. The *dress code*? Really? Are we back in grade school? She brought it with her to the copier anyway and made enough to cover all the important places in the small office building. Back at her desk, Ellen kept the original copy for herself in case she needed it again.
-
Towards the end of the day, Ellen was quickly approaching a new level of boredom. She watched some of her coworkers begin to leave the office. Looking over her desk, she pulled the memo from her boss up again. She hadn’t actually read it, just posted it up around the building. “Let’s see here,” she mumbled as she read. “Looks like a lot of things directed specifically at us ladies.” Ellen picked up her new pen and started making alterations to the document. Dress conservatively- no cleavage became Dress however you want. Any cleavage. “Feminism 1, old male boss 0,” she joked to herself. She skimmed down to the bottom of the page.
“Remember, a good employee is a busy employee,” she read in a mocking voice. She added a ‘t’ to busy and giggled a little.
-
Waking up in the morning—a few minutes before her alarm—Ellen rolled from her side to her back, and was alarmed by a weight moving around on top of her. Bolting upright, she was shocked to see two decently sized breasts stretching out her t shirt. Pushing her thick locks of hair away from her face, Ellen stared down incredulously at her tightened shirt. She pulled the hem up, over her boobs—with a little difficulty—and continued staring down at her body. There was no denying it, she was the confused owner of what looked like two D cup boobs.
What the heck. These can’t be mine.
An experimental touch confirmed that they were, indeed, hers. As real as if she’d grown them herself since she was fourteen… which she did, as of yesterday around 4:30, at least. Ellen got up, trying her best to ignore the weight bobbling around on her torso. She climbed into the shower after disrobing and waiting a few minutes longer than necessary for the water to heat up.
In the stream of water, Ellen tried to think of reasons why she was suddenly busty. Boob fairy? She thought. Nah, probably would’ve hit me in my teens, not at 26.
Maybe it’s the next flu going around. Boob flu! Could you imagine? How ridiculous…
She dried herself off and walked to her dresser. She pulled her bra drawer open and a wave of confusion struck her again. All of her bras were D cups, as if she’d been this size longer than since some time over night. Ellen pulled on a pair of panties—she remembered those, at least—and then picked up a bra. It’s huge, she thought. She put it on, adjusting to having actual mass to settle into the cups. And it fits perfectly…
Ellen whistled the theme of The Twilight Zone as she continued getting dressed.
-
Ellen watched as her coworkers passed by her desk. She was the first one in the building, both time- and layout-wise, so she usually greeted everyone as they arrived.
Wasn’t Jenny busty yesterday? Maybe I stole her boobs somehow. Her formerly top-heavy coworker smiled as she walked by. You wouldn’t be smiling if you heard the things they said about your work, girl.
The secretary shrugged the thought away. Work at least provided a reprieve from thinking about her enlarged chest for a while. She used the magic pen for mundane things, signing for more deliveries and the like. It wasn’t until Ed passed by her desk that she remembered his memo from the day before.
“Morning, Ellen,” he said, stopping by her desk. “Thanks for posting that bulletin for me. You’re the best employee we’ve got.” Before she could respond, her boss walked away into the bowels of the building.
Something clicked in her mind. The memo. That stupid memo about the dress code. The memo lay, forgotten, underneath other stacks of papers collected throughout the day. Ellen pulled it out and reread her alterations to it. Oh yeah, the cleavage thing. She looked down. I guess no one cares about that rule, then. Then there was the kicker at the end of it. A good employee is a busty employee, it said, doctored by her own hand.
Oh my.
But that’s crazy, Ellen. Even crazier than referring to yourself by name in your own head.
She pulled out a piece of paper from the printer and grabbed her pen. I have bright green nail polish on today, she wrote. Before her eyes, Ellen’s nails changed to a vibrant shade of electric green. She crossed out the line. Her nails went back to their unpainted appearance.
Ellen’s eyes flitted between her nails, the paper, and the pen in her hand. Didn’t that note say the things I wrote would happen? Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, is that actually true? Quickly, Ellen wrote something else down. I’m a five-foot-ten statuesque woman. Suddenly, her perspective was changing, getting higher. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the pen. And my clothes aren’t tight either. Oh, I’m changing reality. No big deal. No reason for alarm. I wonder…
I wear a G-cup bra.
Before her eyes, Ellen’s tits bulged out, her bra changing with them. In a few moments, Ellen’s previously grapefruit-sized breasts rounded out to look more like cantaloupes. Again, her clothes fit exactly like they should. Shit, these are heavy. Ellen crossed out the last line and shrank back to her new-normal D cups.
On second thought… She re-wrote the last statement, and her breasts swelled back into cantaloupe size. So I guess I could change anything, huh…
-
It was hard trying to contain herself while she was at work. Of course, no one would notice all the changes she wanted to make, but they would notice how she wasn’t getting anything done. Ellen struggled the entire rest of the day to push the thoughts of doing whatever she wanted with the pen out of her mind so she could focus on her boring day job. Now finally at home, Ellen was excited to begin.
“I never realized how heavy boobs were,” she said, slumping in a chair inside her apartment. She dug through her purse. Resting the paper on her thigh, Ellen wrote her next world-changing sentence.
I don’t feel the weight of my breasts. Instantly, her back was relieved of strain. “That’s better,” she said.
“Let’s cover the basics first, right?”
I’m independently wealthy. Suddenly, memories developed of winning one of those “1000 dollars a day for life” lotteries. Ellen opened up her bank’s app and saw the exorbitant—relative to her—amount of money in her savings. She looked around. “Guess I still live conservatively,” she complained.
On a scale of 1 to 10, I’m a solid 11. Ellen felt a subtle shifting on her face, like things were being gently rearranged. She pulled her phone’s camera up and looked at herself, marveling at the now model-like face she possessed. “I’m gonna have to beat people away with a stick with this face,” she mused. “Well… the girls can stay…” She forced a smile, revealing her perfectly straight and white teeth. “Dentists hate her,” she joked, “see this twenty-six-year old’s one secret to perfect teeth.”
Her head fell backwards to rest on top of the back of the chair. “What else?” Ellen wracked her brain trying to think of other “basics” she wanted to get out of the way.
“Forget it, let’s just move on to the fun stuff,” she decided, rising out of her chair. Ellen moved to stand in front of her full-body mirror. She spun, examining herself from all angles. “Let’s balance out these tits, huh?” I have the butt of my dreams.
For a split second, she felt her pants tighten, then loosen again as they began to change with her plumping rear. As she watched, Ellen unbuttoned her slacks and pulled them off, eager to see her thickening butt. For whatever reason, her underwear didn’t change with her, and the outmatched garment was soon reaching its limit.
As Ellen continued her journey towards being curvier than anyone she knew, she couldn’t help but marvel at how big the butt of her dreams was. By the time it stopped, Ellen’s hips were nearly two feet wide, with a shelf of flesh sticking out behind her.
“I… might have to take this in a little bit later,” she mumbled as she observed her bottom half. Ellen’s thighs had kept up with her butt, the upper half of her legs thickening proportionally. Everything flowed from her thin waist, out over her wide hips and bubble butt, down her thick thighs to her calves. She didn’t have a thigh gap anymore, but she’d never really cared about that trend anyway.
I have boobs as big as my head.
Ellen stripped off her shirt and bra—even though they changed too—as she felt her tits start to grow. Steadily they swelled out bigger and bigger, eclipsing her rib cage as they plumped up. She sunk her hands into the pliant flesh and shuddered.
“Shouldn’t boobs get less sensitive as they get bigger?” she asked. “Whatever.” Ellen’s tits pushed out just a little farther, covering her almost to her belly button. “Damn,” she whispered. “These are tits.”
Suddenly, a thought struck her. Why be realistic?
I have the biggest boobs in the world.
She began to question her decision as her breasts rapidly—faster than before—grew larger. Ellen stared at herself in the mirror and watched her tits surpass her navel. Her back didn’t strain since the magic pen made her not feel the weight of her boobs, but Ellen couldn’t help but wonder how much these things weighed. Switching her view to looking down at herself, Ellen realized she was much too busty to see her feet now.
“How… how big is the biggest in the world?”
Ellen’s tits kept on growing, passing below her hips, her plump nipples now resting more than a foot in front of her. She sat down, letting the mass of her breasts splay out on top of her thighs. I’ll never be cold again, she thought as the heat from her boobs covered her like a blanket. The furthest-away end of her tits was beginning to creep beyond her knees, the flesh curving down to follow the bend in her joints.
Curious, she stood up, looking at her frame in the mirror again. She wanted to see how big she was getting without the interference of her sitting posture. Ellen’s boobs were somewhere around the size of beach balls now. Her jaw dropped.
“Someone carries tits like this around with them?!”
Slowly, she felt the growth stop. Her bust was tremendous now, reaching down close to her knees. All she could see in the mirror was tit. Even though the weight wasn’t a problem, their sheer size was. Trying to walk with her breasts like they were was a challenge, and Ellen gladly reached for her pen again, and crossed a few things out…
-
The next day at work, Ellen--now realistically busty, not otherworldly--sat at her desk. A couple hours after she arrived, what she really wanted walked by her. Pulling out her pen and a scrap of paper, she made her next change.
I have a date with
No, no, no. She crossed that out.
I have the confidence to ask Ginevra out on a date.
That’s better.