Dress up

Panty pushes open the door to her room with a dramatic flourish and a little hop. “Tadaaa~! Welcome to my humble kingdom of fashion, sin, and whatever else I tossed in here!” she says with a sing-song tone, completely oblivious to how tightly her short red dress hugs her curves. She twirls once and flops onto the bed, legs kicking up behind her like a teenager in a slumber party movie.

Brief stands awkwardly at the door, trying not to stare at anything that might combust his brain.

Panty props herself up on her elbows, flashing a grin. “Well don’t just stand there, nerd. C’mon in. I don’t bite.” She winks. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Kuromi, now tucked under Panty’s arm like a favorite bedtime plush, chimes in with her usual unsettling sweetness:

“Would you like to help Miss Panty choose her outfit today, guest? After all, you are the guest of honor~”

Panty giggles. “Ooooh! That’s a cute idea! Like a little fashion game. C’mon, Briefie~ you can be my stylist. But no funny business, okay? This is serious art.”

Brief, already sweating, mutters a hesitant “O-okay...” as Panty rolls onto her back, holding Kuromi on her chest like a snuggly toy… except the plush seems to smirk.

“Let’s play dress-up~”

Brief stood in the middle of Panty’s chaotic room like a soldier about to step on a minefield. Clothes were scattered everywhere—lacy black things, shiny red vinyls, more fishnet than a deep-sea trawler—and Panty was humming while flinging garments behind her like she was digging for treasure.

“Okay, stylist boy,” she said with mock authority, hands on her hips. “Pick something! Just grab whatever screams me.”

“S-sure…” Brief mumbled, desperately trying not to look at anything directly. His fingers darted forward, grasping the first thing he touched without even glancing.

He held it up.

It was… a red vinyl spiked bikini top. Shiny. Dangerous. Designed by Satan’s most sexually confident intern.

Panty burst out laughing. “Wow. Going straight for the jugular, huh? Didn’t peg you for a dom-lover, Briefie.”

“I-I didn’t even look! I swear!” he stammered, going red from the ears down.

Panty just winked. “Whatever you say, nerd.”

She sauntered over to the folding screen in the corner—an ornate thing with flower prints that looked wildly out of place next to the stripper pole by her mirror—and vanished behind it.

The light from the window cast her shadow perfectly through the screen. He could see her hands moving behind her back. The curve of her hips. The outline of her pulling her dress up and off.

Brief tried to stare at the ceiling. The floor. Kuromi. A nail in the wall. Anything.

Behind the screen, Panty’s voice rang out with sarcastic innocence.

“Oh nooo~ the poor virgin’s gonna faint from just a shadow~” she teased. “You okay out there, Brief? Need some holy water?”

He stayed silent, face burning.

“Oh come on,” she continued. “A real man wouldn’t get hard from a bra. Especially not just looking at one. Right?”

Brief made a small, strangled sound that could have been “please stop” or just a dying soul leaving its body.

Panty snorted. “That’s what I thought. Nerd.”

From his place on the edge of the bed, Kuromi sat perched like a goblin on a throne.

“Your selection is appreciated, guest. This is already so very entertaining.”

Brief buried his face in his hands.

Brief tried not to breathe too loudly. The screen stood tall, shielding Panty from view—at least in theory. He sat rigidly on the edge of her bed, knees together like he was in church and trying not to burst into flames.

Behind the screen, the sounds were far too suggestive for his comfort. Fabric rustling. A low, annoyed groan. The unmistakable pop of spandex refusing to cooperate with curves that defied physics.

Then he noticed something strange. The full-length mirror on the wall… hadn’t it been angled toward the door?

Now, it was slightly tilted. Just enough to catch the light filtering past the screen.

And in that new angle—clear as day—was Panty’s reflection.

Brief froze.

Her back was to the mirror, golden hair tied up as she tried to work the tiny red vinyl bikini top over her shoulders. Her spine arched slightly as she wriggled it on, her toned stomach on full display, the tops of her breasts spilling generously over the glossy fabric as she gave up on adjusting the spikes properly. She didn’t seem to notice the mirror at all.

Brief’s jaw dropped. He didn’t want to look. He tried not to. But his eyes locked onto the mirror like it was transmitting holy secrets.

And that’s when he heard the voice.

“Observation is a gift, especially for the observant.”

Brief flinched like someone had slapped him in the soul.

He turned. Kuromi hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed. Still perfectly perched, still smiling in that calm, neutral, polite way.

But the mirror had moved. And he hadn’t touched it.

“W-what the hell…” Brief whispered under his breath, breaking into a cold sweat.

He looked back at the mirror. Then at Kuromi. Then at the mirror again.

“Nope. Nope. Nope,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else. Puppies. Taxes. Sandpaper. Literally anything besides Panty struggling to contain her gravity-defying tits in a top meant for someone with much smaller ambitions.

His ears burned with embarrassment. But some terrible, traitorous part of his brain whispered: She hasn’t even put the bottoms on yet.

the screen, Panty was grumbling to herself like a spoiled cat rooting through a toy chest.

“Ugh, this one’s all tangled... who the hell even folded these?” she muttered, tossing something to the side with a dramatic flap of spandex against wood. “Okay, no… that one’s got ketchup stains. Classy, Panty…”

Brief sat stiffly on the bed, staring straight ahead at nothing, while the rustling sounds continued. Every so often, a flash of something skimpy would flutter above the screen — a tangle of straps, a feathery trim, something that looked suspiciously like a latex nurse hood.

Panty continued monologuing, voice rising and falling with each rejection.

“Oooh, leather. Nah, too squeaky. This one? Eh, I wore it to a funeral once. Is that weird?”

Brief said nothing. He was afraid any noise would summon the wrath of fate.

Then came the moment of discovery.

“Aha!” Panty cooed. “Now this looks comfy… and kind of farm-fresh chic.”

Brief blinked.

He heard the snap of elastic and the sound of fabric sliding up skin. Panty let out a confused little noise.

“Why is there… so much space up top?”

There was a pause.

Then, from behind the screen: “What the hell?! J cup?! Who the hell even bought this?! I don’t have udder-tier boobs!”

Brief sputtered, almost **** on air.

“Oh my God,” Panty continued, clearly still putting it on, undeterred, “You could smuggle melons in this thing. I look like I’m playing dress-up with a dairy fetish!”

“This bra is your size, you can moo-ve forward with it,” Kuromi chimed helpfully from the bed.

Panty blinked. “Oh yeah, I guess I am.”

Brief’s eyes widened. His soul left his body for a second.

“Wait, wait, wait—what?!” he whispered, heart racing.

He stared at the silhouette behind the screen.

Panty slipped the bra on with a triumphant little huff, and just as Brief blinked—

Her shadow… changed.

Before, she had the modest silhouette of her usual confident C-cup figure.

Now?

Now her outline was obscene.

The cow-print bra—tight, glossy, and somehow still jiggling—clung to a pair of massive, perfectly rounded J-cup breasts, nearly overflowing even the exaggerated fabric.

Panty adjusted the straps nonchalantly. “Oh hey, this actually fits better than I thought. Wild.”

Brief almost fell off the bed.

He glanced down at Kuromi, who sat innocently on the mattress, her button eyes twinkling.

Panty, still behind the screen, struck a casual pose, oblivious to her sudden transformation.

“I look utterly adorable!” she asked, clearly pleased with herself.

Brief whimpered into his hoodie sleeve.

The folding screen rattled slightly as Panty stepped out from behind it, beaming.

“Ta-da~!” she declared, planting a hand on her hip.

Brief’s brain hit the blue screen of ****.

The cow-print bikini clung to her new absurd J-cup chest like it was defying the laws of textile engineering. Her breasts jiggled dangerously with every tiny movement, like a physics engine going rogue. A matching bottom clung tightly to her hips, the high-cut sides rising so far it was practically a wedgie, exposing creamy thigh and the generous curve of her bubble butt. Her whole body shimmered slightly from the lotion she'd applied earlier—and when she turned slightly, her boobs bounced independently from each other.

And she had no idea.

Brief opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a squeaky wheeze.

“Damn, this actually feels comfy,” Panty said, pulling at one strap experimentally—unaware that the motion caused her entire chest to bounce again. “Guess cow print’s my thing now.”

She struck another pose—this time leaning forward with her arms behind her back, causing her breasts to practically launch themselves forward.

Kuromi sat silently on the bed, looking pleased.

“Brief is speechless. That means he approves.”

Panty grinned and gave a lazy wink. “Of course he does. Nerds always get flustered over a little skin.”

Brief tugged at his collar, visibly overheating.

“I—I think something’s wrong—th-this isn’t your—your—” he stammered.

Panty tilted her head. “What? You think I suddenly got hotter overnight?” She snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ve always been stacked. You just weren’t brave enough to admit it.”

He blinked again, as if trying to reset reality. Nope. Still enormous.

He slowly turned to Kuromi.

“Did you…?”

The plush’s stitched smile never changed.

“Moo-ving forward is part of growth.”

Brief whimpered.

Panty stretched lazily, arms overhead, which of course made her top ride up—just a little too high.

Snap.

The strap snapped off her shoulder.

Her eyes widened.

Brief screamed internally.

Panty looked down. “Well, crap.”

Then the other strap slipped.

Brief’s nose bled.

“Don’t just stand there, nerd!” Panty barked. “Catch it!”

She lunged forward to grab the front of her top—too fast—her balance shifted—

And she tripped right over Kuromi.

Panty tumbled forward—

Right into Brief.

J-cups. Full ****. Right into his face.

He toppled backward, hitting the bed with a muffled whump and a load of squish.

Panty was sprawled over him now, chest mashed into his face, knees on either side of his hips. The bra had ridden up again. Her entire weight (and a surprising amount of boob) was pressing down on him.

Silence.

Then a tiny voice from the floor.

“What a lovely bonding exercise.”

Panty groaned and tried to push herself up.

Brief groaned and refused to open his eyes.

Panty sat up with a huff, clutching the snapped bikini top in one hand like it had insulted her. Her golden hair was tousled, her cheeks slightly pink—not from embarrassment, but from sheer annoyance. She held the garment out toward Brief with a slow, smug smile creeping onto her lips.

Brief, meanwhile, was frozen in place, still trying to mentally survive the last five minutes of sensory overload.

Then came the real problem.

Kuromi, still perched regally on the bed like a smug plush queen, turned her head just slightly toward them.

“It is only fair the chooser becomes the dresser.”

Panty blinked. Then she lit up.

“Ohhh,” she said slowly, turning back toward Brief. “Yeah. That’s right. You did pick it out, didn’t you, dweeb?”

She leaned in, close enough for Brief to count every perfect eyelash. Her breasts shifted under the towel she’d thrown over herself, the massive orbs barely staying in line.

“Well?” she purred, eyes half-lidded. “You broke it. You fix it.”

“I—I didn’t break it—” Brief protested weakly, backing up slightly.

Panty followed him with lazy steps, still holding the top out between two fingers. She tilted her head.

“Then what, it exploded from sheer fear of my tits?” she asked, unamused.

Brief made a noise between a whimper and a laugh.

Kuromi, completely unhelpful, chimed again.

“Responsibility begins with reparations.”

Panty raised her eyebrows and gave Brief a one-shouldered shrug. “Plushie’s got a point.”

She shoved the bikini top into his hands.

“Get to it, champ. I’m not doing this alone.”

Brief looked down at the impossible task in his fingers. The material was stretchy, glossy, and clearly made for someone either significantly smaller or significantly more elastic than Panty. His hands trembled slightly.

Panty turned her back to him, arms folded beneath her hair, exposing the flawless plane of her upper back. The towel slipped lower.

He audibly gulped.

“U-uh—how do I even…?”

Panty glanced over her shoulder.

“You figure it out,” she said flatly. “Or I figure out where your hands go instead.”

Brief nodded, barely, and stepped forward, red-faced and sweating, holding the absurd top in shaking hands like he was defusing a bomb made of boobs.

Time to begin the operation.

Brief stepped in slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal. One wrong move and he was sure Panty would whirl around and clock him with her elbow—or worse, smirk again. She stood still, arms crossed under her bust, hair flipped over one shoulder. The towel had dropped to her waist, leaving her smooth back fully exposed.

He held up the red vinyl top behind her, trying to gauge where the straps were even supposed to go. His hands fumbled with the stringy material, awkwardly twisting it around.

Panty glanced back and sighed, long and dramatic.

“Not a bomb, genius. Just a strap. Unless you’re planning to detonate these melons.”

Brief let out a choked squeak. The word melons bounced around in his brain like a bullet in a tin can.

He managed to hook one side of the strap over her left shoulder. The other slipped and he lunged, accidentally pressing his hand against the side of her breast.

“Sorry! I—I didn’t mean—!”

“Mm,” Panty said flatly. “So that’s how it is.”

Brief was about to die on the spot. “N-no! I-I was just trying to—!”

She turned her head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “You ever touch a real woman’s chest before, nerd?”

“No!! I mean—yes—I mean—not like that—!!”

Brief took a deep breath. He carefully pulled the strap taut again, trying desperately not to brush against anything squishy. But it was like trying to strap a seatbelt over a water balloon—every slight motion caused some kind of wobble or bounce that made his brain misfire.

Panty remained completely deadpan. “You’re trembling. Relax. My tits don’t bite.”

“W-well, you might!”

“True.”

She gave a fake little hop for no reason. The bikini strap slipped again.

Brief's brain blue-screened.

Panty sighed again. “Okay, I’m gonna hold still. You better finish this up before I fall asleep and wake up topless.”

“That’s… not helping,” he muttered, red to his ears.

He was so close. Just one more tug. One more pull of the string.

Brief held his breath. His fingers trembled around the vinyl strap as he tugged it behind Panty’s back, trying to tie the ends together. The material was glossy, stubborn, and slick. It didn’t want to hold a knot — it wanted to escape. Just like his sanity.

Panty didn’t help. She kept her arms casually lifted behind her head, as if to flex on him while still pretending none of this mattered. Her shoulder blades moved slightly with every breath, and the sheer weight of her “melons” — as she’d called them — made the top bulge and strain in all the wrong (and most distracting) ways.

He cinched the knot. Slowly. Carefully.

Panty shifted.

The knot slipped.

The strap snapped.

Her boobs surged forward with a jiggling fwump, wobbling like they'd been launched out of a slingshot.

Brief immediately stumbled backward, arms flailing like a crash test dummy. “I—I didn’t—I mean—!”

Panty looked down at her chest, then casually held one hand across her bust. “Wow. You really are bad at tying knots, huh?”

From the bed, Kuromi’s voice rang out with glee.

“System failure detected. Chest containment: unsuccessful. Recommending immediate recovery protocol. Or just enjoy the crash.”

Brief covered his eyes, but it was too late. The image had been seared into his brain forever. Even worse — from his awkward fall, he now lay on the floor… at the perfect angle to see the underside of her boobs, completely eclipsing her waist in silhouette.

Panty glanced down at him.

“Having fun down there, Floor Gremlin?”

“Cameras would love this angle,” Kuromi added in a singsong voice. “Especially with the subject so generously top-heavy.”

Brief rolled over with a whimper, face hot enough to fry eggs.

Panty shrugged and pulled the top back up like she was tossing on a T-shirt. “Eh, whatever. That thing’s probably illegal in three states anyway.”

“Not anymore,” Kuromi noted. “I filed the paperwork.”

Brief scrambled to sit upright, still avoiding eye contact. “C-can I just… sit in the corner now? Forever?”

Panty gave him a teasing little smirk. “Aww, is the little nerd having a meltdown?”

She leaned in close, still holding the top barely in place.

“I guess I do owe you for trying to help… even if you totally failed.”

Then she turned, walked to the mirror — and bounced on her heels once, for no reason.

“Shake test: passed, for now.” Kuromi declared proudly.

Panty had her arms lifted again, holding the absurd cow-print bikini top in place while Brief did his best not to pass out from stress.

His hands were shaking. His mind was mush. The elastic vinyl material felt like it had been designed in a lab to specifically humiliate him.

Then came Kuromi’s calm voice, from the edge of the bed where she lay nestled in pink frills:

“Oh my, this is just like those animes you love so much Brief. Big bounce all the way!”

Before Brief could question what she was referancing, something boinged.

Literally. Out loud.

Panty’s chest jiggled — no, launched — like physics had just been modded for fanservice. Her boobs bounced independently of her body, cartoonishly perfect spheres with a mind of their own.

Boing~!

Boing boing~!

Brief blinked. “Did… did that sound effect come from you?” he asked Kuromi in horror.

“Perhaps. Or from her heart,” Kuromi replied cryptically.

Panty didn’t seem to notice — or care — that her tits were practically violating the airspace. Instead, she grinned over her shoulder. “Well? Get to it, nerd-boy. You ever try to strap a bomb onto a trampoline? Same vibe.”

Brief tried. Oh, did he try.

But the more he worked, the worse it got.

His fingers got stuck between twisted straps. He pulled one side taut, only to accidentally poke the other into her side. He slipped, his forehead bumping softly into her bouncing cleavage.

Panty snorted.

“Whoa there. Is that your nose, or are you sniffing me on purpose?” she teased, voice drenched in fake innocence.

Brief stammered like a broken car alarm. “N-no! I was just trying to—! The strap—!”

She leaned closer.

“Uh-huh. Just trying to suffocate yourself in cow cleavage. Totally believable.”

Then, with zero warning, she turned fully around to adjust the bikini bottom.

Brief’s eyes went wide.

Panty’s round, perky ass was now inches from his face — practically glowing under the room’s lighting, bouncing slightly as she tugged at the tight cow-print material riding deep into her curves.

“A helper must inspect the seams… carefully,” Kuromi said with a breathy lilt. “It would be tragic if there was a… wardrobe malfunction.”

Brief whimpered. His hands were still tangled in the top’s back strap, but now his soul was tangled in moral confusion.

Panty casually glanced at him from over her shoulder. “You done **** on air yet? Or you need to get closer to fix it?”

She gave her hips one final wiggle. The bikini bottom squeaked. Brief couldn't take it anymore.