Angie immediately felt the benefit of the dictaphone as soon as she woke on the second morning at college. The signs of her much delayed, and anticipated growth spurt finally arrived. However, it was only as the changes continued, week after week, month after month with too exact regularity. Angie realised quite how powerful the damned dictaphone had been.
As she ended her first year, she was only too aware of the reality the dictaphone could inflict. She wished she'd been more precise in her command to the dictaphone. As she glared down at her GG-cup breasts, barely contained in her custom made bra. She'd need a bigger, more expensive one before the month was out, and she hated that. The marks at her shoulders from the straps digging in after another long day of wearing the damned things, even the necessity of wearing it.
In her weaker moments she even missed being called 'Flattie', as a tear welled in the corner of one eye.
She was still incredibly gorgeous, lacking the fullness to her features that excess weight normally brought. However, the real curse was the counter balancing ass. It grew as her bust did, only further and faster.
The ripple of her rump, as she planted each foot a constant reminder of her foolish words. She could spot the mens gazes drawn to her ass, with each step. That was if they weren't already watching the exaggerated sashay her wider pelvis forced her to adopt. She was mortified everywhere she went. The 'girls' preceding her into every room, and the equine rump brushing against too many door frames.
Sitting up in bed, she rallied her mental reserves to face another day.
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