The cap sleeves on Alicia's top softened the visual impact of her brawny arms and shoulders while preserving the contours of her musculature. Despite it being part of the pattern, she left out the midriff veil so as not to obscure her abs. She also swapped out the tiara for the cat-ear hairband, a high-quality piece she found on a fellow cosplayer's Etsy store. The choker was a cheap, late addition she threw together with the extra lace from her garters. She considered adding a charm of some kind in a future iteration.
She pulled up her knee-length white socks which stopped an inch short of the garters. The hem of her skirt barely reached mid-thigh, showing off the taut creases in her quads. She'd considered fishnets, but they threw off the delicate strong-sexy-cutesy balance. For shoes, she went with her glossy black mary janes with three-inch heels.
The soft, pastel pink, velvet fabric she had used for the gloves contrasted the stretch linen top and skirt. The fabric had been pricey, but worth it for achieving Alicia's look. The cool cloth of the gloves felt delightful on her skin, and its elasticity made it easier to apply makeup while wearing them. She could have waited to put them on until after she'd finished her makeup, but she enjoyed seeing herself in them.
It's nice to have a little extra money.
For the first time in years, Alicia found herself running a financial surplus. Not a significant one, but a surplus nonetheless. If she was lucky, it might turn into a new revenue source. She could have saved her money or paid down some credit card debt. In the end, she took a chunk of it and alleviated most consistent financial thorn in her side: rent owed to her ever-vocal landlord, Krysta. The rest she invested in something she believed in: herself.
Keeping the new job a secret from Krysta had been a headache. In retrospect, she should have anticipated her paying rent early would arouse suspicion. Krysta would certainly have something to say about her decisions. She'd demand Alicia show her the contract, or ask how much she was making per hour, or have some strange warning about foreign taxes.
In the end, it had worked out. Alicia got her money, and she wouldn't need to hear about rent for another six weeks. She even saved a little in the bank. Eventually, her roommates would catch wind of her secret, but she had more pressing concerns right now. Posing in the mirror, she made a peace sign with one hand and snapped a photo with the other.
My followers will love this...and so will Percy
Whitley drew from her bong. She had re-packed it for the third time in the last hour. Typically, two bowls would get her through a Friday night chill. After her first full week of practice and the previous day's Endocrinology appointment, she had a lot on her mind.
"You are seven foot two and a half. About an inch-and-a-half gain since your appointment last year."
As far as her sister Kiana knew, besides yearly sports physicals, Whitley had not seen an Endocrinologist since high school. In reality, Whitley had an excellent relationship with Dr. Cushing, her Endocrinologist who she'd seen twice a year for the four years she attended Durrenburg. Dr. Cushing was always up-front and honest while respecting her patients’ decisions about their health. Dr. Loeb, on the other hand...
"Whitley, your growth rate is highly unusual. I would strongly recommend treatment for your condition."
"Besides 'really tall and growing,' do I have any other pressing health issues that require treatment?"
"At this time, no, but in my professional opinion your attitude towards your health is irresponsible and it would in your best interest to—"
"Be on my way. Thank you, Doctor."
She exhaled a plume of smoke, building on the cloud that hung over her room. Coughing a few times, she sparked the bowl and took another hit.
Whitley clicked open Instagram, which she had checked regularly for a few weeks now. With a blank profile, no picture, a private account, and an inconspicuous username (whitleyval), she'd refrained from posting thus far. Instead, she intended to watch and learn. If Whitley planned to dive into the social media circus, like Krysta she would be strategic, and, like Alicia, she would be sure to have fun.
A new picture appeared in her feed, blindsiding her: Alicia posed for a mirror selfie wearing a revealing pink maid outfit. She had gone the extra mile to crimp her hair and cake on makeup like a porcelain lolita doll and, as always, the costume quality was top-notch. The ensemble showcased her ripped arms, shoulders, and abs while still playing into her fun-and-cutesy image. No matter how you sliced it, the girl was hot, and Percy was a lucky guy.
Whitley finally exhaled her hit.
Over lunch, Percy had spilled the beans to Whitley on Alicia's new business venture, which explained the girl's recent aloofness. Whitley was surprised to hear Alicia would get involved in something so...kinky. Krysta sure as hell wouldn't do that stuff...or maybe she would if the price were right. Hell, Whitley couldn't say she herself wouldn't do it. Either way, there was no way she would let Krysta know she knew. Krysta would get all…Krysta. Then again, why should Krysta—the supposed genius currently nursing burns sustained while eating ramen out of her cleavage live on webcam—have anything to say about it? As long as money is coming in and rent is getting paid, shouldn't she be happy? In fact, Krysta would probably like it. Whitley sure was enjoying it. The animation was a little clunky, the brother/sister thing was...weird (was Percy an only child? She couldn't remember...), and the sex scenes got a little tiring...then again, who's to say what made good anime porn? The story was pretty solid, and the characters had depth (by porn standards). At several points Whitley had forgotten she was even watching porn, until ten minutes in when the short dude started going to town on the tall girl with boobs as big as volleyballs...seriously, the show was about volleyball! Who makes shows about volleyball!?!? It was just Whitley's luck she would finally find a borderline watchable show about volleyball, and it would be some kind of...what was the word? Hitori? Handy Thai? Ugh, she couldn't remember. Percy had told her more about it than she would have learned on her own. He was cute...if skinny, nerdy white guys were your thing. In fact, the main guy in the anime reminded her of Percy. With his white bread personality and, frankly, average looks, she figured he must be a dynamo in the sack or hung like a mule...or maybe both.
Holy hell. I am baked as shit.
Whitley coughed into her hand. The room was cloudy, and she'd lost track of time. She had powered through four episodes of Alicia's show, and if she were to go any further, she'd need a sandwich. A really big sandwich...or two...with tortilla chips, salsa, and that bag of leftover pizza from the freezer...
Fine work, Alicia. Fair play to you.
Krysta sipped her Merlot and rubbed aloe vera into her cleavage while watching a short, dark-haired protagonist get boobie-smothered by a super-tall super-busty blonde, much to both characters' delight. It had been a while since Krysta had watched hentai. She listened with headphones to avoid letting the sound of anime moaning escaping her room—unlike the sounds and smells coming from Whitley’s.
How am I already five episodes ahead of her?
Of course, Krysta knew Alicia had recorded voice-overs for a Japanese hentai series. She knew this just as she knew Whitley's sister Kiana knew Whitley had been putting off treatment for her continued growth. Krysta was not proud of how much she knew about her roommates. Her obsession with privacy and security, itself the result of bad experiences with past tenants, had gotten her to this point.
Alicia delivering her rent early was more than an oddity; it was a phenomenon worthy of investigation. Fortunately, uncovering the secret had been easy. Within days of Alicia paying her early rent, Krysta received a Google Alert showing Alicia's "secret" Japanese pseudonym (Yoko Kannoushousetsu) listed in the credits for the anime adaptation of Ookii Onnanoko wa Suki Desu ka? It turned out Alicia's passable Japanese and aggressively playful personality was a decent match for the blonde American transfer student character.
Regarding both Whitley's medical history and curiously overbearing sister, Krysta would have been fine to have not known about either. Not long after Whitley moved in, Krysta received a lengthy message from Kiana, who had reached out for information about Whitley through the contact form on Krysta's website. Krysta did not reply, and only skimmed the text enough to get the lowdown on Whitley's medical history. She ignored Kiana's second message. Upon receiving a third message requesting information about Whitley, Krysta felt compelled to reply.
Whatever long-standing beef existed between Whitley and Kiana, Krysta did not care to get involved. She had enough family drama of her own without the addition of her roommates' relations. Besides, Krysta had more pressing things to consider. She clicked open the starred message in her email inbox, reading it through for the fifth time.
"Spell-check is your friend. Seriously."
Alexis was not wrong: she and Krysta's threads dominated the tits forums, and the idea of a joint photoshoot had been thrown around as a favorite "wishful thinking" topic. Krysta had not expected the opportunity to present itself so soon and certainly did not expect Alexis' side would be the one to reach out. It would also be her first collaboration with DreamGirls Productions. The money would be nothing to sneeze at...particularly once Krysta got to negotiating.
The only remaining issue was "LexieCheer" herself. It was safe to assume Alexis had reached out with the blessing of her management since they had been begging Krysta for years to do a shoot with them. Did Krysta really want a side-by-side comparison with the tall, young, charismatic, curvy, blonde to reach the eyes of the ever-scrutinizing breast-enthusiast community?
Krysta clicked "reply."
She sent the message and laid back in her chair, grinning as she gazed down at her breasts, which packed her favorite one-size-fits-all stretch tank top to the limit.
"Bring it on, Lexie."