Smuggling Zoe's boobs beneath Zoe's nose

Samantha's phone clattered onto the nightstand as her trembling fingers lost their grip, the device bouncing once before settling face-up with Zoe's contact photo still glowing on the dark screen. The words bicycle accident and Mount Sinai Hospital echoed in her head like alarm bells, each repetition ratcheting up her pulse another notch until her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. Tina was hurt. Tina was in the hospital. Tina needed her friends, needed her, and Samantha was lying naked in bed with breasts the size of melons that she'd stolen—borrowed, her mind corrected automatically—from her other best friend's body via impossible science-magic-whatever-the-fuck their Genetic Sync was.

"Fuck," Samantha breathed, the word escaping as barely more than a whisper. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Harry was already sitting up, his hand on her shoulder, concern etched across his features. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

"Tina was in a bike accident," Samantha said, her voice tight and high. "Car hit her on her way to work. She's at Mount Sinai. Zoe's was on her way there and she—she sounded terrified, Harry. I've never heard Zoe sound like that."

"Okay," Harry said, his voice shifting into that practical problem-solving mode he got when things were serious. "Okay. We'll go. Of course we'll go. How bad is it?"

"I have no idea, Zoe just blurted the hospital name and room to me before hanging up. It sounded like she was weaving through traffic," Samantha recited, the recollection of the call already feeling like another lifetime ago. "Room 412. We need to—" She stopped, her gaze dropping to her chest where Zoe’s magnificent breasts sat heavily on her torso. "But I can’t. Harry, I can't go to the hospital like this."

The realization hit Harry immediately, his still tired brain on a sort of tape-delay in putting the facts together. His eyes went wide, his gaze tracking from Samantha's face to her chest and back again. "Right. Yeah. That's—that's a problem."

"A problem?" Samantha's voice cracked on the word, pitching higher than she'd intended. "This is more than a problem, Harry. These are Zoe's tits. her exact tits, down to the mole and the stretch marks and probably the fucking cellular structure. If she sees me with them, she'll know. I don’t know how but she’ll know. She always knows everything. She'll know I stole her bra and copied her boobs and she'll think I'm some kind of perverted—"

"Hey," Harry interrupted, his hands cupping her face and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Breathe. Why would she think you stole her breasts? That’s impossible—well, was… impossible? Anyways, she has no reason to assume that. nobody knows about whatever this Sync thing is other than us and Dr. Genet. We'll figure this out. You need to get dressed, we need to hide them somehow, and we need to get to that hospital. Tina needs you, remember? Focus on that."

Samantha sucked in a shaky breath and nodded, then threw back the sheets and swung her legs out of bed. The movement sent her breasts swaying dramatically, the weight pulling at her chest in a way that would have been arousing under any other circumstances but now just felt like a ticking time bomb strapped to her torso. She stood up too fast and immediately had to adjust her balance, nearly stumbling as her center of gravity betrayed her completely.

"Closet," she said, moving toward it with careful steps, gesticulating at her chest while talking. "I need to find something that'll hide them. Something baggy. Something that doesn’t reveal… too much."

The new apartment had large closets, but hers was only modestly filled—her previous apartment didn't leave much room for extensive wardrobes and other than the bras and panties she bought a couple days ago, was limited to just her wardrobe from before meeting Harry—but she'd accumulated enough clothes over the years that there should be something, anything that could work. Harry followed her, still naked himself, and she could feel his presence behind her as she started rifling through hangers with increasing desperation.

The first thing she grabbed was a white button-up shirt that usually sat loose on her, something she wore to work when she wanted to look professional but not try-hard. Samantha shrugged it on and immediately knew it was hopeless. The fabric stretched across her chest like someone had upholstered a sofa with tissue paper, and when she tried to button it, the gaps between buttons were obscene and the middle three refused to get even within inches of one another to button at all. She could see her flesh bulging through the spaces, pale skin and the edges of her areolas pillowing out from every gap.

"Next," Harry said unnecessarily as Samantha tore the shirt off with a groan of frustration.

She tried a loose-fitting tank top next, something she wore to the gym on days when she wanted to feel cute rather than serious. The fabric was stretchy and forgiving on her normal body, meant to drape casually across her flat chest and create the illusion of curves where there were none. On her current body, it looked like like a halter top. Her breasts filled the top completely, straining the fabric until she could see the outline of her new nipples even through two layers of material. When she twisted to check herself in the mirror mounted on the closet door, her breasts bounced and the tank top rode up, exposing the underside of her left breast.

"Absolutely not," Samantha said, yanking it off.

"Maybe something from the back?" Harry suggested, reaching past her to pull out a sweater she'd bought on clearance three years ago and never worn. It was cream-colored and soft, made of some synthetic material that had looked cozy in the store but turned out to pill after one washing. She'd shoved it to the back of her closet and forgotten about it.

Samantha pulled the sweater over her head and immediately regretted it. The neckline, which had seemed demure and almost prudish on the hanger, plunged dramatically when stretched across her massive chest. Her cleavage was on full display, the soft valley between her breasts deep enough to lose small objects in. The fabric clung to every curve, outlining her breasts so clearly she might as well have been topless. Worse, the sweater ended at her waist, and the combination of her narrow Zoe-sized waist and her enormous chest created a top-heavy, exaggerated silhouette that looked like some sort of perverted cartoon.

"I look like a porn star," Samantha said flatly, tugging at the neckline in a futile attempt to cover more skin. "I look like I'm about to ask someone if they want to have a very educational private tutoring session."

"You look incredible," Harry said automatically, then caught her glare. "I mean, yeah, too conspicuous. Definitely can't wear that. But objectively you look—"

"Harry."

"Right. Sorry. Next option."

Samantha threw the sweater across the room where it landed on their unmade bed, then turned back to the closet with renewed desperation. Her eyes landed on one of Harry's hoodies hanging on her side—he'd left it there a couple nights ago after a rare chilly night for this time of year. It was easily three sizes too big for her normal body, grey and worn soft from years of washing, with University College London printed across the chest in faded letters.

"This," Samantha said, pulling it off the hanger. "This has to work. It's huge."

She pulled the hoodie over her head, fighting to get her arms through sleeves that seemed determined to twist around backwards. When she finally got it settled, she looked down at herself and felt her stomach sink. The hoodie was baggy, sure, but her breasts created such prominent swells beneath the fabric that the overall effect was somehow more noticeable than the tight clothes had been. She looked like someone desperately trying to hide something, and what she was hiding was so large that even a tent of fabric couldn't fully disguise it.

"Fuck," Samantha said again, this word coming out choked and close to tears. "Nothing works. Harry, nothing fucking works. I can't hide them. They're too big."

Her hands came up to cup her breasts through the hoodie, squeezing them like she could somehow compress them into a more manageable size through **** of will alone. The flesh yielded under her grip but sprang back immediately when she released the pressure, as full and present as ever. Her eyes were burning now, frustration and panic mixing into something that felt dangerously close to a breakdown.

Harry moved closer, his hands settling on her shoulders. "Hey. It's okay. We'll figure something else out."

"How?" Samantha demanded, her voice breaking. "How are we going to figure this out? I can't show up at the hospital looking like this, but I also can't not go. Tina's hurt and Zoe needs support and they're my best friends and I'm standing here with Zoe’s tits trying to figure out how to stuff them into clothing that isn't designed for this much—this much—"

She gestured helplessly at her chest, words failing her. The absurdity of the situation was almost funny—almost, but not quite, because Tina was lying **** in a hospital bed and Samantha was wasting precious minutes having a crisis about breasts that wouldn't even be attached to her body by this time tomorrow.

"Compression," Harry said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with an idea. "What if we compress them? Like, really compress them. Make them smaller, flatter."

"With what?" Samantha asked. "I don't exactly keep industrial-strength breast binders in my underwear drawer."

"Sports bras?" Harry suggested. "Layer multiple sports bras? Or we could use—I don't know, athletic tape? Ace bandages? Something to hold them down."

Samantha looked at him, then back at her reflection in the closet mirror. The woman looking back at her was wild-eyed and ****, her face flushed and her hair a disaster, Harry's hoodie hanging off her frame and doing absolutely nothing to hide the obvious curves beneath. But Harry's idea had merit. It was insane, potentially painful, and definitely not how any of this was supposed to work, but it might be their only option.

Samantha gestured at her chest with both hands. "Sports bras? In my drawer? That's like looking for condoms in a convent. Don’t forget that I’m the president of the Itty-Bitty-Titty-Committee." She cupped her new massive breasts, lifting them slightly. "Or at least I was. Anyways, no sports bras here. But compression tape..." Her eyes lit up as her voice steadied. "That might actually work. Let's try it."

She pulled off the hoodie and stood there in just her skin, her borrowed breasts heavy and prominent on her chest. Harry's gaze lingered on them for a moment before he **** his eyes away and headed toward the bathroom where he kept his athletic tape.

"I'm a terrible friend," Samantha said almost to herself, moving back toward the mirror. "I stole my best friend's bra so I could have her tits for a day, and now I'm debating whether to visit my other best friend in the hospital because I'm afraid of getting caught."

"You're not a terrible friend," Harry said firmly, returning with the tape. "You're a good friend who made a weird choice for science reasons and is now in a complicated situation. There's a difference."

Samantha snorted despite herself. "Science reasons. Right. That's definitely why I wanted to have Zoe's huge tits bouncing on my chest all night."

"Your words last night, not mine," Harry chided playfully as he fought to peel the edge on the roll of athletic tape. "Turn here."

She turned to face Harry, an act that sent her breasts swaying and jiggling incessantly. His eyes dropped to her chest automatically, tracking the way her breasts swayed with the movement, and she watched his pupils dilate despite the stress and exhaustion evident on his face while his fingers idly picked at the tape.

"Stop staring," Samantha said, but there was no heat in it. She would never admit it to him, but if this wasn't such a dire situation, she'd be finding this kind of hot. But no, that thought quickly left her mind, even if its taste lingered in her loins.

"Can't help it," Harry admitted. "Even knowing what a disaster this is, even knowing we need to get to the hospital, I can't stop looking at them. You're so fucking sexy like this, Sam."

"Not helpful right now," Samantha said, but she felt the heat continue to pool between her legs at the naked hunger in his voice.

"I know," Harry said. "I know. We need to focus. We need to get you compressed and dressed and out the door. Come on. Let's figure out how to squish these things down."

Harry peeled off a length of the athletic tape while Samantha stood with her arms raised, trying to figure out the best position. The tape was cold and sticky against her skin where he pressed the end just below her left breast, and she shivered at the sensation. Harry began wrapping in a spiral pattern, pulling the tape snug but not tight enough to cut off circulation. The elastic material compressed her breast tissue inward and upward, flattening the natural hang and creating a more compact shape against her chest wall.

"How does that feel?" Harry asked after completing the first wrap around her torso.

"Weird," Samantha admitted. "But not painful. Keep going."

He continued wrapping, each pass of tape adding more compression and structure. Samantha watched in the mirror as her boobs began to diminish, her breasts squishing smaller as they were **** into tighter and tighter spaces. The tape was doing exactly what they needed it to do—creating compression that even sports bras couldn't manage, redistributing the tissue so it took up less visual space even if the mass was squished a little wider and higher on her torso.

After using nearly the entire roll of tape, Harry stepped back to survey his work. Samantha's chest was now wrapped from the tip of her cleavage down to the bottom of her breasts, the white tape making her torso look like she'd been injured in some kind of elaborate accident. Her breasts were still there—there was no hiding that much tissue completely—but they were dramatically reduced, compressed down from J-cups to something closer to C-cups or maybe D-cups. Still noticeable, but no longer impossible to conceal.

"This might actually work," Samantha said wonderingly, turning to see herself from different angles. "I mean, I look like I've been in an accident myself, but under clothes... it might be okay."

Harry grabbed his UCL hoodie from where Samantha had discarded it earlier and held it out to her. "Try this now."

Samantha pulled the hoodie over her head, and this time the effect was completely different. Her compressed chest created gentle swells under the fabric rather than dramatic curves, and the baggy cut of the hoodie disguised even that modest shape. She looked bulkier than usual, sure, but not obviously hiding enormous breasts. More like she was bloated or had gained a few pounds or was wearing extra layers because she was cold.

"Oh my god," Samantha breathed. "This actually works. Harry, this actually works!"

She turned back and forth in front of the mirror, testing how the hoodie moved with her body, checking for any obvious signs of her compressed breasts. There were slight bulges, sure, but nothing that screamed 'I am currently wearing my best friend's stolen tits'. Just someone wearing an oversized hoodie to the hospital, which was weird but not suspicious.

"Okay," Harry said, moving to stand beside her in the mirror. "Now we practice. I'm going to be Zoe, and you need to convince me that nothing weird is going on."

He affected a higher pitch and tilted his head in a passable imitation of Zoe's mannerisms. "Sam! Oh my god, why are you wearing a hoodie like that to the Hospital?"

Samantha tried not to laugh at his exaggerated performance and **** her face into what she hoped was a casual expression. "Just feeling bloated today. You know how it is—that time of the month and everything. I wanted to be comfortable."

"But you look so... bulky," Harry-as-Zoe continued, narrowing his eyes in exaggerated suspicion. "Are you sure you're okay? You're not sick, are you?"

"I'm fine," Samantha insisted, and she was pleased to hear that her voice sounded mostly normal. "I promise. I just wanted to dress for comfort instead of style today. Can we talk about Tina instead? How is she?"

Harry broke character and nodded approvingly. "That's good. Deflect to Tina whenever possible. Make it about her, not about you."

They ran through several more practice scenarios—Zoe asking if she'd gained weight, Zoe trying to hug her, Zoe reaching for the hoodie to feel the fabric. Each time, Samantha practiced her responses until they sounded natural and unrehearsed. By the end of their impromptu rehearsal, she felt marginally more prepared to face her friend.

"One more thing," Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You need to learn how to move with your new center of gravity."

He gestured for her to demonstrate walking, and Samantha obliged, taking a few steps across their bedroom. Immediately she felt the difference—the compression had helped, but her breasts were still heavier and positioned differently than her normal flat chest. She compensated by hunching slightly forward, rolling her shoulders in to make herself smaller.

"Not like that," Harry said. "You look like you're trying to hide something, which you are, but you can't look like you are. Stand up straighter. Shoulders back, but cross your arms across your chest. Make it look natural."

Samantha adjusted her posture, standing taller while keeping her arms folded casually across her torso. The position felt awkward and deliberate, but when she looked in the mirror she had to admit it looked more natural than hunching.

"Better," Harry approved. "Just remember to breathe. Act normal. You're just Sam, visiting a sick friend, wearing comfortable clothes because you're bloated and don't feel good."

"Just Sam," Samantha repeated. "Completely normal Sam with absolutely no stolen body parts."

She moved toward the closet to grab socks and shoes, and immediately discovered another limitation of her breasts—she couldn't bend forward properly. When she tried to lean down to reach her sneakers, the tape pulled tight across her chest as the weight of her breasts pressed painfully against the compression and nearly toppled her over. She had to sit on the floor and bring her feet up to tie her shoes rather than bending at the waist like she normally would.

"Even compressed they're in the way," Samantha muttered, wrestling with her shoelaces. "How do people with big tits do anything?"

"Very sexily," Harry said, crouching beside her to help with her other shoe and elbowing her playfully. His fingers brushed against her ankle as he tied the laces, and the gentle touch sent an unexpected shiver up her leg. When he looked up at her, his eyes were dark with want despite the stress and urgency of their situation.

"You're beautiful," Harry said quietly. "Even like this, all compressed and anxious and wearing my ugly hoodie. You're so fucking beautiful, Sam."

Samantha leaned forward and kissed him, forgetting about her compressed breasts until they squashed painfully between their bodies. She gasped against his mouth but didn't pull away, and Harry's hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard and Samantha felt arousal pooling between her legs despite everything else going on. Harry's hand slid down to her chest, carefully adjusting a section of tape that had started to lift at the edge.

"Later," Harry promised, his voice rough. "When we get home and you take this off, I'm going to worship every inch of these breasts before they disappear."

"Deal," Samantha managed, then **** herself to stand up. "But right now we need to go. Tina needs us."

"Tina needs us," Harry agreed, standing and grabbing her keys from the nightstand. "I'll drive."