OK, yeah, it's bad. I'm getting aroused already, just looking at my own face. Big brown eyes with long dark lashes that look like they're trying to invite me in, perfectly smooth skin without a single blemish, a tiny little nose that's just begging to be painted, and two big pillowy lips that look like they're perfect for wrapping around a meat shaft. Framed by silky raven tresses that are somehow perfect despite the fact that I haven't done anything with them.  Experimentally, I stick my tongue out, and find it keeps going a surprisingly long way: Testing, I find I can successfully lick my eyebrows. They don't taste like much. 

And that's just my face. As a heat builds in my belly, I start looking further down. My neck is a thin ebony tower, begging to be a handhold. Narrow shoulders support my delicate arms.  

And then there's my chest. I'm wearing a t-shirt, but that’s basically it, and it's barely there. It's stretched out over my massive mammaries, and really isn't hiding anything. My big bazookas are seriously squished in, and through the stretched fabric I can simply see my points perking up and fighting to get free, looking like they're giving me a thumbs up to twist and suck them. The saucers behind them are big enough for a tea set, and my mammaries themselves? They stick out a good foot in front of me, and even squished in as they are, it's clear they can be seen from behind. And I have FOUR of them.

The t-shirt drapes a bit beneath my giant jugs, so I can’t see the narrowest part of my waist, but I find I can almost get my tiny little hands all the way around if I use both. James certainly could, his hands are much bigger. At the moment, my hips and rear stick out more than my chest does, but I think that's mostly due to the squishing from the shirt. 

My microskirt fits, and when I'm standing perfectly straight, manages to cover the essentials. But I quickly find that even a single step makes my lower lips show… and what a show. The lips themselves are quite large, and are open, glistening with moisture and showing pink inward parts, just waiting for someone to stick a long, hard rod inside. And my little nub is sticking out, begging for attention. As I watch, clear liquid runs slowly down my inner thigh. I'm drooling down there, it seems. And seeing myself is only making it worse. 

My legs look like they don't support me well. I find I can't help but sashay as I move, wobbling a bit from side to side like I might fall over at any minute. And my tiny little feet mean I could play a convincing Cinderella, if my skin weren't so incredibly dark.

I honestly have no idea how James manages to look me in the eye, especially dressed like this.

After a few minutes, Jessica interrupts my self reflection with, "Are you ready Narcissus?"

I take a breath as I glance at her. Jessica's color has improved a bit, she's no longer quite so red, "Sorry, first time I've gotten a good look at myself  since… well. Yeah, I'm guessing I need to take this off…." I reach down and pull up my t-shirt, causing my four fat feeders to flop around, bouncing and jiggling seemingly without end. It looks like my lower pair is supporting my upper set - they barley sag at all. And Jessica's face gets right back to red as I toss the shirt onto a bench. "So how does this work?"

"Well, you need to measure your band size, your bust size, and…." she trails off as she realizes I have no idea what she's referring to, and sighs.

I figure she's going to either do it for me, or demonstrate on herself. Either way, this is going to be fun.

Her flush spreads down to her shoulders as she mumbles out, "I guess I'll just do it for you…"

I nod, and she grabs a measuring tape that's probably in here just for doing this, and tries to explain all the steps as she wraps her arms around me, wraps the tape around me, and adjusts my bust with her hands. It feels electric. Knowing I will eventually need to do this on my own, I try to pay attention. But between her flustered stuttering and the very pleasant sensations of her hands on me, her arms around me, and her modest melons pressed into my back, I'm afraid I don't catch a word of it,  instead my pleasure builds.  If I still breathed regularly, I'd be panting.  Through a bit of a haze, I notice she takes the same measurements multiple times. Mostly I notice because it feels so good to have her hands on me,  and she keeps having to redo it. About the third time she runs the measuing tape around my top milk taps, I bite my lip to suppress a scream as an earthquake spreads from my middle throughout my body, and get a moan rather than a scream. I manage to remain standing as the wave of pleasure recedes a bit, and I apologize to Jessica: "I'm sorry, I am still not used to this body."

She pants herself, as she says, "That's OK," and takes my measurements again.

She manages to remember the fourth set of numbers long enough to check them in a chart she finds on her phone, "So this says you're an O cup, with a twenty-four inch band size."

"Thank you… and… maybe I can give you some relief…"

I start to reach out to her - clearly, right now my body is all I have, and I want to thank her for what she’s done - but she stops me, and takes a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong: On a one to ten, you’re a twelve, but you’ve been hurt, and badly.  Your body may have recovered, but your heart and mind need some time to heal.  While I would love to tap that…” Jessica takes another deep breath as she runs her eyes hungrily across my almost completely nude form, then closes her eyes, “You need a friend right now, not a lover.  And what you’re offering… should never be given out of a sense of obligation.” She takes another deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

I backpedal, “Right, of course, that’s… right, OK.  So I just need to find a few O-cup bras with a 24 inch band?  Shouldn’t be hard…”

"No, nobody has your figure, even discounting the double rack.  You might find something in an O cup, but it’ll be intended for a woman who weighs in at like five hundred pounds; no way you’re finding that teeny-tiny band size with that cup size.  Your bras will absolutely need to be custom made.  But we might find something we can jury rig well enough. The cup size lets us know what we can harvest for that part. You'll need to learn sewing or get a lot of money together to get bras that fit properly. Might be easier to find some kind of wrap…" she trails off.

As I squeeze back into my T-shirt, I look at the damp spot I made on the carpet, and use Prestidigitation to clean it up, while verbally going over my plan, “OK, so I’m looking for bras I can modify to fit, maybe some kind of wrap, plus some shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and underwear.”

“Yes… but you’re not going to be able to make pants work.  Anything you find will end up looking more like a skirt anyway.  Nobody’s built like you down there, either.”

I take a breath just so I can sigh, “Of course.  Well… may as well get to it.”

I use a Sift spell to sort through racks quickly, looking for anything that might fit me. My perception is at +8 for now, and what I’m looking for won’t exactly be deliberately hidden, so even with the -5 penalty from the spell, I should see what I’m after simply taking ten.  

“Why aren’t you looking through that stack of brassiers?” Jessica asks me as I seemingly walk right past a big bin of bras, although a little slowly.

“That one caps out at a G cup.”

“And you know that how?” 

I shrug, lean into her ear, and whisper, “Magic.  There’s one G cup bra, three F’s, one E, Six DD’s, eight D, twenty C’s, twelve Bs, and three A’s.  Feel free to check if you like.”

She whispers back, “Wait… you mean you could search a house without stepping foot inside?”

“It’s not that good.  Range is limited to thirty feet, I need to have a good idea what I’m looking for, I need to be able to see what I’m searching, details are slightly fuzzy, and it won’t work through a window.  But if I were sitting in, say, your kitchen, I could figure out which drawer you use for your measuring cups without opening anything in reasonably short order, and be able to tell you if you’ve got any quarter teaspoons waiting in there - provided you told me wanted a quarter teaspoon before I started looking, or tell me and give me six seconds after I’d already found the right area.”

“So… if I asked you to check if someone was hiding a weapon…”

“If it’s just tossed quickly in a drawer or something, no problem.  If it’s expertly hidden under their clothes in a custom holster?  I should be able to pull that off next level, but not this one.”

“Next level?”

“Ah... that discussion is better had in private, I think.”

“I am SO going to ask you about that once we’re in the car.”

“Works well enough for me.”

We manage to find a few dresses that fit, some socks (no, I didn’t get nylons, not that my legs seem to grow hair anyway), skirts, a few shirts, and while we don’t find any O-cup bras, we do find a few baby carrier things that are basically just sixteen foot long strips of stretchy cloth nearly two feet wide.  With a bit of work, I find I can make them function very much like bras.  We also pick up some milk pads and a pump, as I start leaking again while shopping.  James seems to enjoy playing fashion judge while Jessica uses me as a dress-up doll, then Jessica pays with a debit card, and we pile back into her car.