[Slave_E]

"Or, maybe you would prefer to meet me while I'm still wearing the little orange dress? The one I put on for dinner with the BF? I can assure you it is spectacular!" I was on the phone, talking to Adrian. He had called me while I was with the BF, and now, after the BF was gone, I had called him back.

I had told him about my dinner with the BF - not about our discussion, only the unexpected fact that he had invited me, and had added, "I'd love to see you tonight, especially after this curious dinner with the BF. Sometimes it's hard to bear him. For him I am nothing but a blackmailed slut, at the disposal of his pleasure and for the pleasure of every paying client. Nothing more than a cheap whore."

Adrian had assured me that I was not, that I was an admittedly sensual, but otherwise sensible girl, and I had said, I appreciated him saying so, but that right now I'd need a stronger antidote to the BF - somebody who really loved me.

But in the back of my mind there was still this lurking suspicion that Adrian might be one of those paying clients himself. He knew so much about me. Did he watch me, on camera, all the time when I was in my flat? He had said he'd love me, but could that be? Could I believe him?

Oh my... How had I become such a leery bitch? Why did I mistrust everybody? I was sorely tempted to show myself to him as I was, a horny slut in a provocatively short and low-cut dress... the paradigmatic bimbo... only needing big fake boobs yet to be perfect.

I decided to meet him in one of Berlin's clubs. There was an abundance in Mitte. I could offer him to do everything he wanted, in the club's loo, still in the hot orange dress, and then, if he would take advantage of my offer, around midnight, I would pull off the dress and return to him half naked, only wearing the garter belt, my FFS and high heels... Would he like it? Would he forgive my sluttish ways? Would he maybe even love them?

As from afar, I heard Adrian say, "Are you still there?". I retorted, "Yes, of course, just thinking..." and then, "I'm near Alexanderplatz. So here is what we do... Let's meet at M-Bia, in Dircksenstraße, below the S-Bahn. I will go there and wait for you. Just search me out. My orange dress can't be overlooked."

Hesitantly he replied, "Is M-Bia in one of those S-Bahn arches? Where once was the Rotor, or the Sky?" I shook my head, even though he could not see me, and said "No, it's where the H2O has been", and he said, "OK, I remember, I will be there as soon as I can." And I said I was looking forward to it and hung up.

M-Bia is an atmospheric industrial style nightclub with exposed brickwork, neon decor and electronic music nights. A great ambience and for the ears there is always the right music. From goa/psy to tech to hardstyle, everything is represented. I felt good as soon as I walked in.

First you think you are in a labyrinth, then you see that everything is clearly divided. To the left, a cloakroom. I had nothing to leave there; no coat, no purse. To the right, a techno floor with a DJ booth, reminiscing me of an occult temple's squiggly altar of sacrifice - maybe because that's exactly what's happening there... the music of the past is being sacrificed to the music of the future....

I wanted to be noticed, appreciated and watched... A was a temptress with tiny tits, still drunk after my stint at Spargos, and eager to turn heads. I jumped on the dance floor, mingled with the crowd, threw my hands in the air, bumped against a guy, twerked to myself, got lost in the music. My dress slipped up at the bottom and down at the top. My tits strived out into the open. Maybe the BF was right, after all. Big tits would not let my dress fall down. At least they would not let it slide down so easily. And if so, it would look much more seductive.

The air was hot, and I felt hot, and I got thirsty.

I turned to the right and found lots of seating at a bar, and widely scattered settles around it. There was even a sofa corner... I went to the counter, ordered Vodka Red Bull and pondered on what the BF had said: Small breasts are definitively regarded as the least attractive, even if large breasts in principle are not more attractive than average ones.

Not knowing what to think about it, I ordered a second drink and asked the barman if he thought big boobs were sexier than small tits. I had to shout to get understood. The room was noisy and the music was loud. A few people around me took notice and listened curiously. The barman eyed me, grinned and said I was a very sexy girl, but if he was honest, my dress would look a lot better on a girl with bigger boobs - at least that's what I understood, amidst all that noise. But his last sentence was clear enough, "Yes, sure, I love big boobs. Why do you ask?"

I mumbled, "Just wondering", but, raising my voice, cried that my BF thought I would look a lot better with bigger boobs. But by then he was much too busy again taking orders and mixing drinks and did not mind me any more.

However, I had my answer. As if I did not know it already, as if I still needed confirmation: I was not even attractive enough to merit a barman's attention.

The guy to my left leaned over to me and asked, "Do you really have trouble with your tits?" I nodded, stifled a sigh and said, "Yes, I do. I want to be loved and appreciated, but nobody loves tiny-titted girls. In the end, I'm always put in the friend zone. Tomboys may be respected, but never adored." The guy to my left leaned back, "Yes, you look like best friend material". He grinned. "Bigger tits would definitely change that, they would serve you well." I grimaced and said, "I know, that's why I can't stop thinking about bigger tits. And yes, you are right. I am ashamed of my non-existing tits. It's high time that I throw my stupid inhibitions overboard and accept that I need - and want - bigger boobs... Without bigger boobs, I will never be eye candy to men and women alike...

"Such a good girl," Adrian butted in. He had arrived, and ordered beer. "You have finally accepted your role in life?" I turned to him and shrugged, "Yes, I think so. Seems I have to. I'm fed up with being ashamed of my body." The guy to my left looked at me questioningly, I nodded, and he ordered a Vodka Red Bull for me, and another beer for himself. "So what will you do now to change your looks?"

I shrugged again, "The BF thinks I should start by wearing push-up bras and chicken fillets. He says, once my colleagues and acquaintances are used to seeing me with bigger "tits", it will be easier and more natural to go the whole hog and get proper breast implants later..." And Adrian chimed in, "For a transitional period, I think push up-bras will work, but at the end of the day you will not be content with something removable, you will want something that is always there for you, that will increase your confidence because it is part of your body, and that makes you desirable even when you're naked...."

The guy to my left agreed and said, "I do not like push-up bras with chicken fillets, they are ugly, and they are kind of cheating. I once met a girl I liked at first sight, but when I found out she had silicone enhancer pads in her bra, I was repulsed. It is just not the real thing..." and Adrian continued, "You see? Plus, wearing push-up bras and silicone pads is a nuisance - what a cool incentive to go the whole way and have surgery as soon as possible..."

(to be continued)