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

[ashuezy2]

Scene 5

I stared at the white plaster cast. It was a perfect replica. Every curve, the deep valley between my breasts, even the distinct, hard points of my nipples were visible in the space of the mould. It was my body, turned inside out and frozen in stone.

"Mannequin?" I whispered.

I looked at Remo’s face. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was obsessed with the cast. He was stroking the smooth white surface where his hands had been just seconds ago. He had said he could create the "best mannequin in the world."

But I didn't volunteer for that.

A wave of cold heat washed over me. Was this a trick? Did they really need a mould for a blouse, or did he just want a copy of my body to keep? I felt "exploited." I felt like he had tricked me out of my clothes just to steal my shape.

Panic set in. I didn't wait for him to explain.

I snatched my bra from the chair. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold it. I pulled it on. The fabric felt rough against my skin, which was still sensitive and red from the chemical heat of the plaster.

Snap. I fastened the hooks. I hated this bra—it was too tight—but right now, it was a shield.

I grabbed my t-shirt. I pulled it over my head, not caring that the white plaster dust stained the cotton. Then, the hoodie. I zipped it up to my chin. I buried my body back inside the layers. I hid the "24-inch waist" and the "30H".


I stepped out from the corner. My legs were trembling, but my anger was stronger.
"Masterji!" I shouted.

The old man at the machine looked up, startled. The rhythmic grrr-tak-tak stopped.

Remo came out from the corner, still holding the cast carefully in both hands.
"What is going on?" I demanded, my voice cracking. "He said he’s making a mannequin. Is that what this was? A game?"

I pointed a shaking finger at Remo.
"I came here for a blouse, not to be... copied and exploited. He told me to remove my clothes. I was standing in the corner topless!"

I saw Remo clutch the cast tighter to his chest, protecting it. Masterji pushed his glasses up his nose, his eyes shifting from my angry face to the white shell in Remo's hands.

Masterji stood up. He looked calm, almost bored.

"Standard procedure, beti," Masterji said, waving a hand. "For heavy sizes, we need a dummy to dbang the fabric. Otherwise, the fitting fails. The weight pulls the fabric down. We need the... structure."

"He said 'mannequin in the world'," I snapped. "He was enjoying it too much."
I took a step closer to the counter. I leaned in, staring Masterji in the eye.

"I don't care about your dummies," I hissed. "I want my blouse. And I want it immediately."

Masterji looked at Remo, then at the clock. "It takes time..." Masterji started.

"No," I cut him off. "You have my measurement. You have... that thing. You start cutting now. I am not leaving until I see the fabric being cut."

I sat down on the wooden customer bench, crossing my arms tight over my chest. I felt violated, confused, and strangely electrified.
I watched Remo place the white shell of my breasts onto the work table. It sat there, stark white and perfectly shaped, nipples pointing up at the ceiling.

Remo looked at me, then at the cast. He touched it one last time. It wasn't a professional touch. It was a lingering caress. His finger traced the curve of the plaster breast, right over the nipple, before he finally picked up his scissors to cut my cloth.