Upload/Download - Part Six

 

"Aren't you going to wear a bra so someone can snap it?" she taunts, stepping into the room. As she looks down at the floor her face contorts into a look of disgust, cautiously stepping around the built-up mess as she approaches me.

"A...what do you mean Mrs. Marshal mom?" I ask nervously, shying away as she draws closer and closer.

"A bra, a bra. Like the ones you and your friends used to snap the straps of back in my class" she fumes, glaring down at me past her horn-rimmed glasses.

My stomach sinks as she makes her insinuations, my eyes darting away from her gaze as I try to remember what she could have been talking about. I had never done something like that in the past, I was always the shy quiet type never rocking the boat. However, I did have some friends back in the day who were less reserved.

Suddenly it hits me, the memories of Jason snapping Lisa Tailors' bra strap for the week or so she sat in front of him in Mrs. Marshal's history class.

I grow pale, or paler, as I return to looking up at Mrs. Marshal. "I He never did that" I whimper, defending my former self meekly as I'm forced to look away again.

"Oh, what would you know! Allison's probably made you defend yourself now that Gracie is trying out your life" she snaps dismissively, waving her hand in front of her as if to swat away my defense.

"No...no you're going to learn what it's like...do you understand" she continues, her words dripping with venom as she marches over to the dresser.

I stand awkwardly by the bookshelves, wondering for a moment if Mrs. Marshal's demeanor may have been a reason behind Gracie wanting so desperately to leave. I'm brought back to reality as something is thrown to me, my uncoordinated form fumbling with the large lacy peach-colored bra which had been tossed my way.

"But...but...I've never put one of these on I don't want to get dressed in front of you" I whine, bringing a hand to my mouth as I hear the foreign words escape my lips.

"Come on now, it's nothing I haven't seen before" she urges, tapping her toe and crossing her arms.

Nodding at her I hang my head low, staring down at the crumpled up fabric in my hands. Moving without much guidance I shift my t-shirt up, maneuvering the bra up my soft flesh as I get it into position. My eyes go wide as I remember something I had seen on TV, causing me to position the bra well off-center as I slide the straps over my shoulders and fumble with the hooks. I grin in accomplishment as I feel the hooks at the back fall into place, leading to the uncomfortable task of squeezing the large fatty lumps on my chest into the cups.

Rotating the bra back into position I begin to grunt and groan, tugging at the fabric as I'm forced to manhandle my new chest into position. My shoulders are immediately hit with a terrible weight, the bands digging into my skin as the massive weight starts to get carried through the bra.

As I get everything in position I let the shirt fall back down, the oversized t-shirt now not even touching my stomach. I glance down at myself, yelping in shock as I see a shelf of flesh blocking the view of my lower body.

Before I can get out another word I notice Mrs. Marshal approaching me. In one sharp motion she reaches out, grabbing a strap from beneath my shirt and snapping it painfully against me. I squeal in pain, reaching for the strap as I rub the stinging area.

"See, not fun is it" Mrs. Marshal says with a victorious smirk.

"Why...why did you..." I stammer, tears welling up in my eyes as I try to voice my question without having my words twisted again.

"Why? You know why, or did Allison strip that from you too?" she says, asking the question and not caring for the answer.

"You boys are all the same, you were all together when you bullied and teased the girls in your classes" she mutters, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You're all a responsible as each other"

I open my mouth to speak, but find a finger pressed against my lips.

"No...no talking. You're going to learn what it's like to be in that situation, one way or another" she states, her gaze burning into my own. Suddenly she turns to leave, stepping over the assorted clothes and cases as she quickly makes her exit.

"Now, why don't you make yourself useful. Women like to clean right? Why don't you clean this room?" she suggests, obviously not giving me much of a choice.

"I...uh...yes Mrs. Marshal mom" I weakly reply, leaning down to gather up loose leggings and shirts that litter the floor.

"Good, maybe we'll even get you in the kitchen later to...what was it that Damien Smith used to always say...Make me a sandwich?" she asks, chuckling to herself as she closes the door to the room.

As the door slams shut I'm left in the stinking quiet room, the sound of Mrs. Marshal's laughing carrying for a moment as she walks down the hall. I fight back the tears, focusing on getting the room cleaned before the terrible woman can return.

With each and every step I feel the straps of the bra digging deeper into my soft and supple flesh, the jiggling and straining weight on my chest having just moved to a more manageable location. It's an actual relief as I bend over to grab the items on the floor, the hefty pendulums I had been constantly fight now being contained with the lacy cups of my bra.

I try to pile the dirty clothes together, realizing that the full hamper would be of little use to me. Floral dresses, old and worn shirts, skirts, leggings, and all manner of nerdy t-shirts begin to pile up on the single bed.

Before long the floor is cleared of clothes, leaving mostly just game and DVD covers along with the occasional can of energy drink on the carpet. Shuffling around the room I begin to collect the various cases, placing them on the bookshelves wherever I can see space. Unsure as to where to put them I wind up crushing down the cans to the best of my weak chubby body's ability, before piling them around the overflowing bin near the computer.

After only ten to fifteen minutes I'm left standing in a tidy room, albeit tidy by the standards of a nineteen-year-old girl.

I walk over to the bedside table, hoping to put away the various manga, when I see a somewhat outdated smartphone sitting beside the bed. I quickly snatch it up, unlocking the device with my new fingerprint as I'm again reminded that I was Gracie Marshal for all intents and purposes.

The home screen is simple and black, most likely as a power-saving measure on the old device. I immediately notice a message from someone, immediately opening it on reflex.

Mark

Hey babe
Wanna come over tonight?
Haven't seen you in a few days and I miss ya

My heart skips a beat as I head the message, my face growing red as I feel warm inside. I look back at the laundry and trash around the room, chewing at my bottom lip. I grit my teeth as I find myself replying with lightning speed.

Gracie

Hey sweetie
Of course, I'd love to
Anything for you babe

Before I can react to my message my thumb hits send, another flutter in my chest hitting me as I imagine the mystery man reading it. As I try to work out what was happening I get another message, whoever this Mark was seemed to be a quick responder.

Mark

Sweet, I'll be by at 6?
Anything huh? ;)

My stomach sinks as I read the winky face, but my body grows even warmer as a heat begins to grow in my groin. I begin to type back a quick response, sending it before I even notice my typing it

Gracie

Sure thing, luv ya <3

I stare in shock at my last message, my heart racing as I see the look at the emojii I ended on.

"What...no I..." I whimper, placing the phone back down as I rush over to the hamper to begin carrying it to wherever the laundry was.