The Store

Sally pushed the last box of promotional materials under the counter with a huff before looking back up at the tv on the wall, taking in the sight of the the boutique lingerie store that catered exclusively to the very, very well-endowed.

“Its all yours” she reminded herself again, a smile creeping onto the redhead's face as she folded her arms under her own huge – some would say massive - bust.

The idea had come from her own experiences growing up, when good looking, comfortable or fashionable bras simply didn't exist past a certain size. Being the bustiest futa in school sure had its perks, but she nearly died of embarrassment at the age of 16 when her mother had to buy her a 48FF granny bra just for a cup big enough to contain her still-growing 32MM-cup tits.

Driven by that feeling, Sally had decided early what she would do. An A-level, a degree and finally a Masters in Business proved that the only thing bigger than Sally's ever-expansive chest was her brain, and armed with a detailed plan she set about financing and setting up her dream.

It had been a marathon of hard work, late nights and mountains of paperwork sorting out premises, suppliers, advertising and all the other little things that make a business work. But seeing the results infront of her was well worth the effort, and she hoped that her little shop would help women and futas of all ages in a way that she hadn't been.

Business had been slow for the first month and the pandemic had nearly killed her idea before it fully got going. SARS-BIMBV-21 (or “PinkHeart” as it had been nicknamed, thanks to the glowing heard-shaped that appeared somewhere on a patient's body while they were infectious) had ravaged the country in recent months, turning anyone it infected into a hyper, sex-addicted mess. A full recovery was made in almost all cases, but a significant number of patients suffered side effects, including growth in various areas, body or gender changes and even in some cases slight age regression.

Sales were almost non-existent during the lockdowns, and more than one night she had stayed awake worrying about if it had all been a mistake, as the bills piled up but bodies didn't come through the door.

The turning point came when the lockdowns had finally lifted, and Sally contacted some of the local Elastogen, Silium and Penerol clinics. There was now a huge market of PinkHeart patients tht they could service, and they could not get them through the doors fast enough. In the end, things worked out quite well – Sally would refer anyone who wanted even more to the clinics, and in turn they would send them back to Sally to have their expansive curves clothed.

A little discount here, a few free samples for Sally there, and as word of mouth caught on Sally was soon flooded with orders and appointments. Her previously quiet days now a blur of fittings, measurements and stock orders as a seemingly endless line of hugely buxom babes came through her doors. Within a fortnight she was taking bookings for over three months in advance and simply couldn't keep on her own, so she decided an assistant was required.

Deciding that seeing someone in-person was best and that she was far more likely to find any potential recruit from the myriad of futas and women that came through her store, Sally had simply placed a small advert in the window, asking people interested to enquire within.

Her shop was beginning to get a brand image that reflected its services, and any potential staff had to do that too. She remembered the passive aggressive or condescending ways her chest was described by “advisors” when she was younger, and decided that noone would ever suffer that in her store. After all, even with PinkHeart raging, who better to advise and help someone self-conscious about their size than someone who had been through it all?