'Gosh darn it, Mom!' I thought to myself. 'At least dry off before you put me back on!' She obliviously stretched my band around her, clipping me around her massive boobs before caressing my cups with her hands to adjust my fit.
How did I end up like this? Well, it's a long story. It all started two years ago when my little sister was born. Little Pili was quite the handful at the best of times, and it only got worse when my dad left with another woman from his job three months later. My mom, Amma, had to put so much extra effort into raising me and Pili that she was obviously not handling it very well. I wanted to help her, but what could I, Kanika the nine-year-old girl, do to help my mom when I was busy with school and clueless about raising a baby?
Two months after Dad left, I was walking home from school when a glimmer in the trees caught my eye. Curious, I went to see what it was. It looked like a genie lamp from Aladdin! I quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking for it, then picked it up and put in in my backpack. Maybe we could pawn it off for a bit of extra money? The lamp certainly looked fancy enough to be worth something.
Arriving back home, I passed Mom feeding Pili on the couch on my way to my room. I gave her a quick greeting, knowing the exhausted mother wouldn't want to be bothered too much. In my room, I gently placed my backpack on my bed, opening it to retrieve the fancy lamp. I held it in my hands, and noticing a little smudge on the black metal, tried to rub it clean.
Naturally, I was shocked when the lamp floated out of my hands, and an actual genie came out of it! I stumbled backward onto my bed in awe at the massive grey-skinned man suddenly floating in the middle of my bedroom. "Greetings, young mistress," he began. I guess he was talking about me? "You have awakened me from my slumber, and I will grant you one wish."
"W-Wait, only one?" I managed to blubber out. "In most stories, genies give three wishes..."
"Well, only one from me, kid," he stated plainly. "Just be sure to be careful what you wish for," he added with a sinister grin that I missed at the time.
"Well, that's easy then," I said confidently. "I wish I could be more supportive for my mother. She's having such a hard time raising two kids alone right now..."
"Hmm... I think I can help with that," the genie said slowly. "What would your name be, by the way?"
"Kanika Taylor," I answered, rather confused why he was asking for my name now rather than earlier.
"Well, that makes things easier," he said. "Less random." The genie bent down to look me straight in the eye. Now I was actually kind of scared. What was he going to do to me? "Do you know what that name means, little girl?"
"Y-yes?" I stammered. I had been named for my exceptionally dark skin, taking more after my cheating father in that regard. Oh no, I made a mistake, didn't I?
The now clearly not-so-nice genie chuckled sinisterly. "Black cloth," he whispered, then snapped his fingers. With that, my vision went dark. 'You wanted to be more supportive, didn't you?' the genie's voice echoed in my mind.
I woke up in darkness. There was a little sliver of light coming in from the top of... wherever I was... but it didn't really let me see anything around me. In fact, I COULDN'T look around me. I couldn't move any part of my body! What was happening? Where was I?!
Why couldn't I move? Why did I feel like my body wasn't quite the same as it used to be? It was a weird feeling, but I felt flimsy in some areas, and a lot tougher in others. Nothing about my body felt right, but I realized I could figure out what was going on through the clues around me. I might not have been able to see very much, but I could still feel, smell, hear and taste. Hearing wasn't helping very much, as my surroundings were eerily silent. Wherever I was smelled like wood and fabric, and I could kind of taste fabric underneath me. I could feel the fabric too, being lightly pressed against my entire backside. That shape felt familiar...
Wait. I wished to be more supportive for Mom, didn't I? Uh-oh, did that genie seriously turn me into -
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a baby crying. There was also a certain foul smell that came with the baby. "There there, Pili," the familiar woman's voice cooed. "Mama's gonna get you all cleaned up, alright?" Wow, Mom actually sounded kind of... relaxed? I listened (and smelled) as Mom changed Pili's diaper on the changing table I knew to be on top of her dresser. I felt the thumping vibrations through the wood around me, only making it more certain where - and what - I was.
As Mom finished changing Pili, my mind struggled to process my new situation. Not only did I know exactly where I was, I knew what I looked like as well. I was trapped in my mother's underwear drawer, and I had been transformed by the evil genie into one of her favorite bras. Going off of what he said about my name meaning black cloth, I knew Mom only owned one black bra. A fairly fancy one at that, with lace accents and plastic sequins dotted around the floral pattern and a little black bow placed between the cups.
Now, I was that bra. That genie seriously turned me, a nine-year-old girl, into my own mother's bra. Not exactly a small bra either, as my mom was blessed with F-cup breasts. Breasts that I would now be tasked with holding - supporting - in my unwanted cups with my arms and legs wrapped around her torso as simple fabric straps. I wanted so badly to scream, to cry out for Mom to help me, but I no longer had a mouth to scream with. No eyes to cry with, no arms to hug with...
It would be several hours later that I heard Mom come back into the room. I listened as she cooed at her only remaining daughter, tucking Pili into her crib for the night after changing her diaper again. Hearing the light shuffling of my mother undressing and changing into what was probably a nightgown, I suddenly heard her muffled footsteps approach my prison. With a sudden jolt, the drawer I was in was pushed the rest of the way closed, the loud slam ringing in my non-existent ears as I was plunged into total darkness. Mom's footsteps retreated again, and I soon heard her lightly snoring as she fell asleep.
Meanwhile, trapped in the drawer with the now-fellow bras, I discovered that bras don't sleep. I was forced to stare blankly in the dark at the wooden top of the dresser I could only guess was about an inch above me, listening to my oddly calm mother sleeping the night away.
Why didn't she seem bothered by my absence? Had she just not noticed I was gone? Or was she actually happy I wasn't around anymore? I silently sobbed to myself in the dark drawer, still in disbelief at my new existence.
I have no clue how long it was before I was shaken out of my depression by the sound of Pili's crying. It's kind of hard to keep track of time when you're trapped in complete darkness with nothing but your Mom's faint snoring and your own technically silent crying to keep you company.
I heard my Mom wake up with my little sister, and listened in as Pili's diaper was changed yet again. Soon after, I heard Mom's footsteps exit the bedroom, probably to drive Pili to her babysitter's house. Once again, I was left in complete silence and darkness with only my thoughts to keep me company. Mom still wasn't saying anything about my disappearance...
My best guess is it was around half an hour later when I heard Mom walk back into the room. Suddenly, I was thrust into the light as the drawer was pulled open. There she was, looming above me like a giantess. My own mother... No, not mother anymore. This woman was now my owner, I realized, as she reached into the drawer, pulling out a black pair of panties with a white lace floral pattern. Her arm disappeared for a moment, then came back for me, the panties' matching bra. Her massive fingers wrapped around my left arm - no, strap - and I was lifted away from the unseen bra below me. With a jerking motion, I was suddenly sailing through the air! I saw the bedroom fly past my vision, then the bed dominated most of it as I landed roughly-but-lightly face down on the olive green sheet. It didn't really hurt, but I could absolutely feel the impact of my padded fabric cups on the bed. I was going to be part of Mom's outfit for the day.
I listened as Mom pulled out other pieces of clothing, unable to see any of it as I was left lightly tangled face-down on the bed. More shuffling noises followed as she undressed outside my vision, then more footsteps as she headed for her bathroom to shower. I listened to the running water in fear, knowing full well what was about to happen once the humming woman I was no longer related to was done washing herself. The light ticking of a nearby clock should have been comforting, finally giving me a way to tell the time. Instead, it terrified me, sounding more like a countdown to my doom.
Finally, having stopped paying attention to the clock, I heard the shower stop. The thumping of my mother's footsteps got closer and closer to me, and I heard her drop the towel from her body. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw her hand grab the panties that matched my own pattern perfectly. The light sound of the underwear being pulled up her legs followed, ending with a light snap of the waistband against her hips. At last, to my dismay, it was my turn. I felt her hand wrap around my left strap, followed by the right, lifting me from the bed. Hooking my straps over her shoulders, I felt her soft, slightly damp skin rub against my fabric, and my cups - which felt like my face with my vision coming out of the center of each cup - laid gently against her chest. With two smooth motions, she grabbed the bottom of my cups and tucked my unwanted underwire under her breasts. I could already feel my padded push-up cups straining against the brown mounds inside me, a strain which quickly spread across my entire form as Mom grabbed my leg-straps to hook them together behind her back. As the hooks and eyelets - which felt like my former feet - came together, my mother-turned-owner let go of me, leaving me to unwillingly support her massive boobs. This was so wrong on so many levels...
As the wearer I once called Mom walked bent down to the bed to pick up the next part of her outfit, I felt the F-cup knockers try to pull me off of her chest, my fabric trying its best to hold together against the weight. My straps painfully twisted and strained, trying to keep the huge jugs contained. She grabbed the black silk blouse and straightened her body, slamming me the rest of the way against her chest again and lessening the weight on my body. She lifted the blouse above her head, pulling me and her breasts up with her arms and further straining my straps. With a quick motion, the smooth silk slid over me, blocking my vision with the solid black fabric and hiding me from view. Her arms fell to her side, and I felt my mother's movements as she put on the rest of her work outfit. I couldn't deny that the silk rubbing against my fabric at least felt nice, but I shouldn't BE in this situation! I shouldn't be forced to hold my overly-stacked mother's breasts in my cups while my straps twisted and stretched with every tiny movement she makes! I should be headed to school, having my hair put into beaded braids by my Mom and meeting my friends on the bus, not headed to work with my mother while hidden under a silk blouse!
Every step she took was another jiggle or bounce from the boobs I was designed to hold, making sure I never got a single second of peace and stillness as her body heat started warming up my fabric. The constant jiggling, rubbing and warmth was driving me nuts, but I was along for the ride as Mom finished getting ready for work with her daughter wrapped around her breasts. She never mentioned my absence, and seemed like she had more energy than she'd had since Dad left. 'Why isn't she worried about me?' I wondered to myself in the warm darkness under Mom's blouse as she drove to work. The light vibrations of the car set the breasts inside me in constant motion, shaking me out of my thoughts during the drive. I could only sit in place, listening to the slightly muffled radio spouting out the news of the day as my entire being was stretched across my former mother's constantly jiggling chest.
Finally, three songs and way too much light shaking later, the vibrations of the car died down as it was powered down. Having arrived at her workplace, Mom exited the car, taking me along with her while I involuntarily tried to restrain her breasts as much as possible. The constant bouncing of her boobs inside me finally came to a halt as she settled down into her office chair, putting me at rest.
Or so I thought. With every breath she took, my mother's chest would expand a bit, stretching me out ever so slightly before receding again. The constant cycle of her breathing, combined with the occasional arm motions of her picking up the phone to take a customer's call and the vibrations from beneath me every time she spoke... I was never truly still, and I didn't have any chances to lose myself in my own thoughts with the constant distractions. I found myself wishing I could at least see from under Mom's blouse as the day went on. After a while, I was met with a new sensation.
It was a hot day in early September, and the office's air conditioner must not have been working very well. The heat of the room combined with Mom's body heat radiating from her breasts, and she began sweating. The new feeling of my own mother's boob sweat soaking into my fabric combined with the constant movements of her carrying out her basic bodily functions... Even worse, I could taste the sweat slowly soaking into me, making me stick to the giant sacks of flesh instead of simply holding them. The limited air I had underneath the black blouse started smelling like sweat as well. Even through all this, the constant movement of my mother's arms and body overwhelmed my senses, the sweat-soaking only being a small part of the torture I was being put through.
Hours later, my mother stood up from her seat, putting her breasts in motion for me to try to restrain again. As she walked out of her office, I could hear one of her coworkers ask her about her daughter. That definitely piqued my interest. They were asking about a daughter instead of two. It finally dawned on me that the genie might have just erased me from existence. Is that why Mom wasn't worried about me? Why she seemed more energetic, less exhausted? All because I never existed?! I tried to hold my train of thought, but the constant jiggling of Mom's boobs inside me brought me back to my new reality. The light vibrations caused by the car, the occasional shake caused by cracks in the road, the sound of the radio muffled through the blouse covering me, the feeling of Mom's sweat slowly drying in my fabric... I barely had a second to just think to myself with the constant barrage of sensations no child should ever have to be put through.
Arriving at home, I felt my mom walking a bit faster than normal, making her breasts wobble more than they had been all day, thus straining my straps even more. She seemed like she was in a hurry, and I found out why once I heard a door slam shut with a tell-tale echo. With a strong bounce from her boobs, she quickly sat down on what I already guessed was the toilet. I was forced to cling to her chest and listen as she relieved herself, the sound of her pee hitting the toilet water almost making me jealous that I would never use the bathroom again. Her arm brushed against me as she grabbed toilet paper to wipe herself, then stood up with another heavy bounce from her breasts. She flushed the toilet, then left the bathroom, her boobs jiggling and swaying inside me the entire way. 'Could you at least take your shirt off so I can see?' I thought to myself, knowing all too well that my mother-turned-owner couldn't hear me anyway.
I sat on her chest for the rest of the day. Another car ride to pick up Pili from her babysitter, some more light movement as she prepared supper for herself... The feeling of the baby that I once called my little sister being cradled next to me as she was given her bottle made me long to be part of the family again. That longing would last for a very long time, as I knew I would never be myself again. Never again would I be Kanika Taylor, nine-year-old girl and aspiring gymnast, fighting for African-American representation within a mostly white-dominated sport. Instead, I would live out my days in my former mother's underwear drawer...
I was literally shaken out of my increasingly depressed thoughts as Mom reached her arms across her chest, grabbing the hem of her blouse and finally, mercifully, pulling it off. The silk slid across my own fabric as she started undressing, and I found myself facing a full-length mirror. My vision kept bouncing around as Mom continued taking her clothes off, but I could definitely study the reflection in the meantime.
There was no dark-skinned little girl in the reflection next to my mother. Instead, there was my Mom's almost naked body, still dressed in her panties and bra. The bra at my eye level was very pretty, the silver sequins glistening in the light, its cute lace accents resting against the mixed-race woman's boobs. The band was clearly being stretched beyond what it was meant to hold, and the left strap already had a single thread sticking out of it. Most horrifying of all was the knowledge that the bra in the mirror was me. I was no more than my mother's bra, and not even a new one. I was already showing signs of wear and tear, and it looked like a couple of my sequins had fallen off over time.
Mom's arms then reached behind her back to unclip my feet-turned-hooks, and I watched in the mirror as she finally pulled me away from her massive boobs. Hanging from her hand by the strap, I saw just how pathetic I looked. I was nothing but a black F-cup bra hanging limply from its owner's fingers. I suddenly found myself sailing through the air again, landing in a tangled heap on her bed. Face up this time, I unwillingly watched my gigantic mother finish undressing, then walk in the nude to her closet to pull out a nightgown. Putting on her pajamas for the night, she walked toward me again, picking me up by the strap. 'Oh jeez, now what?' I thought, having assumed my torture was over for the day.
Mom walked out of her bedroom, leaving me to swing wildly from her hand. If I had the ability, I would have thrown up from the motion sickness as my vision bounced violently and randomly with my mother's walking. By the time the swinging died down, I had been set on a small table in what I recognized as the laundry room. 'That's right, I'm just clothing now,' I thought to myself. 'And now I'm dirty laundry...'
If I thought I was just going to be tossed into the washer, I was sorely mistaken. Mom approached me again, this time holding a mesh cylinder. She unzipped the top, then grabbed me. My body was uncomfortably folded in on itself, then my bundled-up form was stuffed into the mesh bag. With a quick motion, the top was zipped and closed, leaving the light to filter through. My new prison was then carelessly tossed somewhere, where I landed on something soft. I couldn't tell where I was anymore, only being able to see the white fabric of the bag I was trapped in. My location would be revealed pretty quickly though, as I heard a loud clanging noise that meant the washer lid had been slammed shut.
The light around me suddenly disappeared, and an unholy noise filled the air inside the machine as cold water started pouring in. Having sweat soak into my fabric was one thing, but to be drowned entirely in cold, soapy water was another thing entirely. My delicate waterlogged fabric started floating slightly as the washing machine filled with water. I found myself surprisingly happy that I couldn't see anything anymore as I felt the water begin spinning around, taking my helpless bra body and mesh prison with it. Around and around I spun, feeling the surprisingly not-so-unpleasant sensation of the sweat and grime of the day being washed out of my threads. 'No, I shouldn't be enjoying any of this!' I scolded myself. 'I'm not supposed to be swirling around in a washing machine; I should be laying in bed right now, all warm and snuggly in my new Encanto pajamas!'
But as the spinning eventually slowed down, my new place in the world was only more obvious as I simply sat there in the middle of a sopping wet ball of newly-washed clothing, still trapped as I was in the mesh delicates bag. I realized that Mom had probably gone to bed, so I was going to be stuck here in the silent, unmoving darkness for several hours. So, still thoroughly unable to sleep, I thought to myself about the reality I found myself in.
Mom and Dad were probably still divorced, but my mother now only had one daughter, the now first-born Pili Taylor being her only child. I, Kanika Taylor, had never been born, so Mom only had one child to raise, leaving her with more time to relax and more money to spend on the remaining girl. It sure seemed like the family I was no longer a part of was better off without me... I ended up crying to myself with that realization, made even worse by the undeniable fact that no one would ever be able to hear me again. I was stuck with myself in my own fabric body. Eventually, I stopped crying to myself, and simply tried to stop thinking at all to avoid making me even more depressed.
I didn't have any real sense of time in the pitch darkness, but it must have been several hours later when I heard the washing machine lid be opened again. The ball of wet clothing was lifted upward with me stuck in the middle, still left in complete darkness. With a wet plop, the mass of fabric was dropped into what must have been the dryer, and the metallic clang of another lid being closed rang through my non-existent ears. More mechanical whirring followed, then my fellow laundry and I started spinning again. I was blasted with scalding hot air, and I felt the moisture trapped in my threads slowly evaporating. As my body was dried out, I found myself becoming... comfortable? I wasn't soaked in soapy water anymore, and the warmth now radiating through and from my body was actually rather pleasant...
I had to remind myself what my situation was. Under no circumstance should I be enjoying ANYTHING about this! I was supposed to be a little girl, not a freaking boob holder for my own mom! Why did I keep finding things to enjoy about being a bra? The warmth and dryness may have felt nice, but it was just another reminder of what I now was: A collection of fabric, foam, plastic and metal designed to contain a woman's breasts, and rather large ones at that. I didn't have a face, or arms and legs anymore; instead, I had padded cups, sequins, straps, hooks and underwire, with a cute little bow that rested in my wearer's cleavage.
The spinning finally died down, and I just sat there for what must have been an hour, lost in my own thoughts. Eventually the dryer was opened again, and I heard the light shuffling of the other clean laundry being pulled out. The mesh delicates bag I was in was suddenly grabbed by a massive hand, and I was dropped into what must have been a basket. I still couldn't see much being trapped inside the white bag, but I felt the gentle swaying of the basket being carried somewhere.
With a thud, the basket I was resting in was dropped on the floor, and I heard Mom slowly putting everything away. Her light humming as she folded her other clothing was soothing to my increasingly confused mind. My bag was grabbed once again, and the top was unzipped, revealing my former mother's face looking down at me. There was no sign of recognition in her eyes, simply seeing a bra she was particularly fond of, with no clue that the black patterned fabric contained the spirit of a daughter she no longer remembered. My body was gently unfurled back to its full length, and I was carried to my mother's dresser, still staring up at her thoroughly neutral face. I was set carefully in my new home, my mom's underwear drawer, on top of another bra I couldn't see, and Mom's face disappeared from the rectangle of light left by the drawer being open. A minute or so later, she reappeared with a navy blue bra in her hands, and my fellow undergarment was set gently on top of me, leaving me in darkness sandwiched between two pieces of clothing not so unlike myself.
A few more minutes went by, and I heard my mother's humming increase in volume as she approached the drawer I was in. With a sudden jolt, my wooden prison was slammed shut, leaving me in much the same situation as I found myself in when I first woke up as a bra. This would be the closest thing I would have to a bedroom from now on, only able to sit completely still in the darkness. Waiting for my turn to be worn again.
It's been almost two years now. Pili turned two years old a few days ago, and I rode on my former mother's chest the whole day, hidden underneath a fancy blue dress. I should've turned eleven years old a couple months ago, starting to develop into a young woman. My first bra fitting, my first period, my first year of middle school... All these things should have taken place over the past two years. Instead, I do nothing but sit in a dark drawer, being stretched over my mother-turned-owner's massive breasts every few days, then spun around in the washer and dryer before being returned to my home in her underwear drawer.
Mom's still single, and she doesn't seem to have any interest in dating again. She's chosen to focus on her life as a single mother to Pili, who is growing into quite the little handful of a toddler. I was right about being erased from existence, my former bedroom having transformed into a simple storage room. Meanwhile, I find myself with a very different view of my new life.
It was about a month after my twisted wish that I made the decision to get used to my new existence. Instead of longing to be part of my old family, I accepted that I was no more than a piece of clothing owned by my former mother. Speaking of which, I would still call her Mom in my mind, but I mostly thought of her as my owner rather than my parent. Pili was my owner's daughter, not my sister. I stopped thinking of my form in human terms, instead acknowledging that I now had straps and cups. Eventually, I learned to pull whatever enjoyment I could from my life as an F-cup push-up bra. The rides in the washer and dryer are like insane rollercoasters, and I love the pleasant warmth the drying process leaves me with. I'm taken good care of, and while I still wish I could be a girl again, I've learned to accept myself for what I am.
Unfortunately, I don't know how much longer I'm going to last. I may be a large bra, but my owner is ridiculously stacked. Lately, every time I'm worn I can feel a couple more threads in my straps give way, and my underwire is slowly being bent out of shape, as are my hooks and eyelets. Someday soon, my left strap is going to give out, painfully snapping in two while my former mother wears me for the last time. More than likely, when that inevitably happens, I'll be chucked in the garbage like the simple trash I'll be, finally tearing me away from my old family, the last reminder I have of my former life and humanity. I dread the day my fabric is no longer able to contain my owner's boobs, a truly depressing thought coming from what used to be a living, breathing human girl.
For now, I'll just sit here on my owner's chest, annoyed at her carelessly putting me on before drying herself off after her shower. I can feel the water droplets being absorbed by my cups, and her breasts are going to stick to me for at least an hour. She running late for work today, so I understand WHY she skimped on drying off; I'm just annoyed that I have to deal with the aftermath. She tries to blow-dry herself along with her hair, blasting me with hot air in the process. Finally, once she's decided that she's dry enough, she throws a black dress over me, leaving me in the familiar darkness once again. As she rushes to work, her boobs bounce around inside me, putting more painful stress on my fraying left strap as I try to contain the massive chest.
Just another day in my life; the life of an aging bra. All because I wished to be more supportive...
