Instagram Top Model

Story by the amazing Beck Moon.

“I just don’t understand where they all went,” Rae groaned into the phone. “I’m at like a quarter of my engagements, and the sponsors have noticed.”

“You gonna be okay?” Asked Mina on the other end of the line. There was another intermittent cut of static after she spoke. Her profiles were doing just fine, and she was driving out to a shoot on an island in Hawaii--the cell reception was spotty at best. “Algorithm,” came through, then, a few seconds of static later, “worry.” Rae pouted. She was sure there was a ‘don’t’ that got lost in the static, but it still made it less than reassuring. “The focus is on,” more static cut Mina’s sentences up. “--Boobs. Less focus on--” A crushing wave of static. Rae pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment, and by the time the ear splitting noise had calmed down, Mina was saying “--focus on boobs.”

“Got it,” Rae said. “Mina, I swear your phone is on fire.” Nothing but static. Mina was just going to be making fun of her hipster corded handset anyway. She patted herself down, checked her makeup and smoothed down a couple of stray baby hairs. “Look, girl, I can’t hear you. Have fun on your island getaway. I actually have a shoot too, for once.” She listened to a few more seconds of static before finally giving up. She turned to hang up and started for a moment on her dresser. A well-dressed businesswoman, and a slack-jawed cameraman were standing in the doorway. Her roommates must have just let them in. She snapped the phone down.

“No, no, wait,” said the sponsor. “That’s a great pose.” She nodded to the cameraman, who looked to Rae for approval. When she nodded, stiffening herself into a pose, he snapped a shot. The sponsor waved for both of them to continue, but spoke over the camera shutter. “Forgive the informality, but you seemed ready. You can look at the paperwork shortly. It’s a pretty standard agreement, at least two posts a week. Pictures are fine, but video would be great. We’re not sketchy here--disclose the sponsorship up front when you post, and please actually take the product.”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” said Rae, turning, crossing her legs elegantly, tilting her head quizzically, keeping the phone up. “I’ve got so many sponsorships right now, which one is this again?”

“BusTea,” said the sponsor, lifting up a briefcase and shaking it. There was the sound of sloshing liquid inside. Now she remembered--’The All-Natural Bust-Booster!’ Snake-oil sales were beneath her, but she couldn’t exactly afford to be choosy right now. Plus, after what Mina was saying about boobs, she’d have more relevant hashtags. “That’s probably enough for now,” said the sponsor, waving off the cameraman. “The phone made it perfect. I’ve got the paperwork all ready, if you’d like to sign. Let’s see here, you would be earning..” She pulled out a stack of paper, and quoted off a figure. Rae carefully maintained a neutral expression, and reached for the pen.

#

Rae’s first post had the usual interaction. She felt a little guilty--in the emails with the BusTea people, she’d quoted her figures from two months ago, before the algorithm shift. But if they were willing to give her this much money for a fake product, maybe they kind of deserved it. Plus, there was the risk--in amongst the giant stack of paperwork, they’d mentioned this wasn’t FDA-approved yet. She was building hype for when it was actually released. At least it tasted pretty good, even if she was a guinea pig.

She rolled out of bed a few days after the first shoot, idly scratching behind her. Her fingers dug into a well of deep, smooth softness. She squeezed her eyes, yawning, smacking her lips for a moment before blinking and looking over to the mirror. Her ass was overwhelming her poor little high-waisted shorts, their elastic cutting into her softness, leaving bulging swells above and below the lines. Not only that, she felt a draft across her stomach, and glanced down. Her feet were nowhere to be seen, instead, only her shirt, lifted up and rolled in tight beneath a jutting, braless shelf of breast. “My boobs,” she whispered. Her hands lifted up and squeezed them--it was all her. “No way.” She squeezed again. They weren’t just hers, they were more. They were sensitive, but pleasantly so, and responsive, as the rapidly-stiffening sensation beneath her hands told her. She wasn’t completely sure if it was the vague pleasure they were giving off around her fingers, or the cool air washing over her body.

Rae giggled a little. Did she sign up for the one of these things in existence that actually worked? She peeked under her top. They were firm, for how big they were, they projected dramatically. Even the support of her weak (and admittedly, now-tight) top was giving her a generous line of cleavage. She reached for her hipster handphone set. Mina’s phone sadly rang to voicemail again--there was no reception anywhere over there, apparently. “Girl,” she said after the tone. “This thing actually works! Eat that algorithm. Focus on boobs, right? I don’t think they’ll be able to focus on anything else.” She reached down, automatically adjusting her shorts, completely oblivious to the even more pronounced growth behind her. “Call me when you can. Love you, boo!”

#

Two weeks in, and this stuff was still working. Like gangbusters. So much so that when she got called in for her next shoot, even after warning them, the lingerie set was undersized. Rae was understanding when it came to the bra, but why on earth were the panties so tight? Well, they couldn’t all be winners. She lowered herself, flexing one leg out and looking at the camera, batting her eyelashes. Behind her, her cheek, doubled in size, made jiggling contact with her thigh before it all descended into the too-tight thigh-highs. She tossed her hair and adjusted position. She was sure that the extra-tight clothes would make the pics look great.

Especially her boobs. Oh my god, they were incredible. And even more sensitive. She adjusted her straps as she moved to give a frontal shot this time, and the overtaxed bra was cutting into her just like the panties and legwarmers. She had to fight the urge to cop a quick feel of herself. She’d spent one entire afternoon just playing with them. They practically begged to be squeezed at all hours of the day, and the soft fabric drawn far, far too tight against her, lifting, pushing, sliding across her jiggling tits with every breath and demanding, pleading with her to--the photographer coughed. Rae felt a hot flush in her cheeks as she realized she hadn’t changed her pose for several seconds. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head clear.

“Not a problem,” said the photographer. “Maybe an over the shoulder shot?” He tilted his head slightly as Rae shifted, her plump inner-thighs rubbing together.

“Are you sure?” The photographer nodded, even as she gestured to her cleavage, to the overwhelmed bra, to her achingly full chest. She shrugged, sliding one vast thigh in a hypnotic arc as she made an about-face, shrugging. “Well, your loss.” At least with the camera behind her, she could reach up and give a gentle squeeze, biting her lip as she looked back for the shot.

#

Rae was now facing an entirely new problem.

The BusTea sponsorship had been a radical success. She'd made a significant amount of money from the initial deal. Engagement was through the roof. The company had offered her an ongoing contract to continue modeling for them, and shilling the product. Others were starting to jump on the bandwagon, but Rae had been the first, and that, viral photoshoots and a trebled social media presence had made her the face of BusTea even after she'd stopped drinking the stuff.

But she hadn't stopped growing.

Rae did not, in broad strokes, mind this. On a personal level, she felt incredible. Strong, revitalized somehow, and her tits. My god, her tits. She had learned to live with the sensitivity, but it didn't mean she wasn't constantly trembling, eager to squeeze them, to smother someone between them, to feel fabric or hands or even just the breeze across their surface. They were incredible. She had been a little shocked at herself the first time she lost an afternoon to playing with them, now she enjoyed taking an entire day or two a week, just her, her Hitachi and the girls. Even so, it was becoming worrisome. The product, and her sponsorship might just up and evaporate when this came out. To say nothing of how big she might get.

More importantly though, the photoshoots just could not get anything that fit her. By the time she rolled up to a shoot she'd negotiated three days ago, whatever measurement she'd given them was wrong. Sometimes, it was just a little too small, snugly caressing her shelf of flesh, surging them together into an even more impossibly-inviting line of cleavage. Other times, it just meant they didn't fit at all. That, in turn, meant that her photoshoots were becoming increasingly hard to actually post anywhere. Every other photo was taken down for "sexual content," just because she didn't fit into clothes.

Rae pouted and waited at the latest shoot, wearing a swimsuit that was stubbornly refusing to cover anything for more than a second at a time. Every adjustment made something slip between them, or off of one nipple, or up or down, and she’d at last given up. They were trying to work something out, quickly, and replace her suit, leaving her half-naked but unfortunately visible enough that it would have been a faux pas to start mauling her own nipples. If it wouldn't have set her aching, please-squeeze-us-Rae-we’re-begging-you breasts off even more, she would have crossed her arms in frustration. She shifted unsteadily, resisting the urge to pick the bottoms out from where they’d disappeared to. The top she understood fine--but why did they keep getting the size of her bottoms wrong, too?