Clothing store transformation

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Clothing store transformation

Postby PilsburyDoughZoe » Thu Mar 07, 2019 8:06 pm

One of my earliest weight gain stories I found was one where a skinny girl runs into a clothing shop out of the rain, decides to try on clothes, and anything she puts on she grew to fit in. She winds up going from a size 2 to like a 18 or something. I love clothing being a part of the transformation, like outgrowing all my high fashion outfits and now struggling to find stuff thats cute in my size, turns me on. But why stop there, the story could expand. Maybe a young single girl tries on an outfit that's considered mom clothes and while she's checking out her doughy mom bod
in the mirror a little girl runs in calling her mom... Another woman accidentally grabs maternity jeans and finds herself pregnant... a chubby girl and her bean pole friend come in and wind up trading weights... a recently divorced woman who just turned 39 puts on an outfit most would say was for a teen and she becomes 18
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Joined: Thu Mar 15, 2018 7:42 pm

Re: Clothing store transformation

Postby DarkSideOfMe » Tue Apr 16, 2019 2:33 am

The warmth of the sun peaking through the window wakes me, as I watch little specks of dust floating in the golden shafts. I sit up, running my fingers through raven black hair. A yawn escapes my lips as I place my feet on the hard wood floor and begin trudging to the closet.

There are probably two dozen outfits in here that I’ve never worn. It’s not that I don’t like them, I just enjoy the thrill of going to into a department store and, let’s face it, the stares from every guy I pass are flattering, but that’s too easy. Dog’s will eat garbage. What I love is seeing jealousy in the eyes of women. As I walk past, I can feel them staring at me- wishing they were me.

Let me check my calendar…Brad’s taking me out on a date tomorrow, and yoga isn’t for another two days. Shopping sounds like a great idea! Maybe I’ll look for an outfit to wear on my date with…what’s his name? The guy looks a little like Brad Pitt, so I’ve been calling him Brad. I should probably find out his name, but I’ll be done with him soon enough as it is. The “Pitt” is wearing off, so it’s about time to start looking for a newer model.

I think I’ll wear something flattering, like yoga pants and…there it is! The sky-blue top that accentuates my pushup bra. I watch myself in the changing mirror as I pull the delightfully form fitting leggings up to my waist. My breasts aren’t huge, but by no means are they small. I gently cup them, before reaching for my pushup bra. Now they’re huge. I run my hands down my sides, feeling the contours of my sleek sides, and perfectly shaped hips. I’m not sure Helen of Troy ever looked as good as I do. For a moment, I wonder about her. What she looked like, how she spoke, how she kissed…

As I’m bending down to tie my shoe, my eye catches something on the nightstand. It’s a small wooden box with ornate carving. I smile as I remember how I got it.

When I first met Brad, he was shopping at an antique store with his then-girlfriend. I noticed how she kept picking it up and pleadingly looking at Brad. He looked so cute, and I decided immediately to make this woman my opponent. I picked up the small box, tilted my head back, and looked at him with my large blue eyes.

Lips seductive and pouting, “I left my money in my apartment. Buy this for me, and we can go there together.”

Then-girlfriend was utterly appalled, and as she turned to drag Brad out of the shop, he had already brushed past her and lifted the box from my slender hand. I gently ran my fingers through his hair as he stood dumbstruck. As I stood on my tip toes and pressed my lips to his, I almost remember him returning the kiss as his ex-girlfriend stood glaring with contempt and hatred at me. It tasted delicious.

I finish tying my shoe and sit up. I haven’t ever looked in the box, and I’m not sure how it ended up on my nightstand. An unusual feeling of curiosity is washing over me as I gently lift the lid. Inside is…lipstick? The tube has etching on it. I lean forward, squinting to read the small lettering. “Seductress.”

I can’t help but laugh as I toss the box into the waste basket. I twist the ruby red lipstick and press it to my lips. Leaning in close to the mirror, I outline my bottom lip and press it back and forth against my top lip. I look at the tube one last time before capping it and tossing it on my disheveled bed. Glancing back at my reflection, I can’t help but laugh, exposing teeth whiter than the keys of a piano. I can already see women tightening their grips on their lover’s hand, trying to distract them as they feel me approach.

I leave my apartment, head high in the air so the sun can warm my cheeks. 5’3”, my hair tossing from one side to the other as I jog down the sidewalk. I know I look like I could have walked straight out of a banking commercial: the “fit chick” lightly jogging down the street, sunny skies, and not a care in the world. I feel the eyes of men and women, both wondering what I look like with my clothing removed, what I would do if they asked for my number, fantasizing I’ll ask for their number.

I smile to myself as I pass a girl wearing a cute black floral pattern cami tank top. I can see the contour of her breasts and belly, and I can see her head turn as I pass. Chubby girls are so cute; they think no one is judging them, and everyone accepts them for who they are. I bet those pudgy eyes are watching me and wondering if they could eat me as one meal, or if they’d need some extra sides to finish filling them up. Without looking, I give a careless half-smile.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a couple maybe-new-Brads, but…I slow to a walk again…I don’t know. I’m a little light headed, and I think for what’s the first time in my life, I turn around to see if I can catch a second glimpse of the chubby girl I had passed. I press my lips together to make sure the lipstick is evenly coated. She’s not there.

I look up, and clouds have begun to fill the sky. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it all the way to the department store before I get soaked, and if there’s anything I need, that’s not it. I rarely lower my standards to enter any but the finest stores, I may just settle for the one coming up on the right. I’m not trying to impress Brad at this point; I’ve nearly forgotten his nickname.

I walk through the doors to the department store. Immediately to my right I see the black floral cami I had passed earlier. I laugh, as I realize that chubby girl had gotten it here at the average Joe’s store. I run my hand down the smooth fabric, and wonder how ridiculous this had looked on her. She was practically bursting out of it. I know I would look great in it! Maybe I’ll even buy it so I can wear it home, on the offhand chance I pass her again. I’ll show her how it’s supposed to look!

I check the size on the tag, but it’s a few sizes too large. After searching a rack, I manage to find a size 3. It’s still a little on the large side, but I’ll try it on anyway. As I’m looking around, I’m actually impressed. There are so many cute outfits in this store!

I find a stunning bright red flutter sleeve deep v neck blouse- the smallest size I can find is a 4, so that’s a little upsetting. I decide I’ll still try it on, to get a feel for the style. I continue to look through the store for some time, picking up a pair of slacks here, a cocktail dress there. I casually stroll through the pajama and lingerie section. I come to a sudden stop when I see the chubby girl from before. She notices my reaction and slowly makes her way to me. I stifle a giggle as she has to turn a little sideways to make it through the aisle without knocking hanging clothes off the brackets.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” She asks out of obligation, wishing she could turn and head back down the narrow aisle.

“I’m just window shopping. I came in here to get out of the rain,” which I think is mostly true.

“Would you like me to open a dressing room so you can try on that pile of clothes you have?”

I think with all the trouble finding the right sizes, it’d actually be really helpful to have someone who could get a different size if needed. “Sure, I was having trouble finding proper sizes. Could you help me find smaller sizes if necessary?”

She looks at me, and I see her eyes dart down to my lips, to my bust, to my waist, and finally to my hips before responding. “If you don’t feel that you can manage-“

I cut her off, “Thanks. I knew you wouldn’t mind. I’m not used to shopping in a store that doesn’t tailor every article of clothing to me, and I know you’re not used to looking through smaller size clothing. We’re both in uncharted territory!”

The look on her face brings up the light headed feeling from earlier when I first walked past her. “Look, for someone who’s fat, you’re not actually that bad looking,” I say as she turns to lead me to the dressing room. She’s clearly hiding her emotions, but I can’t tell if she’s angry or, and I get the peculiar feeling, she’s deriving some enjoyment from my words.

“Here’s your room.” She hangs the pile of clothing I’d selected inside. “I’m going to sit out here; if you want me to exchange sizes, hang it over the door.”

For some odd reason, I’m experiencing a cognitive dissonance. She’s disgusting. She’s filling out her clothes, and while she’s not grossly out of shape, I also know she probably hasn’t exercised a day in her life. And the dissonance. I feel that she would be soft to lay with and- I slam the door. My mind is reeling now, and I decide to see if she’s upset with me. I quickly open the door and blow her a kiss. I know my lips are full, moist, and tantalizing. This is the kiss that’s stolen men and ruined careers.

Her eyes are wide and round as she looks at me. Then she quietly laughs. “What are you doing? I’m not into that.” She gestures at my body. “That… no.”

I turn red as I quickly shut the door. I throw the black floral cami over the door. “Get me a size smaller!” Lost in thought, I pick up another hanger and place it over the door. “Size smaller!” I slowly slip my shoes off, using the toe on the heel. I pull my black yoga pants down and toss them onto the corner. I’m not used to this rejection, and I’m not sure I like it. I run my hands over my sleek body for the second time today. I am gorgeous. 24 years old, skin so tight you can bounce a quarter off it, and moderate curves to match.

I absentmindedly pull a pair of slacks off a hangar and slide them on. I reach up and grab the hangar from over the door and remove the cami. I slide my arms and head through, and notice it smells oddly of flowers. I run my palms over the wrinkles to push them out. “Thanks. This one actually fits pretty well.”

I hear footsteps, “Here you go. Got your size 2.” The cami came flying over the door.

“Oh, I must’ve tried on the size 3. Your sizes must be running a little small.”

There’s silence for a moment. “Maybe.” It’s a confused voice.

I crack the door open, “Do all your sizes run on the small side? Here, take these bras and get the next size up.”

“Um, yes. Yeah, here are the other one’s you wanted. If that fit, I’m going to grab a couple more you might like.” I hear the footsteps recede.

As the footsteps come back, several items of clothing fly over the door. I take off the cami and my push up bra, holding the full coverage bra in my hand. “Are you serious? This thing is at least a cup size bigger than what I can fit- why don’t you take a look at this!” Clearly irritated, I open the door and step aside so she can come in.

I show her my bare breasts, “See, how is this going to fit?” I hold it up, and bent an arm back to clasp the back. I throw my arms in the air in a wild display for her to see. “Can you please go get one that fits? What, now?”

Her eyes betray some confusion, “It does fit, though.”

“Impossible, there’s no way-“ but it does. I prod my breasts. They seem a little fuller than before. In shock and confusion I take the bra off.

“Here, try this one. It’s a different brand, so it’s a tiny bit larger. See if it’s comfortable.”

I let her clasp the back as I hold the front up. As I look down, I notice that my breasts completely fill it. “Hm, same size. I think I’ll put these on the maybe stack and start trying on some of these other outfits.”

“Do you want me to stay in here and hand them to you?”

“Yes. You can start by handing me my bra.”

She crouches down to pick it up and hands it to me. I put the bra back on, and she gives me a strange look. “You really do need a new bra. Have you ever been sized? You’re spilling out of that thing.”

I look down, I look in the mirror. I’m nearly certain my breasts have gained over a cup since walking out of my apartment this morning. “I don’t get it, there’s no way this doesn’t fit.” I sit down. “Hand me the next outfit.” My mind reels again as I slip into a skirt. “Hm, I really like this style.” The handkerchief hemline billows as I turn around. I watch the fabric dance in the mirror, flowing freely. “Would you bring some more of your recommendations?”

She leaves the dressing room, and I begin looking through some of the selections. One of the blouses I had picked up was a size 6. I know it doesn’t fit, but I am going to ask if she can find one that was in my size. I hold it up to myself, the skirt still dancing. As I look in the mirror, the blouse doesn’t seem all that big. As I put it on, I hear the door knob turning and clothes being tossed on the bench.

I finish pulling the blouse over, at the same time she’s turning to hand me the next outfit. I see her eyes grow large. Her green eyes, set in a slim face, dart from my lips, to my breasts, to my waist, to my thighs, and back up. Strangely, I think this time they linger a little longer. She’s clearly startled, so I wink and blow her another kiss.

She gestures at me and taken aback says, “That…. maybe.”

I admit I’m a little confused at this point. Her eyes are focused on my lips as she talks, “I’m going to be right back with some more of my recommendations. Why don’t you take those off and put them over the door.” Her voice was low, and almost sounded like she was being seduced. She put the clothes I had been trying on in a pile, and moved them outside of the dressing room.

Moments later she returned with another pile of clothes. Some of the patterns were cute, but a lot of them were bland. “I like some of these, but I’m not sure about these other ones.” I lifted up a comically large bra.

“Look down.” She put her hands on my naked breasts. They seemed gigantic in her hands. She slid her hands down my sides, and over my belly. Wait- my BELLY?? I looked in the mirror, and down again. I have a belly- one that wasn’t there when I walked into this dressing room. She slid her hands down to my thighs, and for the first time, I noticed they were no longer supple. There were dimples and marks on them. She raised her hands back up to my belly and lingered there.

Unable to stand, I fall back onto the bench. My perfect body is gone! I hadn’t even noticed the gradual progression. My breasts lay on my belly, unable to go back into any bra but the new bra she brought to me. I stand up shakily and turn slowly around, horrified at what is in the mirror. I look at the black yoga pants, the sky-blue tank top, and the pushup bra, lying in a pile. My hands begin to trace my body again, this time in fascination and wonder. The soft skin, the fat that pushes against the constraints of clothing, and my enormous breasts which somehow manage to hang over my new belly.

I come to the realization that the date and yoga are both off. In fact, everything is now off. My eyes can’t take their gaze off the ground. I need someone to help me, to tell me what to do…

“Here.” Leaning in and brushing my lips with hers, she picks up the last fashionable outfit in the stack, a clear 5 sizes larger than the last dress I put on, and tosses it at me. “Put this on, fatty, then…yes.”
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