The Procedure

By Kowalski

Copyright ©2009, Kowalski

 

 

 

 

 

 

My wife really surprised me the day she came to me with this Procedure stuff.

 

Breast augmentation is something I never suggested or even expressed a personal interest in. At least not intentionally. Anna was a natural C cup. Not what you would call busty. Not what I would call busty anyhow. She could fill out a tee shirt well enough I guess. She was well aware—from early on in our relationship—of the pleasure I took in her body, and despite the disparaging comments she would sometimes make about men in general being “breast obsessed”, she took what I would call a healthy pleasure in the attention I lavished on her in the bedroom, including breast play. Anna Hayes was a woman comfortable inside her own skin.

 

When it (the Procedure) first came up she wasn’t even my wife yet.

 

She and I worked together for almost a year before we even went on our first date.

 

Anna was the senior designer at an advertising agency that specialized in branding and retail store design and although I was approaching thirty at the time, I was just fresh out of community college and looking for my first job. My first “real job” after years of slacking and bouncing around aimlessly through life.  Bartender. Landscaper. Messenger. Personal Trainer. To be honest, I didn’t actually quite finish community college either. I dropped out after a year and a half. As soon as I had a few decent pieces in my portfolio I was done. That’s me to a T, I guess.

 

I was introduced to Anna by Cayhill Group’s human resources guy during my second interview when she was brought in review my skimpy portfolio. In hindsight I guess I had a lot of nerve even applying for the position.

 

Though I am what you would call a “breast man”, ironically it was Anna’s tush that first caught my attention. The simple dress she wore during that initial meeting clung to her curves beautifully and gave her a womanly air of sophistication that led me to believe she was older than she actually was. That below-the-knee dress showed off her trim waist, flared hips and round behind in a way that no pair of tight jeans ever could. But I don’t remember there being any chemistry between us during that initial meeting and I don’t recall her being particularly excited about my work as she peered at it from behind her stylish black frames. She struck me as professional and overly serious actually. Despite the feminine clothes and her short stature, she came across as stern and almost masculine by temperament. I can’t say I was attracted to her at all beyond my desire to land the job. Anna is in no way homely, but she is no magazine beauty either. To look at her you might consider her plain-looking. But my Annie, like all great women, is more than the sum of her parts, if I may say so. Inner beauty, intelligence, spirit, and bright green eyes make for a very special package.  It’s why I eventually wound up marrying her.

 

Because of her years of higher education (she holds an MFA in design and sometimes taught classes at the local university where she’d attended) and the fact that she was six years older than me and clearly quite talented, I looked up to Anna from the get-go. I looked up to her as a design mentor but also as someone who, compared to the types I had dated, was what I imagined an intellectual to be. I don’t mind saying; she was smarter than me. Though she was a woman of few words (especially for someone in the field of communications) That little woman knew more than me about books, about movies, about design, politics, history, life, you name it. I learned so much from Anna but in the five months of working alongside her and even sharing the occasional lunch hour with her I still felt I barely knew the woman. I was flat-out surprised the day she asked me out.

 

“Paul, so… what do you have planned this Saturday night?”

 

She asked me casually one afternoon as she breezed past me in the kitchen, tearing off a paper towel and folding it gently but purposively in her small hands.

 

“No plans, why?” I figured she needed me to work over the weekend to help her finish putting together a presentation she was making the following week.

 

She scanned the room as if looking for someone and wiped the perfectly clean dry counter with the square of paper towel. Then she stepped closer to me and lowered her voice slightly.

 

“Oh, well… I was just wondering if you’d like to go see a movie together sometime.”

 

Caroline from accounting entered the kitchen, retrieved something from the refrigerator and scuttled out before either of us could bother to say hello.

 

Anna’s gaze caught mine and held it. Her green eyes sparkled, framed by the distinct beginnings of crows’ feet that crinkled when she broke into a wry smile. I realized for the first time that behind the reserved professional façade Anna presented, she might be willing to forego professionalism and to possibly complicate a platonic office friendship by asking her co-worker (me) out on an actual date.

 

I said yes, of course. Like I say, I respected Anna and enjoyed her friendship, but never considered her someone I would pursue a romance with. Looking back on it, I think I enjoyed the novelty of an older woman, especially this older woman, taking the initiative and asking me out. Taking charge.

 

“Sure. I’d like that.” I replied without much hesitation. I realized she was wearing a little bit of makeup that day, which was unusual for her. She seemed to stand up straighter. Her small breasts caught the noon sunlight as did a few grey hairs that had begun to stand out against her natural brunette.

 

“Good.”

 

We made plans for dinner and a movie for the upcoming Saturday. She chose the restaurant and suggested a “wonderful” foreign film that she assured me I “needed” to see and to which I agreed.

 

Outside of the office Anna seemed like a different woman. More relaxed. More chatty. I took an instant liking to her. Dinner was not unlike the lunches we’d shared at work, except for the glasses of wine and the occasional touch of her hand on mine. She seemed a little awkward at first as we worked to overcome what felt like an artificially-arranged get-together, which is what dates are, I guess. She loved my sense of humor, I learned. Because she told me so but also because she turned red in the face laughing at my little jokes which weren’t really all that funny. She also confessed that she loved the highlights in hair and my “fashion sense”. Without going overboard or coming across as disingenuous, Anna made it known to me, after our third glass, that she had been attracted to me for a long while. Indeed from the first time we met during my job interview! I could tell she didn’t go on very many dates and that a lack of offers might explain why she had resorted to asking guys out. But at the same time she seemed confident and perfectly at ease around me, which in turn put me at ease around her.

 

Later in the darkened theater I was shocked when this otherwise refined and reserved woman put her hand on my leg. Less than a half hour into the movie she leaned closer and turned to face me, glancing down at my mouth. Without warning or build-up her lips found mine and we kissed. I was taken in by her softness and by the forcefulness of her kiss. The passion behind it was powerful and a little aggressive, as if she’d been anticipating this moment for longer than I realized. I matched the pressure of her lip-lock and encircled her small shoulder with my arm. After a few minutes we withdrew from each other and I returned my attention to the screen, glazing over at the barrage of subtitles and a plot I could no longer follow. Though she had seen the movie before and claimed it was her favorite, I could see that she was disinterested and distracted. I pulled her to me and once again we kissed, this time more passionately.

 

I never expect sex from a woman on the first date, and I thought I knew Anna well enough to know that she was absolutely not the type who falls into bed easily with a guy. But straight to her apartment and into her bed we fell that very first night. And we’ve been together ever since.

 

Prior to that night I’d never paid more than a passing consideration to my co-worker’s figure. Divested of her clothes I was impressed with her well-proportioned curves, her smooth pale skin, the relative fitness of her middle-aged body (she carried some fat on her thighs and a tiny paunch of belly fat) and by her cute teardrop-shaped breasts. Though she never publicly displayed them to any advantage that I (or any guy) would ever notice, I certainly noticed them now. My mouth found its way to her nipples.

 

The gasping intake of air and undulations that overtook Anna’s stomach muscles told me that she was sensitive to the stimulation I could give her. I felt her hand behind my head gently grasp me and hold me to her breast like a long lost lover. My hand snaked its way down, dipping beyond the elastic of her panties to discover her sopping wet pussy. She made no effort to stop me or slow me down. Instead she parted her legs slightly and put her hand on top of mine, encouraging me to plunge my fingers deeper.

 

“Did you bring anything?” She whispered to me with rattled breaths in the darkness of her bedroom. “I’m not on the pill.” I looked around at the books and magazines arranged in towering stacks alongside the bed. I reasoned that she rarely if ever had men up to her tidy little room.

 

“No. I didn’t bring a condom.”

 

The last thing I expected was that this date with my co-worker Anna would end up like this. I honored her, I told myself, by not presuming as much.

 

I felt her reach inside my jeans. Her fluttering fingers found my stiff cock.

 

“That’s okay, we can have fun other ways.”

 

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Things moved fast for Anna and I after that first night.

 

We’d had months to establish our office friendship, such as it was, before that. I never saw any other possible dimension to our relationship beyond that of friends and co-workers. But she had been attracted to me from the start. Though she never went into detail about her history, I knew there were a few romances somewhere in her past, none of which fulfilled her. Her persistent complaint that the men of this world are “breast obsessed” was never leveled at me, but it came up often enough for me to conclude that in her younger ugly duckling days maybe more than one guy had taken an interest in her purely for her body. I could understand how that would fail to win her over.

 

In my case I had won her over before I ever had a chance to notice her in that way.

 

Though Anna had taken the initiative and asked me out and had pretty much seduced me into her bed, it was I who first let slip that I loved her. I remember the night—a few weeks after we’d begun sleeping together—that I whispered it to her. I remember the moment, the desire my body felt for hers, the unexpected fullness in my heart, the real passion that we had been building between us. I’d courted and seduced my share of females. I’d swept a girl or two off their feet, I guess you could say. But Anna had swept me off MY feet. And I liked it. Normally it was I who was the recipient of that first “I love you” and it was I who either squirmed uncomfortably or simply returned a perfunctory “I love you too” without necessarily feeling it or meaning it. But this time I was the one who proffered the first “I love you” and it was I who felt the relief of simply sharing how I felt. Getting it off my chest. And it was Anna—for reasons known only to her at the time—who was either unable or simply unready to love me back. I would have to wait for that and content myself with her body, which she gave to me completely.

 

Maybe she liked (or needed) to for once feel like she had the upper hand emotionally, with a guy who was worth caring about. Or maybe in her eyes I was too young or impulsive, to risk her love. I didn’t think about it in those terms at the time, but in retrospect it is clear to me that she needed to feel in control. Even in bed it seemed she enjoyed taking the initiative, and was frequently on top during sex. And despite her general assessment of men being “obsessed” with breasts, she seemed to take a healthy pleasure in hers and enjoyed offering them to me to fondle and suck on and even enjoyed wrapping them around my cock for the occasional make-shift tit fuck.

 

I never got the impression that her moves in the bedroom were learned from other lovers. More than likely her idea of sex came from the erotic novels that were mixed in with her voluminous reading material. I mean who slips a pillow under their own ass to heighten penetration? I’m no prude but the first time she did this it surprised me. (And turned me on.) Somehow I suspected it was something she was trying for the first time. Or perhaps was something she did when she masturbated alone. Who could say.

 

Of the two of us I was the more experienced in the ways of love. I wouldn’t call myself a Casanova, and I’m no Brad Pitt. Not by a long shot. But I’d had plenty of flings. Too many, I suppose. I’d been through a couple long term relationships, one of which nearly ended in marriage. The girls I’d been with before were younger and for the most part prettier than Anna. A few had been well-endowed. “Big titters.” Well beyond Anna’s modest C cups. But none of them could hold a candle to Anna. They were girls. Emotionally and sexually they were selfish and immature. On an intellectual level, on a friendship level, and in terms of sexual passion Anna outshone them all.

 

Though I would wait for that pledge of love from her, the passion she felt for me and the fact that she eagerly and willingly spent all of her time out of the office with me… falling in love…  making love… was all the assurance I required. Indeed her passion seemed to double after that night, after she knew she had my heart in her back pocket.

 

At work however she was practically a stranger to me. The company frowned on office romances, as most do. And I think we both overcompensated in our attempt to keep up appearances. That was probably more conspicuous than any kind of office flirting we would have normally have engaged in. As it was, no one knew we were sleeping together.

 

Then Anna was promoted to Art Director, which both simplified and complicated matters.

 

She would now be my boss. I would have to report to her. We would no longer be working side-by-side. Work would demand more of her time and attention. I would have her in the evenings, away from the prying eyes of coworkers. But at work I would be under her, as would the other people in our department. This had the effect of heightening my attraction to her. The dynamic at work required her to redouble her efforts to be “all business” and treat me professionally and with no favoritism, to the extent that sometimes it seemed like she was actually cold to me. Our secret sex life at home took on a forbidden aspect. I think she even felt a bit guilty, as if she needed to make it all up to me in the evening with fantastic intimate dinners, gifts, and sex. But if I suggested to her it was okay to “come out” to everyone and just be a couple, she would insist it was “out of the question.” Her career was very important to her and she was not about to do anything that might jeopardize it.

 

I was the low man on the totem pole in our department. And for her part Anna made no attempt to alter that perception or help me get ahead. Maybe she was overly self-conscious of her feelings for me, and as a result she erred on the side of giving any preferential treatment (better projects, easier approvals) to the other designers, lest anyone suspect us.

 

After a few months under this new arrangement one of the other designers noticed.

 

“Dude, is Anna mad at you or something?” Corey Tate asked me one afternoon in his characteristically brazen abrupt manner. He was younger than me, but had been with the company for four years already and was the star of the department. He was a talented designer but I didn’t find him all that bright. A metrosexual frat boy and a bit of a bitch.

 

“What are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance.

 

“Oh, I don’t know” he positioned himself in the doorway to my cubicle, wedging his muscled arm against the door frame. “God, Paul. What are you even working on these days?”

 

Though I had kept quiet about it, Corey and Nathanial (the other junior designer who’d been hired just before me) had both teased me about how I had been getting shitty uncreative projects for awhile. Then no projects at all. At the moment I had nothing on my plate and the eight hour days were dragging.

 

“Corey, have you by any chance seen Nathanial?” Anna appeared from out of nowhere with a thick stack of black presentation boards and interrupted our conversation before it had a chance to go anywhere.

 

“He’s at lunch.” Corey stiffened, flexing his arm against the door.

 

“Well, I’m looking for him. Tell him to come see me when he gets back.”

 

Anna peered over her black plastic frames and looked Corey up and down, seeming to take quick notice of his upper body then she turned and walked away hurriedly, lost in her thoughts. Then she stopped in her tracks and doubled back.

 

“Actually you know what? …I need to talk to you too Corey. Come with me.”

 

She had barely acknowledged me. I watched them walk away, ogling Anna’s ass in the conservative dark twill slacks that she now preferred over the dresses she used to wear. I felt my cock stiffen inside my pants. She was the picture of professionalism as she strode down the hall to her private office.

 

I had nothing better to do so I made for the bathroom, which would give me cause to pass by her office while she met with Corey. When I walked by I spied Corey sitting in the chair across from her desk, slouched in her guest chair, his legs spread apart as if his balls were too big to permit any other posture. Jackass. Anna was standing up and gesturing with her hands and pacing back and forth as he sat and listened with serious intent, his hand affixed to his big jaw. Her stack of presentation boards were leaned against the wall in the corner and looked to be irrelevant to whatever they were discussing.

 

Neither of them noticed me as I passed by and disappeared into the john.

 

When I came back out Corey was doing the talking and Anna was just listening. She noticed me but didn’t smile or wink. She strode over to the glass wall and closed the metal blinds, blocking my view.

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

What happened next blind-sided me completely. As five o’clock approached and her meeting with Nate was finished she finally called me into her office. She closed the door behind me.

 

“So, what’s up honey?” I asked with a casual flirtatious air, hoping to penetrate her veneer of professional decorum. It was an attempt at humor more than anything.

 

She didn’t scold me for my inappropriate familiarity, nor did she laugh, or even smile. She just looked at me with a tortured expression. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were red.

 

“Okay, here it is: It’s been a year since you started here Paul. I know next Monday is your annual review but I would rather talk to you now, before the weekend.”

 

The formality of her tone was that of a boss. All traces of the lover, of the woman who shared her bed and her body and her life with me were banished from the bright-lit room. I diverted my gaze from her tired eyes and glanced down her white silk blouse at the thin gold chain that hung from her neck, the one I’d given her. She pulled her dark suit jacket closed around herself as if to warm herself in the chilly air-conditioned room, blocking my view of her body.

 

“What is this about, Anna?”

 

“This is hard for me Paul. It would be hard under any circumstances, believe me, but in this case it’s making me sick practically. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for awhile but… well, I didn’t know how.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know how to say this so I guess I’ll just come right out and say it. And understand this has nothing to do with how I…” She lowered her voice. “How I… feel about you. This is just business. This is purely about your work and your position with this company.”

 

“Yeah??” I didn’t appreciate the authoritative bosswoman tone she was taking.

 

“I know you’ve noticed I haven’t been giving you a lot to do lately. I know you’d like to be on the Guinness campaign. Or even the Chevy account. I know the print ads are boring for you.”

 

What print ads? Those had dried up two weeks ago.

 

This was the first time she’d acknowledged openly the fact that all the good projects were going to other designers. As art director these assignments were hers to delegate and since she’d taken over I’d been doing nothing but routine layouts. Template work. It was easy money, but I seemed to be going nowhere creatively or professionally, and now my co-workers were challenging me on it. And none of it was my fault!

 

And I told her so, slipping into my appropriate role of disgruntled employee and expressing the appropriate desire to contribute and be challenged by my work.

 

“Paul, here’s the deal. I just don’t think this is working out.”

 

What was she saying? That WE were finished?

 

“Your work is just not up to par. I’ve been hearing it from the other designers and from the project managers. From creative. I don’t know how to say this nicely but we’re going to have to let you go.”

 

Part of me was relieved that her disappointment in my performance seemed confined to the job. But part of me was surprised. And humiliated. And a little indignant.

 

“Who’s saying I’m not up to par? I don’t get it. I haven’t even had a chance to prove myself.”

 

“It’s coming from higher up now. At first it was just the other designers. I’m sorry Paul.”

 

“But Anna. You’re firing me?”

 

I saw tears welling up in her eyes. The façade of professionalism she was forced to keep up at all times was breaking down.

 

“Paul… honey… I need to be honest with you. It’s my decision. No one is forcing me to do this. But I need someone in here who can do the job. It kills me to say this but I just don’t think you have what it takes to be perfectly honest. This has nothing to do with… you know… you and me. Although I do think it will simplify things considerably.”

 

By this point Anna and I were officially living together. I’d given up my apartment and gotten rid of most of my furniture. She wouldn’t have been saying these unpleasant things to me if they weren’t true. If she could spare my feelings she would have. Maybe I wasn’t the most talented guy ever to drop out of the accelerated community college design program. But maybe I was worse than I realized. Maybe she’d hired me in the first place only because she thought I was cute. That thought gave me pause and made me smile a little. It was hard on my ego to hear what she was telling me, but maybe I was the one making it hard on her, just being there, in my cubicle, forcing her to live a double life and spare my feelings 24/7 while actually jeopardizing her own success, ignoring or covering up for my poor performance at work.

 

She smeared the tears across her cheek and covered her mouth with her hand. Her sparkling eyes were blood shot. She was fighting like hell not to break down sobbing.

 

“Okay. I understand. Maybe I am in over my head here…”

 

I threw her the lifeline. She needed it worse than I did.

 

I saw a weight lift from her shoulders. Her face brightened.

 

“Oh honey.” She tilted herself forward across her desk to whisper something to me under her breath. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us... you know… at home.”

 

To lean over and kiss Anna right then as the rest of the staff were trafficking past her windows on their way to the elevator would have upset her. She offered her open hand to me. I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. It felt more like a business handshake than anything else.

 

“Of course not.”

 

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I promise.” She winked at me finally, then pulled back away from her desk and opened her door, inviting me to leave.

 

I cared for her as much as, if not more than, ever. And I immediately saw how this might possibly improve things between us. No longer would we need to carry on secretly.

 

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Anna didn’t pressure me to go out and find another job. Quite the opposite in fact, she encouraged me to take time off. As much time as I needed. She was pulling down a large salary, more than enough to support both of us comfortably. She felt guilty about the decision to fire me, but not as guilty as I thought she would. It seemed as though she enjoyed supporting me. Enjoyed me being dependant on her financially as well as emotionally and sexually.

 

Aside from my unemployment, life carried on as before.

 

I missed seeing her during the days, only having her around after work and on weekends. But it’s not as if the time we were together at work had been something we were able to enjoy. Not even as friends, not like we once did.

 

Basically, I just missed having somewhere to go during the day. Something to do. I would occupy myself with taking care of her apartment and running errands for her, personal stuff she was too busy to tend to herself during her long work days that often extended well into the evening hours. She talked me into attending a cooking workshop two nights a week, which she paid for and which we both enjoyed the benefits of.

 

A few short months later there was a shake up at the top and Anna was promoted to Creative Director and given a fat raise. She beamed with pride. Now she had all the career success a woman could dream of. A big piece of her personal life puzzle had fallen into place. Life was good. Great in fact! The pressure at Cayhill exhausted her mentally and physically but I was there for her, at night and on weekends, cooking for her and helping her relieve her stress the best way we knew how, in the bedroom.


Her new position demanded a lot of her and required her to travel frequently, so some weeks I made do with only seeing her on weekends. But whenever we were together, Anna seemed so happy, so fulfilled and centered. She’s not the type who ever prattled on about wanting kids. Not even once. Her career was her life and she had proven herself in that arena. I was so happy for her.

 

I think the added responsibilities at work and the increase in salary motivated Anna to make the most of her time outside the office. To “enjoy life’s rewards” as she put it. She put her old condo on the market without telling me. She moved us into a larger penthouse on the top floor of a new building downtown. Now we had a fantastic view of the city, not to mention access to a state of the art health club, swimming pool and rooftop tennis courts (Anna had played varsity tennis in high school and was still quite good. I was dismayed to find her unbeatable!)

 

It was soon after that when she first mentioned the Procedure to me.

 

It was the first time I ever remember her commenting about the size of her own breasts. Her generalizations about men being “breast obsessed” had always been tossed off as a simple light-hearted observation more than an actual condemnation of the opposite sex. She seemed to take pleasure slapping that label on men, to put them in their place. Maybe she condemned certain guys she had known in the past, boys who never appreciated her other qualities and only wanted to get in her pants in the backseat of a car. Maybe they weren’t satisfied with her C cups. Or were satisfied ONLY with them, as the case may be. I could only speculate since Anna seemed unwilling to discuss her past in any detail.

 

I did know how she felt about breast implants. She hated them. The “gruesome lengths women would go to for bigger boobs”, letting a surgeon implant silicone bags, risking their health, reducing sensation, and always resulting in something that looked fake. Anna’s opinions on the matter came across as so strong. So… thought-out. It dawned on me that she gave breasts, breast size and breast augmentation more thought and consideration than most women, or even most men. I naturally did my best to avoid the topic, and curtailed my ogling of well-endowed women. And I always paid special attention to Anna’s breasts. Whether I overcompensated on this front is anybody’s guess. The fact is, Anna herself enjoyed her breasts and derived much pleasure from the attention I gave them, especially her sensitive nipples which sometimes showed through her clothing despite her efforts at modesty.

 

“Honey, do you like my breasts?” She asked me out of the blue one night on the couch watching TV. She was snuggled in close next to me and I could feel her softness pressing against my arm.

 

“What? Of course I do. You know I do.”

 

She smiled and sat back, arching her back.

 

Her breasts were unsupported inside the black tank top she wore.

 

“You don’t think they’re too saggy? Or too small??” She tucked her elbows to her sides, pressing her breasts together, forming a bit of cleavage in the scoop neck of her top. Some of the sun-damaged skin between her breasts was wrinkled and betrayed her age.

 

“I think you’re perfect” I said, giving one of her nipples an affectionate tug through the cotton fabric. “Do YOU like your breasts??” I countered.

 

She smiled and collapsed back onto the couch. Her breasts flattened out across her ribs. Her nipples pointed downward and to her sides. She looked down at herself and furrowed her brow, unsure how to answer the question.

 

“What is this about?” I asked.

 

She removed her glasses in a slow flourish, a grand gesture I’d seen her do many times in meetings and presentations. She gently placed them on the coffee table and began to explain herself.

 

The Procedure—as it was called by the doctor who was performing it—was a new technique for breast augmentation. Preliminary human trials were being performed at the university across town where Anna had attended and taught.

 

“It’s all natural. It’s not an implant. It’s living tissue. It’s a combination of procedures that they’ve perfected in other treatments, and now they are applying it to ‘breast rejuvenation’ they call it.”

 

“What are you saying Anna? That you want bigger boobs?”

 

She didn’t deny it. Rather she clarified the facts, rationalizing it for my sake and for hers, skimming over the particulars about how she came to be aware of this research in the first place. 1.) Guys “have a thing” for big breasts, she reminded me. She couldn’t deny and it and wouldn’t hear of me denying it. 2.) She was 37 years old, she reminded me, soon to be 38. Her once perky breasts had “dropped.” Their downward descent was, in her estimation, well underway. (I didn’t doubt that in her adolescent days her full C cups and perky nipples stood out and attracted plenty of attention.) 3.) This so-called Procedure, though radical and new, would amount to nothing more than a routine augmentation, or a “lift” rather. It would primarily restore a youthful fullness and firmness. 4.) A small increase in size would be a pleasant side-effect, she ceded with a smile.

 

“Uh, huh…” I said with a smirk, urging her to continue. I’d never heard her talk like this!

 

“The first part is actually a kind of organ transplant really. Or more like a skin graft. They harvest living breast tissue from women who are either getting mastectomies or breast reduction. Healthy tissue from inside the breast, from the nipple back to the ducts and the lobules.”

 

“Lobules?”

 

I listened with a confused and bemused expression on my face.

 

“Breasts grow and develop naturally from the nipple back, so this new tissue is grafted only at the site of the nipple, where blood flow is easy to establish and the augmentation is best able to take. Along the underside of my nipple, beneath the skin, they graft the donated breast tissue. The incision is smaller than half an inch.”

 

“How much tissue? I mean, how much bigger do you expect to be from this rejuvenation?”

 

“I don’t know. It’s not a dramatic size difference really. The first phase of the Procedure is basically about filling up the breast. Then the following day you go in and they inject my nipple with stem cells.”

 

“What???”

 

This was a far cry from picking out an implant and deciding on how many cc’s of saline to fill it with.

 

“The stem cell ‘infusion’… it helps heal the nipple and promotes growth.. so the new breast can attach and grow along with the original breast, as one larger breast.” She was rolling her erect nipple between her thumb and forefinger as she explained this.

 

“What do you mean ‘growth’?”

 

With her other hand she hit the mute on the television, dropping the remote onto the coffee table. She ignored my question.

 

“But that’s just part of it.” She took both nipples in her fingers and twisted them through her tank top, then flattened her palms against her chest. “The stem cells are cultivated. They are embryonic stem cells that are undifferentiated. That means they can become whatever they need to become. So they cultivate these stem cells with cells sampled from living nipple tissue.”

 

“I see. Who will perform this procedure? Doctor Frankenstein?”

 

Anna slapped my arm and bounced on the sofa, tucking her leg up beneath her excitedly.

 

“Listen to me Paul. This is the amazing part. They cultivate these stem cells with living nipple tissue taken from my own nipple, and they combine that with tissue taken from my clitoris.”

 

She cupped her hands over her face, as if muffling her own astonishment at what she was saying.

 

“Whaaaaaaaaat!?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Is this a joke?”

 

“No! It’s not a joke! The stem cells they inject into the graft area. Into the nipple. It’s basically my own genetic material, taken from my own breast and my own clitoris. But combined.” She curled her nose in mock queasiness. “To enhance the sensitivity and also to stimulated the old breast and the new breast to grow as one.”

 

She was practically red in the face as she revealed this completely unexpected part of the strange medical research she was apparently actually considering subjecting herself to.

 

“That’s what’s so revolutionary about this. It’s not JUST breast augmentation. It’s not JUST for looks. It’s a breast rejuvenation, and supposedly the nipples are twice as sensitive as before, because they grow with all the nerve endings of the clitoris, with the same wiring to the pleasure centers in the brain. The women who are doing this rave about how incredible their nipples feel!”

 

“That’s pretty weird. Or pretty amazing, I guess. Depending on how you look at it.” I reached over and gave her nipple a pinch. Anna drew in a sharp breath, held it, then let out a long sigh and brought her hand to my cheek and looked at me with an expression of grave seriousness.

 

“That feels so good. My breasts always feel so good when you touch them.”

 

I enclosed my hand around her soft breast and gave it a squeeze. Her erect nipple bore into my palm, harder than I can ever remember feeling it.

 

“If it works like you describe someone’s going to be rich. Really rich!”

 

I was stating the obvious.

 

She put her hand on my crotch and felt my raging hard on through my jeans and proceeded to unbuckle my belt.

 

She’d made the initial consultations already, she informed me. She was convinced of the science to her own satisfaction. Microscopic tissue samples had already been taken, she informed me, earlier that afternoon, from her left nipple (the same one that was pressing into my palm) and from the base of her clitoris! The stem cell culture was already gestating in a lab across town until the day two weeks from now when the tissue graft would be performed.

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Two weeks later we sat in a dimly-lit, non-descript examination room at the research center at the university waiting for a doctor to see us. The room was like any doctor’s examination room, with the same jars of tongue depressors, gauze and the exam table with that white butcher paper spread out across it. And a small refrigerator that was humming away quietly in the corner.

 

The main difference between this place and any city hospital was that on weekends the facility appeared to be, aside from a security guard in the downstairs lobby, mostly empty of staff or patients or anyone but us. Most of the building’s hallways were darkened and unlit.

 

Anna was nervous more than excited. Her brow had knitted itself into a worried scowl behind her black glasses the moment we entered the building.

 

Doctor Balfour introduced himself to me before he greeted Anna. He seemed friendly enough. His handshake was limp, I thought, and his tone was serious and strangely silent. He didn’t bother reviewing the details of the Procedure with me, rightly assuming that Anna had already done him the favor. He sat quietly for long moments looking over Anna’s chart.

 

“Looks like you’re ready.” He beamed as he looked up from his clipboard with a large smile.

 

A thin olive-skinned nurse entered the room, dressed in a loose white lab coat. She handed the doctor a single sheet of paper without saying a word or even looking at us. “A standard waiver and consent form.” The doctor called it as he handed it over to Anna. It was printed on university letterhead, but appeared to have been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter. The language was brief and surprisingly simple. Even to my untrained eye it seemed inadequate compared to legal documents I’d seen before. Anna took 15 seconds to read it carefully and signed at the bottom.

 

He looked at her signature and smiled slightly, then handed the paper to me. “If you’d please sign too, as a witness.” The nurse removed a metal instrument from a drawer and as soon as I signed the paper she clamped down on the corner of the page, pressing a notary seal into it.

 

“Nurse Lopez is a certified notary public… just to make it legally binding, you understand.”

 

I looked at the doctor’s assistant and tried to understand how the young woman could pass for a nurse OR a notary.

 

“Can we get a copy of that?” I asked.

 

“Of course, Paul.” The doctor said.

 

“Would you please remove your glasses?”

 

The doctor shined a light into Anna’s pupils then proceeded to take her blood pressure, looked down her throat, scribbled something in her file, then invited us to leave with the nurse who was waiting outside. I was directed to a waiting area down the hall and was told that the operation would take no more than a hour or so.

 

She would be released that day and would need to return the following afternoon for follow up, which included the stem cell injection Anna had described to me.

 

The waiting area, unlike a normal hospital, offered nothing in the way of magazines or TV or vending machines. The nearly two hours I spent waiting on Anna’s return felt like a surreal eternity.

 

Finally I heard her voice echoing off in the distance down the hall around the corner. Then she came into view, pushed in a wheel chair by the young assistant. Her doctor was nowhere in sight.

 

Anna smiled but seemed groggy slumped in her wheel chair dressed in the loose zip-up sweatshirt we brought for her. I looked but could see no difference. No jutting Tetons fighting to get out of her hoodie.

 

“Effrey-thane went jus’ fine, okay. She s’all yours.” The nurse said in a heavy Hispanic accent. She handed me a copy of the consent form I’d requested and a large bottle of pain killers.

 

“Keep these wrapping in place over nights. She’s needs the bed rayst. No unnessaysahrry activites. Come back tomorrow’s afternoon at 1PM for har follow ups.”

 

Anna didn’t say much during the uneasy drive home. She just gazed out the window and complained that she was sleepy. By the time we were half way home the general anesthetic had worn off enough that she was alert and hungry for lunch.

 

We stopped at the market to buy groceries. I wanted Anna to wait in the car but she insisted on coming with me. She seemed to be in no pain. Standing upright with her shoulders pulled back I could see now that she was filling out her sweatshirt more than usual. She was still a bit out of it and making a great effort just to act normal, but I noticed her checking her reflection in the plate glass windows at the front of the store, and again in the frozen food aisle. When I put my arm around her as we stood in line she winced slightly.

 

Back in the confines of our apartment Anna relaxed. With a big turkey club sandwich on her lap she seemed completely alert and relieved finally to be back home.

 

She tentatively touched herself, just laying her delicate fingers lightly on the upper swell of her bandaged chest. She didn’t wince this time.

 

“God this is so strange, Paul. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this.”

 

“What can’t you believe?” I asked as I bit into my sandwich.

 

She surveyed the swell of her chest, bandages, sweatshirt and all. She righted her shoulders, and assessed the dimensions of her bust line. She unwisely drew in a deep breath, inflating herself a bit.

 

“Ow!! Shit, that hurts.”

 

“Careful honey. You need to take it easy. You just had surgery.”

 

“I know. I just am a little freaked out now that I’ve actually done it. They showed me the transplant tissue before they put me under. It just looked like a bunch of white noodles.”

 

“Really?? How big… or, I mean… how much.. tissue was there that they put in there?”

 

I didn’t know how to phrase the question or what kind of answer I even expected.

 

She opened her sandwich and looked at the pile of lettuce and sliced turkey. She gathered it all up with her fingers and held it in the air and shook it. Some bits of turkey fell onto her plate.

 

“Like this. Maybe a little more. I couldn’t see very well. I didn’t have my glasses.”

 

We both looked at her trussed-up chest, comparing it to the little wad of romaine and sliced lunch meat.

 

“Well, it’s swollen from surgery, and it’s heavily bandaged, and that sweatshirt is pretty thick.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Are you disappointed?” I asked. Did she think she looked too big? Not big enough? She seemed confused.

 

“When the doctor showed me the donated breast tissue, I have to say it didn’t look like much of anything. Hardly worth all this bother, you know?? But now, I don’t know I guess I’m still kind of doped up. It’s not like I expected my boobs to look huge from that little blob of stuff.”

 

We went to bed early that night. Despite her physical discomfort sleeping on piled up cushions in an inclined position, Anna was exhausted enough that she had no trouble sleeping through to the morning.

 

The next day Anna donned the same sweatshirt with some pain and stiffness and we returned to the university for her follow up.

 

Back in the same examination room Dr. Balfour entered, wearing a smile.

 

“How are we feeling Anna? A little stiff?”

 

“Yeah, it hurts a little. The pills seem to be working though.”

 

“Shall we have a look at you?”

 

The doctor didn’t even shake my hand this time. It was right down to business. I helped Anna off with her sweatshirt. Underneath it she wore nothing but the mummy wrap of bandages that held her breasts immobile for the last 24 hours. The doctor removed them with care, cutting them loose with blunt scissors. In no time he coaxed them loose and they fell away from her breasts, which were wrinkled from the tight constriction of the wrap.

 

They looked like Anna’s breasts, except they appeared fuller and rounder and projected out from her body a little bit more than usual. Her nipples were slightly bruised but the incisions were practically invisible. In fact I wouldn’t have even been able to see them were it not for the tiny pieces of surgical tape holding them together.

 

The doctor removed the surgical tape and dabbed the area with an alcohol swab.

 

“This looks just fine Anna. Just fine. Hardly any swelling at all.”

 

She looked at me with a tentative smile. “What do you think, hon?”

 

I just smiled in response. The doctor removed a tiny syringe from a tray next to him and held it up to the light. “This is a local anesthetic Anna. This will numb the site of the injection. This will only hurt a little.”

 

In quick succession he anesthetized both of Anna’s poor nipples. She didn’t bat an eye at the tiny prick of the needles, but rather smiled and took a deep breath as she braced herself against the appearance of the next syringe which Dr. Balfour retrieved from the little refrigerator. I was shocked at the sight of it. The needle was large and the chamber containing a cloudy solution was bigger than anything I’d ever seen in a doctor’s hand.

 

He pinched Anna’s right nipple. “Can you feel that Anna?”

 

“No.”

 

He squeezed her breast around the outside of her areola. “Feel anything?”

 

“No. Nothing. It feels weird.”

 

“That’s the anesthetic working. Okay, this will take a moment or two, we need to go slow.”

 

I recoiled slightly at the sight of him inserting that needle into the side of her right nipple, then pushing it in deeper than I thought he would. Then gently he depressed the plunger on the syringe, forcing the cloudy solution into her breast. “Don’t be alarmed by this. Most of this fluid is saline which the body will simply absorb.” Her nipple and areola swelled visibly before my eyes as it was injected full of the material until the skin was stretched and shiny. When he was finished the areola rose up in a dome, swelling up and surrounding the nipple until it was nearly flush.

 

“It’s critical that we do this within the first 24 hours, BEFORE healing has really had a chance to start.”

 

He repeated the procedure with her left nipple.

 

Removing the needle a tiny droplet of blood appeared at the injection site. He wiped it away with an alcohol swab. Nurse Lopez entered the room as if on cue, holding a decidedly unsexy-looking surgical bra which Anna’s breasts were to be contained in for the next 48 hours.

 

“That’s it. You’re done.” The doctor proclaimed. The nurse helped Anna into the surgical bra and fastened it behind her back.

 

Anna looked at me with a funny embarrassed expression sporting her new industrial strength white brassiere.

 

“What size is that bra, doctor?” I asked, speaking over the nurse, ignoring her.

 

“34” D” the nurse responded indifferently.

 

“Now as we discussed Anna, your swelling will go down as you recover from the surgery and from your injections. This serum will actually accelerate the healing process considerably. The graft site will fuse within days, blood flow will be established, then nerve endings will start to slowly develop and will continue to do so over time.”

 

He looked at me as he continued. “It’s important not to stimulate the nipple or the breast for the first week. That means no squeezing, no pinching, no massaging. Try to wear your support bra around the clock and try to refrain from extreme physical activity. And, well… I guess it goes without saying, but no sucking either. That’s very important. In a week’s time she should be adequately healed and then some stimulation will be encouraged, going forward, to increase blood flow… and that will trigger all the desirable effects we discussed. Okay?? Any questions?”

 

Anna reached for her sweatshirt, stretching her arm across the examination table. The doctor admonished her and grabbed the shirt. “Careful Anna. No stretching or reaching for 48 hours. You let this fella tend to your needs, okay??”

 

Our emotionless nurse smiled for the first time.

 

“And we’ll see you back in here in one month’s time for your check up.”

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Anna had taken a week’s vacation from work to give herself adequate time to recuperate at home. (Corey, who had been promoted into Anna’s former art director position, would simply do without his creative director for the next five days.)

 

By Wednesday she was feeling no pain at all and the pain pills were stowed away in the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. She bought herself a small assortment of 34” D bras at the mall on the way home from the doctor’s on Sunday and a few new blousy button-up tops that she could easily put on and get off without pulling anything over her head.

 

The difference in her figure was noticeable but not so drastic as to cause a scene. She would have no problem presenting a normal professional appearance at work.

 

I helped Anna on with her bra. The 34” D was a perfect fit and she beamed with a confused mixture of pride and embarrassment at the sight of her larger chest in the mirror. Her nipples and fattened-up areola remained extremely swollen, tender and were itchy. When would her body “reabsorb” the fluid Dr. Balfour had injected into her, we wondered. She was tempted to scratch them but resisted the urge. Gently stroking them with her fingers through the brassiere felt good. The itching emanated from deeper down inside her breast, bordering on a burning sensation at times, which she attributed to the injections doing their job healing her grafts.

 

“Well do you feel rejuvenated?” I joked as the two of us looked at her in our bedroom mirror.

 

She arched her back and swelled her chest. “I do feel rejuvenated!” she smiled at the absurdity and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

 

I reached under her arms from behind and put my hands gently to the sides of her breasts, cupping them lightly without squeezing. Just assessing their size as they filled my palms. “Is this what they looked like when you 18? Before gravity took over?”

 

Anna smiled, staring at my hands on her chest.

 

“No.” She said with a satisfied air. “They were never this big.”

 

The swelling of her areola was a still discernable mound, visible even through the bra, tenting the thin Lycra fabric, rising from the gentle curve of her breast to form a smaller though distinct dome of its own that was a new feature of her figure. And capping that off, her thick nipples were now showing themselves, emerging from the areola that had seemed to engulf them immediately after the injections.

 

I smoothed my hands over the surface of her bra-encased breasts in a light hovering touch, letting her stiff nipples tracing across my palms. She pulled my hands away from her breasts and wisely admonished me, “Not yet honey. It’s too soon.” I would not lay my hands on her new breasts until she was ready.

 

Anna collapsed backward into my body, her weight resting against my chest. She said nothing, just looked at herself in the mirror, but I could tell she was enjoying the moment, relieved that the worst was behind her, even as she fought off the itching sensation and the urge no doubt to test her nipples and feel up her “new” breasts.

 

When she tried on one of her new blouses she was careful as she buttoned the row of small ivory buttons. The surprising snugness of the new top had the effect of constraining and compressing her areola and nipples, generally confining her swollen tits in a less lewd display than a bra alone could facilitate.

 

The shirt fit, but barely. She had cleavage now, she realized. Modest but distinct cleavage. Small gaps around the buttons where the blouse was pulled tight across her breasts put her on notice that her clothes purchases going forward would have to be more selective. She could no longer expect to fit into just anything she liked.

 

“You look great honey.”

 

“Do ya think?” She turned on her heel and admired herself from the side, drawing her shoulders back, puffing her chest out a little.

 

Though it’s nothing I’m especially proud of, I’m something of a big boob aficionado. That much you should know by now. I admit it; I am “breast obsessed”, to use wife’s favorite expression. (She likes me that way.) I was more than a little pleased that she was willing to go through with that strange (and possibly dangerous, for all I knew) Procedure just to gain one measly cup size. It was better than nothing, but already after only a few days I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her plump new D cups looked just normal to me.

 

Don’t get me wrong. They looked nice.

 

Beautiful even.

 

Natural and full and riding high, but easily accommodated by an off-the-shelf bra and nothing that anyone was apt to notice on the street. Though she expressed concern about it, I doubted seriously that anyone other than her and I would even notice the difference.

 

But like I said, I wasn’t complining.

 

The effect of Anna sporting more up top and filling out her blouse a bit better had the effect of making her look younger. Healthier. This part I didn’t expect. Maybe it’s the way she carried herself, conscious of her bust line, proud of breasts that no longer drooped or sagged. Around the house she was not shy about constantly touching herself discretely through her clothing, pressing lightly on her persistent puffy areola, stroking her itchy nipples with gentle circular motions, even pinching them from time to time, assessing the sensation that was building in them now that the healing had begun.

 

By Friday she claimed to be “fully recovered,” which seemed unlikely to me.

 

“Are you sure?” I asked with concern as I laid my hands on her chest.

 

She wore a thin grey Banana Republic tee shirt that was stretched tighter than I was used to. Beneath it one of her 34 D brassieres. Though the doctor had said her swelling would go down, I noticed nothing of the kind. Her swollen areola had softened and no longer had the tight shiny look they had that day in the doctor’s office, but even those were still extremely puffy, still very much swollen. So much so that they showed plainly through her bra and tee shirt. Her nipples, I pointed out to her, appeared to be larger, perpetually erect, eye-catching.

 

“That’s normal, he said. The nipple from the graft adds to the thickness.” I lightly pinched one between my thumb and forefinger to judge its size. It was thick. Fully as thick as one of my fingers!

 

“Wow, that feels really good. Keep doing that.”

 

“The doctor said you shouldn’t.” I reminded her.

 

She took matters into her own hands, giving her nipple a good solid pinch. She appeared to be feeling no pain.

 

“Come on, Paul. It’s okay.” She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, peering over the frames at me with a grin.

 

I did as she asked and proceeded to roll her thick nipple gently in my fingers. It seemed to stiffen and grow longer the more I manipulated it. Anna didn’t bother pulling her thin tee shirt off, she just drove her chest into my hands and encouraged me to feel her up.

 

“Are you sure this doesn’t hurt at all??” I asked as I tentatively cupped her boobs and squeezed. They filled my hands completely.

 

“Not at all. It feels fantastic.”

 

“ ‘Fantastic’ huh??”

 

She took my face in her hands and kissed me passionately. I kept feeling her up, testing the waters with slightly increased pressure. A large sigh escaped Anna’s nostrils as she pressed her lips tighter against mine. I squeezed a little harder and she groaned with pleasure, grinding her pubis against my leg.

 

She led me into our bed and removed my clothes and climbed on top of me. My raging hard on slipped inside her with no trouble. Anna rocked her hips atop me, grinding her way to orgasm while her breasts jounced inside her bra, threatening repeatedly to leap out but staying in place.

 

Anna closed her eyes and appeared to be increasing a particular rhythm that was producing this jouncing motion in her chest, maximizing it. She seemed to relish the feeling of her boobs in motion, the increased weight of them, and possibly the strange prickly sensation inside them which was no doubt heightened by the stimulation.

 

When she started to cum her eyes opened wide with what I can only describe as shock, or astonishment. Her hands flew to her chest and crossed over in front of her nipples. She flattened her palms into paddles and pressed down on her breasts, immobilizing them for a moment, holding them in place as her orgasm exploded through her body.

 

“Oh my. OH….. Oh my goodness………. OHHH! OH GOD!!!!!!!!” She practically shouted her surprise. Her head snapped back. Her eyeglasses flew off her face, landing on the carpet next to the bed.

 

There was real alarm in her voice. Still sitting atop my erection I could feel her pussy flooding and leaking out around the base of my cock. She was ejaculating, for the first time ever that I was aware of. She tried to remain motionless but the orgasm overpowered and shook her. She removed her hands from her burning breasts, then quickly enclosed them again, returning her flattened palms to her flaming nipples, her thin fingers pressed tightly together, seemingly attempting to hold back or suppress whatever was happening.

 

Quick breaths caught in her open mouth. It seemed like she couldn’t get any air. Her eyes searched the room, looking for some sign that the sensations were subsiding. After a moment of calm her fingers grasped at her nipples, and lightly tugged on them.

 

“Ayyyy… oh SHIIIIIITT…… AAAAGHHHHHHH…. PAUL!!!”

 

Her drenched pussy rocked and stroked with sudden force against my dick. She pulled back the cups of her brassiere and freed her tits. Her nipples were red and angry as she pulled on them. Soon a second orgasm exploded, this time behind her nipples. Anna’s eyes shot to her tits and stared in amazement as she twirled and tugged and pinched her nips, coaxing more of the strange new sensation that emanated from them. Tears formed in her watery eyes and streamed down her red face. Her hips bucked and pumped my cock with renewed force, bringing about my orgasm which she scarcely noticed.

 

Again her mouth flew open, almost in horror as a third orgasm exploded behind her nipples. She clutched at her tits now, kneading them and mashing them in time with the powerful pleasure signals they were sending throughout her body. Her eyes clamped shut and her face contorted as if in pain, but she didn’t release her firm grasp on her tits.

 

“Oh NO… Oh NO… OH PAUL… NO!!!! PLEASE!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!!”

 

She collapsed forward, her head landing on the pillow next to mine. My cock slipped out of her pussy as she lay curled up, clutching at her chest, riding out the assault. I sat up next to her and put my hand on her shoulder, afraid now of what might be wrong. No sooner did I consider calling an ambulance than a broad smile broke out across Anna’s face, followed by convulsing laughter.

 

“Oh Jesus… Fuck!”

 

“What?????” I asked, relieved and confused.

 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…. Oh fuck fuck fuck… that felt… Oh My God… that felt incredible, Paul.”

 

She remained curled up with her head against my pillow, her face relaxed into a big dumb grin, eyes closed. Sexually satisfied, and, from what I could tell, not as surprised by what had just happened as she’d led me to believe.

 

“These nipples…” she purred, eyes closed, lightly caressing her bare nipples… “it’s amazing… they feel just like huge clitties… already… I can’t describe it… what it feels like. My nipples have always been sensitive but nothing like this… mmmmmmm….” She relished the feelings that were now merely percolating below the surface, subsiding and manageable.

 

“Wow… I had no idea… so WONDERFUL.”

 

I smoothed my hand over her hip, soothing her as she drifted off, lost in her post-coital haze.

 

 

• • • • •

 

We’d had three or four replays of Friday afternoon over the next couple days. I couldn’t keep my hands off Anna’s body and neither, it seemed, could she. We didn’t even bother to leave the house until Sunday evening. By then she was pushing me away, desperate to regain some composure, some personal space, some control over her senses.

 

“I have to go back to work tomorrow. I need to sleep.” Anna begged me the night before as I advanced on her. For the first time in a week I heard the professional career woman creep back into her voice.

 

But I noticed as I rolled over to turn out the lights, she was absent-mindedly tweaking one of her nipples under the sheets, even as she drifted off to sleep.

 

Monday morning I woke before Anna and made her breakfast before she left for work.

 

The weekend had been quite a revelation. For me but especially for Anna.

 

I loved her new look, as much or more than I expected I might. Doctor Balfour, I decided, was a genius. A mad scientist, but a genius! But I was mostly bowled over by the effect on her in the bedroom. I’ve never heard of any woman cumming as hard as Anna came the first time we fucked after her operation.

 

I think she was more than a little overwhelmed by it all.

 

As I made coffee and scrambled a few eggs for our breakfast I could hear Anna in the other corner of the apartment, talking to herself as she got ready for work. “Oh, come on! OH! Christ!”  Then silence. Then I heard a loud crash, as if the dresser had fallen over.

 

“Are you okay?!!!??” I shouted.

 

“It’s nothing! I’m alright.”

 

I put down my whisk and went into the bedroom where I found Anna, fully dressed, her hair a tangled mess. She was running her fingers through it and looking at herself in the mirror. She looked fantastic.

 

“What happened in here?” I asked.

 

“Nothing. I tripped over the bed. I’m ok.”

 

I noticed her blouse was buttoned up wrong.

 

“Uh, honey your blouse…” I gestured at the buttons that looked like a blind man had buttoned them.

 

“Oh! Thanks.” She unbuttoned her shirt and looked in the mirror. I looked at her breasts bulging out of one of her new cream colored silk bras. Her swollen areola still showed through the fabric and even peaked out from behind the cups slightly. She noticed this and tugged on the strap, stuffing her excess down into the cup, jostling her breasts in their confines until she was satisfied with her appearance. She rebuttoned her shirt and I noticed that the familiar swell of her areola was visible through her shirt! She would wear a jacket over top of that, which would suffice to conceal everything.

 

“I have breakfast ready for you.” I said as I snaked my arms around her and gave her a hug.

 

Anna wrapped her arms around my waist and held me tight, pressing herself purposively against me, demonstrating her size to me but also it seemed enjoying the sensation of the contact of her body with mine.

 

“Mmmmmm… I don’t think I want to go to work today.”

 

I kissed her tenderly, then pulled away.

 

“You’re going to be late.”

 

“How do I look?” She asked, stepping back away from me, adjusting her glasses daintily with her hands.

 

She looked fantastic. I still had the image of her in my mind, sitting atop me grappling with her boobs, fighting to live through another mind-shattering orgasm. Now that same person was dressed for the office in black pants and jacket. The woman who left the office for vacation seven days ago was back, except one little difference.

 

Or two, rather.

 

“Do you think anyone will notice?” She asked her reflection in the mirror as she tugged on the hem of her jacket. She arched her back and puffed out her chest. Even this subtle act seemed to produce a mildly pleasurable sensation behind her nipples, as evidenced by the hands, first one then the other, that involuntarily flew up to the front of the jacket that concealed them and carefully reassuringly pressed in on them, driving them back into submission.

 

I turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

 

“They’re hard right now!” I heard her say to herself over my shoulder.

 

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

 

I wondered how she would ever make it through the day.

 

I phoned her around lunch time to check up on her. She didn’t have time to talk but she made a point of reassuring me that somehow it made a huge difference being out and about and back at work. She was sufficiently distracted with the backlog of work she scarcely had a chance to think about “You know…” She purred into the phone. I got the impression that even talking about it was giving her trouble, and soon she begged off and we ended our conversation.

 

She didn’t get home until 9PM that night. I had a big meal ready for us and she was too tired to do anything else but go to bed. She read her book for a few minutes before rolling over and going to sleep. I think she would have liked to have had a replay of the weekend but she had a long week ahead of her, she told me, and just really needed to get some sleep.

 

The following night was a repeat of the night before. Late dinner, time with her book, then sleep.

 

Wednesday morning I awoke to one of Anna’s breasts in my face.

 

“Good morning lover…” she whispered softly. She was pinching and pulling at one of her tumescent nipples and urging me to take it in my mouth, which I was more than obliged to do.

 

“Mmmmmmm….. that feels so nice… so so nice…. What a nice way to wake up, huh?”

 

I sucked and nibbled on her thick nipple, happy that she was so willing and ready for a weekday morning romp. I felt her hand encircle my cock and start to stroke me as I sucked at her tit.

 

“Keep doing that. Just like that.”

 

I sucked and sucked in a steady gentle rhythm, like a baby at its mother’s breast.

“Oh god… Oh…. Oh honey that feels great… keep doing that…”

 

I could feel her pleasure building. Her hand increased its pumping action on my cock and I could feel my own climax fast-approaching.

 

“Mmmmm.. oh!  Oh!  OH!”

 

Suddenly I felt her shudder and convulse, her legs stiffened under the covers. Her climax was racking her body, produced just from my mouth at her nipple. My cock jerked in her hands and shot cum onto the sheets.

 

I expected us to get out of bed after that but instead I found her other breast moving into position in front of me. I opened my mouth and she inserted her nipple between my lips and crushed her breast against my face, smothering me with the force of her weight. I felt her lift her leg across my body, her pussy drooling with lubrication. Though I had just cum I could feel my erection returning and she positioned herself atop it and impaled herself. Quickly she commenced bucking her hips, eagerly launching herself toward another orgasm. She sat up, pulling her nipple from my mouth and rode me for all she was worth, kneading her breasts and pulling on her big nipples mercilessly.

 

Her hips increased their speed and her face contorted into a pained grimace.

 

“OHH GAAAAAHDD!!!! OWW OWW!!!”

 

She withdrew her hands from her breasts and fanned them as if to cool them off.

 

“AHHHH… Oh, yesssssssssssssss…”

 

Her torso rocked in short spine-snapping motion that caused her breasts to bounce and jiggle crazily of their own volition, which I could tell felt good to her. I reached up to squeeze her tits and Anna brushed my hands aside.

 

“No… don’t…”

 

Her hips pumped at my cock and her shoulders galloped away, making her breasts dance.

 

“Hahahaa… ahhh… ohhhhh yes…….”

 

Again her hands shot to her chest, encircling her breast and compressing them against her body.

 

“AAAHHHGHGHHHHH!!!! OH PAUL!!!!”

 

Her second orgasm exploded, causing her entire body to clench and lock up into one powerful spasm, her breasts crushed in the embrace of their owner. She sat there, frozen, her eyes clamped shut, her mouth wide open, her voice silenced, her breathing halted. She appeared to be in pain. Then, as before, she erupted into convulsions of laughter as seizure gave way to ecstasy.

 

Her frozen embrace of her tits gave way to relaxed caresses and massage.

 

When she finally came back down to earth she informed me that she had to leave town for a couple days. Her and Corey and Steve MacDonald, the owner of the company were flying out to the company’s San Francisco office. Something about saving an important account. She’d be back Friday night. I didn’t catch all the boring details which she rattled off in slow succession in her efforts to regain her senses and emerge from her sexual haze. I was distracted by the sudden thought of being without her for a few days. Especially now, while she was still recuperating. And of Steve and Corey being with her all that time. She was a professional and I had nothing to worry about on that front, but I envied them all the same simply because they’d have her time… time I couldn’t bear to share.

 

I think that was the moment I decided to ask her to marry me. Though I didn’t ask her that morning. I would need to get a ring. Do it right.

 

But suddenly the thought of Anna being gone for even a little while filled me with a desperate desire to hang onto her, forever.

 

“I love you, Anna.” I told her as she walked out the door with her rolling suitcase. “I love you so much. I’m going to miss you.” I held her in a tight embrace, crushing her against me. I didn’t want to let her go.

 

“I love you too.” She said into my ear, before giving my lobe a gentle nibble.

 

I drew back to look her in the face.

 

“I love you too.” She repeated, her green eyes danced around looking at my face.

 

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

 

That few days felt like forever.

 

We spoke on the phone that night and it was heaven to hear her voice. To tell her I loved her and for her to tell her she loved me back… I’d waited a long time for that. Too long! I think she was relieved to say the words. I think she’d wanted to before that, but out of caution or whatever felt she needed to be careful.

 

Thursday night we spoke again. This time she sounded positively desperate to get back home. “Back to my Paulie.” That was the first time she’d ever called me that. She “needed” to be with me, she said. To feel my touch. I was shocked by the things she said to me over the phone, telling me in graphic detail what she wanted me to do, where she wanted to be touched, telling me how and where she was touching herself while we talked.

 

I was too distraught and was missing her too much to get myself off while we talked, but I got the distinct impression that she felt no such reservation on her end. She urged me to tell her how much I loved her, to go into detail about how I loved her, why I loved her, about how I loved making love to her. I plumbed the depths of my pillow talk skills and did most of the talking as the minutes passed. And as she grew quiet on her end I naturally assumed she was diddling herself. She denied it, giggling with embarrassment when I called her on it. Then she admitted it, and I encouraged her, and told her where I would touch her if I were there, and she touched herself as I would touch her, and soon she was cumming into the phone.

 

I felt strangely gratified that I was able to pleasure her in that way. Or help her pleasure herself in that way. Though I was ready to turn in by the end of the call, it was only 7PM San Franciso time. Anna could just as easily have been out on the town but instead she was with me. I was glad. She wasn’t out at the hotel bar with the client and Steve and Casey. She was in her room, alone, with me.

 

Friday she had one last morning meeting then a long flight back home. I picked her up at the airport at 10PM. I waited for her outside baggage claim, missing her more than I thought it was possible to miss a person. I spotted Anna, Steve and Corey before they saw me. I wasn’t too happy to face those two, after my humiliating lay-off (firing.) The upside of that was; now they knew about Anna and me. No more secret affair.

 

Anna came through the sliding doors out onto the sidewalk pulling her little black suitcase behind her. Even from eight car lengths away I could see she was wearing one of the little short-sleeved button-up blouses we’d bought that day she came home from the Procedure, covered by a tiny blue denim jacket I didn’t recognize. When she spotted me she smiled and waved excitedly, shoving her trademark black glasses up on her nose. The motions that her waving arm set off in her chest caused Steve and Corey to cast her a sideways glance that was more an lecherous ogle.

 

Her travel companions proceeded to the cab stand but not before Anna gave them a quick goodbye hug. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing I would normally give a second thought to, but tonight it sent a jolt of possessive jealously through me that I’d never felt with any woman. As Anna approached me she dropped her suitcase and broke into a scamper. She was practically bouncing up and down on her heels, as excited to see me as I was to see her. The closer she got, the more tight and over-matched that little button-up blouse appeared.

 

She kissed me hard. Pulling me by the collar of my jacket she pressed her body against mine.

 

“Hi lover. Did you miss me??”

 

I looked her in the eyes and reassured her I missed her more than she could know. Though it was late in the evening after a long flight home, Anna was giddy and in good cheer. I cast my eyes down to her body, the little ivory buttons that held her blouse together were strained under the pressure of her burgeoning bust. The shirt was part-way unbuttoned and her cleavage was on display. Anna blushed as she could feel my eyes on her.

 

“Is that a new jacket?” I asked.

 

She pulled it around her chest, unable to close it.

 

“Yeah, I bought it today. Do you like it?”

 

It looked sexy on her. Like something a teenager would wear. The cropped cut exposed her tummy and the undersized proportions of the garment served to make her chest appear  bigger. I liked it.

 

“Oh honey, I really want to take some time off as soon as I can get a break, take you on a little vacation somewhere.” She announced in the car on the way home, slumped against the passenger door, staring out the window. I think she felt a little guilty leaving me alone.

 

“Where would you like to go?” She asked as watched the streetlights pass by.

 

“How about Hawaii?” I suggested.

 

“Mmm.. the beach?? I was thinking something more like Paris, or Rome.” Anna fidgeted in her seat, tugging at her inadequate jeans jacket for warmth.

 

“There’s a Picasso retrospective in Paris this summer. We should go check it out.”

 

Europe wouldn’t be my first choice for a vacation, but I would gladly go along with whatever she wanted.

 

“Sure, that sounds great.”

 

She folded her thin arms over her chest, rearranging her limbs a couple times before opting instead to fold them comfortably under her breasts, cradling and framing them. She balled her fists, hunched her shoulders, leaned forward in her seat, peered out the windshield, craned her neck, yawned.

 

“Tired? I guess it’s been a long day for you, huh?”

 

Anna relaxed her shoulders and flopped back in her seat.

 

“Oh…. yeah. I guess I am tired. It’ll be nice to sleep in tomorrow.”

 

She reached inside her jacket and touched her left boob with her fingertips.

 

“How is everything? You feeling alright?”

 

“I’m okay.” She seemed lost in her thoughts.

 

We sat in silence for the rest of the ten minute drive home. I was wide awake and happy to have her back. By the time we reached the house she was nodding off. She slipped into a nightshirt as soon as we got home, gave me a gentle kiss goodnight, then crawled straight into bed just before 11.

 

I brought her suitcase in from the entry way and moved it to the laundry room and decided to throw her things in with a load of darks before heading to bed myself. Inside her suitcase was a bright pink plastic bag that caught my eye, from a place called The Toy Store. I looked inside and was shocked to find a large rubber dildo! I pulled it out and looked at it under the light. It was bright blue and looked to have been molded from a real guy, complete with balls and thick veins up and down the shaft. It was bigger than I was. Every bit of ten inches long. I smiled. At least she was taking care of her own needs on the road. Better, I reasoned, than the alternative.

 

I let Anna sleep in the next day. She pulled the covers up over her head when the noon day sun broke.

 

“Come on sleepy head. It’s time to get up.” I sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook her shoulder. “There’s coffee and bagels.” I placed a hot cup of coffee on her nightstand. Finally Anna propped herself up on her elbow and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

 

“What time is it?” She yawned.

 

“It’s 12:30.”

 

She looked cute with her dark hair a tangled mess. Her wrinkled night shirt was twisted up around her body. She sat up against the headboard and straightened her nightshirt and smoothed the covers over her lap. I kissed her good morning. She put her hand to her breast, touching it briefly, seemingly to check that it was still there. She took a gulp of coffee and purred.

 

“You’re so good to me.”

 

I turned the TV on for her and left the room while she munched on her bagel.

 

When I returned awhile later she was in the shower. I changed the sheets and made the bed. After a few minutes she turned off the water and emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

 

“Feel better?” I asked.

 

She went to her dresser drawer and retrieved a bra and panties and padded back into the bathroom. She dried off and got dressed out my line of sight. I took the dirty bed linens into the laundry room and threw them into the machine, transferring the wash from the night before into the dryer. Her open suitcase sat on the floor in the corner, the blue dildo replaced in the pink plastic bag the way I found it.

 

When I returned to the kitchen Anna came in with her empty cup, dressed in shorts and an embroidered cotton peasant blouse I’d only seen her wear once or twice before.

 

“Good afternoon, beautiful.” I smiled, leaning across the island for a kiss.

 

“Mmmm… thanks.”

 

Not content with a quick kiss, I circled around and embraced her, squeezing her round butt cheeks in my hand as I planted a longer kiss on her. She returned the gesture with her tongue entwining itself with mine. I reached up to put my hand on her boob but she grabbed my hand by the wrist and stopped me.

 

“Not right now. Okay?”

 

She looked beautiful, so soft and feminine in that flowery peasant blouse, the upper swell of her breasts showing behind the open neck. I noticed dark circles under her eyes, exhaustion from the past couple weeks. She’d been through a lot. I withdrew my hand. She smiled weakly.

 

“I’m sorry honey, I don’t feel up to it right now. Okay?”

 

She sat up straight on the kitchen stool and plucked at the fabric of her loose top at the shoulders, then tugged lightly at the hem around her waist, lightly pulling out on the blouse, adjusting herself. The shirt clung to her full breasts sexily, though at the moment she appeared to struggle to get comfortable. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes then folded her hands in her lap, as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

 

“Are you alright Anna?” I asked, trying not to sound overly concerned. It seemed like the best thing for us would be to get back to normal and I didn’t want to force her to talk about the Procedure right now. But as she sat bolt upright on that chair, perched uncomfortably still and poised, I could sense something was wrong.

 

“I’m okay. I just need to take a break.”

 

A break? A break from what, I wondered.

 

She brushed her fingers on the smooth granite countertop and fixed her distracted gaze a thousand yards away, at the skyline view out our kitchen window.

 

“That’s okay. You’re still recuperating.” I said.

 

She chuckled under her breath. “Right… recuperating.”

 

I put my hands on her shoulders from behind and shook her gently, trying to rouse her from her stupor. Her hands flew up to mine, her elbow tucked at her sides like chicken wings. “Please, Paul. Don’t do that.”

 

“Anna, what’s wrong?”

 

She stared at the floor, a troubled look on her face. Her hair fell down into her eyes.

 

“Annie?”

 

I drew her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. She swiveled around to face me and searched my eyes. For what I didn’t know. Then she kissed me. Passionately. I felt her breathing grow heavy all of a sudden. She clutched at the back of my head, pulling me tighter and tighter to her, our tongues aggressively sweeping in and out of each others mouths.

 

“Oh Paul. OHHH ….” She collapsed against my chest, her fingernails digging into my neck.

 

I held her there, confused, not knowing what to do, or what she wanted me to do.

 

“I have to show you.” She muttered into my chest.

 

“Show me what?”

 

Anna removed her blouse, pulling it up over her head and dropping it onto the counter. Dressed from the waist up in nothing but a white bra, I could see her breasts were… well… strangled is the only word for it. They were swelling up around the cups like bread dough rising out of its pan, pooching out around the straps, under her arms.

 

“My boobs, Paul.” She pulled the thin straps down over her shoulders and slowly peeled the cups away, freeing her breasts from their confinement. What I saw stunned me, even after everything I’d seen and been a witness to over the past two weeks.

 

Her brown areola had grown larger, their perimeter expanding to encompass more than half of the entire surface of her breast. The previously imperceptible bumps on its surface had proliferated noticeably. The crease beneath her breast was no longer there. As the ductile mass behind Anna’s areola grew, her entire breast had been pushed up and out until now it projected straight out from her body. Anna’s teardrop breasts were gone, replaced by two shiny brown cones.

 

I tried to contain my shock and concern.

 

“Anna… what happened?”

 

I knew what happened, of course. Or rather, I didn’t know. Neither of us knew, really, what was “happening” to Anna’s body.

 

“They’re growing, Paul. My nipples…” She wrung her hands in front her. “…they just keep getting bigger.”

 

“I can see that!”

 

“And they keep getting more sensitive. I’m almost afraid to touch them.”

 

Even as she said this she was leaning involuntarily toward me, seeming to invite me to touch them for her.

 

Finally I put two and two together. Her fidgeting in the car. Her going straight to bed and sleeping all morning, the loose peasant blouse. She was trying to avoid stimulating her nipples!?

 

“I’m afraid to touch them.” She repeated, this time in a hushed yearning tone.

 

I curled the knuckle of my index fingers and lightly stroked the underside of her breasts, from the outer limits of her huge areola up to the base of her nipple-cum-genetically-engineered-clitoris and along their length to the tips, where I enclosed them with my thumb and lightly squeezed. The more I looked at them the stranger it seemed that theu were actually attached to her. It was as if the nipples of a giantess had been magically transplanted onto my Anna’s little body.

 

She wimpered softly, tears welling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Oh Paul… what have I done to myself?”

 

“Does it hurt?” I asked, squeezing her meaty areola gently.

 

“Oh, no. Ha ha! God no it doesn’t hurt. It feels fucking great.”

 

She never used to use that word. It had crept into her vocabulary lately. I ignored it. I released her nipples and surrounded her breasts with my open hands, gently pushing them together.

 

“It feels amazing when YOU touch them. When anything touches them. It’s all I can do to ignore them through the day.”

 

“Is it too much?”

 

She removed my hands from her breasts and cupped them in her own small hands, unable to contain even her areola. “Look at me, Paul. What is wrong with this picture? I look like a freak.”

 

“No. No you don’t look like a freak.”

 

The closest thing I could compare her to was some of the African women I’d seen in National Geographic magazine as a boy. On her pale white skin her oversized teats did look, well, a bit freakish.

 

“Does this look pretty to you?” She looked down at herself in disgust mixed with amazement then, without giving me time to respond, pulled her bra back up and stuffed her huge points back into the cups. Her thick nipples dragged at the edges, folding back on themselves before disappearing back into their home. With care she gingerly dipped her hands down into the 34 D bra and tucked her “rejuvenated” breasts into place then pulled the shoulder straps back up.

 

Her breasts, larger now than when she left town on Wednesday and more cone-shaped than they were round, filled every bit of that bra. The D cups were just big enough to contain her areola and nipple. The remainder of the breast was forced to find room where it could.

 

“You need a bigger bra, I think.”

 

“Ya think?”

 

She chuckled, relieving the awkwardness of the moment.

 

“I need to see Doctor Balfour, I think.”

 

“Well let’s call him.”

 

“I tried already. Yesterday. He’s on vacation until the end of the month. I’m just going to have to wait for my one month check in.”

 

She hopped down off the stool. Her boobs jounced inside her shirt. This time she ignored it.

 

“Come on. Let’s get out of the house. I need to put this out of my mind for a few hours if I can. Maybe we can go see a movie or something, I don’t care. And I need to get some new bras.”

 

She grabbed her keys, put on her sunglasses and strode across the kitchen with purpose and into the living room.

 

Her boobs led the way, bouncing in unison inside her blouse in time with her steps.

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Our first stop was Victoria’s Secret where Anna purchased her 34DD bras, one in every color, the kind with the thin foam padded cups that helped dampen the sensation and round out her unnatural shape. She left her old bra on the fitting room floor (she wouldn’t be needing it) and wore one of her new ones out. She appeared to be hugely relieved.

 

We went to the theater at the mall and bought tickets. I don’t even remember what we saw that day. Anna and I made out in the back of the theater like we did the night of our first date. I kept my hands off her body, not wanting to start something we couldn’t finish.

 

Even in the darkened theater Anna’s breasts stood out like two full moons, her soft peasant blouse draped softly over her double-D mounds. We both pretended like we weren’t constantly aware of them.

 

We grabbed a couple hamburgers after the movie and took a walk down by the water and  didn’t get back home until after dark.

 

“Wow, it felt so nice and relaxing to be out with you all day and not be constantly worried about… you know…”

 

“Good.”

 

“These new bras make a huge difference.” She smoothed her hands down over the front of her gauzy peasant blouse with no trouble from her slumbering nips.

 

“I’m glad.” I said, taking her in my arms and kissing her lightly. The dark circles of fatigue I’d noticed that morning were still there.

 

“So what do you want to do now?” She asked with a playful glint in her eyes.

 

“Well what do you want to do? Are you feeling tired?”

 

“No, I don’t feel tired.” She leaned in and nibbled on my ear lobe, her boobs squashed against me purposively. I heard her groan softly. I put my hand on her hips and pulled her closer. And before I knew it she had my shirt off and was moving on to my pants while I lifted her blouse up over her head. Quickly we found our way to our bed. Anna striped down to her bra and panties and pounced on the mattress. I stood there admiring her in her new black brassiere, a huge smile on my face.

 

“What are you looking at big boy? Huh??”

 

D cup tits on a woman are nice. Nothing to stop traffic (by Paul Sims’ standards) but nice.  Double Ds are nicer. On my Anna, who just two short weeks ago was a C cup, that big bra she was filling out looked outrageous. Beyond sexy. Her breasts cleaved together inside those cups perfectly, enticingly. Anna caught sight of herself in the bedroom mirror and admired herself.

 

“Who’s breast obsessed now?” I teased.

 

“Come hither.” She curled her finger at me.

 

My stiff cock tented my boxers.

 

I climbed onto the bed and Anna climbed onto me, pushing me back against the headboard.

 

“I need you to do something for me.”

 

She pulled my head into her cleavage and encouraged me to nuzzle her softness.

 

The uniform curved foam shell of the Victoria’s Secret bra was perfectly smooth and gave her a rounded shape that was interrupted only by Anna’s points, which were showing through the space age padding. I pulled back at her cups and slipped the straps from her shoulders. Her breast lept out. The unnaturally large areola and nipple wanted to be free. Contact with the air seemed to be enough to bring the constellation of bumps into high relief. Her nipple puckered and stiffened. I had a good close look at it now. They were fully as thick and long as the end of my thumbs!

 

Anna turned her shoulder toward me, dipping her giant nipple toward my mouth.

 

“Suck it.”

 

I took the plump nubbin between my lips and sucked, drawing half her areola into my mouth with it. Anna took in a long deep breath and held it. I released her teat from my mouth and it escaped with a slurping ‘plop’ sound. I switched to the other one and repeated the action, sucking hard. Anna shoved herself into me. She said nothing but I knew she was ready at that moment not to try to “ignore” the demands of her new breasts.

 

I alternated back and forth, lavishing my attention on her oversized nipples while she fished my cock out and guided it into her pussy. She was slick and open. My cock entered her with almost no resistance. She bit her lip and ground down against my cock, driving it deep into her. Her tits projected straight out from her body, two swollen brown cones. Anna took her nipples in her hands and tugged on them mercilessly, erupting with laughter that shook her body. She encouraged me to take over, encircling her tits and mauling with my hands while she concentrated on riding my cock.

 

I took both nipples in my fingers and pinched down on them simultaneously.

 

Anna’s eyes clamped shut and her face contorted itself into that now familiar pained expression. Her breathing halted as two enormous clitoris fired pleasure signals to her brain. I held them in my fingers, pulling, twirling them like fleshy pleasure knobs.

 

“GHAAAAAAAAAAAAHH……” Her eyes widened and I felt her pussy clench tightly around my cock. I continued pinching and pulling and twirling as long as she let me. Her pussy twitched and flexed while the rest of her body shook and spasmed erratically.

 

“Does that feel good?”

 

I pinched harder, testing, curious. Anna let me have my way with her. It seemed I was free to do my worst. I encircled her breasts at their base and squeezed and pulled on them.

 

“Oh God Paul that feels wonderful.”

 

She didn’t seem surprised by anything so much as overwhelmed by the sensation. Her doctor really was a genius, I reminded myself. A mad genius. I didn’t understand how the size and shape of a woman’s breasts could change so radically in such a short time. It seemed beyond strange to me that so much of her “rejuvenated” boobs would be engulfed by her expanding areola the way they were. It was almost as if she was “all nipple” now. Is this how she would be from now on? I tried to make sense of it all, probing her flesh with my hands, feeling the ropey rubbery network of ducts behind the nipple.

 

I had to remind myself and understand, as best I could, how that huge over-developed nipple was actually part clitoris. I pulled on it and stroked it rhythmically, masturbating it. Anna seemed to be in heaven and fell into a rhythm with her bucking hips that matched the pace and tempo of my attentions to her nipples. Soon she was bracing herself against another crashing orgasm.

 

She took charge now. She slapped my hands away from her breasts and leaned forward, resting on one hand. Her tits hung down and brushed against my chest while her hips bucked like pistons on my cock. With her free hand she took her right nipple in her hand and twirled it in her fingers.

 

“Oh Paul……. Oh …………… OH   OH    OH MY GOD….”

 

Her brow furrowed into a worried wrinkled knot. Her lips curled back, exposing her teeth, almost as if she were suddenly struck by a powerful ice cream headache.

 

She suddenly released her nipple and shook her hands in the air, shaking it off, whatever it was that was assaulting her. Meanwhile her hips bucked and pumped and I began to feel my own orgasm erupt inside her. I pumped my load into her while she sat atop me, distracted, her eyes searching the ceiling for nothing in particular. She quivered and shook on my cock in rapid relentless mini-strokes.

 

“PAUL!  PAUL!   PAUL!     OH….. LOVER… OH, OWW!! OWW!! OWW!!!”

 

I pulled out of her and helped her down onto the bed. She curled up face down into a fetal position next to me, her knees tucked under her, clutching a pillow to her body, her face pressed against the mattress.

 

“Anna? You okay?”

 

She didn’t answer.

 

I noticed her left foot was shaking by itself, as if she couldn’t control it.

 

As soon as the pain seemed to subside she rose back up into a seated position resting her haunches, letting the pillow fall away from her body. Her neck and sternum were flushed red and slick with sweat. She laid her hands atop her burning breasts. Her enormous nipples pulsed visibly with her heartbeat. Cautiously she returned her thumb and slender forefinger to the tips of her nipples and gave them a light pinch, then a twirl. Her mouth flew wide open and I could see her tonsils dangling in her throat.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!?!??!!!….”

 

She placed her hands atop her thighs and rose up off the bed on her knees. She appeared to be coaxing—or managing—the ecstasy, pulling it through her overheated core, and along with it what appeared to be unwanted twinges of pain behind her eyes.

 

Then it all stopped, and Anna relaxed into an exhausted heap on her side, her teats stacked atop each other, nipples still pulsing, untouched now by anything but the cool air.

 

“Anna, what just happened?”

 

“Oh Paul… Paulie honey, you just made me cum is all.”

 

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

 

I didn’t know what to think, but Sunday morning Anna was ready for a repeat of the night before. Then she slept the rest of the day, woke up long enough for dinner, then went to bed early so she’d be ready for work the next morning.

 

On Monday I got up early and had breakfast waiting for Anna when she got up. Usually she wasn’t one to eat much more than a little eggs and a cup of coffee for breakfast during the week but this morning she requested crepes with strawberry jam and whipped cream. She was ravenous from the workout she’d had over the weekend, she told me.

 

When she emerged into the kitchen dressed for work I was surprised. After the weekend spent wrangling her turgid tits in and out of that billowy peasant blouse, I was puzzled at how… well, “normal” she looked. I don’t think she’d ever made a special effort in the past to minimize or hide her C cups. She never needed to. But it appeared now like she’d made every effort to diminish the appearance of her double Ds.

 

She’d done an impressive job of presenting a normal professional appearance that no one would take notice of, though not so thorough that I didn’t notice her enticing cleavage peering out from behind the collar of her blouse.

 

Maybe it was inevitable that her co-workers would notice the change in her figure. But if you didn’t know her two weeks ago you give it a second thought. She looked great. Most people would simply assume she’d put on a little weight.

 

She squeezed past me and reached for the coffee pot.

 

“Good morning!” she chirped and kissed me lightly. I saw her swallow two of the pain killers the doctor had prescribed for her, but I didn’t say anything about it.

 

“Good morning.” I said, placing her plate on the island.

 

She’d been complaining of headaches. Only now did it dawn on me that the intense sensations she experience during sex might be causing them.

 

Anna was all business at breakfast, thinking out loud about all the things she had going on at the office, preparing herself mentally for the work week. I had a hard time taking much interest in all the projects that Casey and Nathanial “had on their plates”, but it was her job and this morning it was very much on her mind. More than usual, it seemed to me, as she kept updating me on the status of every account, as if I needed to know. Maybe she was making an extra effort to chase thoughts of the weekend from her mind, for fear of getting “distracted.”

 

I walked her to the door as she left and kissed her goodbye.

 

“I’m going to miss you while you’re at work” I said as I hugged her.

 

She teased my crotch with the corner of her leather brief case. “I’ll miss you too.”

 

And with a wink she was gone.

 

Over the next couple weeks Anna and I fell back into what felt like a familiar routine.

 

Work consumed much of her time and energy, and as a result she seemed better able to maintain focus and just not think about the Procedure for awhile. I know for a fact that she was looking forward to her one month follow up, but she didn’t bring it up. During the week she complained of exhaustion and didn’t show much interest in sex.

 

The dark circles under her eyes persisted.

 

Monday through Friday she managed to conceal her little secret from the world, even from herself it seemed. She seemed to be trying to conduct herself and carry on as before, as if the Procedure never happened and I found myself treating her in a way that would make that easier for her. I don’t think I saw her out of her brassiere until the following Saturday night. She even wore it to bed. Maybe she was afraid if I saw her naked, it would send the wrong signal, or that I’d try to start something she wasn’t prepared to finish. I didn’t know. I told myself that she was trying to control her sex drive and that it was proving more difficult that perhaps she would like to admit.

 

Thursday night at bed time, perhaps suspecting that I was wondering what was up, she stripped down to her bra and gave me a hand job of all things. The sight of her boobs shaking inside her bra as her skinny arm worked on my cock was enough to drive me over the edge in no time, and she seemed pleased that she could get me off so easily, without having to subject herself to another devastating orgasm.

 

The following Saturday I wouldn’t let her leave the bed. I plied her with kisses until she reluctantly shed her brassiere. Her tits would be grateful I was there to free them from their imprisonment, I told myself

 

Anna looked at me sheepishly when finally I saw her completely naked for the first time in a week. I gulped at the sight.

 

“I know… I know…”

 

Her dark shiny areola covered the entire surface of her breast and had grown now beyond the breast and seemed intent on creeping toward her arm pits and collarbone.

 

I don’t know if it was modesty, or embarrassment or what, but she clearly wanted to hide herself from me now, and from herself, crossing an arm in front of her body, tucking her hand under her armpit. She frowned.

 

“What??”

 

“It’s not pretty. I don’t know why I did this to myself.”

 

I stared at her without saying anything. I wasn’t sure what to say. What she needed to hear.

 

“The doctor warned me my nipples would grow, but I didn’t expect this.”

 

She waited for me to say something, but I was speechless.

 

“It’s gross, I know.”

 

“No, of course not. It’s not… gross.”

 

I’d never seen a pair of breasts like the pair I was looking at. Not even in photos. To be honest I have to admit I was taken aback at the sight of her. Maybe even a little repulsed. Three weeks since her Procedure it was becoming more shocking, not less. More real. Not just a wild idea. Anna’s “breast rejuvenation” was bordering now on mutation. I asked her to take her hands away so I could get a better look at her. When she did her breast sagged, her thick nipples pointing slightly downward like those of an out-of-work wet nurse. I saw her start to well up and cry. I opened my arms to her and she fell into my embrace, her dugs brushing heavily across my thigh as I held her to me.

 

“Don’t cry honey. Don’t cry. I don’t think you’re gross at all. You’re beautiful, no matter what you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

 

That was the wrong thing to say. That implied that I’d find her attractive despite… despite what she’d done.

 

“I look ridiculous. And I can barely think straight any more. Because of my tits!!”

 

She broke into sobs.

 

“You do not look ridiculous. Did something happen at work?”

 

“No. They don’t know anything.”

 

“Then what’s the problem?”

 

I cupped one of her sagging brown teats in my hand and inspected it. She sat up and looked down at herself in disgust as I manipulated her deformed breast in my hand. I was trying anything I knew to make her feel better.

 

“Honey, please don’t. Don’t do that.”

 

“What?”

 

Again she broke into sobs. I released my hold on her breast and kissed her face. She took her tit in her hand and began massaging it her own self, crying all the while. I was confused and had no idea what to do or say.

 

Soon her sobbing ceased and her manipulations of her breasts increased. She seemed angry, almost possessed now by an urge to pull on her nipples, as if attempting to pull them off. Her breaths took on the erratic gasping rhythm I recognized as her experiencing pleasure in her nipples.

 

She looked at me with a strange expression, a mixture of determination and helplessness, before clamping her eyes shut. A wave of sensation flooded from her chest, shaking her. Should I help her? Could I help her? She redoubled her efforts, squashing her breasts in her hands as if in battle, pulling harder on her nipples with increasing force, then quickly falling into a rhythm. She looked at me again. Again with a helpless expression. Again she clamped her eyes shut and seemed to wince in pain.

 

“Anna?”

 

“Shhhhh!!!!” She hushed me. I was interrupting her concentration.

 

Again she opened her eyes and looked at me, fixing my gaze with hers as she mechanically milked herself with what looked to be an experience hand. And then it hit. A breast orgasm. She was showing me how easily and how quickly she could cum from masturbating her own tits? On cue and as if she expected it she sat up in time for the crescendo to wash over her. A smile broke out across her contorted face as she arched her back and aimed her tits toward the sky. Except her brown dugs hung heavily down when she let go of them, young, fat and full, more than enough now to fill a DD bra but every bit the victim of the law of gravity. She swayed and her pendulous breasts picked up the motion. Despite whatever shame or remorse she might have felt at that point about her decision to undergo the Procedure, she appeared quite satisfied with herself at that moment.

 

It wasn’t as devastating as orgasms I’d seen her experience recently. It seemed milder, efficient, like the hand job she’d given me. As if reading my mind she replaced her bra, hoisting the straps over her shoulders, then took out my cock and stroked it to a quick and messy orgasm.

 

Is this how it would be from now on?

 

Were her orgasms too powerful now? All because of this damned Procedure?

 

She seemed to be showing us both how she could manage. How she could relieve herself sexually without doubling over in pain. Without inflicting a migraine on herself. Without distracting herself so completely that she couldn’t function.

 

Indeed for the remainder of the day, for the remainder of the weekend and the following week we would restrict our activity in the bedroom to less intense play. Or no play at all. A little bit of attention paid to her over-sensitive tits went a long way, it seemed. And she did her best to tend to my needs. From that point until the end of the month the old Anna was put back in charge.

 

 

• • • • •

 

The following weekend Anna rose early, eager to get to the doctor’s office for her follow up.

 

When we got to the building Doctor Balfour greeted us in the lobby. He bounded across the lobby in long quick strides and seemed eager to see us.

 

“So Anna, how are we doing?” he asked with genuine concern, placing his hand on her shoulder. His eyes looked her up and down, smiling at the sight of her. She was wearing a tight white tee shirt with a scooped neck that showed more bare cleavage than usual. Her nipples showed through the fabric more obviously than I expected she was comfortable with.

 

“I’m still having the migraines.” She informed him as we walked toward the elevator.

 

Apparently she’d already spoken to him about her headaches. Or at least she’d spoken to his nurse.

 

“Well, that’s to be expected.” He said as we stepped inside the elevator. He smiled knowingly at me, in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. “Totally normal part of the Procedure.”

 

“I guess.” She said with an uncertain smile.

 

“Totally normal. Nothing to worry about.”

 

In the brightly-lit elevator both I and Dr. Balfour eyed Anna from over her shoulders. The upper slopes of her breast flesh giggled like Jell-O and the large brown crescent of her areola, I was ashamed to notice, was exposed for all to see.

 

We descended to the basement level and were escorted down a short hallway with a low ceiling and into a darkened room. Doctor Balfour flipped on a wall switch and a series of low lights flickered on, arrays of tiny green and blue and red instrument panel LEDs came to life on the far wall. Behind us the doctor pointed to a large reclining padded chair, like a chair in a dentist’s office.

 

“Please to have a seat right there?” Nurse Lopez appeared as if on cue and escorted Anna into the padded chair.

 

“What is this?” I asked, scratching my head at the strange piece of equipment. The chair had a plastic helmet attached to the headrest, similar to one of those old style beauty shop hair dryers.

 

“This is a magnetic resonance image scanner… and it’s a chrominance spectrometer, Paul. It’s is a brain activity monitor. We’re going to use it to have a look at Anna’s brain and see if we can’t cure her of these headaches.”

 

That seemed reasonable enough. For all I knew.

 

Anna climbed up into the chair as if it was no big deal. As if she knew this was all just part of the follow up exam. The seat was more of a saddle really, which she was required to straddle, with leg rests and foot rests that she dipped her toes into. I decided that she DID know that this was part of the follow up exam. Part of the Procedure. I was the only one, apparently, who didn’t have a clue what was going on.

 

The doctor placed the helmet firmly on her head and attached two white discs to her temple and two behind each ear. A thick black Velcro strap looped under her chin and seemed to immobilize her from the neck up. Even in the darkened room, even in that chair wearing that crazy head gear, Anna looked a sight in her tight white tee shirt, her boobs more on public display than I was used to and seeming bigger than I’d come to think of them as being. The room was air conditioned and cold enough to raise goose bumps on my own arms. Anna’s nipples were completely and emphatically erect.

 

Nurse Lopez crossed the room and took a seat on a little padded stool in front of a pair of computer monitors. Something looked different about her, like she’d put on some weight. It was her boobs! I had barely noticed her during the previous visit but now I was certain Miss Lopez was another one of Balfour’s test subjects. Her chest pushed out the front of her white lab coat noticeably now.

 

Dr. Balfour took a seat a few feet from Anna and pulled up a display on a large widescreen monitor of his own.

 

“Paul, we’re going to need your help for this. Can you come over here and stand next to Anna?”

 

I did as requested. I had no idea what he needed me for but I was willing to help any way I could.

 

The doctor’s monitor showed two amorphous blue-green images, one that was a profile of Anna’s brain, the other a top view. The colors pulsated and fluctuated slightly. The outer contour of her brain was blue. The interior part was green with randomly pulsating blobs of yellow and yellowish-green.

 

“Okay Anna. As we discussed, can you please talk. Talk to Paul about, whatever you like. Work. Movies. Books. Did you prepare something?”

 

Anna looked into my eyes and began talking and engaging me in a conversation about the project she was working on at work that seemed completely inappropriate under the circumstances and of no interest to anyone in the room. Like she was thinking out loud about her work. She kept asking me my second opinion of design decisions, opinions about products. I felt silly but I played along.

 

Across the room Lopez tapped away at her computer. Over Anna’s shoulder I could see Dr. Balfour at his computer, and on his big screen the images of Anna brain at work. The large green area was flecked with small orange and red blobs that blinked and flickered and danced around at random.

 

“This is the cerebrum of the frontomedial cortex you see here.” He pointed to the hot spots. “Nothing engages higher brain function like simple verbalization. The nuance of language, Paul. Conversation. She could be talking about kittens right now and what you’d see would look very much like this. Continue, Anna.” Anna talked about what she wanted for lunch. Thai food. Iced thai coffee. From Black Lotus, on Sixth Street, her favorite place. The hot spots flared up and blinkered around the spacious green area.

 

“See, Paul? You’ve heard how we only use one percent of our brain capacity, right? This is what they’re talking about. See all that green area?? That is unused processor capacity, to use computer terminology. The little red bits, those are her synapses firing. Those are her thoughts.”

 

“Now, Paul… if you’d be so kind…”

 

Anna took my hand and placed it on her breast. I jerked it away.

 

“It’s okay Paul. We need you to stimulate Anna now… SEXUALLY, okay? …so we can get a reading on her sexual dimorphism thresholds in the cortical and subcortical region.”

 

Lopez stopped tapping away at her computer and waited.

 

“Nurse, pull up the hypothalamus too, would you?”

 

The doctor looked at me and waited. Anna closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders.

 

“It’s okay Paul.”

 

“Pleees Meester Seems…” Nurse Lopez spoke up. She smiled warmly, plucking at the shoulder strap of her brassiere through her lab coat.

 

“Okay Paul, this is why we came.” I thought to myself. I overcame my embarrassment and spread my fingers and encircled Anna’s clothed breast in my hand. I felt her nip poking into my palm. The disparate red spots on the doctor’s computer monitor flickered and turned orange, then faded to yellow, then dissipated completely into the surrounding large empty green area. Suddenly I could see subtle peach colored flecks of color begin to appear now. Dr. Balfour pointed them out to me with the tip of his pen, circling them, drawing my attention to the small area at the base of Anna’s skull and behind her eyes.

 

“Stimulate the nipple if you would please Paul.”

 

I did. The peach colored flecks pulsed and multiplied and spread like a stain, blooming, like amorphous little flowers.

 

“This is the part of your brain that thinks about sex, Paul. The tiny little reptilian brain. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

 

I didn’t really know what he was talking about and he could tell. I pinched harder and manipulated her fat nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Anna winced slightly as the colored blotches pulsed on the screen, turning bright orange, then black, then bursting like a psychedelic light show, then bubbling up again and again, faster and faster.

 

“See? It’s being overloaded now. That’s what’s causing Anna’s terrible headaches.”

 

The large green area where her verbal activity took place was completely inactive now.

 

Anna bit her lip as I continued to molest her in the darkened room in front of the doctor and the nurse.

 

“You getting all this nurse?”

 

“Got it doctor.”

 

Lopez tapped continuously at her keyboard.

 

There was a knock at the door. Dr. Balfour craned his neck to see someone’s face in the tiny square window, peering in at us, rattling the steel door handle from the other side.

 

“Hell-O??!? Who’s IN there!? Why is this door LOCKED?”

 

Dr. Balfour stood up and dimmed his monitor to black.

 

“Okay, Paul that’ll do for now. Hold right there.”

 

He jumped over to the door and unlocked it and stepped out into the hallway. Through the half-open door I could observe him talking smoothly to a short stocky woman… it was the security guard from the lobby. It sounded like he was trying to convince her (with some difficulty) that he was indeed authorized to be in the building. I heard him talking about “my research” and “authorization from the university”. After some cajoling and convincing, the guard was finally satisfied and left.

 

“Sorry for the interruption folks.” The doctor said in a nervous game show host tone.

 

Lopez smiled behind her computer, shifting her weight on the little padded stool. The front of her billowing white lab coat was bathed in blue light by the flat LED monitor.

 

I looked at Balfour’s screen as it flashed back to full brightness. Anna’s big green brain. The small area at the base of her skull and behind her eyes was still percolating with little peach and black bubbles.

 

Nurse Lopez positioned herself at the doctor’s side now and tapped him on the shoulder. She was holding a small white object in her hand that looked like a baby pacifier. She waited for Dr. Balfour to finish something on his computer. Anna sat patiently in the chair with her eyes closed. Balfour explained to the nurse what he was going to do. I could overhear him, but this explanation wasn’t for my benefit. This was a teacher talking to his student.

 

According to Balfour the increased nerve endings—the primary clitoral cell complex—in Anna’s breasts were overloading the part of her brain that was wired for sexual stimulation and response. By one hundred fold, by his calculations. Could that be right??

 

He was going to “repartition and reallocate brain function”, I heard him say. I watched him draw a jagged diagonal red slash, bisecting the large green area on Anna’s profile with a light pen. Then he circled a portion at the back of the skull, “This will be more than enough to support higher brain function. According to these averages here, and here, and here. Leaving the rest of this area to handle the new pathways. What do you think?”

 

“I theen so, yes. These should be fine Doctor Balfours.” Lopez replied.

 

“Good. Okay then dear, give her the mouthpiece now. I think we’re ready.”

 

Nurse Lopez put the hard white plastic appliance into Anna’s mouth, instructing her to bite down on it.

 

“Paul I need you to step back now. Why don’t you have a seat.”

 

I moved out of the way and sat down in a chair next to the wall.

 

“Okay, Anna. You bite down and try to remain perfectly still. The shock shouldn’t last long, but it might give you a jolt. And we can’t have you thrashing around.”

 

“Wait! What, are you planning to electroshock her??” I asked, trying to muster some outrage. Anna looked at me with the white pacifier in her mouth and shook her head, pleading with me to not interfere. Nurse Lopez appeared at my side and put her hands on my shoulders. I could feel her pressing her pillowy breasts into my back.

 

“I’ve done this dozens of times Paul. We haven’t lost one yet.” The doctor quipped.

 

It didn’t put me at ease, but before I could convince any of these three people that this was way over the line, or before I could make it down to the lobby to alert the guard, Dr. Balfour had triggered his machine, sending low humming current to the helmet on Anna’s head. I saw her hands clutch at the armrest of the chair. She curled her lips back and bared her teeth as she clamped down on the plastic mouthpiece. Her eyes were wide open.

 

“Okay nurse. Now.”

 

Nurse Lopez went over and reached down between Anna’s knees and flipped a switch on a small control panel. The saddle began to vibrate and buzz quietly, stimulating Anna’s crotch and inner thighs. All four of us stared transfixed at the doctor’s computer monitor as the little symphony of peach and black and orange blobs reappeared and multiplied rapidly, emerging, spreading out, bursting, reemerging and proliferating as they broke out and expanded beyond the area at the base of Anna’s skull and from behind her eyes, venturing out now into the larger green open area of her cerebral cortex.

 

“Turn it up, would you nurse?” the doctor asked quietly with a gravely serious focused expression on his face.

 

The nurse reached back down between Anna’s legs and adjusted the vibrating saddle, a half smile on her face. Anna’s knees knocked together and her feet rattled inside their supports. On the screen the colored blobs multiplied out of control, filling the area Balfour had allocated with his light pen.

 

“There we go.”

 

Then the blobs bubbled up and trespassed beyond the jagged red partition line. They were straying into the remaining green area the doctor had allocated. Filling it in until hardly any green remained.

 

The doctor hurriedly triggered a series of commands at his keyboard and hit his enter key with a loud clack. A transformer inside the contraption Anna was sitting in boomed and thudded and powered down. The humming and vibration stopped and Anna’s body finally relaxed.

 

On the screen the peach colored cloud that had boiled over until it filled her brain quickly faded away.

 

Nurse Lopez removed the mouthpiece and Dr. Balfour shined his penlight into Anna’s pupils, first the left, then the right. His facial expression was all business. To me it looked like he was worried. Had something gone wrong?? Finally he peeled the white discs off and lifted the helmet off of her head.

 

I looked at Anna and she looked at me.

 

“Wow, that was weird, huh?”

 

“How do you feel Anna?” Balfour asked with concern.

 

Her eyes rolled around, scanning around the room. She jammed her tongue around inside her mouth. “I’m kind of thirsty I guess. Other than that I feel fine.”

 

“Good girl. In that case let’s get you a drink of water.”

 

I think I was stunned into silence. Anna seemed completely unharmed by the weird electroshock therapy she’d just undergone.

 

Balfour ushered us back to the elevator. We got off on another floor and were led to his examination room where Anna was given a little paper cup of water.

 

“Now Anna. That completes the second phase of the Procedure. I think you will feel much better from this point on. Those headaches should be a thing of the past, okay?”

 

He removed a syringe from a cabinet next to where he sat and checked it against the ceiling light. It was a tiny little thing, nothing like the monster I watched him use on Anna last time we were here.

 

“This is the third phase, Anna.”

 

“Third phase?? What third phase?” I demanded to know.

 

Balfour continued to explain the third phase to Anna, but I got the impression she knew full well what the third phase entailed.

 

“You have probably noticed by now that your areola are growing out of proportion to the rest of the breast.”

 

It was an understatement if ever I heard one.

 

“Yes, I have.” She replied with a concerned look on her face.

 

“And you may also have noticed your breasts are less firm than they were at first. Maybe even some sagging.”

 

She looked at me then answered the doctor. “Yes doctor.”

 

“This little shot…” He indicated the tiny syringe he held between his thumb and forefinger. “…is to help with the development of your Cooper’s ligaments.”

 

“The new donated tissue we implanted, and the increased mass behind your nipple has none of the support ligament that a natural breast grows and develops over time. Your breast right now is undeveloped, partially unattached and unsupported. We jump-started the growth of your nipple with your last injection. This one will jump start the rest of your development, naturally this time.”

 

Anna listened intently, nodding along as if she hadn’t heard Balfour’s schpiel already.

 

“This shot contains a mega dose of the thyroid hormone, cortisol, estrogen, testosterone and some of the other hormones produced by the pituitary gland during puberty when the female breast develops. The presence of these chemicals in your breast will signal to your pituitary that you are developing again. Basically we will trick your pituitary to kick in and produce these hormones again and send them where it thinks they are needed, basically to your breasts.”

 

Anna looked at me for some sign of recognition or understanding.

 

I was still speechless.

 

“And when this second mini-puberty is complete, or I should say by the time your pituitary gland figures out that we have tricked it, why… by then your breast should be much better proportioned and most importantly you’ll have the adequate network of support ligaments, so that your breasts won’t sag. You’ll have the breasts of an 18 year old girl again, Anna. How does that sound?”

 

“Sounds great, David.”

 

David? Did she just call him by his first name?? The two of them averted their gaze from each other and from me. Balfour returned his attention on the syringe in his hand, pumped a tiny squirt of clear solution into the air.

 

“Okay then, Anna, if you’re ready.”

 

Anna was fully clothed. If he was going to stab her nipple again she’d need to disrobe.

 

She pulled back slightly on the elastic neckline of her tee shirt, stretching it mercilessly. The upper expanse of her breasts surged into the open air of the examination room.

 

“That’s fine.” Balfour said as he pierced her dark areola with the needle and depressed the plunger in the right breast. Anna smiled at me, seeming to not even notice the prick of the needle.

 

“One more now.” He said, producing a second syringe and repeating the injection in her left breast.

 

“You’re all done then, Miss Hayes. We won’t need to see you again for another six months. By that time this third phase should have run its course.”

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

The improvement in Anna was immediate, as I learned that first night after our afternoon in Dr. Frankenstein’s lab.

 

Her headaches were completely gone, and with them her previous reluctance to indulge herself sexually. She wore me (and herself) out by Sunday night. Monday morning we were both so physically exhausted and she was so sore, she did something I’d never known her to do; she called in sick to work! But we spent very little of her sick day recuperating. To the contrary we fucked ourselves silly, for three days straight.

 

I couldn’t detect any brain damage in Anna. That had been my main worry. Her friend David’s bizarre electroshock treatment continued to bother me, but she seemed perfectly normal. Whatever was done was done. I didn’t want to challenge her on it after the fact. Besides, she seemed happier than I’d ever seen her. Practically giddy. The Procedure, despite the shocking extremes it went to, might actually be safe after all. Or so I genuinely hoped.

 

No longer did her orgasms cause her to double over in pain. The “ice cream headaches”, as she liked to call them, were a thing of the past. No longer could she find any reason to ignore or suppress her enhanced sexual urges. No longer did she worry that casual contact with me might escalate into an inconvenient migraine or seizure. Her enormous National Geographic nipples—genetically-altered by Balfour into a mass of erectile tissue, with clitoral nerve endings in numbers great enough to flood her neurology with one hundred times (!) the sensation she was capable of naturally—now had an expanded pleasure center at the other end of the line, in Anna’s repartitioned brain, that could accommodate the overload.

 

Whatever shame or disgust she felt before evaporated.

 

I could only imagine what it felt like now, what sex felt like for Anna.

 

The powerful desire, the heightened sensitivity, the ecstasy. When she would try to describe it all to me, as she often did, words would simply fail her.

 

A month or so after her last shots from Balfour, Anna would notice a break out of pimples on her face. Her “second puberty” had kicked in. Day by day her breasts would grow slowly and imperceptibly larger and “prettier” (as she liked to put it), as measured by the relative proportion of her oversized areola compared to the breast tissue that supported it. Lobules.

 

As she filled out and grew even bigger “things were balancing out”.

 

That became her aesthetic goal.

 

Maintaining interest in work would prove challenging for Anna as she proceeded to make the little adjustments in her life and in her schedule that would allow for more and more time in the sack with me. She was horny constantly, it seemed. Insatiable. Eventually I was popping Viagra like they were candy. Even when we weren’t fucking or kissing or fondling each other Anna was just very physical in a way she never was before, at all times; brushing up against me, groping me, grabbing my ass, touching herself, posing herself, changing her outfits in the middle of the day. She was incapable of sitting still and carrying on a simple conversation, it seemed. You’d try to talk to her and she’d fidget in her seat like a child, kicking her legs, plucking at her clothing, fiddling with her hair. She was constantly in motion. A side-effect—I decided—of Balfour shrinking the part of her brain that was available for verbalization, repose and intellect while quadrupling the part that was now dedicated to processing all the constant signals coming from her genetically-altered body.

 

Her interest in other things fell off. Her taste in foreign films was confined to stuff that seemed like porn to my uncultured eyes. She still read books, but when she read, it was purely erotica and cheesy romance novels. Wank tales. Speaking of which, I knew that her blue friend from San Francisco accompanied her to the bathroom at work, and I didn’t mind one bit. I appreciated whatever help he could give me in keeping her satisfied. (I discovered another dildo in her briefcase one day. The enormous flesh-colored rubber dong was over a foot long and I nearly fell over when I first saw it.  I didn’t ask her about it. I didn’t want to know what she did with it but I could imagine easily enough.)

 

Anna gave the impression that sex—“fucking”—was on her mind to some extent all the time now, even when she was required to pretend otherwise. I marveled, frankly, that her performance on the job didn’t suffer as a result of it. So quickly and easily had she grown accustomed to this new body and what it was capable of. She managed somehow, out of necessity I guess, to achieve a balance where she could indulge herself in her off time AND maintain the focus and the energy required of the successful creative director she’d worked so hard for so many years to become.

 

Now she truly “had it all”, she told me one day. She was “living the dream.”

 

After I was satisfied that life was for the most part back on track and that Anna was going to be okay I finally asked her to marry me. She said yes immediately and without hesitation. We planned the wedding to be a year from June, which amounted to a 13 month engagement. Just long enough to make all the arrangements without needing to rush madly. She loved talking about the dress she would wear. She wanted to be married by the ocean, she decided. It made her so happy whenever I would bring it up.

 

In less than three months since the night Anna asked me if I liked her C cup breasts (the night she first told me about the Procedure) she’d outgrown two sets of bras and the growth showed no signs of slowing down. Indeed, once “second puberty” got going it seemed to accelerate. She was any breast man’s dream girl. Nothing short of a fantasy come to life.

 

By the beginning of July she had graduated to an F cup.

 

My lady… my fiancé… was now stacked; no two ways about it!

 

Even though she couldn’t hide her big rack from the world—could no longer pass it off as merely “putting on a little weight”—Anna would carry on as though it was perfectly normal. “For the time being anyhow.” Or at least that was the task she sat out for herself. “A pair of big tits aren’t going to stop me from going about my business and living my life,” she always said with an air of defiance. “I’m still the same Anna Hayes.”

 

But I think she was surprised at how challenging that would turn out to be. And though I would never argue with her about it, she really wasn’t the same Anna Hayes by that point, and never would be or could be again.

 

But she carried on, undaunted, growing into her fantastic new body as the days passed.

 

Her “big tits” were by now “really big tits”, fast approaching “huge” realms.

 

She would never dream of flaunting herself at the office. That would be just asking for trouble. But no clothing strategy or minimizer bra or hunched posture could hide the fact that Anna Hayes was sporting a larger than average pair. She dressed as smartly as she could under the circumstances, but her blouses and sweaters and business suits were growing more overcrowded all the time. 

 

As long as no one asked, she wasn’t telling. “Let them talk” she told herself, and me. For a while I think she actually enjoyed the puzzled looks and double-takes people did when it finally dawned on them that the creative director had a pair of seriously big boobs on her. But rumors can spread quickly around the workplace. Soon surprise and puzzlement gave way to obvious gawking and talking behind her back. Gradually people started looking at Anna differently, and treating her differently.

 

As the summer wore on Anna was made more and more aware of how differently the world treats a woman with big knockers. Sometimes when we were out in public together she would be utterly surprised at the blatant stares from men and women alike as we walked down the street. (“Get a good look” she will often say when a guy or a woman stares at her chest.) She felt vindicated I think, on some level, that she was right all along (and how right she was) that men are “breast obsessed”.

 

Annie likes being right. Always did.

 

I worried that she would feel uncomfortable or grow weary of constantly attracting that kind of “unwanted” attention to herself but more often than not it was just the opposite. The more people noticed her, at least outside of work, the more empowered she claimed to feel. Understand, her private life was so sexualized now, so occupied with fucking, so consumed with (and consumed by) overpowering sexual urges, forever chasing the next mind-blowing orgasm, gratifying and satisfying herself physically, relishing and marveling nightly at the changes her body had undergone and was continuing to undergo; whatever attention she attracted to herself as a would-be “sexual object”… it just didn’t seem to bother her. Anna HERSELF was identifying herself as a sexual creature, often without choosing to or meaning to. And besides, she was getting into Dolly Parton territory now. Even a plain white tee shirt made her look like a busty pin up girl.

 

The Procedure was making that choice for her. And I think she liked it.

 

With every glance at herself in the mirror, with every touch, with every climax Anna became a little bit more at ease, more at home in the body of an over-sexed over-stimulated big-titted woman. She surprised me. It was as if her big tits set the agenda for her, as if her sense of self was relocating, from her brain to her boobs.

 

By August she needed a 34” G brassiere, which she was required to order online and which cost more than twice what the off-the-shelf bras cost. Anna took it in stride, though now her plan to just “carry on and not let a pair of big boobs get in the way” would become more difficult, if not impossible. As comfortable as SHE felt in her own skin, carrying on as before was becoming less and less viable.

 

Throughout the previous month Annie just carried herself and presented herself to her co-workers as though she’d always been an F cup, as if it were just perfectly natural and normal, as if she’d always been this little woman who just happens to have really big tits. And she behaved as though she expected the world around her to treat her that way too. If anyone ever asked her about it she still told them she’d gained a little weight and that would be the end of it. At work and out in the world and even around the house she was more than capable of looking past her own two tits, the way any well-endowed woman must. “They’re just boobs.” She would insist, even when she could no longer see her own shoes.

 

But now her boobs would begin to demand more her attention. Her constant attention. They were in her field of view at all times and would not be ignored. In the way of her keyboard at work, in the way at meal time. In the car. No matter how nonchalant she was about them, they were no longer “just boobs.” They overwhelmed her figure no matter what she wore. They entered the room before she did and were always the first thing people looked at when they saw her. They were always THERE, getting in the way of everything little thing she tried to do (forcing her more and more to ACCOMODATE them, to MAKE ROOM for them, to CARRY them, to REACH AROUND them) at all times. She didn’t complain and made it look easy, but no matter how easy she made it look, it changed the way she carried herself, how she stood, how she sat, how she walked, how she used her hands. The change in Anna’s figure, finally, was changing other things about her.

 

Anna could no longer expect her co-workers to just politely ignore these changes or accept that she’d merely put on a few pounds.

 

She made the decision finally, after some hesitation, to just lie and tell them that she had implants.

 

I know that was humiliating for Anna.

 

She was so glad that she’d found such a perfect alternative to plastic surgery, felt so proud and lucky to be one of the early test subjects. She would love to have been able to tell the truth and tell them all about the Procedure, but she was forced instead to admit to her bosses and staff that she had done the very thing she in fact hated. (To make matters worse, she had been famous around the office for her harsh judgment of women who were willing to do that to their bodies, those “sad pathetic souls” with “no self-respect”. She had been so vocal about it over the years!)

 

And so one day after she could put it off no longer she admitted to everyone, “Yes people, I had implants. And it’s MY BUSINESS and I really don’t want to discuss the matter any further. And I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my wishes. And my… choices.”

 

She hoped that would be the end of it.

 

At the time she felt her status as a “higher up” within the company would help her get away with anything, even this. No one criticized her or gave her grief about her tits, at least not to her face. Some people made the attempt to look past the huge boobs that had suddenly taken up residence inside Anna Hayes’ sweaters. Many of the men fell all over themselves to be friendly to her. But according to her, the pity and contempt from the women, and lecherous lustful stares from the men, were unmistakable and hard to ignore from that point forward.

 

You see, by that point the time had well passed for her supposed “implants” to be anything less than the largest size 1000cc bags the FDA allowed, (the kind that only strippers sported and that were only used after a series of smaller implants and expanders made such a radical procedure feasible.) So naturally everyone was forced to think of her as that type of woman. A bimbo. A slut. And she was in no position argue the point.

 

She still wasn’t comfortable telling them the truth about the bizarre Procedure she had subjected herself to, and that she was continuing to experience the effects of. They wouldn’t be able to “handle” that truth, and at the time I think it was right decision on her part.

 

Better to be thought of as “the pimple-faced creative director with big fake stripper tits” than to be outed as the willing subject of a university research project into genetic manipulation with clitoris nipples and an altered brain.

 

“Hopefully they’re as big as they’re gonna get.” She offered by way of a justification to me, and to herself, that her implant story would hopefully be the end of it and that she could carry on at work somehow and overcome the humiliation. “Fuck them anyway. I don’t care what they think.” She said.

 

I encouraged her.

 

It was her only recourse at that point anyhow, to give up caring what people might think.

 

I think Annie was actually satisfied with her size at that point.

 

She still looked a bit out of proportion. Her nipples and areola had continued to grow a little. But the rest of her was catching up now and although her boobs could easily be called huge—to the point that they were now beginning to look out of proportion with her body—she finally was satisfied and convinced that they were “pretty.” Her dark areola no longer crept into her arm pits. They were flat and perfectly centered on the front of two creamy white pillowy large breasts.

 

Despite the derision she might be subject to at work (being thought of and talked about and known for her huge “implants”), Anna loved her big breasts and wanted nothing more than to feel proud of her figure. She found it in herself to accept the mantle of “creative director with the huge implants.” Though it was never necessary to address it openly or explain herself, it was necessary, she decided, to accept and play that role. “I can do that” she persuaded herself and me.

 

“If it helps them to think of me pumped full of silicone like some common stripper…”

 

This would give her license to dress however she saw fit. “This is what they expect of me anyhow” she reasoned, as her skirts got shorter and her tops got tighter.

 

That was her story and she’d have to stick to it.

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

But Anna’s slow march through the alphabet was to continue, picking up its pace.

 

Labor Day Weekend she broke down in sobs while getting dressed in the bathroom at our condo. A padded shoulder strap on one of her brand new mail order bras broke while she was brushing her teeth. The G cups were simply no longer up to the task of containing, let alone supporting, her expanding flesh. Annie’s enormous mams were getting heavy now and beginning to give her back pain, due mainly to the hunching she’d been doing around the office in her constant attempt to deemphasize her outrageous figure. Relieving her lower back pain required her to stand up straight, draw back her shoulders and carry the weight of her big breasts on her sternum. The effect this had was to project her chest even further, making it more dramatic and giving the impression to the world that she couldn’t stick her tits out far enough.

 

I’d already purchased a 34” H brassiere for her by the time her G cupper failed… “just in case”.

 

After all she was only 4 and half months into her 6 month puberty.

 

Her six month check in with Balfour couldn’t come soon enough.

 

We were in unspoken agreement about this.

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Big boobs had made her work life difficult. But around the office Annie’s H cups were a laughing stock and were making life nearly impossible. She confessed to feeling like “nothing but a walking pair of tits.” To make matters worse she suspected by now that she’d been heard masturbating in the bathroom. But she didn’t care. She was as qualified as she ever was to perform her job, as deserving as ever of her position in the company. But when Steve MacDonald called her into his private office that day—his eyes involuntarily drawn to the grand tetons that overwhelmed Anna’s small frame and distracted all attention away from her face or anything she might have to say for herself—she knew she’d run out of wiggle room, as it were.

 

“Anna, you’ve made this incredibly hard for me. That is… it’s difficult to know what to say here. The disruption you have caused around this office, I just don’t get it. I don’t understand why you’re doing… this.” He threw up his hands in the air between them for emphasis, like Moses parting the waters.

 

She fought back her tears. What could she say for herself? What explanation would suffice? What new lie… about even bigger implants?… no... not that…what could she do?

 

She took a seat across from the CEO’s big desk, dressed in a snug black turtleneck sweater that failed to render her boobs invisible. To the contrary her enormous tits stretched the garment to its limit and were so big that they hid her arms from view and were practically resting in her lap. Steve could see her brassiere through the weave of the over-taxed garment.

 

“I’m sorry Steve. But it’s just. Well, I don’t know what my… this is my personal decision and I don’t know what that has to do with work.” She copped an attitude and tried to hold his gaze, but even her own field of view was filled with sweater meat and distracted her.

 

To make matters worse, she was so emotionally keyed up that her nipples were fully erect and standing out prominently like two hat pegs. Even to cross one of her stick arms in front of her chest now was a futile gesture and difficult to manage anyhow, without drawing even more attention to her chest. Folding her arms over them, or under them… nothing would help.

 

“It’s not fair Steve. What you’re all doing here. If I want to get implants it’s MY business, not yours!”

 

Her adrenalin was probably kicking in. Her fight or flight instinct was triggered and in that moment Annie found herself strongly attracted to the fiftysomething married man sitting across from her.

 

“Yes, I suppose it IS your business. But… Well… You put me in an impossible position here Annie.” He made a valiant effort to look her in the eye as he sat across from her, his hands cupped in front of his mouth. But try as he might his gaze kept wandering.

 

She hated being called Annie by anyone else but me. She let it pass.

 

“What is it you want me to do, Steve? Just tell me and I’ll do it.” She asked, willing to take a demotion, or whatever he might have in mind. She pivoted in her chair only a few tiny degrees but it was enough to cause her twin peaks moved suggestively through the air in front of her.

 

Steve gave up pretending not to stare directly at her chest. His eyes roamed its vast surface.

 

“What have you DONE to yourself young lady? My god.”

 

She was mortified as she thought back to the respect and admiration she not long ago commanded up and down the pecking order, and the trust and support she’d enjoyed from “Mr. MacDonald” especially. He’d been a mentor to her and a bit of a father figure. How she had disappointed him. How she’d let him down. She yearned to get back in his good graces. Her heart sunk and she wanted to throw up when she realized suddenly that she was getting really turned on. Steve’s eyes on her nipples was causing them to tingle, sending waves of electricity to her brain, telling her it was playtime. She could feel her pussy lubricating against her will, soaking her panties. She tried to maintain a professional demeanor, hopeless though it may be.

 

“Tell me what I can do. Please. Work with me. I’ve been with this company too damn long to… ” She tried but she just wasn’t angry at Steve. She was angry at herself for losing control at the worst possible time.

 

“No. I don’t want you to do anything Annie. I’m sorry.”

 

He shoved an envelope across the desk toward her. She leaned forward and reached for it. Her moist thighs slid against each other, her slick pussy lips puckering of their own volition.

 

She opened the envelope, feeling her poor brain explode with peach-colored flowers of arousal. This was the ultimate humiliation. She was being fired. She struggled in vain in that moment to protect the little part of her mind that Dr. Balfour had permitted her keep, the part where she did all her higher brain functions, all her thinking about stuff, all her reasoning and talking about stuff, everything besides sex stuff.

 

“That’s a very generous severance package. I hope you agree.” Steve said.

 

She wanted to cry out in frustration. She wanted to jump up and scream her innocence and accuse him of discrimination. Give him a piece of her mind. But he’d done nothing of the kind. She knew he was right. She had made it “impossible to maintain a normal non-disruptive work environment”, just like it said on the piece of paper. She knew she’d made a huge spectacle of herself.

 

She wanted to grab him and smother him with her big tits, her big wonderful incredible tits. That’d fix him. NO! She needed to use the brain god gave her, not her body. Not the body that had created this problem… this little problem. This tiny little problem. NO. She’d TALK her way out of this…

 

“Don’t do this, Steve. Please?” She replaced the offer on the table, determined to try and hang on to what was hers. Maybe she should tell him about the Procedure, she thought for a fleeting moment.

 

“Anna, it’s been brought to my attention that you’ve been… how do I say this... ‘gratifying yourself’…. In the company rest room?” Steve said with an emotionless voice. He seemed almost embarrassed to bring it up. Beyond disappointed. Disgusted even.

 

Anna felt her heart leap around inside her chest like a locomotive. Who was it? Who had heard her?? Who had ratted her out?? Why did those jealous bitches even care??

 

She stood up and pushed back her chair, prepared to take a stand, say her piece. Maybe she WOULD tell him about the Procedure. Just get everything off her chest. All of it.

 

The thought of getting her chest off on Steve MacDonald made Annie horny. She tugged down on her black leather mini skirt and drew back her shoulders. Her tits seemed to fill the room but she didn’t care. She wondered if Steve liked big ones.

 

“They all do” she thought confidently.

 

“Steeeve. Steve, Steve, Steve…” she found herself circling around the side of his desk then behind where he sat.

 

Steve MacDonald swiveled in his high back leather chair to face Anna. Anyone passing by could see what was going down, if Anna were to make some kind of move on him, some kind of sexual advance, he could rescind the severance offer and just fire Anna outright for inappropriate conduct. He could even sue her, easily, for lost revenue, lost productivity, lost accounts.

 

Against her better judgment she approached him where he sat, eyeing his big hands. She wanted to feel her boss’ hands on her tits. THEN she could persuade him not to fire her. Outside the window employees passed slowly by, looking into the office, but Annie didn’t notice them.

 

“Your package IS generous. Are you sure I can’t offer YOU anything?”

 

She felt so satisfied with her double entendre. Wait. Where did that come from? She only meant to make a joke, lighten the mood a little. She didn’t really mean to come on to him, did she?

 

She erupted with an uncharacteristically girlish giggle and blushed as she took another step closer.

 

“Annie, don’t do this.”

 

She arranged her arms indignantly under her breasts and gathered them together slightly.

 

“Do what, Steve?”

 

Anna looked down at him from behind her black plastic glasses, like a top-heavy cartoon version of her former self. The dark circles under her eyes, the crows feet, any trace of the 37 year old Anna Hayes had been erased by phase three. She almost LOOKED eighteen!

 

Steve could feel her incredible body move into his space. He could smell her perfume. Under any other circumstance he would have loved nothing more than to throw the young woman down on his desk and ravish those ridiculous fake tits of hers and give her the royal fucking she seemed to be constantly begging for.

 

Outside the window Corey and Nathanial had stopped to stand and watch.

 

Before she could totally screw herself Steve grabbed the offer off the desk and again offered it to her. Holding it between two fingers he pushed it at her, looking her directly in the eyes now.

 

Her arousal died then and there, lucky for her.

 

Annie, to my great relief, took the offer.

 

She accepted the fate she’d made for herself, as well as the generous offer.

 

 

• • • •

 

 

Annie discovered after being let go from her job—after letting go of the old dream, finally—that she was… relieved.

 

It was like after her headaches were cured. She didn’t have to fight it anymore.

 

Didn’t have to lie or hide or conceal who or what she was.

 

Didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

 

She could spend all her time now fucking and thinking about fucking and she’d be happier than she ever was as an award-winning designer, or an art director or a high-paid creative director. She could wear whatever she felt like wearing. Go where she felt like going. Do and be what felt and came naturally.

 

Life became very simple for Annie.

 

We sold the condo and took the money and her severance package and moved into a modest little one bedroom apartment down near the water where we could live comfortably for a good long while.

 

By the time of her six month check up Annie’s acne had cleared up and her tits had slowed their growth until—finally—they appeared to stop. Through trial and error and after the expenditure of a few hundred dollars she discovered she needed a 32” K brassiere—custom made!

 

I’d never seen or even heard of anyone with natural tits as big as hers. At least no one with her tiny waist. Though she truly was (and is) “a walking pair of tits”, she was a vision to behold.

 

Annie dressed to the nines the day we went back to the university for her six month check up, wearing one of the short black leather mini-skirts she favored (“easy access” she’d say) high heels (she liked how they made her wobble when she walked) and a snug scoop-neck tee shirt that showed plenty of her beautiful cleavage.

 

When Dr. Balfour examined Annie for the last time, he marveled at the magic his Procedure had performed.

 

Even Lopez seemed impressed.

 

We all stared in awe at Annie sitting on the examination table, naked from the waist up except for her brassiere, a sturdy steel-reinforced garment with wide padded shoulder straps.

 

Her incredible breasts now started under her arm pits, swelling out slightly from her sides, and at just below her collar bone where they grew straight out in a high shelf that sloped down toward the apex about a foot from her body. Clothed or unclothed you could see them from the back as they extended out from her sides by a good eight inches. Unsupported they hung down only slightly, almost to her waist and nearly hid her belly button. The over-development of her nipple complex and the cooper’s ligaments ensured that Annie’s breasts would stand up and out with minimal sag, for another… well, for the rest of her life. According to Dr. Balfour.

 

I would never say that Annie is “nothing but a pair of tits” but by now she was coming close. Never again would she or could she think of her breasts as “just boobs.” As if they were a fashion accessory, just something attached to her, something she could simply see past, or expect the rest of the world to look past.

 

“If you would just look past Annie’s enormous tits for one minute…”

 

No.  Out of the question.

 

Thanks to the hyper-sensitive nipple/ductile complex—a trunk of ropey fleshy ducts made up of erectile tissue, and clitoral nerve endings, as sensitive as any penis (and she had two of them doing her thinking for her!)—her breasts were so sensitive, the were practically sentient.

 

She actually claimed they told her what to do.

 

She was attached to her wonderful new breasts and loved them dearly.

 

(“Aren’t you a little obsessed with your tits Annie?” I would chide her. Invariably she would arch her back and stick her chest out proudly whenever I said that. Knowing that her breasts were natural, despite their enormous gravity-defying size, and that they were the result of cutting edge medical technology made her proud to be an “early adopter”.)

 

“I’m like a brave pioneer,” She said as Dr. Balfour personally snaked the tape measure around the fullest part of Annie’s bust. “…like a superhero.”

 

This was her experience of being a huge-titted woman.

 

I think that was the closest she’d ever come to explaining to me the way her breasts made her feel during sex. Which is to say, it wasn’t just during sex… it wasn’t just a matter of “what was sex like for Annie”. The changes Annie’s tits had brought about in her life went way beyond the bedroom and had insinuated themselves into who Annie was. Altering Annie’s physiology had altered her spirit. I don’t know how to explain it but it was obvious to anyone who knew her before.

 

“You were a MEESTAKE mees Hayes.” Lopez reminded her.

 

Balfour’s trusty assistant was dressed for this final consultation in a traditional nurse’s uniform. I was puzzled. Six months had passed and her boobs weren’t much bigger than before, no more that double D, I figured.

 

“Not a mistake, Christina. Just an experiment. That’s all.” Balfour said with a warm sympathetic voice.

 

He looked at me and winked. “I’m afraid few women will want to go through what you have gone through Miss Hayes.” He hugged Lopez to his side and kissed her cheek. She caressed the doctor’s hand. “Most women will be content with a D cup. Or a double D like my Christina here. And that will be more than enough, right my love?”

 

Lopez smiled and pressed up against Balfour, pushing her sensitive pillowy chest into him. She seemed to purr.

 

Actually Anna was just an unfortunate dead end in Balfour’s research.

 

“Remember, we decided in your case to sample the genetic material of the donor patient, to add it to the mix just as a marker, to facilitate healing and to be sure there would be no risk of tissue rejection. But it had the opposite effect on you. The graft healed quite well, but when the body tried to reject the donor tissue, the stem cells took over and favored the donor’s genetic matrix. It was only 1 part per million, just enough of the donor DNA to ‘seed’ the serum. But even that one part per million was enough to leave Annie here with a mild case of macromastia.”

 

Annie stared at the doctor, trying to understand what he was talking about. Did she remember? Had she ever been told the risks? I couldn’t tell.

 

“But I suppose there will be a market for that too, won’t there Paul…”

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

Annie and I were married the following June.

 

Balfour phoned me one day back in January about another project he was working on that he thought I might be interested in: a Procedure for men that involved penis extension.

 

“A little wedding present from me to the happy couple.” He promised.

 

It was the same science as Annie’s procedure, specifically the seeding of the genetic mix with a small amount of genetic material from the tissue donor. In this case a man they’d recruited from Viet Nam who was endowed with an enormous penis and balls.

 

Balfour injected my penis with a microscopic amount of stem cell serum, cultured from a tissue sample taken from the Vietnamese man. Then he gave me the hormone shot that would induce my own second puberty. Only we’d monitor my growth more carefully and manage it with hormone therapy. The period of growth would last only as long as we wanted it to last, he assured me.

 

No big deal. Within two months’ time, he figured, I could grow from my natural-born 6 inches to 7 or 8 inches. “Just in time for your honeymoon in Paris.”

 

Well, it’s two years now since my first and only injection.

 

Balfour can’t seem to put a stop to what’s happening to me. My balls are so large now they usually make walking difficult and they produce disgustingly large loads of semen whenever I climax.

 

Annie loves it,

 

So do I.

 

But it is insanely messy. Sometimes it seems like we never get done cleaning up my cum. Or I should say Annie never gets done cleaning up my cum. I’m usually too spent afterward to even sit up. It takes a lot of blood to keep my cock hard and half the time I feel like I could use a transfusion.

 

My cock has grown incredibly. Beyond (I am told) what the Vietnamese donor had dangling between his legs, my cock is now sixteen inches. And still growing, it seems.

 

Doctor says he is close to figuring out how to “turn off” the growth. It happens so slow though. Imperceptibly slow. Most of the time I am trying to convince myself that it has actually stopped. Then I’ll hold my fat cock in my hand in the bathroom—as big around now as my arm—or I’ll feel it escaping out of the leg hole of my Jockeys at unexpected times, and I’ll know: it’s bigger.

 

The headaches and the blackouts are a thing of the past since Dr. Balfour repartitioned my brain. It made everything much easier and much simpler. It’s getting to where I don’t mind soaking myself and the entire house in my cum all the time. Suddenly it’s not so bad. It used to seem like a pain in the ass but it’s like the more pump out, the better it feels now. And my balls are so big, honestly, it just feels so good to empty them out. It's definitely my favorite thing I like to do.

 

Lately if I want to go out in public and walk around like a normal person I HAVE to empty my load. Otherwise I am doubled-over and walking bow-legged with the world’s largest piss hard-on brushing against my knee. I myself can’t believe it. Half the time I’m so physically spent from getting myself ready to go out, when the time comes to go out I’ve lost interest and I'll just stay home while Annie goes out alone.

 

This doesn’t seem real, this “life” Annie and I share, fucking all the time the way we do now.

She doesn't always like to be on top the way she used to. My pole is too big and her tits are too heavy. So usually she's on her back with me working my sixteen inches in an out of her while she mauls her two mountains of flesh. Sometimes I think she might smother herself, or drown in my cum, but she never does. She's got the strength of a teenager. She never seems to get enough.

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