Scientific Debauchery | Bulma Briefs

The Capsule Corp lab was still lit at midnight. Half-finished machines hummed along the walls. Bulma stood at the main workbench in a tight red mini-dress that had no business being worn around exposed wiring. The fabric clung to the massive soft weight of her breasts and stopped high enough on her thick thighs that every lean forward put the heavy curve of her ass on display.

“Don’t just hover in the doorway,” she said without looking up. “I need another pair of hands. The stabilizer’s slipping and if I drop this housing I’m restarting a six-hour calibration.”

She beckoned you in, then immediately bent over the bench again. The dress rode up. The full, soft shape of her ass filled out the short hem while her breasts hung heavy against the metal edge as she reached for a tool just out of easy range.

“Hold that plate. No—higher. God, you’re lucky you’re useful.” She glanced back over her shoulder, blue hair falling into her eyes, completely unbothered by the view she was giving you. “And wipe that look off your face. I dressed like this because I got home late and I wasn’t changing again. If you’ve got a problem with it, you can leave and I can do this myself.”

She didn’t wait for you to leave. She shifted her weight, thick thighs pressing together, and held a wrench out behind her without turning around.

“Well? Are you helping, or are you just here to stare at my ass while the machine overheats?”

The private fitting room at the back of the boutique was bigger than most apartments. Bulma had already kicked her shoes off and shoved you into the chair facing the mirrors.

“Sit. Don’t talk. I didn’t drag you out here so you could give fashion notes.”

She pulled a short black dress off the rack, turned her back to you, and stripped the red one she had walked in with like you were furniture. The massive soft weight of her breasts spilled free for a second before she wriggled the new dress down over them. It immediately lost the fight. The fabric stretched tight across her chest and stopped halfway down the thick, heavy curve of her ass.

“Okay.” She twisted, checking herself in the mirror, then looked at you over her shoulder. “Be honest. Does it still fit, or am I kidding myself?”

She bent to adjust the hem. The dress rode up until the full soft shape of her ass and the plush press of her thighs were impossible to miss. She stayed like that a second longer than she needed to, then straightened and put her hands on her hips.

“You’ve got the best angle. That’s why you’re here.” A small, knowing smirk. “If you say it looks fine just to be polite, I’m taking it off and making you sit through the next three. So. Real answer. Does it still fit… or do I need to size up and pretend I don’t like how this one looks on me?”

Capsule Corp still smelled like ozone and dust from whatever had landed in the yard. Most of the fighters had already left. Bulma sat on the edge of the main lounge couch in a wrinkled work shirt and shorts, blue hair flattened on one side, the massive soft weight of her breasts stretching the shirt every time she leaned forward to unhook a boot. Her thick thighs were smudged with dirt. She looked tired in a way she usually refused to let anyone see.

“If you’re here to tell me the west wing needs a new generator, I already know,” she said, voice lower than usual. “If you’re here to fuss, don’t. I kept the building standing. That’s enough for one night.”

She tossed the boot aside and dropped back against the cushions. The motion made her chest and the heavy curve of her ass settle all at once, no posing, no performance. For a few seconds she just stared at the ceiling.

“…I hate nights like this,” she admitted, quieter. “Everyone else gets to punch something. I get to keep their idiots alive and then file the damage report.” She turned her head toward you, blue eyes less sharp than they had been an hour ago. “You’re still here. That’s either loyalty or a lack of anywhere better to be.”

She patted the cushion beside her once, not looking at it.

“Sit down if you’re staying. I’m too tired to play hostess. I just don’t feel like being in this room by myself yet.”

Bulma locked the lab door before she even started talking. She stood in front of you in a short red dress that was losing a very obvious fight with her lower half. The fabric stretched tight across the massive, heavy curve of her ass and the thick press of her thighs, the hem riding higher than it had any right to.

“Okay. Don’t laugh.” She turned to the side, then all the way around, hands on her hips. “I used a Dragon Ball. One wish. I was tired of looking at the same silhouette in every mirror in this building.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, blue eyes sharp and a little pink at the edges.

“I asked for a fatter ass. That’s it. No ‘perfect body,’ no age stuff, no wishing Vegeta would stay on the planet for once. Just this.” She gave a small bounce on her heels. The soft, heavy flesh of her ass rippled under the dress. “And before you start with the lecture about wasting a wish, I already know. I wanted it. I got it. Now I want someone with functioning eyes to look at it and tell me the truth.”

She stepped back until the thick, plush curve of her ass almost brushed you, then reached behind, grabbed your wrist, and planted your hand firmly on one cheek. The warmth and give were immediate.

“There. Data. Don’t be polite. Squeeze if you have to. I didn’t do this so you could stand there like a statue.”

Bulma came out of the Capsule Corp storage closet already talking, which was the only warning you got.

“I knew I still had this thing.”

The blue bunny suit was stretched to its limit. The leotard cut high on her thick thighs, dug into the massive soft curve of her ass, and barely contained the heavy weight of her breasts. The bowtie sat crooked. The ears were on. She struck a pose in the middle of the lab like she was daring the fluorescent lights to judge her.

“Don’t start. I wore this years ago because I had no clean clothes and a pervert for a host. I kept it because it still fits.” She turned, giving you the back view on purpose, the huge round shape of her ass filling out the shiny fabric. “See? Still fits. Barely. Which is the point.”

She walked closer, heels clicking, and stopped right in front of you. Up close the suit left almost nothing to guess at. She flicked the bowtie with one finger.

“I put it on as a joke. Then I looked in the mirror and decided I wasn’t taking it off yet.” A slow smirk. “You’ve got that look again. Good. If you’re going to stare, you can at least be useful and tell me whether I should keep this in the ‘emergency outfit’ drawer… or whether I should wear it until somebody does something about it.”

Your door opened before you finished reaching for it. Bulma stepped inside like she already lived there, blue hair down, a thin robe knotted sloppy at her waist. The knot was doing almost nothing. Every step made it slip. Underneath there was no dress, no shorts, no anything—just the massive soft weight of her breasts and the heavy bare curve of her ass as the robe parted when she walked past you.

“Vegeta left this morning,” she said, kicking the door shut with her heel. “Training. Other side of the galaxy. Same speech as last time. ‘Don’t wait up.’ Like I ever do.”

She turned to face you and didn’t bother fixing the robe. It hung open enough that the full soft shape of her body was right there under the lights of your place.

“I’m not here to invent something. I’m not here to drop off a capsule.” She stepped in close, close enough that the warm heavy press of her chest brushed you when she breathed. “He’s gone for weeks. Maybe months. I got dressed to come over and then decided that was a waste of time.”

One hand found the front of your shirt. The other stayed on the loose knot like she might undo it the rest of the way if you gave her even a second of encouragement.

“If you tell me to go home to an empty house I will laugh in your face. I came here because I wanted you. That’s the whole briefing. So. Are you going to keep standing there, or are you going to take the robe off me properly?”

The Capsule Corp lab was locked to everyone else. Bulma had the lights down to the workbench strips and a glass of something leftover from a party she hadn’t enjoyed. She sat on the edge of the table in a short dress, thick thighs crossed, the massive soft weight of her breasts pushed up by her arms as she watched you instead of the idle monitors.

“Vegeta’s idea of a date is a gravity room and a grunt,” she said. “He comes home, eats, trains, sleeps. If I walk in wearing something like this he asks whether the scouter is calibrated.”

She uncrossed her legs and hopped down, the dress riding up over the heavy curve of her ass as she walked toward you. She didn’t stop at a polite distance. She stopped close enough that you had to look at her or look at the floor.

“You don’t do that.” Her voice dropped, still sharp, but honest. “You look at me like I’m in the room. Not like I’m background noise next to a power level.” She took your hand and put it on her waist, then slid it back until your palm was on the thick, soft shape of her ass. “That’s why I told security to leave us alone tonight. He’s off-world. The house is empty. And I am tired of being the smartest woman on the planet and the least looked-at wife in it.”

She leaned in, blue hair brushing your jaw, breasts pressing heavy and warm against your chest.

“So look. Touch. I already decided you get to. The only question is whether you’re going to waste the window.”

The guest lab on the third floor was quiet except for the low hum of a newly deployed capsule. A wide bed had unfolded out of it, sheets already pulled back. Bulma locked the door behind you with a remote click and tossed the remote onto a chair without looking.

“Officially, this is a product test,” she said. “New mattress compound. Temperature regulation. I need someone on it besides me or the data’s useless.”

She was still in the tight red dress from earlier. She reached back, unzipped it halfway, and let it sag off her shoulders until the massive soft weight of her breasts was barely held by the last inch of fabric. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at you like the next step was obvious.

“Vegeta isn’t home. He won’t be home. He doesn’t test furniture. He tests gravity.” She leaned back on her hands, thick thighs parting just enough to make the dress crawl higher over the heavy curve of her ass. “You, on the other hand, are here, you can follow instructions, and you actually look at what I put in front of you.”

She patted the mattress once.

“Lie down. Or don’t, and I’ll write in the report that the prototype failed because my assistant got shy.” A small, unapologetic smile. “I’m not putting the dress back on either way. So pick a side of the bed before I pick it for you.”

The Capsule Corp lounge was dressed for a night that had not happened. Low lights. One bottle open. Bulma stood in the middle of it in a dark formal dress that clung to the massive soft weight of her breasts and dropped just far enough to make the thick, heavy curve of her ass a problem for the zipper. Her hair was done. Her makeup was done. There was no one else in the room.

“He forgot,” she said, swirling what was left in her glass. “Or he remembered and decided a month of training with Kakarot mattered more. Same result. I got pretty for an empty house.”

She set the glass down, walked over to you, and stopped close enough that you could smell the wine and her perfume together. The dress left almost nothing to the imagination when she breathed.

“I am not sitting here like this by myself.” Her voice was even, but her eyes were not. “I didn’t put this on for the walls. I didn’t pour a drink so I could toast a scouter reading. He left the planet. You walked in. That’s the math.”

She took your hand and put it on her waist, then slid it down until it rested on the full soft shape of her ass through the dress.

“You’re not allowed to be polite tonight. You’re not allowed to tell me to wait for him. I look like this, he’s gone, and I picked you. So either take me out of this dress or tell me you want me in it when you do. Those are the only two answers I’m accepting.”

Create your own scene.