Tuesday, October 8, 2019

Free Fiction: The Man in Aisle Six

Greetings all!

A few months ago I started a Patreon and SubscribeStar page, and posted today's story there a few weeks ago as a bit of bonus content.

Now I'm posting the story here (and I have another bonus short story for the Patrons):

Today's story is essentially a loose sequel to my old story, 'The Man at Table Six', or my more recent 'Thank You For Staring'. Basically, a weird guy with unexplained and inexplicable reality-distorting powers has fun shopping for women's undergarments.

It's also inspired by the old Mr. Grey story, 'An Afternoon Well Spent', and its sequels, but with rather more bosom-related tomfoolery.

Story is after the break, as always, I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to tell me what you think of it.

- Tabitha

The Man in Aisle Six
by Tabitha Kohls
Copyright 2019
* * * * *

"Code Eleven, Tiff. We've got a peeper," muttered the clerk, as she passed her supervisor. Not turning, she gestured over her shoulder. "In the back, Aisle Six."

Tiffany sighed, putting down her label maker. The clerk just shrugged, then plastered a fresh smile on her face and left to help a customer fumbling with the bikinis near the store entrance.


As the Head Manager of the lingerie store, it was Tiffany's job to deal with Peeping Toms. It seemed like every day she had to run at least one ogling man-boy out of the store, and somehow manage the task without making a scene or involving mall security.

"Six, of course," she muttered, sighing. The aisle was a favorite of teenage boys, what with its line of bloated manikins practically bursting out of their clothes. The laughter usually alerted her to the adolescent intruders even before the clerks did.

For some reason the store's marketing firm had decided to start pandering to the plus-size crowd, creating a new line of lingerie for the demographic. Tiffany shook her head, and started for the back of the store.

She found him, as expected, standing in the middle of the row, ogling the manikins.

Tiffany blinked, as the man smiled at her. There was something... wrong. Wrong with him. She frowned, wondering briefly if she should alert security after all. Her instincts were usually pretty good.

He saw her. But instead of quickly looking away, and sheepishly moving on, like most 'Code Elevens' did, the man merely smiled back at her. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, gesturing at one of the new manikins.

She looked up at the plus-sized manikins, and rolled her eyes. For some reason, marketing had decided that "plus-sized" only referred to a woman's chest measurements. There had been a memo, explaining the rise in popularity of plastic surgery, especially breast augmentation, among the store's chief customer base. The boxes of E-through-HHH cup bras had arrived with the memo.

The Head Manager had thought it a ridiculous marketing campaign, but she had to admit, the extra-large bras had certainly come in handy since her own silicone sweater stuffers were installed last month.

Tiffany tugged at her bright pink tube top, frowning as it squeezed her chest tightly. She sighed in annoyance. Even with the handy new ultra-bra line, she still had a hell of time finding tops that fit her new melons.

She made a mental note to send an email to corporate, requesting they expand to plus-sized tops. Or at least offer uniform tops for the overly-endowed employees, like herself.

Tiffany pulled the spandex tube around her chest, until the store logo was centered again. It seemed like every ten steps she took, she had to adjust her top again.

Pulling her eyes up from her chest, she turned her attention back to the man.

"Can I help you, sir?"

She put on her fakest of smiles, filling her voice with every bit of scorn she could, while just barely staying within corporate guidelines for customer relations.

The man didn't seem to notice her tone, still staring up at the plastic statue's torpedo tits.

"Nah, just browsing."

Tiffany closed her eyes, silently cursing her life. Why did men have to be so much trouble?

"Sir, I'm sure if you just told me what you were looking for, I could help." Help get you on your way, she mentally amended. At least there aren't any other women back here. Maybe I can still get him out of the store before he starts scaring customers off.

"Well... I was actually thinking that--" he gestured at the manikin's top. "--would look good on my girlfriend."

As if this creep has a girlfriend, she thought, but kept her smile on. "Of course, sir. Do you know what her measurements are?"

He frowned, "Measurements?'

Tiffy sighed, just barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "Her tits, how big are they?'

"Oh... hmm." He looked her up and down. "Can you turn sideways, miss?"

This time she couldn't stop the eye-roll. Tightening her smile, Tiffy nodded, turning her side to him, and pushing her chest out. Her H-cups swung out before her, bobbing perkily like twin diving boards of titflesh.

"Hmm... Yes, I'd say you're just about the right size." Tiffy sighed, and started to face him again. "But she doesn't have those.'

Tiffy frowned, and followed his pointing finger down to her cleavage. It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about.

"Oh, those won't make a difference in the bra-size, sir." She poked at one of the thick, hard bumps tenting the spandex top and distorting the store logo. "I had my nipples injected with fillers the last time I was in the clinic. The store sort of has a policy, they think it helps sell the brand or something."

She shrugged, then winced, as the motion sent her tube top off kilter again. She fumbled with it, until the large 'POKIES' logo was centered again, each thumb-sized nipple poking out like mountains in the 'O' and 'E'.

"Anyway, I think we have some of those bras in back, sir. If you'll wait at the front counter, I'll juggs gept--" Tiffy paused, licking her lips. They still stung from her trip to the clinic the day before. She tried to feign a smile at the man, but the collagen injections were too fresh and her lips barely moved. "--Forry, fer, I'm ffill gebbing uffed to my mew wips."

The man smirked at her lisping. "No problem, babe. I like a nice pair of plump lips as much as the next guy. But I think I'd like to see that bra modeled in person, before I plop down hard cash for it. I mean, sure it looks good on her--" he nodded at the the buxom manikin, "--but I've got to see how it looks on a real set of knockers, you know?"

Titi nodded, understanding. The bras were cheaper than custom-made, sure, but still pretty expensive to just take a guess on. "Sher fing, fer. Waid here, pweezz."

It took her a few minutes to unclasp the bra from the manikin, her inch long, pink-glazed nails making the job far more difficult than it should have been, and then headed for the changing rooms.

"Juggs sit wight dere, fer," she said, gesturing to the chair set up before the changing room stalls, and heading inside.

The doors to the stalls were made of ever-so-slightly fogged glass, ensuring her curves were on good display, but just barely within the tolerances of public nudity laws.

"Well, twat do you fink, fer?" she asked, stepping out of the stall, spinning on her heels as she twirled before the sitting stranger.

The bra was one of the new 'Tunnel-O-Luv' models, designed to squeeze a woman's breasts up and together, creating a very tight line of stunning cleavage. This bra, however, was at least a cupsize too small, which only made the effect more epic.

"It certainly looks good on you," the man admitted. "Though I'm not sure it's as effective as I'd hoped."

Titi frowned, or tried to anyway; her botox injections from her last trip to the clinic next door had left her unable to do much other than raise her eyebrows comically high. As an emotional expression, it was somewhat lacking in versatility.

The man plucked a pen from his shirt pocket. "If you don't mind...?"

Titi kneeled down, thankful as ever for the corporate-mandated knee pads and leaned forward, putting her shelf-like tits practically in the man's lap. Grinning down at her, he lifted the pen above her quivering jugs, and released it.

The pen fell perfectly into her cleavage, sinking half its length in between her inflated globes.
"Fatisfied?" she asked, smirking as best as her lips and numb facial muscles would allow.

"Not yet, but maybe in a moment," he muttered, flicking the pen with a finger. Her cleavage held the pen in place with surprising pressure. "Hmm...."

The buxom Head Manager knew a sale when she heard one.

Winking up at the man, she bobbed her head down, grasping the pen in between her plump pecker pillows, and pulled it free of her cleavage.

He took the pen from her mouth, with a loud pop that brought stares from the female clientele nearby.

"Thanks, babe. So, does that particular model come with the massage function, or is that extra?"
Titi's plump lips cracked into a vaguely smile-like circle of lipgloss, as she ran an inch-long finger nail down each cup, pushing the hidden activator buttons.

Instantly her breasts began to quiver, concentric waves rushing across the taut surface of her chest. The vibrators embedded inside the bra's underwire pulsed rhythmically, sending her permanently swollen nipples crazy and tenting the garment's thin fabric even more.

"Yeppers, baddery-wife of sexteen owers, foolly wechargapple," she replied. A pink fingernail flicked open the small USB ports above each throbbing nipple.

The only downside to the massager function was that it didn't turn off once activated, but she wasn't about to risk a sale by divulging that minor design defect. Titi hadn't been made Head Manager because she was stupid, after all. There were all sorts of other reasons they'd promoted her.

"I don't know," the man said, chewing his lip. He lifted the small tag hanging from the bra strap on her shoulder. "$500 is a lot of money, just for one little bra. It's probably not even rewashable with all those fancy electronics, either."

"Oh no, dey are toddawy, one-humbred percunt stain and wadda poof! See?"

Thinking quickly, she upturned the bottle of water she'd forgotten she had been holding since lunch an hour earlier, drenching her quivering breasts. As promised, the water merely beaded up and ran down the sides of the garment.

But the man seemed unimpressed. "I don't know...."

Titi would've winced if her face had allowed her. Thankfully, her still vibrating silicone wonders caught her attention.

"Why nob twy them out, fer?" She shoved her breasts forward, to better emphasize her words. She knew that no matter how stubborn the customer, no man could resist a free trial.

Her instincts were proven right, as the man finally shrugged and grinned. "Well, okay, you talked me into it."

He started to unbutton his pants, then paused, his erection flexing hard against his zipper. "Oh, but my clothes aren't stain proof?"

She shook her head, blond locks flying about her. "Dong wowwy, fer, I'm a perfessanal."

Titi lowered the man's zipper, working blind since her tits were blocking her view. But then, she was used to that.

Her fingers felt around in his pants, grasping his surprisingly large cock and coaching it out from his underwear and up into her still vibrating, incredibly tight cleavage.

As she began bouncing her titties up and down the stranger's shaft, Titi tried her best to talk dirty to the man. The company's customer relations guidelines were quite clear on how to best enhance a customer's experience, and she always followed guidelines to the letter.

Unfortunately, her latest round of lip enhancements had perhaps been a bit much, after all. The girls at the clinic did warn me, she thought wryly, fifty ccs of filler was too much.

But was it her fault that her sales growth correlated perfectly with the size of her lips?

"Sorry, b-babe, did-didn't qui--iite catch that," the man gasped, his cock throbbing in her tits' vice-like cleavage.

Titi swirled her tongue, her titanium stud clacking against her teeth, as she struggled to make her swollen donut-hole lips move.

"Oohgh, fuv mee fuggs uuu monfer!" she moaned, bouncing her silicone namesakes for all they were worth.

The man shrugged, ignoring her gibberish, and concentrated on her tight, warm, vibrating---

"Fuck!!" he cried, cumming hard between her fake jugs.

Remembering company policy, particularly the rule about all carpet steam cleaning coming out of employees' wages, Titi hurriedly shoved her mouth down over his cock as it erupted from between her breasts.

Gulping quickly, she held on to his cock with her powerful lips, until she was sure each and every drop was safely contained.

"Damn," the man gasped, at last, sitting back in his chair. "I should hit up these women's clothing stores more often."

Titi popped her mouth from his cock, swallowing to avoid any possible spillage, and extricated his rapidly softening manhood from her impossibly tight cleavage.

A few minutes later, Titi handed the man his bag over the front counter, a fresh bra inside. Her own continued vibrating, as it would for the rest of her shift and probably well into the night.

She watched the man leave, satisfied, and nodded with satisfaction of her own. His purchase had added another $5 to her paycheck thanks to her 1% commission, and it was only half-past-one.
She scanned the crowded store, seeing a very bored husband sitting in a corner as his flat-chested wife tried on a series of completely irrelevant bras, and smirked. Looks like another customer in need of some Head Management....


Outside the store, the stranger smiled, and walked down the crowded mall corridor, beginning his search for a girlfriend to wear his new purchase.

* * * * *
The End
* * * * *

1 comment:

  1. I often wonder, when I read a story like this, how wide the influence of this reality-bender reaches. Is the whole world being reshaped to the whim of The Man in Aisle 12? Will Tiffany / Titi's friends be shocked by her transformation? Or is it something in between? Will customers walking in be shocked by the store's new policies? Will store management be confused by their inability to order new stocks of their hottest items?*
    By the way: is this store by any chance...a Kohl's?

    *How funny -- at first I typo'd that as "thottest items"!