I decided maybe 15 and a B cup wasn't all that interesting and wished she'd start aging again and gain a cup size per year, but keep getting dumber.
Cathy's tank-top began filling out again as she began aging. Sweet sixteen with a C cup, sexy seventeen with some Ds, eighteen and her DDs were stretching the tank-top like it was made of paint. The hem had risen up her belly as her boobs grew, and now it disappeared under their curves. Her hips had kept pace, broadening by inches to match her bust.
At 19 she started to squirm as the short shorts began to be uncomfortably tight. Of course her size E tits were wobbling around as she shifted, and the hem couldn't cover the bottoms of her breasts anymore. She was frowning down at herself, trying to get a glimpse of her shorts past her massive hooters.
"Jimmy? Is something wrong with my--"
Twenty, and with a loud pop and tinkle the zipper of her pants gave way. A good inch or more of her double-E melons were hanging out of her tank-top, and she was down to a 119 IQ
"--Oh! That feels better!"
Cathy giggled and blushed. She explored the front of her shorts with her hands, having to reach in from the side because her tits were in the way. She tried to pull the fly closed, her wiggling producing some amazing waves in her cleavage. She didn't seem to notice that the jiggling was making her top retreat even further upward, the dark crescents of her nipples edging into view.
"I, I can't fix it," She admitted sheepishly, looking up at me through her lashes. "Is it very obvious?" She started gnawing her bottom lip, waiting anxiously for my answer.
"Cath," I said, "you've never looked better!"