[Fiction] My Stupid Boyfriend

[Slave_E]

Dear GD friends and followers,
It's a long time since I have posted the last chapter of poor Emily's ordeals. Now I'm ready to start a new cycle. I hope you will like it...
Slave_E

[Slave_E]

Something happened to me yesterday,
Something I can't speak of right away
Something really threw me
Something oh so groovy
Something happened to me yesterday.

Someone says there's something more to pay
For sins that you committed yesterday
It's really rather drippy
But something oh so trippy
Something happened to me yesterday


It is hard to believe, but the BF had invited me to dinner. He had texted me to dress as flashy and slutty as I could and to be at Spagos at 20:30. And he has added in a second message, that I was to arrive on time, already inebriated and ready to turn heads.

I didn't know what to make of it, but decided to live up to the occasion. What else could I do? I skipped lunch and went to my beauty parlour. My last expedition to the GREEN DOOR had left me spent and needy of attention.

After about 15 minutes on the sunbank wearing a skimpy bikini to work on my tan lines, a half-hour massage to activate my muscles, and a few glasses of Prosecco to soothe my fluttering nerves, I was ready for a real lavish professional makeup. I showed my makeup artist the slinky, tight and much too short strapless orange leather sheath dress I had chosen for the BF, and she suggested painting my nails the same orange, adding matching lipstick and eye shadow, and to use a lot of black around my eyes... I felt a welcome tingle down there and said I'd love it.

Home again, I stripped naked, went into each room of my flat and checked the cameras. They were working. I opened all the blinds and curtains, switched on all the lights, poured another Prosecco, sat on my sofa, streamed some porn and edged twice...

A quarter hour before my appointment, I donned a black lacy garter belt, sheer black stockings, my highest heels and the orange dress and - watching me in the mirror - realized that I did not only look "flashy and slutty", I would stand out like a sore thumb among the normal people at Spagos. My tits were nicely pressed together and pushed up by the dress, looking bigger than they really are. I watched them pensively and then added a black studded leather collar with a short leash. The leash dangled back and forth between my tits. I was not sure if it drew more attention to them or if it was more of a detraction, but whatever. I was sure the BF would get off on this detail...

I did not bother with adding a coat. I ordered an Uber, left the car at Alexanderplatz in only my dress, , found my way through a drizzling rain and the building sites blocking the front of the Park Inn Hotel and tottered into Spagos. I only needed to walk up a few steps to the bar, but everybody stared at my legs. The guys obviously loved it that I had to constantly tug the orange dress down to keep my modesty, and the girls looked embarrassed aside, only some were stealing a few hidden glances.

The BF sat on a bar stool, cell phone in hand, watched me approach and smirked. He told me to stand next to him, put a hand around my hips, made sure that my dress slid up and ordered drinks. The barman put a big Singapore Sling down in front of each of us, but the BF slid his glass over to me and said I would need both...

He turned my face to him and pulled me close. He opened his legs and I felt how he pressed his hard cock against my groin. He put his hands under my skirt, not caring where he pushed it, kissed me and whispered I was such a wanton slut. He inserted 3 fingers in my pussy and whispered he liked my attitude, and how wet it made me to be on display, and he was right. My juices dripped down my thighs and betrayed how much it turned me on to be eye candy for horny and lustful guys.

His fingers inside me, I took a cautious nip at the first cocktail. He grinned and said I should not be so thrifty and shy. Obediently, I finished the glass in one big gulp. He turned to the barman, and asked, "Isn't she a good girl?" But it was only a rhetorical question, he did not wait for an answer, instead he withdrew his fingers, turned away from me and busied himself with his smartphone.

Only when the second Singapore Sling was halfway finished, he looked up and ordered absent-mindedly a third one, and devoted himself fully to his mobile again. I stepped aside, tried to re-arrange my clothes, found I was too drunk to do it properly and contended myself with the third glass. I steadied myself by leaning against the counter, coolly holding the glass in my hand, and watched all the guys in the room watching me swaying in my high heels, happy that I did not care any more to tug my dress down all the time.

A smiling waitress arrived and told us our table was finally free. The BF got up and I followed him to the middle of the room, descending the steps down from the bar insecurely, in vain trying to avoid further baring my naked pussy. Sitting down awkwardly, I noticed that the BF had made sure that I faced the bar. Since the lounges were even lower than the already low tables, the distance between my feet and my knees was more than the height of the lounge, especially with my super high heels. No way could I sit without my dress sliding up. All the guys at the bar noticed, even some in the room as well. They all exchanged amused looks. They must have had a gorgeous view of my private parts.

When I dared to mention it to the BF, he nonchalantly replied he had been sure I would appreciate it. He said he knew how much I loved to be eye candy. And he added that the guys, as long as they were diverted by my pussy, would not notice my shamefully tiny tits. And that he was sure I would appreciate it.

Then he concentrated on the menu. When he had made up his mind, the smiling waitress appeared and he ordered the Salmon triple with Wasabi-lime-cream, Orange-oil-snow and Saibling caviar for me, and the Pumpkin coconut soup with smoked duck breast and the braised Tip Blade Roast on Root puree, Autumn vegetables and Pepper foam for himself. He added a glass of Prosecco Frizzante and a bottle of Riesling Schloss Schönborn for me, a glass of Moët Chandon Brut Imperial and a bottle of Rioja Reserva Castillo Clavijo for himself, and a bottle of San Pellegrino for both of us. And while we waited for our aperitifs, he gave me his mobile and told me to read this very interesting article from the Archives of Sexual Behavior 2020 he had found on the net while waiting at the bar:


Stereotypical and Actual Associations of Breast Size with Mating-Relevant Traits

Breast size varies substantially among women and influences perception of the woman by other people with regard to her attractiveness and other characteristics that are important in social contexts, including mating. The theory of sexual selection predicts that physical criteria of partner selection should be markers of the candidate's desirable properties, mainly biological quality.

Few studies, however, have examined whether breast size really signals biological quality or its components and whether observers accurately interpret these signals. The aim of our study was to determine preferences and stereotypes related to breast size: 252-265 women and men evaluated female digital figures varying in, among other characteristics, breast size.

Women and men perceived breasts in a similar way to each other: the bigger the breasts the higher the reproductive efficiency, lactational efficiency, sexual desire, and promiscuity attributed to the woman. In addition, big-breasted women were perceived as less faithful and less intelligent than women with average or small breasts. Small breasts were considered the least attractive.



(to be continued)

[Slave_E]

The BF munched away on his soup, while I poked tensely at my plate. I dipped small pieces of salmon into the wasabi lime cream, only now and then I popped some into my mouth. Suddenly, his mouth full of soup, the BF looked up and said, "You see, I really worry about your inadequacies. It is high time you realized that to be sexually attractive you need to considerably increase your breast size. You definitely need to address your shortcomings..... "

"This is so true!" I retorted animatedly, "And I already realize it! I know perfectly well that my ridiculous teats, those pathetic excuses for non-existing tits, are completely inadequate. Since puberty I’ve been trying to compensate for this by emphasizing my cunt and my arse, by exposing my body to lustful looks and by evolving my submissiveness..."

He looked at me pensively. "So you admit that your exhibitionist streak is down to your small tits? Being ashamed of them is the reason that you have such a strong desire for humiliation and submission?"

"Of course I admit it. There is no doubt about it... And more than that: I say it out loud and proud. My pathetically tiny tits have made me the girl I am. You know it only too well. You have benefited from my disposition through all these years, and now... My further fate lies in your capricious hands... "

Since he did not react, I added, "I have always dreaded you might have realized all this long ago, I was always afraid you'd sooner or later start a discussion about my tits being too tiny."

He grinned wolfishly. "Would it be so bad, to have big boobs?" And I cried, "NO! IT WOULD TURN ME ON! " People turned their heads, I broke off and lowered my voice. Softly I said, "Thank you for bringing it up again. It is amazing how well you know all my weak spots!"

It did not impress him much. He remained businesslike, "Why not do the thing properly? What about a nice new rule?" Doubtfully I asked, "What rule?" And he said, "Easy... You use padded push-up bras and fillets at all times..."

Exasperated, I stuttered, "Oh my... No! I hate it... This is the ultimate humiliation. Seeing me with a padded bra, everybody will know that I'm ashamed of my tiny tits; and that I'm willing to use these inept means, shows only how desperate I am."

He let me grumble, but then intercepted matter-of- factly," Filets have one big advantage. They can be removed. Would you rather have a real boob job? A surgery? Silicone implants to increase your breast size? You will never be able to go back to your tits as they are now. A breast augmentation is for the rest of your life. And remember: Big-breasted women are perceived as more promiscuous and less intelligent than women with average or small breasts. Do you really want that?"

I never had thought about that, and I was much too drunk to really understand what he was talking about, so I retorted undauntedly, "You are afraid I could appear less faithful? Big deal! That's fine with me, I can live with that. And less intelligent? Really? Oh my God, just do it - you always wanted me to be a Bimbo, this is your big chance to make me a Bimbo. Bimbos simply are not intelligent...

I knew I could not fight it. Not really. I would embrace his new rules. Even if it would force my mind to focus on my inadequacy and even if it would heavily further the feeling that I would be far more desirable if my tits were augmented. What else could I do? Nothing. He owned me. I was his property... And after all, he was right. Getting implants was for eternity. Would I really prefer to have my boobs enlarged than to wear fillets and pads?

"So it's decided?" The BF broke into my train of thoughts. "Imagine how wet you will be, wearing your new push-up bra and the fillets... A slut like you will get off on everybody noticing the sudden increase in your tit size... Just think of Nadia, or of Justin. Imagine Adrian's reaction... Or Burly Guy's and Cocky Guy's..."

Brusquely interrupting him, I blurted out, "As if thinking of them would not be bad enough! Of course, they will ask why I do it, and I will have to admit my inadequacy and say that my tits are too small and that I would love to have bigger boobs and, yes, in the end, I would even have to confess that I have been thinking about breast implants for years now... and I will have to concede that wearing fillets is a test: I want to see how people react to me suddenly having big boobs....

And the BF went on, "They will quite rightly see you as a promiscuous attention-seeking slut, that needs a good fucking", and I admitted, "Of course they will, and even though it’s true - it's grossly humiliating!"

The BF smirked and said, "What I like most is that the contrast between your naked pussy and your push-up bra encased boobs will be a continual reminder to you of your insignificant and inadequate tiny tits...

I nodded solemnly. "OK. it is decided. You know me so well... you push all the right buttons. I will buy fillets and I will buy lots of push-up bras... And yes, wearing a well stuffed push-up bra and no knickers... that's sexy. It will make me so horny..."

Well thank you very much and now I think it's time for us all to go. So from all of us to all of you not forgetting the boys at the bar, we'd like to say "God Bless". So, if you're out tonight....

(to be continued)

[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)

[Slave_E]

M-Bia's main floor looks like the belly of a spaceship, colorful and luminous. Swift laser lights send shifting patterns through haze and smoke... Psy, Trance, Goa insist and drive. A happy group of people dances, absorbed by themselves, close to each other, enshrouded in an extensive sound cloud. And just a few steps leading down, in a bare concrete vault, right in front of the men's toilets, another DJ puts on dub and house. Powerful bass, hissing cymbals and clacking snares conjure a dark, vast space, a musical portrait of outer space, with sounds suspended like glowing planets... until they resound from the stone walls and drip to the floor. It's Hades, the underworld, antithetical to the main floor's Olympus.

I stood in the underworld and tried to shake my pathetic boobs, utterly unsuccessful, for the pleasure of the guys coming out of the restrooms. Adrian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched me. Did I detect some trace of a sneer in his face? I danced over to him, brought my face close to his ear and shouted, "If I really get surgery, which breast size would you like?" and he said, "C cups," and I replied, "C cups? Great!", about to add how much I'd like C cups, but just at this moment a sudden break in the music left room for a fast-spreading expectant silence, which Adrian's voice filled loud and clear with, "You need at least C cups."

I was staggered. Why did he say "At least"? Should he, after all, prefer D cups? Or even yet, bigger ones? In my mind, C cups would complement my slim body nicely. Maybe a tiny bit too big to look natural, but not obtrusively so. With D cups, or even more, I was worried that my boobs would look unreal, and make me appear a wanton slut....

I grabbed his hand, dragged him away from the loudspeakers, lowered my voice and asked, "What does it mean, Adrian, when you say: "C cups, for now?" He looked sheepish, but shrugged and said, "You wanna know what it means? You know it! You have read the study yourself: the bigger the breasts, the higher the promiscuity and the sexual desire that is attributed to a woman..."

Oh my... I should have known. "And you want me to be seen as sex-driven and promiscuous... ?" He nodded vigorously. "Yes, sure. Don't you?"

I shrugged it away, as if there was nothing, but in fact I was annoyed. "I hope you are aware that big-breasted women are also seen as less faithful and less intelligent than women with average or small breasts?"

He stared at me blankly, so I continued, "Okay... you want me to appear less faithful? That's not very flattering, but hey, I can live with it. But less intelligent? Really? That's too much..." And yet while saying so I realized that he was right. If I wanted to be a fake titted Bimbo, I had to accept that people would see me as a brainless doll. And Adrian made bait by summarizing, "You want to be a Bimbo? Bimbos are not intelligent! Just accept it!" What could I do but agree?

I know that I have resisted all permanent modifications for a long time. But now, having changed my mind about breast implants - if only to get rid of those unfashionable and ugly push-up bras - I said with no hesitation, "But I welcome that I do not need to be seen as intelligent any more. I just want to be eye candy. I'm sure it will feel great to go out in public braless with big boobs..."

Have you ever secretly dreamed of dressing a bit sluttier? Or perhaps having bigger boobs? Tinting your hair with some outrageous color? Wearing something that others might consider "too much"? Or maybe you just wished that you had the confidence to do your makeup a little bit more dramatically in your daily life? If so - you will understand how I felt about my decision to become a bimbo.

I leaned into Adrian, hugged him and whispered in his ear, "I think women that want to become bimbos do it for a variety of reasons. With some, it's that it has to do with them being insecure and needing male validation; with others - as I'd rather believe - it is that they are comfortable with their sexuality and enjoy portraying it in this way. And to me it's mostly to find out how far I'm ready to go, to please the BF, and to assuage your appetite... "

And I gave myself a jolt and confessed to yet another bimbo modification I was after. I told him about a lip augmentation technique that uses hyaluronic acid to deliver sexy, pouty lips that look completely natural and looked at him expectantly. He smiled, stroked my lips with his index finger, nodded sympathetically and said, "Yes... I see... Sexy pouty lips are the right thing for a slut that rather wants to be seen as an expert in blow jobs than an intelligent girl." And I replied, grinning ruefully, "Adrian, you and the BF have such a persuasive way to restructure my life, it takes my breath away... "

Wordless, he grabbed my head and kissed me, and his kiss took my breath away... I felt his heat deep down in my belly and his tongue exploded in my mouth. His hands were underneath my dress, squeezing my butt. I whispered, "Do you really love me? A horny slut on the way to becoming a paradigmatic bimbo?... I only need big fake boobs and pouty lips yet," and he said, "Yes, it's true, but don't forget: I love you just the way you are and I would not want to miss any of your slutty ways, but you are only perfect if you too look accordingly...."

With this he loosened his grip and grinned, "To come back to your original offer, it's almost midnight. So show me your slutty ways: go to the loo, yeah, I mean the men's loo, pull off your dress and return half naked, only wearing the garter belt, stockings and high heels..."

[Slave_E]

I was naked, on my knees, in front of my laptop. That is, naked except a push-up bra stuffed with silicone pads. To my left, on the floor, was an open bottle of vodka, to my right, leaning against my desk, was a wall mirror.

The BF's text message had made it very clear that he expected to see me drunk, horny and in a padded push-up bra, as soon as he condescended to appear on my laptop's screen.

I studied myself and the bra in the mirror, grinned defiantly and took a deep gulp from the bottle. I knew that whatever I did, the high-performance chips inside the tiny cameras placed on the walls around me kept me in perfect focus and in the center of the scene, but I had no way to guess how many clients watched me, right now, in Ultra HD 4K and HDR, delighted to zoom in on my most intimate details. In a reflex, my hand returned to my lap, resumed masturbating.

To my thinking, push-up bras and fillets are ugly, even if they feign big boobs, but the BF is not one to discuss matters. He insists on what he wants, and right now he wants to see me in a push-up bra. I hoped he would be satisfied and l hoped even more that normal people would accept the substitute. I wanted my “boobs” to draw lots of attention - something they never do in their normal pathetic state. I also wished to feel more like a woman, even if I was afraid I might look like a transvestite...

But most of all, I hoped I could convince the BF to consider a real (that is, a surgical) breast augmentation. From the reactions I had gotten so far to the pads, guys really like to stare at big boobs. I have no idea if they do it because they like my breasts or because they think I’m crazy. I guess they think I'm crazy, but I hope it in a nice way...

I was about to down another big gulp when the BF appeared on my screen. He nodded encouragingly and remarked, "Such a good girl!" I blushed and hated myself for it. Grinning, he continued "You really look good, naked except for that stuffed bra. Tell me, how do you feel, wearing padded bras?"

I said, "It's a strange mixture. I hate it but it turns me on. Yesterday evening, for example, Nadine and I stood at a bar and talked about my tiny tits issue. I opened my raincoat and showed her my nicely stuffed bra. She grinned and said I was crazy, but she must be too, because she'd like my new "boobs". She said they were sexy. Hearing this, I got wet down there. I did not bother with closing the coat again.

"After a short silence and some more drinks, Nadine suddenly laughed out loud and said, since I was so proud of my surrogate tits, I should just show them around, and asked 'Why not have a nice bar crawl?' I was drunk and horny enough to reply, 'Yeah! Great. Let's do it!'

"The next bar we entered was not a swanky one, rather a greasy spoon. We sat in a dark corner. Nadine jokingly suggested I take my panties off. Wordlessly I obeyed. She looked at me surprised, but then smirked and said that the push-up-bra, sturdy as it was, looked indeed better without panties... Outside, on our way to the next bar, I threw my soaked panties into a waste basket.

"Even if I only had cheap surrogate tits, the guys in the next bar seemed to react strongly to the combination of big boobs and naked pussy... Even more than I had expected... It made me feel good and wanted, and I loved that I could give the guys something big to look at. It made me proud. It was such a welcome difference to showing off my pathetically small tits....

"When we left, it was late, but nevertheless, when we reached my place, Nadine insisted on taking me to the bar on the other side of the street for a night cap. I held the raincoat together with my hands to hide my cunt, but my bra stayed visible, and when I noticed lusting looks from the male regulars, I allowed the raincoat to slide down even more, thus offering my big 'boobs' to be seen candidly..."

[Slave_E]

When I did not go on, the BF took a deep breath and said, "Well, you have earned another slug of vodka." I complied and he resumed, "You are on a good way. It is a big step, but the right step to accept all kinds of body modifications, even surrogate ones, such as padded bras. Or maybe especially surrogate solutions, as they mark you as trying desperately to hide your shortcomings.... To please me and to enhance your femininity, you should see this as a natural progression and, whilst a landmark in your quest, it will just be a part of your journey.... "

I nodded and replied emphatically, "Yes, I have transgressed to the point of no return long ago. I can't turn back time and I can't go back to my former self, I have to progress towards femininity and being eye candy. Oh my, what a sweet temptation to take the next step and not only modify my look and my behavior, but also my body, in a permanent way, like with a boob job, or with pouty lips..."

He interrupted, "Slut, take your time! Right now it's about push-up bras and fillets. For the time being, they are enough to get you used to having seemingly big breasts and to be Uber attractive... "

I quickly interfered, "I am more than willing to suffer for my beauty, I understand that push-up bras are designed for insecure girls with tiny tits like me, so I embrace them... hoping they will give me confidence, and encourage me to undergo real surgery, whenever you should decide it's time. But please understand that I'm eager. I can’t wait to get proper implants. As far as I'm concerned, I have made up my mind. I want to have big boobs... "

He interrupted me again, very upset. "What are you trying to do? Go, get your fastest vibe and your biggest butt plug, insert both and when you're back - slap your face 10 times..."

I got up slowly, on feeble legs, and went to fetch a vibe and a plug. Wobbly from all the vodka, I turned back to him and asked if I could use the break to also have a pee and a glass of water. He furiously declined.

When I came back, vibe in pussy, plug in butt, on unsteady legs, I gave me 10 face slaps. The BF saw that my cheeks turned red and when they did, he announced that he had made up his mind and that he had decided I should get surgery. "A real boob job," as he said.

I could hardly believe my ears, and stuttered, "Really... You do? That's so... Thank you for this, you are wonderful...." Under tears I tried to smile and added, "I see that you have not really been furious, but secretly pleased... I'm so glad that you're pleased I want to get huge udders... "

[Slave_E]

It may be strange, but since I have started to dream of body modification, I'm always horny... It is not that I only edge now and then, my hand is between my legs almost all the time. When I notice it, I am ashamed, but it feels sooo good... Thinking about it alone makes me wriggle in my chair...

Why do I want to become more feminine and womanlike? Why do I want to be well-endowed? Eye candy for all men? Because I have realized that I'm not a young girl any more. Being a tomboy may be cool for young schoolgirls, but I'm older now, I have grown up. A lot of things that were charming then would look silly to me now... I still want to be sexy, for sure, but in a way that fits my age and my place in life...

I want people to think that I look great, that I have beautiful legs and slender hips, but most of all, I want them to think that my boobs are amazing... I want them to wonder if I need E-cups... Oh my, yes... At first I had been thinking about C-cups, now I think of D-cups.... Why not go all the way to E-cups?

Yesterday, the BF suggested I go to Spagos and solve matters with the guys at the bar. I put on thigh-high boots, a short tube skirt, a transparent blouse and a generously padded bra, and went there. It did not take long and I was surrounded by 3 guys, obviously fascinated by my assets. They competed in getting me drunk - I have to say quite successfully. It is a cool rule that I can't refuse any drink I'm offered...

They asked if my boobs were fake or real and I answered that it was only a stuffed out bra, but that I dearly wanted to have a real boob job because I’m ashamed of my tiny A-cup tits... They were impressed by my honesty, at least that’s what they said, so I admitted candidly that I'd love to know their opinion, that they should tell me what kind of boobs they'd like to see on me.

First, they all agreed that C-cups are great. They would be big, but not too big. Just right for my body. But after some discussions and another drink, they started to wonder if, after all, I should not rather go for D-cups. Oh yeah, D-cups. Too big for my body. Big enough to raise suspicion. Are they real, or are they fake? Or, in the end, even E-cups? Big enough to be nothing but fake?

Second, they all agreed that my boobs should be round and plump, grapefruit style. On closer inspection it should be obvious that they were fake. Because this would show that I originally had no tits, and even if I now have ones, it was only because I have had surgery. They wanted me to show how far I was willing to go to be eye candy. That I was ready to do a lot for a guy’s pleasure. They said, having fake tits would be a subtle (or not so subtle?) hint that I wanted to please men and was easy to have.

Third, they confirmed that they all loved boobs too big to be true. Embarrassingly big. Basically too big to show them off, not wearing a bra. When I interfered saying that I hated tits that needed a bra, they all grinned and said, they'd love tits that were too big to be without a bra, but were without a bra...

And fourth, they consented that really huge boobs were hot in a porn video, but not in real life. But, they added, they were sure that I'd love to be mistaken for a porn star. Didn't I want to look like a porn star? I hesitated, but then I admitted that, being drunk, as I was right now, and aroused, as I was right now, I fantasized about being taken for a porn star ... And that I even wanted to have pumped up blow job lips... And they all agreed that, with this, they considered the matter closed....