Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(4 videos) - Scene 8-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 3

Remo returned with a box tucked under his arm.

It was a POP mould kit.
A real one—
the kind used by high-end designers to create perfectly contoured blouse structures for complex body shapes.

My breath caught.
He placed the items on a side table:

A roll of plastic sheet
A pair of tailor’s scissors
A large bowl
A packet labelled “Plaster of Paris – Fine Grade”
Soft cotton strips
A wooden stand shaped like a torso base
Remo looked at me, then at the items, then back at me.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly.

“This mould is external. You will wear it. The POP will go over the skin.”

My mouth went dry. "Over... the skin?" I repeated.

Remo nodded. He didn't look at my face; he was busy pouring water into the bowl of white powder.

"To get the perfect support, I need the exact copy of the curve," he explained, stirring the mixture. It made a wet, squelching sound.

He wiped his hands on a rag. He walked over to the corner, he was waiting for me.

The air conditioner hummed above us.

"Please," Remo said, gesturing to the stool. "Stand here. You will need to remove the hoodie and the t-shirt and bra"

I stared at him. "Here?"

"Masterji is busy," he said softly. "No one is watching. I will turn around while you prepare."

He turned his back to me. He stood facing the wall, mixing the plaster.
I looked at the plastic sheet in his hand. It was clear cling wrap.

I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking. I grabbed the hem of my oversized hoodie. I pulled it up. It came off with a soft rustle. I dropped it on the chair.

Then, the t-shirt. I pulled it over my head.

Now, I stood there in just my jeans and my old, worn-out bra. The bra that was too small, the one that dug into my shoulders. My "24-inch waist" looked tiny compared to the heavy "30H" chest that spilled out of the cups.

"I am ready," I whispered.

"We need to remove the bra as well," Remo said, his voice flat and professional. "This mould is directly applied to the skin."

My hands froze on the straps. I looked at the wall, then at the mirror. I saw the girl who hid in hoodies. She looked terrified.

"Okay," I whispered.
I reached behind my back. My fingers fumbled with the hooks. There were three of them, straining against the fabric.

Snap. Snap. Snap.
The band gave way. The relief was instant, followed by a sudden, terrifying heaviness. I pulled the straps down my arms. The old bra fell to the floor.

Gravity took over. My breasts spilled out.

They were heavy. Without the bra to hold them, they dropped, soft and massive. They were "pale" because they never saw the sun. The nipples were large, brown, and already hardening from the cold air.

I crossed my arms over my chest instantly, trying to hide.

"Hands down, please," Remo said softly. He had turned around.

He wasn't looking at my face. He was looking at my chest. He took a breath. It was a sharp intake of air. Even for a tailor, the sight of a 24-inch waist holding up a 30H bust was a shock.

"I need to wrap you first," he said. "To protect the skin."
He picked up the roll of clear plastic. "Lift your arms."