Lesson learned: Don't piss off a witch. Sure, I didn't know magic was real, and the woman looked completely normal, but when my family and I happened to beat her to the checkout line at our local Wal-Mart, she wasn't exactly pleased. She tried to cut us in line, but I told her that we got there first, and she would have to wait her turn. All we had was a new pair of shoes for my daughter Lila, but the rude woman decided that she would be next in line no matter what. She snapped her fingers, and we all suddenly fell to the floor, motionless.
The now-obviously-a-witch loomed over us like a giantess, the other customers around us completely oblivious to the sudden disappearance of an entire family of four. I could hear my husband and kids in my mind, Lila in particular crying out for help as the woman's giant hand reached down and grabbed the hangers we all felt ourselves connected to. We hung from the woman's hand as she took our place in line, all layered on top of each other with my husband Franklin in front. I had seen the inside of a bright pink bra swing in front of me before covering my vision, and I instinctively knew my teen son, Josiah, was contained within. Little Lila was the large lavender bra in front of him, and Franklin's new form in front was a royal purple. Only time would tell what I looked like now, but I could tell I was the smallest of the four.
As the witch made her purchases, our situation finally fully settled in my mind: My family was just turned into a bunch of bras! I could feel the price tag pinned through my left strap, the thought of us even having straps to begin with sending a chill through my non-existent spine. Our captor didn't seem to be interested in us anymore since she didn't scan our tags at the self-checkout, instead setting us to the side in a stack. Once she was done, she picked us up by the hangers again, sending us swinging with her arm movements. Franklin said she was headed for Customer Service...
"Can I help you?" I heard from the counter above, the employee sounding like she'd had enough bullshit that day to last a lifetime.
"Yes," the witch replied. "As I was making my purchase at the self-checkout, I noticed this collection of bras was left behind by someone." She lied as naturally as if she was actually telling the truth, as nonchalantly as possible when she was holding what were once four living, breathing human beings in her hand.
"Thanks for letting us know. We'll get these put where they belong right away," the tired employee said, obviously relieved she wasn't being accosted by some bitchy Karen upset that her bag of Doritos had two less chips than normal. It was hard to feel bad for her though, my family's hangers having been passed into her possession. We were quickly hung on a rack behind the desk, and Franklin told us the witch was walking away, leaving the four of us to our new fates. Lila whimpered as we were left in complete stillness, surrounded by returned clothing not too different from us. I wanted so badly to reach out to her in comfort, but I was just as freaked out as she was.
We hung motionless on the return rack for hours, Lila's rising panic the main sound in our minds. Josiah didn't seem too worried, but his teenage mind probably figured that if he was a bra, he'd eventually get to touch a woman's boobs. God, was that really all we were good for now? Supporting women's chests until we wear out? A family of four, reduced to a small collection of breast holders...
We were shaken out of our motionless reveries (and Lila's panic) when our hangers were finally grabbed by a worker. We swung in the employee's grip for a few minutes, Franklin describing the route to the women's intimates area of the store. One by one, we were hung in separate places with our now fellow bras, hearing each other's voices decreasing in volume slightly as we were separated. Franklin was hung behind an identical bra that was a size smaller than him, so he wasn't exactly made for the bustiest of women. Six-year-old Lila ended up in the back of a line of plus-size bras, having been turned into the largest brassiere of us all. Fifteen-year-old Josiah found himself in the middle of a bunch of sportier-style bras, closer to the front of the line than the back. Finally, I was carried a bit further away to be hung right in front of some cute teen-style bras, my husband describing the light blue floral lace pattern spread across my cups.
Lila was freaking out, having finally figured out what exactly she was turned into. Any comfort I tried to give her was rendered moot, so I reluctantly tried to tune her out. Josiah was actually jealous of Lila, being a lot smaller of a bra than his little sister. Franklin tried to tell him off, while I simply stared out from my vantage point ignoring them all. From where I was hung, I could see the rest of my family's locations. 'Great,' I thought to myself, 'I get to watch as the rest of my family is bought by complete strangers.' With the store closed for the night, we hung in darkness and silence for several hours, Franklin and I taking turns to try to calm Lila down. Eventually the lights turned back on, and customers started trickling into the store.
Josiah was the first to go. I watched as the petite Japanese woman searched for her size among my son's light pink twins, finding her match in Josiah. He seemed oddly pleased with the appearance of what would be his new owner, and he was roughly thrown into a small cart. As he was rolled away, I listened as his voice got quieter and quieter, eventually losing the mental connection we all shared. At least his new owner spoke fluent English...
Lila wasn't as lucky. While she mourned the apparent loss of her big brother, I watched as a Hispanic woman approached the plus size area. 'God, her boobs are massive,' I wondered to myself, observing as she was helped by a Spanish interpreter to find a bra her size. The busty Latina was led to Lila's area, and her hand immediately reached for the back of the pack where my youngest child was hanging. Not too pleased by the disturbance, Lila started screaming for me as the customer and employee chatted in rapid Spanish, the words completely foreign to us. Josiah could have helped, being at least partially knowledgeable in the language, but it was too late for that. Lila was carried away screaming by the big-chested woman, the shrieking trailing off into silence as my daughter was torn away from me.
Franklin was next, the African-American woman barely even glancing at his tag before tossing him in her cart with her groceries. His fabric body fell partially between a few food items as his new owner continued shopping, his voice quickly fading away as the dark-skinned beauty took my husband away.
Finally, it was my turn. It was evening by now, and I started seeing teenagers mulling around the area. One in particular approached me, her giant hand pulling me off my hook and away from my newfound sister bras. She turned to her friend, exclaiming about how "totes adorbs" my pattern was. The blonde girl threw me into her own cart, and I landed upside down on the cold metal. I sat in the cart staring at the floor moving by underneath, unwillingly eavesdropping on the teenagers' shopping trip. More items landed on top of me as their two-hour-long retail therapy continued. Eventually the floor stopped rolling by, and the weight on top of me lessened as items were taken out of the cart. I was lifted from the bottom, quickly swiped across the scanner, and thrown into a bag with a few other pieces of clothing. I had been purchased for about $9 by a fourteen-year-old girl, and I reluctantly accepted my fate as my bag was carried out to her older friend's car.
It's been two weeks since I was bought. My owner, Brittany, has worn me three times in this time, the feeling of her fairly small boobs filling my cups oddly comfortable. Her body heat pleasantly warmed my fabric, and listening in on the girl's life from beneath her blouse was weirdly nostalgic. Being stuffed in a mesh bag for laundry day isn't fun, but the washing and drying process is actually kind of like an intense roller coaster. The peace and quiet of resting in her underwear drawer afterward is nice, too. I just wish I knew how everyone else was doing...
I probably have it easiest out of the four of us. I'm a small bra owned by a small-chested teenager who took really good care of her belongings. Josiah's horny teen boy brain is probably taking a lot of pleasure from his new station in life, wrapped around a gorgeous Japanese woman's boobs. Franklin shouldn't be doing too badly either, the modest chocolate-colored breasts likely not doing too much to wear out his fabric. It's not that I don't worry about them; it's just that the three of us weren't dealt that bad a hand, all things considered.
It's Lila that I worry about the most. She was turned into a frankly massive bra, and the thought of my little girl stretched across that woman's massive boobs, not being able to understand a single word her owner says... I can only imagine how scared and confused she must be.
I try not to think about anyone else too much; I'll probably never hear from any of them again. Turns out, my teen owner actually lives half a state away, and was just visiting a friend from her old neighborhood for the week. My family will live separately for as long as our fabric bodies last. Who knows, maybe Franklin and Josiah will meet up with Lila again once they join her in the landfill. She's definitely the one whose straps will snap the fastest...
And I'll exist in isolation from them for all eternity. For now, I'll try to enjoy my time wrapped around Brittany's chest as she lays mostly undressed on her bed, unwinding from a long day at school. I can feel her lingering excitement from her boyfriend walking her home poking into the inside of my cups, and I can tell she's thinking of the 'toy' her older friend bought her in secret. I'll be right here to soak up her boob sweat.
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