Jeanie Dreams of Boobs - 1/3

Cover art by WholeLottaBlank.

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Jeanie Dreams of Boobs

Chapter I

Peyton crept up the stairs to her apartment, wincing at every creak the wooden steps made. If Ms. Abernathy heard her coming in, she knew the old bitch was gonna give her shit about the late rent. Again.

That would be a perfect way to end a shitty day. She thought as she reached the landing and tiptoed down the hall, mentally reciting her list of grievances from the day.

She’d worked the slow, boring day shift. Then she got cut just before the night crowd rolled in and started buying drinks. Her last table had been a group of Karens who made substitutions on every dish and sent three plates back. To top it all off, they left a five-dollar bill as their tip for a check that totaled well over a hundred dollars. It was all Peyton could do not to slam the apartment door behind her.

She did, however, trip over a box sitting just inside the entryway of her apartment. The box had been in that spot for a month after Cassie brought it home from the flea market. Peyton hadn’t moved it three months ago when Cassie unexpectedly moved out, with just a sticky note apology, and left all Peyton’s messages on “read.”

“Fuck!”

Peyton stumbled to her hands and knees, wincing as her toes collided with the box. It tipped over, spilling its contents across the floor. A few seconds later, her downstairs neighbor, Katelyn, thumped the ceiling with her broom. Peyton tried to be grateful it was Katelyn in the apartment below her instead of the landlady, but she lived in constant dread of the grouchy spinster’s broom.

“God damn it.” Peyton cursed, rolling over to clutch her injured toes. “Fuckin’ Cassie…”

Sitting up, Peyton looked over the “treasures” her prodigal roommate left behind. A couple of yellowed books, a stack of chipped and mismatched teacups, a bent Slinky, and what looked like a very old bottle of liquor. Peyton had emptied her last gin bottle a week ago, and after the day she’d had…

She reached for the bottle. It felt too heavy to be empty. It was made of dull pink glass, completely opaque, with bands of gold—or probably brass—at intervals along its length. She suspected that if it wasn’t empty, whatever was in it would be disgusting.

She twisted the stopper loose.

Instead of what Peyton expected—the musty smell of an empty bottle or the atrocious odor of rancid liquor—a pink mist sprayed out. She jerked back, tossing the bottle to the floor, where it rolled in a lazy circle. The mist flowed in a constant stream, collecting into a single small cloud that rose to form a pillar. The pillar of mist coalesced into a humanoid shape, resolving into a woman.

The woman was average height, a few inches taller than Peyton. She had flawless tanned skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.

“The fuck?” Peyton scrambled back across the floor until she hit the wall. She looked the stranger up and down.

She wore low heels and harem pants, a halter top with loose sleeves, and her hair was held in a high ponytail with a scarf. Her entire outfit was shades of pink, and projecting above her bare midriff were the biggest pair of tits Peyton had ever seen.

“Hello, Master!” The stranger said with a wide, friendly smile. She took a step closer to Peyton, who flinched back again.

“Or should I say, Mistress?” The woman cooed.

Peyton fought the urge to stare into the cleavage hanging down in front of her face. Despite being the size of cantaloupes, the woman’s breasts held their firm, gravity-defying shape.

She reached out to brush her fingers down Peyton’s cheek. “You’re quite a pretty one. Oh, I do like finding a pretty Mistress. It makes things so much more fun!”

Nobody had called Peyton pretty since she hit puberty. The best she ever got was “cool” or “nice” or the dreaded “good friend.” She scowled at the strange woman. “Who… what… are you?”

The woman stepped back and struck a pose with fists on her hips. “I’m Jeanie!”

“Genie? Like from Aladdin? Seriously?”

“Jeanie, with a J.”

Peyton couldn’t hear a difference in the stranger’s pronunciation. “Jeanie… why does that sound familiar? Wait, isn’t that from that super old TV show my grandma watched?”

The woman grinned. “Well, I do try to match my appearance to the culture where I’m summoned.” She spread her arms and looked down at herself, twisting her hips and legs. “Is it not what you expected?”

“Um… it’s a little… problematic.”

“Oh!” The stranger’s eyes flitted as if she were looking at something invisible in the air. “I see… What about this?” She snapped her fingers, and in a puff of pink smoke, she transformed into an identical version of herself. She wore the same outfit and had the same proportions, except now she looked vaguely Middle-Eastern. She had jet-black hair and dark olive skin, and her eyes had darkened to a deep brown.

The stranger twirled again, showing herself off. “Is this better?”

“No! That’s worse!”

“Ah.” She snapped again, returning to her original color palette. “It’s just my clothes, then?”

Jeanie snapped, and her harem outfit was replaced with a black suit with tiny black shorts, tall leather boots, fishnet stockings, and a top hat. The buttons on her white shirt puckered against her breasts, and she wore a bright pink corset and bowtie. Her short black jacket was topped with a black cape, also lined in pink.

“Why does that seem oddly familiar?” Peyton asked.

“Alright, maybe this?” Jeanie returned to her original outfit but in all white. Her skin became pale salmon and her hair a deep rose.

“No.”

She wore a full pantsuit in hot pink, with her blonde hair in a bob. A schoolgirl outfit with a rose blazer, pink tie, and pink plaid skirt. She turned pink again with a white bikini top and gold bracers, with a trail of smoke where her legs had been. A pair of ratty pink jeans with a black band tee and a pink plaid flannel. A full “goth girl” outfit where everything was pink instead of black. A long pink split skirt and corset, white lace bodice, and gigantic pink witch’s hat.

“Stop!!” Peyton waved her hands at the stranger. “It’s fine! I’m sorry I said anything; just please, stop that! You’re giving me a headache.”

Jeanie snapped her fingers, returning to her original appearance. The cloud of pink mist from her rapid transformations faded into nothing. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I don’t get out much, and I sometimes get a little carried away.”

Peyton stood, brushing off her black shorts and tank top. “So, what is this? Some kind of prank? Are you a hologram?”

Peyton stepped up to the woman and tried poking through her body. Her finger met warm, soft breast flesh. She jumped back.

“S-sorry…”

“It’s quite alright, Mistress. I am at your service, completely.” Her eyes met Peyton’s, and her smokey gaze made the implication plain. “Your wish is my command.”

“Wish?” Peyton scoffed. “Now I know this is a prank. What, are you going to magically fix all my problems? Like if I say ‘I wish I could afford to pay rent,’ you’d just—“

“Sure!” Jeanie grinned, raising her hand to snap.

“Wait! No!”

Jeanie froze, and Peyton went on.

“Okay, just hold on. I know how this goes. You’re going to twist my words to curse me or something. “Be careful what you wish for,” right?”

Jeanie clasped both hands behind her back, twisting her body back and forth as she stared at the ceiling. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean…”

“Let me think about this,” Peyton said. “Just in case this isn’t total bullshit, I need to choose my words carefully.”

Jeanie’s face fell. “You’re not a lawyer, are you, Mistress?”

Peyton gestured at the shabby apartment. “Would a lawyer be struggling to pay rent on a dump like this?”

Jeanie shrugged.

“No,” Peyton said, “I have a useless fucking dance degree.”

She started to pace, mumbling at first, then growing to a rant. “…and everyone; my parents, teachers, every adult I talked to—fucking boomers and gen-xers—said I’d need a degree to get a good job. Even with the degree, the best I can get is a service industry job. Not that I’m complaining. Some of my friends can’t even get those. They’re stuck getting screwed by Uber or DoorDash. At least they have cars, while I’m stuck paying a whole-ass car payment every month on fucking student loans…”

As her rant wound down, Peyton stepped back in front of the stranger. “I can’t just say, ‘I wish to be happy,’ right?”

“I could try, Mistress. But it’s likely to go wrong with something so abstract.”

Peyton paced again, running through the events and decisions of her life. From the time she was little, she’d loved dancing. Classes, practice, recitals, it had all felt so worth it at the time. Even in college, she thought majoring in dance would lead to performing on big stages in front of bigger crowds. The reality of trying to make it as a performer in the “real world” had broken her. But maybe… just maybe… this was her chance to change all that.

“Alright, I’ve got it. I wish that all the time I spent studying and practicing dance wasn’t a waste and that it all led to a fulfilling career that pays the bills so I’m not struggling and miserable all the time.”

Jeanie smiled. “As you wish, Mistress.”

As soon as Jeanie snapped her fingers, Peyton realized she could have been more specific about the career she wanted.

“Wait!”

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Chapter II

She was too late. A chorus of strange sensations slammed into Peyton’s body. She felt a dull pain in the bones and muscles of her legs. They stretched, and she watched Jeanie’s face get slowly lower as she grew taller. Her ass tingled, and she felt something slide into her cleft as her simple black jean shorts changed into skin-tight booty shorts. Peyton reached around to her bottom and felt a firm round rump where her flat ass had been.

Before she got a chance to process this new development, Peyton felt a tingling heat blossom in her chest, focusing on her small breasts. She stared down at her tank top, which clung to her padded bra, giving her as much of a buff as she could manage without surgery. The band and straps of the bra started digging into her back and shoulders, and Peyton watched as her half-handfuls swelled. They grew to the size of peaches, then apples, then grapefruits. Just when Peyton was sure her bra was going to snap, the undergarment vanished. Her tank top changed from black to Kelly green.

If she hadn’t been fixated on her swelling breasts, Peyton would have noticed her dull auburn undercut exploding into luscious ginger beer curls spilling over her shoulders. Her longer hair framed a face that was still Peyton’s but with clear skin, threaded eyebrows, straight teeth, and full, plump pink lips.

Peyton felt the tingling as her face changed but was still staring as her breasts continued to swell, past coconuts, cantaloupes, honeydew, and finally stopping just short of peak-harvested watermelons. She clutched the overflowing flesh in her hands. They were supple and firm, pressing back against her fingers and riding high on her chest even without the aid of a bra.

Peyton glared at the blonde, who was now a few inches shorter than her, and whose formerly-impressive tits were barely half the size of her own. “What the fuck‽”

Before Jeanie could answer, Peyton winced as a migraine shot through her head. Time seemed to stop, and the apartment dimmed as a flood of new memories filled her mind. Instead of awkward, disappointing puberty, her breasts had come in hard and fast, growing year-by-year, until she finally reached her current ridiculous size three years ago, just before her twenty-second birthday. She remembered many, many more dance and ballet classes, recitals, and countless hours at the gym. She had popular friends, daily skincare routines, and social media sponsorships. Bikinis, photoshoots, and so, so many bra fittings. Peyton remembered her old life, but it was like a hazy dream; the new memories felt real.

“What did you do to me??” Peyton’s voice sounded strange in her ears. Instead of her old sarcastic, deadpan tone, she spoke in a sultry murmur that was ready to become a sexy moan at any moment.

Jeanie shrugged, “I granted your wish, of course. That is why I’m here.” She stepped in close to Peyton, touching one enormous breast briefly before letting her hand glide over the redhead’s tiny waist and round hip. Her voice purred, “I must say, this is some of my best work. I can’t take all the credit, of course, unless you wish for physical changes. But I just knew you had… potential.”

Peyton found herself trembling at Jeanie’s touch. She hadn’t been touched like that in a long time. “But why? I didn’t wish for this.”

Jeanie gazed up into Peyton’s deep green eyes. “I gave you exactly what you wanted. You made choices in your youth that led to a fulfilling career. A very… what’s the word? Lucrative career.”

She used the hand resting on Peyton’s hip to pull their bodies close, then used the other to brush a ginger curl behind Peyton’s ear. “I meant what I said before. If you want to have some post-wish fun, I won’t count it against your quota.”

Peyton’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. “Q-quota?”

“Of course,” Jeanie grinned wickedly, “You have two wishes left.”

Peyton quirked an eyebrow. “Three wishes, seriously?”

Jeanie rose on her toes, gently grinding her body against Peyton’s. “Art imitates life, Mistress.”

–Bzzzz!–

They were interrupted by Peyton’s intercom. She extricated herself from Jeanie’s hands and walked over to the panel, feeling slightly disoriented by her long legs and offset center of gravity.

“Yeah?”

“Are you coming down? We’re gonna be late.”

Peyton had a moment of confusion; then, the new memories clarified in her mind. The voice on the intercom was her coworker, Willow. Peyton still didn’t own a car—it was awkward for her to drive herself—and for half the price of an Uber, Willow drove her to work and back. They worked together—as dancers.

She pushed the button, “I’m –uh– not feeling well…”

“Come on, don’t bullshit me,” the distorted voice replied.

Releasing the button, Peyton turned to glare at Jeanie. “You turned me into a stripper!?”

Jeanie grinned. “You should go. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Too many conflicting thoughts swirled in Peyton’s head. She could probably get out of going with Willow, but then she’d have to deal with the fallout. Pieces of her new work politics flashed through her mind. Stretching her arms, she realized she felt well-rested; her shift at the restaurant was nothing but a vague memory. She was pretty sure she still needed rent money.

She hit the button, “I’ll be right down.”

Pointing a finger at Jeanie, she added, “We’re gonna have a talk when I get back.”

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