Angie realized Lucy was right, even if she could get away with a tight and torn rag for a shirt, there's no reason she should have to. She chewed her lower lip lightly as she pondered what outfit would be fitting for her new mythical physique. Thanks to her detailed description, there was clearly no express need for a bra, her tits were perfectly shapely and self supporting without one, but that doesn't mean she couldn't enjoy the feeling of a proper sized over the shoulder boulder holder for once in her life.
Angie idly raised the dictaphone, letting it hang loosely in her fingers, letting her imagination roll off her tongue and into the open air.
"Instead of my current torn shirt, I'm wearing the same make and pattern, but it's figure fitted and just a half a size too small. The material is comfortable and stretchy, but also extremely strong, so it won't break, even if I strain it."
The large tears in Angie's shirt bound their broken threads together and pulled tight-shut as the loose hanging material that should have covered her stomach extended down before wrapping back in to tightly frame the underside of her breasts. The neckline, inversely, dropped down a few inches and broadened out to give a better view of her cleavage to onlookers, apparently 'figure fitted' included a little showbusiness sense.
Angie walked her fingers along the side of her tits, watching the way the material deformed in perfect step with her soft skin with each poke and prod. The smoothness was enticing, giving such a sharp impression of her breasts that her silhouette may have already been naked, but she felt like it needed a bit more variety.
I'm wearing a rose-red see-through lacy bra, it's frills are always at least partially poking over the neckline of my shirt, and the outline of its side edges can be seen imprinted on the profile of my top.
The material for her new bra spun itself outwards from the material of Angie's shirt, winding into the shape of her new lacy lingerie top before separating and allowing the two to slide against eachother. Just as Angie had described, a few glances of the bra's elegant lace patterns persistently teased out around the edges of her plunging neckline, no matter how she tugged or pushed the shape of her clothes.
So, now Angie had a rack that belonged in an art gallery and some clothes to frame it with, and something approaching absolute power in the palm of her hand. What to do now?
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