expansion lover

You can’t call them tits! They’re obviously your

Gigantic sweater stretching porn melons.

Heaving mounds of breed-able WobbleFat.

They won't stop growing.

I won't let them.

Every morning you wake up and your tits are a little bit bigger, a little bit heavier, a little bit fuller. You feel them weigh on your chest, jiggling and sloshing as you rise up from bed, bouncing as you walk over to your dresser. Even wrapping your arm around them, feeling their softness bulge over and under, isn't enough to fully dampen the movements of your growing tits. You already feel the familiar dread in your chest as you pull open your drawer and pull out a bra. You know it'll be too small, too tight, forcing your growing tits to bulge over the cups. It always is, day after day, even after upgrading to new sizes. But what choice do you have? Your shirts do nothing to hide the obscene shape your tits take squeezed into the too-small bra. If anything, their tightness just highlights the uneven shape of your soft, wobbling tits. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. They can't be hidden and it gets worse every day.

And that's exactly how I want it to be.

I want every jiggle, every wobble to be a reminder of what I've done to you. Every time you feel your tits brush against something or rest against the table as you lean forward, I want you to think about me and what I've done to you. I took you and molded you and reshaped you and grew you and grew you and grew you. And now, more and more every day, your entire world revolves around the tits I gave you. Nobody looks you in the eye anymore. People gawk at you and stare at you and whisper about you as you walk by them, tits sloshing with every step. Every inch you grow—every inch that I force onto your chest—shifts the focus of your entire world a little more towards your tits. They're eclipsing the rest of you, taking over your life. All because of me. I wanted this for you. Now you have to live with it.

And it's only made worse by the fact that it feels so fucking good.

Well, I have good news and I have bad news! The good news is that, as often happens, your little scientific accident has turned you into a superhero! The bad news is that I don't think they're going to be making any action figures if you and, if they do, you probably won't be able to sign them.

You can be The Recycler! Or The Plastic Pulverizer! You can work on a name later. But you're already well on your way to becoming an environmental savior! Just think of all the good you could do! With the right set-up, you could prevent so much plastic from ending up in landfills or polluting water supplies. A single touch and they'd never have to worry about microplastic contamination again. You could save the oceans, save our food supply, save the world!

For all the good that you'll do, however, it doesn't seem like you'll be hailed as a role model. From what I can tell, your new superpower simply repurposes the plastic inside your body. It'll start off by growing plastic deposits inside your chest, rounding out your breasts into spherical, plastic tits. They'll get tight and full and nearly spherical as the plastic is unlikely to form a—shall we say—"organic* shape.

The whole arrangement will be a little frustrating, I'm sure. Clean up a river, go up a few cup sizes. Keep the contents of an overturned cargo container from harming the ocean, be forced to buy an entirely new wardrobe. Balancing the good for the world and the burden placed on your growing, expanding body is a tricky thing and you'll probably struggle with it.

Your boobs won't grow forever, though! Well, they will, but at some point they'll slow down! But only because some of the plastic will be redirected from your balloon tits to your ass, making each cheek just as round and fake as your tits. It'll help you remain balanced! Or, at the very least, remain upright. A little bit might go to your lips, too, making them plump and full along with your obscene, round, fake, plastic curves.