To Win Her Case
a Caption
Read Time: 2 mins
When a wayward teenager stole $500 in technology from the department store—on my shift—his rich parents filed a civil suit to dispute the charges. I'd never been in a courtroom in my whole life, but now I was a key witness, working with a public attorney. Harriet was an up and coming starlet of the public defense scene, but even her fabulous coaching didn't stop my knee from bouncing, my voice from cracking, or my palms from sweating. I hated courtrooms. Hated pressure. And frankly, Harriet was too pretty to not be intimidating—even before her tits grew.
"The things I do to win a case—MMMH!" she said, guzzling some mystery liquid.
During the ten minute recess, her "little courtroom secret" caused her bust to start burgeoning in size. Re-entering the courtroom, those in public seating murmured, commenting on her unbuttoned blazer; the "boldness" of her pronounced bust now barely disguised by a tight, white button down. Even the defendant—Murphy Abbot—spun in his chair, then spun back and blushed as Harriet's sexy strut took her jiggling rack right beside him. She'd gone from a sensual C to a body flattering G in just one recess and everyone was taking notice—the jury, the judge, and the defendant. Then, I was called to the witness stand so I could observe her growth more directly than anyone else.
"Relax, bud. I'll do all the work. Just be h-h-honest—Ahhn!" she said, softly moaning.
I wanted me to "relax", but I was far too antisocial a lesbian not to get nervous on a testimonial bench while the sexiest attorney in our town asked questions with her tits out. Alas, I took my seat and Harriet's hips swiveled as she glided across the courtroom floor, boobs swishing and swaying even after she stopped at the bench to interview me. I ended up staring at the smooth hills of her breasts for each question, watching with shock as they steadily revealed themselves by growing, exceeding the allotted capacity in her top. Each minute, they were more and more imminent. Surging. Heaving. Gurgling? Building up and against the topmost button and rising like bronze hot air balloons toward her collar bone. My thighs squeezed together from how plump and sexy they looked. They swelled and swelled, pushing her silhouette to a top heavy extreme. When they reached basketball size and I questioned how much more her shirt could take—
"Ahem," Harriet cleared her throat and smirked, knowing, intrigued. "You were saying?"
Shit. Caught staring. But she didn't seem to mind. She nodded approvingly and I answered her questions. Then she turned toward the jury, her knockers wobbling synchronously from the sudden shift—J or K cups she'd only acquired in the last ten minutes. As she gave her case emphatically, a POP! and a skitter drew everyone's attention and dropped everyone's jaws. Harriet's breasts rolled down and out, looking even larger after breaking free of their constraints. Even as her flesh folded over the retreating dip of her top, she didn't stop recounting my testimony. It was a triple threat—ethos, pathos, logos—and wherever inflating tits fit into that rhetorical trio. With the law and boulder breasts on her side, Harriet won the case in a landslide. Afterward, I needed freedom—and, embarrassingly, privacy. Harriet's softcore pornographic display had me jonesing for release. But in the hall, I heard a long, heady moan. Harriet was standing in her office, titty flesh scooped in her arms, her bra torn at the middle, mammaries the size of caramel pillow cases full of gelatin with huge veins weaving throughout. They'd doubled in size! When She saw me, licked her lips and said:
"H-Hey, Bud! I could use a hand milked down the girls. Wanna help? B-B-Be honest. . ."
