An Augmented Vocabulary

You're darn proud of yourself. Before, you would have easily gotten distracted and stopped to play a game or casually eat. But you just spent over two hours imagining everything you could do, making sure to word the wishes with the ramifications in mind. You have six solid ideas on what to do; you could easily get two of them done tonight. One's at the top of your list, and you already did a test run: you wished that the name and address of the most stuck-up, snobby, prim-and-proper woman would appear on the paper in a little box you drew. And it fucking did! But it was a German name and address; you wished to limit that wish to a fifty mile radius and only women between age 25 and 35. A new, "American" name appeared, and only a few miles away from you. Not that it mattered the location: when the time comes, you'd just wish to be invisible and silent, but for your wishes to work, and you'd teleport there.

That time was now. It was 5:15 PM, still light out, but Winter was coming. You make the wish, everything included, and gasp silently as you find yourself in the apartment of a beautiful young woman, typing on a laptop at her desk.

That was the first time you teleported and you feel a little dizzy from it. Your heart races as you realize the implications of this situation. You're in a stranger's apartment, entirely invisible to them. You move cautiously through the house, though no one would even hear you. Large abstract art prints hang on the walls, she's using flower pots for pen holders, and you even spot a record player. She's a hipster alright. You continue the search and see that she lives with a man, you presume her boyfriend, who's reading a book titled Kenneth Clark: Life, Art and Civilisation. Sounds hipster-friendly enough. He's well-dressed and clean. They might be going out to dinner soon. He's safely tucked away in another room far from his woman. You return to her, and enact your plan.

Her black hair is styled in a classic bob. Her complexion is pale and she's tall, possibly even a little taller than you. She's wearing a gray button-up over a simple black sweater and a pair of dark-gray jeans. You can't see her smallish breasts under the sweater, nor the quality of her ass as she sits. You make your wish and sit on a nearby hipster-couch-chair, whatever the Hell this thing is called.

You wait patiently, admiring her beauty and looking for any signs of increase in the chest. The sweater's loose, so it won't need to fit to her increasing size. She scratches at her chest and returns to writing, but seconds later, she decides to pull at the neck of the sweater and look down. She raises her eyebrows slightly, but once again returns to writing. This is taking too long. (honestly, it's been five minutes since you teleported) You kick the effect up just a little and she finally has to stop and pull her button-up and sweater off.

Her jaw drops. Her breasts are spilling slightly over her flowery black bra. She feels herself. Now for the second part of your wish. "Daaaave... could you come here a second?" She calls to the man who was reading. "Sure thing." He responds simply and makes his way over.

His girlfriend? is standing there in her bra. "Yes?" He asks sheepishly.

"I think my tits got bigger..."

He's taken aback. "Your tits?"

"Yes, Dave, my tatas! They're bigger, but I had my period weeks ago. I just felt them growing now." She frowned.

"Since when do you call your breasts anything but 'breasts'?"

You would have thought he told her was going to kill and eat her mother. Her mind was blown that he could utter such a vulgar word in her presence. She looked furious and in utter shock.

"Dave! Your language! Don't speak like that with me or anyone, come on. This is serious!"

Oh, this was better than you'd expected. You'd wished that this prim-and-proper socialite would have the word 'breast' replaced with 100 slang words for breasts. When she cycled through them all, she'd realize what she's been doing. And 'breast' to her was the 'cunt' of cursing.

Dave was bewildered. His woman was clearly having some lapse of judgement, probably triggered by her purported increase in breast size. He decided to compartmentalize.

"Sorry, Catherine." He spoke. "I think it's nothing. I've read that this is common, you'll be fine by tomorrow." a reassuring smile. "Let's get that article done and we'll get to Chet's." That's a swanky restaurant he's referring to.

Catherine relented and went back to her work. She redressed herself in her loose sweater, displaying no indication of her changes... yet.

You peer over at the article she's writing. It seems to be a piece on the women of Kyrgyzstan. Could this stuck-up hipster be a feminist as well? All the better.

You count two-and-half minutes of her trying to ignore her changes. She has to stop and she slowly grabs at her sweatshirt's collar, then looks down...

"Ahh!" Catherine chirps and scrambles her sweater off. Damn, "adding three cup sizes over ten minutes' time" really shows. She's rivaling your nameless lover from this afternoon.

Dave rushes over and she hastily removes her bra. He's startled by her dramatic increase in breast size, speechless until he speaks, "Uh, hon... let's get you to a hospital."

Ah, that won't do. A wish fixes that.

"Yeah," Agrees Catherine. "This is ridic..." She pauses. "This is... uh. A miracle?" She almost can't believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. "I've always wanted jumbo baby-feeders...?" She declares with uncertainty.

"I guess you're right." Dave ponders. "I mean, a guy likes size, but you don't think these are too much?" Neither of them notice Catherine's continued growth. You look at Dave and notice he's got a boner.

"Nope." She pragmatically replies and begins to fondle herself. Dave makes his way over to touch them himself. She slaps his hand!

"Aww, come on, Catherine. Your new breasts are amazing!"

She flinches from his use of such a vulgar word. "Language!" She reprimands him loudly. "My bazookas are NOT your property."