Ugh.
Browsing online is always the worst. Seriously, whoever made the internet probably hates you specifically. Why else would it be so easy to find people who are way bustier than you! Everywhere you look its drawn tits that stretch out shirts and real-world boobs that fill bras to maximum capacity like it’s a concert in the year 2023. And yet you keep looking, keep talking with people about how mad the envy you’re feeling is. You know it’s not healthy and that there was an easy solution. But, like most easy solutions, it was an expensive solution.
Implants, your beloved. At first you weren’t sure how you felt about them like… wasn’t that bimbo stuff? But as your own natural tits remained perky pancakes you felt the allure. They looked more natural lately. And you wouldn’t go overboard oh heck no! You just… God damn it you just wanted to look in the mirror and see and feel a soft cute bust. You were a girl, but you wanted to feel it. The feeling was supposed to be heavy, but not like how you were feeling. And you could feel that heavy… for about $4,000 to $12,000. Insurance likely wouldn’t kick in either.
At some point you decided to post about your gripes in a Discord server you didn’t haunt very often. It was one of those alright servers. An artist started it, but then that artist abandoned it to “play Overwatch 2” which you don’t believe. The person who took over was their second in command who just didn’t enforce anything. You jumped in the [Gaming] voice chat one day and it was two people streaming giving their dogs a bath. But they had a channel that often had conversations you enjoyed reading. So, you posted: “God, I wish I had huge tits,” or something to that effect.
Almost right away you get a DM from someone. They’ve only ever posted pictures of their food with their phone catching some of their tits in frame implying their tits were too big to be hidden. And they gave you a link.
TitStarter it was called (Its rival was GoBoobMe) and right away you were enraptured. How it worked was basically an understanding that anyone who signs up desperately needs the surgery or implants or pills… And that described you perfectly. The person promised you’d at least make your goal. With nothing to lose you sign up.
You wake up to $12,000.
There it was just sitting inside a very sterile looking account balance for a website that literally had more than five bouncing boob gifs on its homepage. Was this some sort of money laundering scheme…? Well… your boobs can come from crime, fine! You take PTO from your job and book a session with one of the surgeons the website was willing to work with.
You were laid on the table and excited as can be. The doctor came out eager to help you. You were strangely reassured that she was also extremely busty and had gorgeous pink hair. “Alright… Now just relax. We’re going to put you under for obvious reasons. Hard to enjoy your hamburger if you see the butchering. Now, if you have any concerns or questions now’s the time?”
Somehow, you still don’t believe what is about to happen and you feel anxious. What will your friends think has been haunting you, not to mention family or work. You ask if it was going to be okay, that you really had enough money, and that they weren’t going to go overboard. Immediately, you are reassured. “Of course! Your account has plenty of money.” She giggled at the second part of the question.
As the anesthesia is applied you start to ponder.
The lights above you start to fade and turn dark.
Everything is drifting so much faster than you thought it might.
You try counting back from 10 but suddenly you realize that there is something…
A number you never gave…
If there wasn’t a mask on your face, you’d ask…
“Hey! When do I get to say how big I want them?”
And dark.
…
And then you woke up. You felt so drifty and weird. What was odd was how little anything hurt. Your doctor returned, the pinkette grinning ear to ear. Dr. Rayana, right? You groan. She leaned in close, but you had trouble seeing her until she was right down to next to you on your right.
“Hey! So good news, right near the end your campaign crossed the threshold past the last stretch goal. It was experimental, but we were able to use fast healing implants. There shouldn’t be a very long healing period. Just massage them when you get home and check for any issues, sometimes we miss a spot or two.”
Huh…? Fast healing…? Oh, so you must have made more than $12k and could now afford… nanomachines or something? Shit, you took a lot of PTO to recover. You couldn’t remember how much. You try to ask the doctor but sitting up nearly sends you barreling forward. The doctor laughs and turns you towards the mirror.
“Well, your hamburger is done! I hope you like triple stacks because damn girl!” The doctor undid the bandages. Your new tits flopped out. They tumble forward and practically fill your lap even with all the artificial perk they had. They did look more realistic than they used to… save for the part where they were each bigger than your head and were utterly pornish in proportions.
Right away in your woozy state you’re startled. You look at your Doctor and stumble out a question. Dr. Rayana looked at you and laughed. She pulled out her tablet and pointed at your fundraiser goal. “See? At $12k was C cup, and then when you hit $20k you got a D Cup, and it just kept going until you got all the bells and whistles! J Cup, fast healing, extra natural looking, sensitive… they really wanted you to be stacked, damn girl you’re even bigger than me!” Dr. Rayana proudly thuds her fist into her chest. What you once considered to be massive tits bounced in front of you. You looked in the mirror. You were bigger than the titty doctor. You have dethroned her on your first go.
You flop into your car. You squish your fat tits between your arms and just… squeeze. Anything to keep them in one damn place. You brought a bra with you for your ideal size, and it was currently doing its best to hold back your monsters but good lord was it about to explode! Your elbows are awkwardly turned in. The pressure of your bra, the squishing of your tits…
At last, you get home. You hide your tits like a fucking criminal and push inside your house and lay down. You pray your pets don’t see you in your shape and discover the mistake you’ve made. You went and took the lion’s share of tit. The media was going to be contacted. You were going on the FBI’s titty list. You fucked up and signed up for a money laundering titty surgery website that has no upper limit and can modify your surgery on the fly.
…
God this guilt sucked. You tore off your shirt and ripped off your bra. You suck in air and look in the mirror and adjust your hair. And like this… like this you are…
Wow. They… actually look really good on you. Has porn just broken your brain this much or were you always meant to be hentai stacked? You lift a tit and squirm. You squeeze the other one and move them up and down. You spread them apart to stare at the pristine chest between the mountains. You run some water on your fingers and run your wet hand through your hair to adjust it. You watch the water drizzle down your head and down your neck. The droplets travel across your chest and glistens and shines as the droplets make their slow steady pilgrimage across your chest.
… Holy shit you want to cry you look so beautiful!!!
Why is this so affirming?! You look insane but you just… you want to thrust your boobs against the mirror, you want to squeeze and touch and admire yourself for hours! You’re WAY too big and work was going to be a nightmare! Do you quit your job?! You seriously cannot perform with tits this big and you also can’t really quiet quit when you have boobs big enough to give a casino outside of Vegas revenue and a full parking lot.
Before you can even think much more you hear your doorbell.
…
How…
HOW ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER THE DOOR?!
This is going to be a NORMAL person divorced from the context of how INSANE your day has been?! Do you give them a heads up you’re stacked like a porn star? You gaze across your room and are immediately thankful you have some pretty crappy t-shirts. You actually had an emoji T-shirt a friend had sent you as a joke. The whole point was to wear it so the face got distorted. You throw it on over your head and settle it. The big-eyed emoji is bulged to hilarious proportions.
The shirt snaps in half.
You killed them.
You killed your funny little emoji.
The doorbell rings again. HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN?! You run in you the closet and grab a winter coat and zip it up as much as it’ll go. There, it is way less obvious that you have huge tits save for the fact your winter jacket was bulged forward a few inches. Fine, whatever, you just looked big not busty!
You opened the door certain it was going to be a waste of time.
On the other side was Dr. Rayana. And three women, two of them in suits and sunglasses. The other one you recognize! Those are the tits from those food photos. “It is nice to meet you,” they said and showed you a print out of the website. The fine print made it pretty clear that if you cleared a certain cash amount you were expected to help raise money for the website for the next few clients.
That explains why they brought a webcam with them.
…
I mean it was really worth it. And what good is it getting big boobs if you can’t show em off a little, right? Just a few streams and then you’re out…