According to Her Kneads
Liah sat in her car, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The strip mall did not strike her as the ideal place to go for a body-changing procedure, even the magical kind. Nothing about the row of generic businesses gave off magic vibes at all. A rent-to-own furniture store, a smoke shop, a pizza place, and a chain hair salon. The door between the salon and the pizzeria bore the number matching the address she’d found online. The sign was a basic rectangle, declaring “Loaves and Dishes” in what looked suspiciously like the Avatar font.
Bread and pottery wasn’t the weirdest theme for a small business that Liah had ever seen. It wasn’t exactly giving “magic boob job” energy, either. The shop was getting very little foot traffic, but that wasn’t too surprising. How much demand could there be for bread this close to a Kroger? Hell, she was only two stoplights away from the Whole Foods if people were too fancy for supermarkets. And pottery, well, the last time Liah had shelled out for a hand-thrown coffee mug had been on vacation to Colonial Williamsburg. There couldn’t be much of a market for that in an urban sprawl exurb devoid of tourism.
Liah had seen two women enter the shop half an hour earlier. The first had been in there for closer to an hour. She’d been a brunette, not much older than Liah, mid-to-late-twenties, with an average build, almost on the dumpy side. The second was a blonde, mid-thirties or early forties; she couldn’t tell for sure. The blonde had that skinny, almost sickly look that suggested a diet of nothing but gin and the occasional olive. She’d also had boobs the size of oranges which, considering her sharp shoulders and bony arms, were almost certainly implants.
“Okay. Okay. I can do this. I’m not committing to anything. I just want to find out—“
The brunette emerged from the store while Liah was psyching herself up. From across the small parking lot, the changes were obvious. She wore jeans and a knit top. When she’d gone into the store, the top showed a bit of midriff when she moved, and the jeans had been almost painted on. Now, the jeans were baggy, the top covered her waistband, and the knit was so tight across her chest that the material looked a shade lighter.
Whatever was going on inside the store, it worked. The ad said they did whole-body alterations as well as simple breast enhancement, and it was pretty hard to argue with the evidence of her own eyes. She racked her brain for any other explanation for the brunette’s transformation, each more ridiculous than the last. Unfortunately, her attempts to explain how the woman had slimmed down and gotten more busty in under an hour came up blank as well.
Before Liah could start talking to herself again, the blonde strutted out through the glass door.
Before Liah could start talking to herself again, the blonde strutted out through the glass door. She’d worn a floral print maxi dress with a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps. While she hadn’t gotten any thinner—were that even possible—her boobs had grown to grapefruit size. Her car was parked on the far side near Liah’s, so she got a better view as the woman crossed the lot. They were full and firm, supporting her implant theory, but she once again had no answer for the how. She knew some rare kinds of implants could be expanded with injections, but that still didn’t explain the first woman.
The blonde seemed to remember something before she reached her car, and she trotted back into the shop. With an encore performance, Liah was better able to scrutinize her kinetic cleavage. They didn’t ripple and jiggle like naturals, but neither were they hard like string implants would be. Would that make them like jello? Custard? Flan?
The blonde drove off while Liah compared her enlarged breasts to various foodstuffs. Another woman near her age came out of the store. She had an amber-brown lob and a short denim jacket over a black tee. Liah hadn’t seen her go in; had she been inside before Liah got there?
She was walking straight toward Liah’s car.
“Shit.”
She reached for the start button, but the girl was looking right at her. She stepped up to Liah’s door and gestured for her to lower the window.
“Hello…?” Liah said.
“Are you a cop? You have to tell me if you are.” Up close, Liah couldn’t help but notice the bright blue-flecked green of her eyes against her thick, arched brows. She even had a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“N-no! I’m for sure not a cop. Also, I think that ‘have to tell me’ thing is a myth.”
“Well, we have security cameras. You’ve been out here casing the joint for over an hour.”
“‘Casing the joint?’ Just how much true crime do you consume?”
The girl clicked her tongue. “Whatever. You can’t sit here and stare at our customers.”
“I’m not— I wasn’t—“ Liah sighed. “This is a public parking lot, isn’t it?”
“Have you ever heard of loitering? Why—“ She stopped, took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer tone. “Listen, you’re curious about the shop, right?”
Liah nodded. “I saw an ad on Insta.”
“Why don’t you just come inside? It’s absolutely no commitment; you can even get a scone or something.”
Liah swallowed down her nerves, hit the window button, and climbed out of her car. The woman smiled. “I’m Amelia.”
“Liah.”
The inside of the store was disappointingly normal: glass cases of baked goods to the left and shelves of pottery to the right. Liah wandered around, feigning interest in the wares. The rolls and scones and loaves looked delicious. Every piece of brightly glazed earthenware was imperfect enough to show they were all handmade.
Amelia tolerated this performance for five whole minutes, then cleared her throat. “Were you interested in a procedure? There’s no rush, but both artisans are available now.”
A herd of butterflies stampeded in circles in Liah’s stomach. Could butterflies stampede? A group of them wasn’t called a herd, surely…
As if sensing her distress, Amelia added, “They can also just explain it all to you; answer any questions you may have.”
Liah filled her lungs, exhaled. “I guess I could start there.”
“Right through here.” Amelia indicated a door beside her counter. She pressed a button somewhere, and the door unlocked with a loud clack.
Like its front, the back of the shop had two distinct areas. The space was larger than she expected, and she wondered if it extended behind the shops on either side of it.
The left half of the large room was a commercial kitchen; all stainless steel and extra-large appliances. The woman kneading dough behind the massive workstation was like Christina Hendricks in her late thirties—with a few dozen extra pounds and an even more impressive rack. Her double-breasted white outfit hugged curves everywhere, straining at her heaving bosom. Her thick arms, bared past the elbow, flexed instead of jiggling as she worked. She slapped and folded a ball of dough, forming a full, rounded shape like a huge stress toy. Like the blonde…
The opposite side was a potter’s studio: a heavy workbench, shelves of clay in plastic bins, and a metal wheel. The woman kneading a lump of clay at the workbench looked like an East Asian Lara Croft, with overalls and a bikini top. Unlike the emaciated customer, the potter was thin and supple, her muscled arms rippling as she worked. Clay in various states of dryness spackled her overalls and cleavage. Her boobs sat round and high on her chest; that bikini top had some killer support. She beat and punched a ball of clay, working with the heels of her palms and an occasional elbow, like the most intense shiatsu massage. Liah’s breath hitched when the woman dropped the clay on her wheel with a far too erotic fwap and began shaping it.
Liah’s attention swiveled from one woman to the other, engrossed by their techniques or enthralled by the artisans themselves. Either woman on her own was beautiful enough to set her heart pounding. Standing together, every difference and similarity only enhanced their harmonizing auras. And that was just their appearance. They could have been completely mid, and their skills would have stunned her. Masters of their respective disciplines, both pairs of hands plied their craft with excellence. One set made soft puffs of flour as they caressed and teased. The other dripped red-brown water as they pressed and coaxed to submission.
Time and space faded as Liah stood there enthralled, getting more aroused by the moment. The baker slid the last of her dough balls aside and, as she met her eyes, snapped Liah back into her body.
“Hello there.” She washed her hands and dried them on a towel looped at her waist. “I’m Simina, and that’s Rayine.”
The potter, Rayine, cut her bowl from the wheel and set it with a row of similar bowls beside the kiln. She washed clay off her hands and joined them.
“You have really good timing,” Simina said. “We had clients earlier, but you’ve had a chance to see both of us work.”
Liah murmured agreement, distracted by Rayine. The potter stepped a slow circle around her, gaze traveling across her body like a buyer at an animal auction.
“Hmm, not bad… Mmhmm… But still…” Finally, she met Liah’s eyes. “There’s not much I can do for you with my particular art. Not yet, anyway.”
Art? Not yet?
“Well, I can definitely help you,” Simina said, more to the potter than to Liah.
“Maybe she won’t like your method as much.”
“I’ve never gotten a single complaint on my methods, thank you very much.”
“I mean she might not like the results!”
“I’ve had no complaints on my art, either!”
The two bickered back and forth like this for several minutes. They used a lot of words Liah didn’t know, things about aether flow and mass density. As if remembering she was there, the two women turned their attention back to Liah.
“What do you think, Liah?” Simina asked. “I can give you a few extra sizes today, light and fluffy like Rayine’s.”
“But if you’re patient,” Rayine said. “You can come back after you’ve got a little more to work with, and I’ll shape it exactly how you want it. You’ll look completely natural, like Simina.”
Liah’s head spun. She shouldn’t have let Amelia talk her into coming inside. She should have gone home, forgotten about this whole thing, and gotten on with her life. How was she supposed to choose? What was she even choosing? Did she want to look perfectly fit and toned with huge boobs like Rayine? Did she want to be perfectly soft and huggable with curves for days and huge boobs like Simina? Both seemed impossible—did she want to be an Oscar-winning actor or a Grammy-winning singer?
“Look at her, Sim, she’s about to bolt like a rabbit. I told you not to come on so strong.”
“Me? That’s—“ The baker inhaled, further straining the black buttons on her coat. Turning her attention to Liah, she said, “It can be a lot to take in all at once. Some people need to feel the difference. There’s no substitute for having them yourself, but Rayine is carrying my work.”
“And Simina carries mine.”
The artisans took a step closer to Liah, arms at their sides and backs straight, as if presenting their respective racks for her inspection. Her neck swiveled back and forth. “R-really?”
Simina chuckled, making a fireworks display of shifting wrinkles and tight fabric. “Did you think I got this body from sampling my own wares?”
Rayine smirked. “I mean…”
“Okay, fine.” The baker patted her ample hips and squeezed her glorious bosom between her upper arms. “It is mostly carbs and sugar. But without Ray, I’d be a dumpy pear.”
“And without Sim,” Rayine said, giving her cantaloupes a brief squeeze, “These would be as flat as my abs.”
Liah was getting a twinge in her neck from swiveling. Were these goddesses really offering what she thought they were?
As if sensing her turmoil, Simina smiled at her. It was friendly and comforting, like the idealized version of a doting grandma but far too young, and much too sexy. “Go ahead, don’t be shy.”
Liah raised her hands, shaking like the rabbit she’d been labeled. Simina’s curves inched closer, and she met the baker’s eyes. Simina reached out to her wrists, then paused. “May I?”
She nodded, and the baker’s hands encircled her wrists. The touch was warm, radiating comfort. Liah was gripped by a sudden urge to dive into the woman’s arms and feel that warmth all over her body. She took a breath and touched her palms to Simina’s breasts.
They were heavy and full, even better than she’d imagined. Plump and ripe, like a fruit too long on the vine, weighing down its branch. And yet there was nothing flawed or unsightly about her size—as if the best possible genetics in the world had directed every indulgent excess into a Platonic femme ideal. Some primal instinct took over, and her touch grew bolder. She squeezed and pressed, reveling in the weight of the woman. There was so much clothing between them. Too much. What would it be like to share a bed with this Reubenesque beauty—to be surrounded by so much woman, to be crushed into a mattress by so much perfection?
Somewhere outside the fog, Rayine cleared her throat. “I can see you appreciate my work, but it’s only fair I let you feel Sim’s.”
Coming back to herself, Liah released the baker’s incredible boobs. Her cheeks blazed. “S-sorry.”
Simina’s bright smile soothed her as her strong hands patted her shoulders. “Nothing to apologize for.”
Liah turned to the potter, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. Where Simina was the ideal of feminine curves, Rayine was the ideal of feminine strength, with curves in only one place. This time, she needed no coaxing to explore those curves.
Technically smaller than Simina’s, Rayine’s breasts were all the more impressive against her otherwise toned and lean frame. Liah probed the crease of their undersides, spreading and traveling up her sides and arms. This woman would not be passive in bed. These arms could throw her in the air like Jennifer Gray in Dirty Dancing. How incredible would it be to ride this woman’s hips like a bronco while those girls wobbled under her grip? Because they would wobble, not jiggle. With what little she’d followed in Simina’s talk about aether from the air, she’d expected the potter’s boobs to feel like balloons. They were certainly lighter and more springy than the baker’s, but more like firm, fresh bread than anything unnatural.
Rayine drew back from her grip, and Liah released her. She looked from one artisan to the other, their questioning expressions lost in the tight pulsing between her thighs.
“I think we broke her,” Samina whispered.
“You know, Sim is probably not the best example for you. Unless you plan on gaining another… two hundred pounds.”
“One fifty at most!”
“Whatever.” Rayine stuck her head through the door. “Amelia, would you come back here for a sec?”
Still reeling from her close encounters with the artists, Amelia seemed almost plain for a moment. She walked in front of Liah, catching her eye and drawing her attention away from Simina and Rayine. Her blue-green eyes held concern, and more than a little curiosity. She shrugged off her denim jacket, putting her tight tee on full display. Amelia was gorgeous, yes, but she wasn’t that different from Liah. The baker and the potter were like deities from another plane hiding in these back rooms to change women’s lives and fracture their mortal brains. Amelia was simply a very pretty, very well-proportioned, very very sexy girl. Hers was a beauty Liah could envy, because it was merely unattainable, not inconceivable.
“Want to feel?” Amelia breathed. “I know they’re not much, after…”
Liah shook her head, reaching her fingers out to gently explore Amelia’s body. “They’re really nice. I’m surprised I didn’t notice them before.”
“They’re only E-cups. Rayine made them from everything I gained in college, but I didn’t want to lose my ass. I’ve been bulking a ton, and I should be able to hit F soon.”
Like the older women, Amelia guided Liah’s hands as they explored. When her fingers found Amelia’s nipples, she closed the space between them. Her breath blew hot and humid against the shell of her ear. “These two aren’t as scary as they seem. They like to bicker and spar, but it doesn’t have to be an either-or situation. They’ll deny it if you ask, but I’ve gotten treatments from both.”
Amelia pecked a kiss on the sensitive skin behind the hinge of her jaw, then stepped back. Liah’s traitorous body swayed and wavered, trying to follow her, but she reigned herself in. With this revelation, her world opened up. Instead of agonizing over which goddess she’d rather let massage and grope and fondle her body into perfection—Por qué no los dos?
The other girl grinned, seeing the effects of the truth bomb she’d just dropped. “Whatever you decide, come see me before you leave.” She shot Liah a wink and floated back out the door.
Rayine said, “You don’t have to decide anything today. If you want to sleep on it, or just take a few days…”
“I think I’ve decided.”
Red-orange and jet-black eyebrows rose.
“For today, I’d like Simina. Can you give me C-cups?”
The baker’s eyes appraised Liah’s A-cups. “It might take two or three sessions.”
She was already wet imagining those hands rolling and folding and slapping her boobs until they grew like those dough balls. “That’s fine.”
The potter turned back to her workstation before Liah added, “But I’m going off my diet starting today. I’ll be back in a few months.”
Rayine’s grin showed too many teeth. Liah imagined herself returning with love handles and too-tight jeans, ready for the potter to pound and squeeze and press all that fat into her girls.
“The girl gave away our secret,” Simina said.
“She must like you,” Rayine added.
Simina gestured to Liah. “If you’ll step into my private workroom, I’ll introduce you to the wonders of kneading.”
Forty minutes later, with soaked panties and wobbly knees, Liah climbed into her car. The receipt in her hand had Amelia’s number scrawled on the back.