Out Of Stock (Patreon Commission for MephistonOwl)

When Clara left the store, she left behind her a trail of extremely confused workers who all had to come up with some sort of half-rational explanation for the serval. They remembered her face; she’d been all over the cameras picking up a number of bras that she had no business wearing, and on one occasion even went so far as to pick up a hyper-sized one when she barely reached a B-cup.

So for the same serval to walk out of the changing room wearing said bra, and absolutely nothing else on account of not having a shirt that could fit, was… something. The most anyone could come up with was idle speculation on it somehow having been some form of fake breasts, prosthetics that the cat wore for the sake of showing off; though, the way they moved, the way they swayed from side to side, their heft, it was all too… real.

Of course, they were real, and while none but Clara knew, the serval didn’t exactly care that other people were aware of that little titbit. Mostly, she was still trying to come to grips with the fact that she had tits, whereas some fifteen minutes prior, when she first walked into the store, her chest had been only marginally less disappointing than before she began the treatment.

In a way, she still didn’t really believe it was true. It couldn’t be; the gene therapy was only supposed to work over long periods of time, not whenever she wore something bigger than what she had. On the other hand, whenever she looked down, Clara still saw a good three or four feet of cleavage making up the centrepiece of a bust so enormous that it defied her ability to understand how she was even walking; hyper-sized bras were designed to help people hold up large amounts of breast mass, but she barely felt any tug on her back.

Rather than being content, or even ecstatic however, the serval felt apprehensive. The longer she like that, the more it sunk in that it was real; while it was initially easy enough to call it a hallucination or just a dream, as she walked out of the store and saw people gawking at her, as the sensations kept filtering through, as the world just existed with her in it… it had to be real. And if it was real, then there were two scenarios available for her:

Scenario one, the safe option, was to rush back home, grab her phone, and immediately call the gene centre to let them know what had happened. Whatever was taking place with her genetic code, whatever instability had led to her growth spurts, they would surely know the answer; it would likely mean getting a reduction, maybe even be removed from the program, but it also meant she wouldn’t accidentally end up doing something she’d regret later.

Scenario two, and the option that wasn’t terrible and horrible and godawful, was she told her sense of self-control and better judgment to go sit in the corner and wait out the full transformation while she went ahead and set the pace for her growth. Why should she hamper herself when she was just now being given exactly what she wanted?

Clara had signed up for the treatment precisely because she wanted massive tits, and now that she had them, she had no intention of letting go of them, even if this meant braving consequences beyond her understanding. Then again, her back didn’t hurt, and it certainly wasn’t because it was numb; running her fingers across it still had some sensation go through to her brain, so clearly she was prepared to deal with a set of breasts that hung below her waistline.

Yet, still maintained their shape, with not a hint of sag beyond what would be deemed “natural”; a hyper’s bust, one that she never thought possible on her, yet just there for her to look at, for her to touch, for her to grope until remembering she was still in a public place. It was there for her and on her, and it was this that, ultimately, caused Clara to snap out of it and come to an important conclusion: she wasn’t done.

She had stopped putting on bras, not because she was over with her growth, but mostly because she had none more that were above the hyper-sized one; the store didn’t carry anything beyond it, so the best she could do was look for a specialty establishment and hope for the best. She was not at all over with her experimentation as much as she’d been forced to put it on hold until she could find better means to carry on with it; after paying for the bra she left the changing room with, the serval just asked for directions and was told there was a hyper-only clothes store on the other side of the shopping centre, so off she went.

Everyone stared at her. Hypers were large, but they didn’t just show off like she was doing there; they had clothes, clothes which fit them, not to mention bodies that didn’t look nearly as disproportionate as Clara’s. So for her to walk around so carefree, looking as if she wasn’t just strolling through a public area with nothing but a bra on, was certain to attract attention… and it did. Everything from concerned looks to lurid stares to offended huffing, it was all there; if it could be detailed as a reaction, it was probably there somewhere, all of it for Clara to completely ignore.

She had tits, why should she bother what other people thought? Other people put clothes on to hide themselves, but she had just gone from practically flat to needing to be careful not to accidentally snap necks when looking from side to side; if there was one thing she had no intention of doing, it was putting anything on. The only reason she was even headed for the second store was to shop for bigger, more enormous bras to fill, so hopefully she could get done with her growth and go back home to bury herself under herself.

Just the thought alone was enough to make it difficult for her to walk. Her mind’s eye was assaulted by the sight: her lithe, diminutive self, sporting two colossal mounds, large enough to completely pin her underneath their weight. They weren’t milky, unfortunately, but given how she’d gotten them to that size, Clara wasn’t surprised if she could force them to lactate by drinking a whole carton of milk; hell, she’d likely end up bigger after doing so, and probably flood her apartment while she was at it as well.

Giggling like a lunatic, the serval handily kept ignoring how she was attracting every pair of eyeballs in the vicinity, choosing instead to focus on her current goal: that flashy, neon-overdosed storefront sitting at the other end of the building. Built into one of the outside walls, the conspicuous amount of empty space directly in front of it did not escape Clara’s notice… nor did the above-average number of hypers criss-crossing it.

She’d seen that part of the shopping centre before, and while she’d never had the courage to step into it, the serval had the occasional fantasy of her being able to go there without it being entirely on accident. Most of the hyper-accessibility shops were there: specialty equipment that normal stores didn’t carry, extra-plus-sized clothing, compressor wear, most of it built into a reinforced section of the larger structure, precisely to prevent the sort of damage Clara would inflict on her surroundings if she were allowed to.

While it wasn’t at all seen as odd that a non-hyper would stroll through, she would normally stand out; the feline could come up with a myriad of excuses for why she was actually shopping for someone else, but ultimately, it was still herself versus people several times her size… and while they certainly wouldn’t mind, she would be paralysed by thoughts that were better kept secreted away from polite society.

Now though, she had earned her place among other hypers. Even if she didn’t exactly understand why, or how, or even if it was actually real, she had her bust to rely on if anyone wanted to ask her why she was there; not that anyone would, but the thought that someone other than herself would be so bold as to call attention to her breasts was, oddly enough, enticing, and far more than it had any right to be.

Predictably, though, absolutely no one cared. Clara stepped through the invisible line separating the hyper area from the rest of the building, and in doing so, maybe attracted a couple of raised eyebrows for a moment or two before they moved along. Even then, it was likely due to the sheer discrepancy between her tits and the rest of her; hypers like herself were extremely rare, and more often than not the result of a genetic abnormality. Or, in her case, bra magic.

Speaking of bras, the biggest store in the rotunda was precisely what she was looking for: advertising a myriad of sales plastered all over the shop front windows, the IrisTech outlet was open “for all your hyper-sized needs”. Clara had no clue where to find anything, nor even if she’d find anything at all; all she knew was that the place ought to have bras that would give her inexplicably growing bust a challenge, and that was as good as it could get for her.

Once more, the only attention she received on crossing through the threshold was one of the service staff, a young twenty-something otter with the toothiest smile, approaching and greeting her with the mandatory spiel. For once, however, Clara actually listened; she needed to know how best to exploit the information she was given to have herself become bigger, and if that young man was happy to tell her what they had on offer, she wanted to know.

Spinning some yarn about still being a growing girl in need of some “extra support”, it was pathetically easy for Clara to convince the clerk to lead her to their bra section and to offer some suggestions for what she should purchase. No doubt, in the otter’s mind, he was making the store a whole heaping load of cash on the back of someone who seemed happy to spend it; for Clara, it was just another step on her now-seemingly-endless climb towards ever more ludicrous sizes.

While she would’ve preferred to be given a large pile of bras to pick from, the presence of the clerk looking over her shoulder forced Clara to commit to only a handful; still escalating in terms of cup size, of course, but nowhere near the excess she had in her head when walking through the door. Nevertheless, it was enough to get her to grow, so off she went into the changing room, and off with the bra she had on.

Clara knew the impact was going to drive her wild with need. She knew that unleashing her mounds would only make the reality of them that much more solid, and knew that she shouldn’t have done it. But she did: unclipping the multiple anchor points behind her back, the serval released her breasts, and with that simple gesture, felt how heavy they were when they fell onto her torso and nearly knocked her out from impact alone.

Only after recovering from this did Clara dare to look up at the full-body mirror and truly admire how well those things fit her figure. How amazingly out of place they were, yet, how perfectly adjusted they ended up being for a body as thin as hers; it was the contrast between it that sold the entire picture, she felt, enough so that a small part of her actually dared to suggest that maybe it should remain unchanged, lest the sanctity of it be befouled.

Thankfully, saner voices prevailed, and this last vestige of what amounted to a smidgeon of self-control was squashed back to where it belonged, deep in the back of Clara’s mind. The main goal there was to grow; therefore, she picked up the first of the many bras, and was just about to put it on before letting out a snort, throwing it over her back, and grabbing the biggest one of the pile.

To think she’d do anything else was nothing short of comical; even had she collected a whole pile of them as she initially wanted to, the end result would be the same: in the end, her growthlust would kick in, forcing her to skip straight to the end. She wasn’t interested in incrementals: she wanted the biggest, as fast as possible, as pleasurable as could be, and nothing else would suffice. She would’ve happily burned the other bras if she could, just to prove a point; alas, the serval would have to content herself with simply picking out the biggest one.

Biggest was, as far as she could tell, something of a misnomer; while technically correct, the word failed to encapsulate the sheer size, the volume occupied by that piece. The clerk had helpfully attempted to steer her away from trying to put it on by herself, given that it came with a system of pulleys attached to the packaging. It wasn’t designed to be worn like a regular bra, rather, to be installed on a set of ceiling rails and lowered down like a tarp; thankfully, the changing room had these rails installed, so it was only a question of figuring out how they were supposed to work.

Giving the “bra” a better look, calling it that felt increasingly incorrect the more Clara tried to do so. What she had there were two lengths of cloth more fitting a plus-sized hammock; she could literally climb onto one and not only have enough room to snooze on it comfortably, but enough space to spare that she could squirm around and not have to worry about falling off. To think that just one of her tits was going to fit something like that, it made it… difficult to focus, to put it lightly.

By then so giddy that she couldn’t even think about anything properly, Clara just barely succeeded at mounting the bra onto the ceiling rails, then spent a few minutes hoisting herself into position. The clerk, still waiting for her outside, called out if she needed any help, to which the serval almost forgot to reply before providing a barely-mumbled non-answer. This was her moment, no one else’s; she was going to make herself be immense, and the last thing she wanted was to have someone she only met five minutes prior in there to ruin it for her.

Besides, the poor guy might just get smushed against the door, and that’d just be rude on her part.

Immense was right as well; putting numbers on things was slightly difficult after the four foot diameter mark was reached and handily surpassed, with Clara low-key wondering whether the interior of the changing room was fitted with some kind of compressor technology, just for cases like hers. It couldn’t be the first time someone underwent a violent growth spurt, though, if she were to have her way, it’d definitely be the last for that changing room.

Alas, she was still constrained by the limits of whatever bra she had on… and that was a problem. While she was technically using the biggest one in the store, so much so that the use of ceiling rails was mandatory rather than simply suggested, it all felt so… insufficient. Not bad, nothing of the sort; if she had to put it to words in a half-baked comparison, it was the equivalent of having a fantastic meal at an affordable price, but then having the waiter show up midway through it to collect the plate and whatever was on it.

It was still good, but not only was it profoundly irritating that she couldn’t go all the way, it felt downright insulting to her; had she not proven herself capable of growing more? Had she not gone the full mile to show the world that not only was she ready, she was also willing to completely ignore basic safety for the sake of horny? That being the case, the tarps she was using for bras just were not enough.

And the changing room was about to find that out. Most people would be happy to just press the button next to them on the wall to open the door so they could walk out; the ceiling rail system was mounted throughout the entire store, so even with that bra on, Clara could easily just make her way to the front desk, buy it, and then worry about what she’d do next. But she shouldn’t, was the whole point.

Looking at herself, there were two lines of thought that Clara could identify: the first one was the most obvious: unbridled, near-childish glee at the size of her titties. She couldn’t put it any other way, not now that her bust was literally bigger than she herself was; if she bothered to measure her breasts, they’d both come out at well over six feet across, nestled quite comfortably into a pair of lengths of tarp, yet seemingly having no weight to them.

The second one was… less obvious, or at least less straightforward. It was a voice Clara recognised as her own, but it kept telling her things she’d never heard before; urges and desires that, while somewhat familiar, had never quite been as prominent in her mind as they were then: the need for more, the need for bigger, the need for growth, the need for a body that would cause anyone who looked at it to faint from visual stimulation alone.

And as the serval gave herself a good once-over, truly inspecting her curves, she had to ask herself: was it enough? Sure, her tits were so large that she couldn’t even see in front of her; even if she didn’t have the ceiling-mounted bra holding those monsters up, it was highly likely that their size alone would, even when resting on the ground, force her to lean over just to get a good look at where she was walking towards. Yes, they were starting to feel full rather than just big; could be that she wouldn’t even need to buy and drink milk before her bust started producing it!

But it wasn’t enough. It was a good start, no doubt, but not enough, not for her; she needed more, because obviously her body hadn’t yet reached its limits:  no aching, no discomfort, no nothing could only mean she was ready to go for more, no matter how absurd this was. She, with the kind of certainty that could only come from complete abandonment of common sense, Clara marched forward, smashing through the changing room doors and forcing the poor clerk, still standing outside, to jump back in order to avoid the shrapnel!

The poor thing could only stare in wide-eyed bemusement at the behemoth making her way out of the wreckage of the changing room, trying to come up with an explanation as to where the (relatively) smaller serval had gone to. He did nothing to stop Clara from marching all the way to the front desk, then ignoring the clerk when they demanded she pay for what she was wearing, then further pretending not to hear the pleas for her not to go through the front door.

It might be a hyper-accessible area right outside a clothing store for hypers, but that didn’t meant there was a ceiling rail system installed everywhere; those sorts of bras were meant to be tried on indoors, with anyone who might genuinely need them preferring instead to use specialty anti-gravity pads in order to move around. The ceiling rail systems were meant for home use only, being designed to maximize comfort without sacrificing too much mobility.

Not that Clara cared. What she saw in the door was an obstacle, and one she had every right to try and break through. Did it mean she’d lose the bra she had on, needing her to go look for another one? Absolutely, but was that not the point? Wasn’t she looking for precisely that: a bigger bra for her to fill? If anything, the one she had on being ripped up would make her job a hell of a lot easier, which as far as the serval was concerned, was nothing but a plus!

Thankfully, no security guards came to try and stop her when she began forcing her way out from the store. She could’ve easily unhooked the bra and just walked out; the design was simple enough that it only would’ve taken about a minute or so, and it wasn’t as if anyone was actually trying to make her turn back, at least not in any meaningful manner. Words were meaningless; the only way anyone could ever make her stop was to physically hold her down, and no one was about to do that to a customer, even a non-paying one.

So, she forced the issue. One push, three pushes, five, and each one drew more and more slorshing out of her; if having her tits squeezed was what forced them to produce more, then quite honestly, Clara wasn’t about to make a proper effort. It was free growth, and free milk, about the only two things she could bring herself to care about at that point; thus, she pushed, again and again, not really trying to break through as much as she just wanted to hear and feel the rails over her head groan, the fabric stretching itself until the cups holding her tits were ready to rip open.

Clara didn’t know when the door gave way, nor how she got through it without all the glass causing some amount of pain. All she knew was that, one moment, she was standing in front of the entrance to the store, tits smushed against its flat, reflective surface, and the next she was outside, in full view of everyone, splayed out on the ground leaning over her tits like they were some sort of beanbag or large bed.

And, honestly, she couldn’t possibly want for anything else. It’d be disingenuous to claim otherwise; at the most, she was just disappointed that she hadn’t mentally been there to experience what it was like to go through a flop of that calibre, but that was peanuts compared to what she was about to do, because she wasn’t done, not until she was too big to move… assuming that ever happened.

Set against a corner of the hyper section of the shopping centre was a bed and bedding supplies store; perfectly innocuous, enough so that it would’ve remained entirely unnoticed were it not for her being the perfect source for what Clara needed for the next stage of her plan… a plan that had formed by itself without her conscious input, but a plan regardless.

There was a single clerk at the front desk, who, for once, was not at all preoccupied with the massively stacked cat who made her way through the door and into the store proper; they did perk up when she was followed by a series of security guards, but by that point, it was too late to do anything about it, as the serval had already begun pulling sheets from the various beds.

She hadn’t ever been that good with knots, but she didn’t need to be; all that her body required was a rough volume of space to occupy, and for that, she could just tie a whole bunch of sheets together to create a “bra” of such absurd dimensions that a single cup would be able to hold her entire bust as it already was. No attention was paid to the multitude of security personnel trying, in vain, to stop her; what was she going to do, not grow?

Besides, the guards didn’t actually do anything to keep her from tying those sheets together; if anything, they just looked puzzled that she wasn’t trying to run off with them, enough so that, when Clara asked a couple of them to hold onto two parts of her improvised bra, they actually did so, allowing the serval to step into place behind the immense lengths of cloth.

Now, the serval had no clue whether it would work, but she could definitely assume it did, hence why she aimed herself at the front of the store; hopefully, if everything went right, she’d burst straight out of those glass doors and towards the rotunda outside… and, if she were extra lucky, then the additional step would work in her favour as well.

For a moment or two, it felt like nothing was going to happen. Clara sat there, staring at herself, ready to start poking her tits and verbally commanding them to grow larger. The guards holding up her bra appeared increasingly restless, and some communication was even had between them and whoever was on the other side of their walkie-talkies. And for a moment or two, the serval was genuinely terrified that she’d reached her limit; that was it, she merely had tits big enough to drag along the ground, and absolutely nothing else.

Then the warmth came back, and with it, the widest grin that Clara could physically produce. And not only did it come back, it did so proportionate to the difference between her current self and the “bra” she was “wearing”, much like before… which, in that particular case, meant that the serval didn’t so much grow to fill up all available space as she did explode with newfound size, practically pushing her back as her nipples slammed into the fabric.

And, as predicted, caused the unaware guards holding her bra up to let go.

It was a gamble, but it paid off. Clara didn’t know whether to grin, cackle, or do something entirely undignified when she felt her breasts surge with renewed strength, not just crashing into the front doors, but through them. As she expected them to, suddenly having her bra “expand” by way of not having anything to hold it back also gave her bust a reason to keep going, at least as far as momentum would carry the large lengths of cloth alone. There would come a point where her tits became too large for the improvised bra to even count as a bra, but until then?

The security personnel outside the store had a second or two at most to dive out of the way before the serval’s tits did it for them, the sounds of cracking glass and bent metal accompanying the scraping of panelling as the very floor was ripped apart by the avalanche of boob. Clara, meanwhile, was pushed further and further back, the forces involved in her expanding bust being far too great for her to just hold her ground; eventually, she did hit a wall, and from there experienced one of her best-kept secret fantasies: being slowly smothered against a hard surface by her very own, growing tits.

It was with a smile that she felt the pressure rising from all directions, yet with it, no pain. She could still breathe just as easily as before, even if the air itself grew hotter with every heartbeat; there was a sense of weight to it, but by that point, she was so immense that it barely even registered anymore. Clara didn’t have tits anymore, her tits had her attached to them, and the serval was just going along for the ride. Perfectly acceptable as far as she was concerned, and indeed more than enough for the big cat to be satisfied for the time being!

She didn’t know when it stopped, only that it eventually did. Getting a bead on how big she turned out to be was impossible, given that her brain could only process so much information: Clara could only see her breasts in front of her, part of a wall if she turned her head to the side; she was vaguely aware of more solid surfaces constraining her growth, as was she aware that her nipples, by the presumably bigger than her entire body, were probably exposed to the outside world, given the sensation of wind and bitter cold.

By her estimates, she likely filled the entire hyper-accessible rotunda, spilled over into a multitude of stores and the regular bits of the building, and more than likely broke through a wall or two, assuming her nips were outside. And, while definitely acceptable, and absolutely a win as far as Clara was concerned, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t big enough yet.

She’d grown that large, and in doing so, not only found it to be incredibly comfortable, especially in her little cocoon back there against the wall, but only lacking in the view; she felt it, she heard it as well, and given how stuffed those things were, other people probably could as well. Therefore, it only made sense that she should be able to become even bigger, if her body hadn’t refused to stop working yet.

Now, the main issue there was that she couldn’t exactly tie knots with sheets anymore… but there was some wiggle room. While Clara wasn’t entirely aware of it, she had broken free from the shopping centre, and right next to a novelty billboard as well; the universe had a sense of humour, given that it was advertisement for the very clothes store she had just gone through, in the shape of an oversized pair of tits indented in the billboard in the shape of two immense hemispheres.

Hemispheres which her nipples just perfectly aligned with.

In Clara’s mind, she was just wiggling around to try and get some more room, maybe a couple of extra feet of growth. In reality, she was preparing herself for yet another growth spurt, likely the biggest one yet. And still, she likely wouldn’t be satisfied.

At least, not until she rested on a pair of tits big enough to cover the horizon.