Flash Fiction -- Remote

Crunch.

The remote shattered under the ball of Janice’s shoe.  That’s not what I meant when I said I wanted to find the damn thing. 

A red ‘V’ appeared with a chain of bars, rallying to the right side of the screen. Yapping dogs blared from the television—full volume thanks to the dying command of the remote. 

She stooped over scooped up the remnants.  It was nothing but a pile of broken plastic now.  Tossing it aside she moved to the TV, feeling around the edges trying to remember where the damn manual controls were.   The barking stung her ears, like little needles poking her ear drums.

D-damn it a fucking poodle dog show of all things?  She backed off.  Wait there was a spare in the kitchen.

She hurried over ripping open the nearest drawer and pulled out an unopened universal remote.  Inside she found no instructions. 

Piece of crap!  She found the batteries, put them in and tried her luck with the auto search function.   C’mon c’mon…

She aimed it at the T.V.  Nothing.  Tried the second setting.  Nothing.  On the third, the little red light blinked thrice.  Yes!

A Red ‘B’ appeared on the screen with five bars beside it, but she’d already started mashing the down arrow.  Anything to make the barking stop.  A bar vanished, then another.  Nothing.  The volume didn’t change.  She squinted, fighting back a budding migraine from the dogs.  But now, she’d almost gotten used to it.

Stay calm it’s gotta be…  Something felt wrong.  As if my instinct, she scratched her ribs with her thumb and caught her bra.  It felt loose.  Her breasts jiggled under her blouse feeling weirdly unrestricted.  Worse, they felt… emptier.

The light blinked and she tried the down arrow again.  The B appeared again and she kept mashing the down arrow.  With two bars vanishing she realized… her breasts were shrinking!  Her bra dangled uselessly under her shirt.  Tiny A cups rested against the silk, a sad facsimile of her usual Double D’s.   She mashed the ‘up’ button quickly—hoping upon hope she could reverse the process.

Janice’s panic stuck the button down.  A tense moment passed—nothing, then red bars popped onto the screen one after another.  She gasped, arching her back as her breasts returned with a vengeance, filling the bra and straining her blouse alike.  The yapping did nothing to drown out the unsettling gurgle coming from her chest.

Her tits quivered, causing the strap of her bra to dig into her back.  The fibers of her blouse stretched and ripped.  Splitting clean down the middle.  The bra was much more stubborn, stretching and holding on, digging against her stretching areola.  Fields of pink topped with chubby nipples poked over the top and—snap.

Relief washed over her as her breasts flopped free.  The bars hit the side of the screen.  It’d stopped.

Janice laughed down at the remote and her uselessly tattered top.  Guess I know what the B stands for.