Krysta woke up at 7:28 AM, giving her roughly fifteen minutes until Alicia returned from her jog and needed the shower. Her immediate concern was getting a decent morning selfie posted before breakfast, followed by dealing with her hangover from last night's 'wine & weed', a phrase she'd found gut-bustingly hilarious seven hours ago
By 7:30 Krysta was out of bed and sifting through her dedicated drawer of photogenic lingerie, kept separate from the faded cotton underwear and full-coverage mega-bras intended for everyday use. She settled on a black 34G plunge bra and dark purple underwear that fit more snug than she’d have preferred. Krysta had not been a 34G since college and had not stayed one long, but she kept it in the rotation for the way it hoisted her assets into a veritable cleavage feast. As always, she would have to take it off before it left marks on her skin.
At 7:34, Krysta flicked on the lights and stepped into the bathroom, or what Alicia called ‘the studio.' Krysta's parents—who had encouraged her to buy while housing prices in her area were low—put up the cash for the bathroom renovation as a gift not long after she'd moved in. It was a bright and open space with soft cream tiling, faux-marble counters, and horizontal wood blinds over the window. She'd told her parents she'd invest in the rest of the house but had yet to pull together the surplus cash to make it happen. For now, she appreciated the occasional 'nice bathroom!' comment from her fans, which broke up the monotony of 'nice tits!'
Before she could consider selfies, Krysta needed to tidy. She cleared the counter and sink of extraneous items to minimize distractions. She hung an unused towel on the rack behind her and placed a brush and a handful of bobby pins next to the sink to give the setting some humanity. As a finishing touch, she peeked open the shower curtains to bring the chrome shower head partially into view.
The clock on her phone ticked to 7:37 as Krysta assessed her reflection. Whatever genetic anomaly had given her fifteen pounds of breasts had thus far kept them remarkably round and full. The undersized cups created the overflow aesthetic her fans loved, and she gave her chest a press and a pat before moving on to her face. She needed only a light layer of foundation and a few dabs of concealer to brighten her complexion and take care of the dark rings under her eyes from the late night. Lastly, she combed her hair enough to clean it up, while still leaving it stylishly unkempt.
By 7:42, Krysta had finished her hair, but the combination of the lights and morning sunlight had grown too harsh. She adjusted the blinds to temper the brightness, trial and error that ate up another two minutes. Finally satisfied, she put her toes at the edge of the red tape she’d placed on the floor, double-checked the lighting, and held up her phone, only to lower it seconds later.
Shit.
Her undersized underwear were not uncomfortable, but they dug into her waist unflatteringly. She'd gotten them as part of a discount lot. With a frustrated groan, she dashed back to her room and swapped them out for a reliable black pair that better matched her bra.
Hearing voices from the street, Krysta glanced out her bedroom window to see Whitley and Alicia round the corner. She chuckled at the sight of Whitley's towering form inelegantly collapsing into the grass, followed by Alicia's enthusiastic demand for a high five. When Alicia dropped down into the grass as well, Krysta thanked her lucky stars, realizing it would buy her more time.
For the next several minutes, Krysta blasted through a series of selfies. She leaned in, going for deep cleavage, and then straightened up and arched her back. She tried several looks: giddy, pouty, tired, demure, contemplative, indecisive, flat, silly, and eventually an exasperated expression that came naturally. Lastly, she tousled her hair, letting some errant strands fall on her face and rolled her eyes dramatically. It didn’t have the effect she intended; if anything, she looked haggard and mildly irritated. Having exhausted her stock of looks and poses, she gave up, praying one of the two dozen shots would be usable.
With the photos done, Krysta freed herself from the bra and tossed it toward her room, where it hit the door with a loud thunk. She reached the top of the stairs when she realized she was walking around topless—a habit she had been trying to break. She hurried to her room and emerged a minute later wearing her comfort clothes: baggy sweats, soft slippers, and a formerly-oversized robotics club t-shirt from high school that she had grown well into.
Seated at the kitchen table, Krysta put the hot water on for tea (Assam, this particular weekday morning) and rubbed her shoulders as she swiped through her shots. She did not love any of them, but she had hoped to post while it was still morning in most of America.
She heard the front door open. Alicia came inside just in time to catch Krysta's frustrated growl. After grabbing her prepared protein shake from the fridge, she paused to look down at Krysta's small phone screen.
"I know it’s your least favorite," Alicia said, "but the messy hair one is good."
"It's not remotely natural."
"It's different from what you normally do. Your fans will love it. Trust me."
"Alicia, I do not think—"
Alicia snatched Krysta's phone from her, and—after a quick flurry of thumb-taps—placed it on the table. "All done. Yer welcome." Alicia took a swig of her protein shake. "I'll move the stuff out of the webcam room after my shower," she shouted, on her way up the stairs. Krysta studied the posted photo; it was one of the last ones, where she had mostly given up. The picture caught her mid-sigh, her hair partially obscuring her face and her hand on her forehead. As usual, her breasts looked fantastically huge. She read the caption: