The boss likes flat chested women, and I'm up against my bitchy coworker for a promotion. What's that phial she's just stuffed into her pocket? Why does my coffee taste so weird?
Catrina had set out to sabotage you and, as much as you hate to admit it, she did succeed to a degree. The first third of your interview had gone well! Extremely well, in fact. Almost suspiciously well. Your answers were nearly perfect in every respect and it flowed like a casual, friendly conversation more than an interview. You knew your qualifications,.you knew you were right for the role, so there was no reason to stress. Besides, Catrina was a bitch. Nobody liked working with her and you knew the quality of your work was better than hers, so you could relax. And all of this despite the slight discomfort in your stomach. This role was really yours to lose.
The first sign was the adjustment of a bra strap. You didn't think anything of it at the time, too distracted by the ease of the interview. Another adjustment came shortly afterwards. You silently cursed yourself for tripping over your words and, suddenly, the room felt warm. Your clothes squeezed you like a second skin, growing tighter with each breath. You did your very best to keep the interview going, to not let whatever was happening distract you from your goal. Then, as you rolled your shoulders back to stretch and try to relax again—PING! A button broke off of your shirt and launched across the table. Finally, the situation couldn't be ignored. You looked down and your eyes went wide at the sight. Your little B cups were gone. Bulging over and under and out of your tiny bra, straining the limits of your professional shirt, were the biggest pair of tits you had ever seen. They were so big in fact that it took you a few seconds to accept that they were your own and a few seconds more to realize they were still growing. The clasp behind your back was creaking and groaning under the strain and you knew your shirt wouldn't last much longer. You wanted to cry. For a moment, you nearly did. And then, inspiration!
You, above all else, a saleswoman, just as much as your boss was, infamously, an ass man. This wasn't a setback; it was an opportunity. A smile crept over your face. That fucking bitch had no idea the gift she had given you. After all, what better way to prove your skills as a saleswoman than to sell something to someone that you knew didn't want it? You leaned over the desk and rested your tits on the table, letting them spill out and strain your top even further. There were only ten minutes left in the interview, but you were better than that. You'd have him drooling over your tits in eight. Maybe six, if they kept growing.
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