Growth Opportunities

Despite your best attempts at staying professional, the feeling of the cool tape measure against your overfull porntits forced a needy whine from your lips. You didn't want them like this. You just wanted a little boost, something to bring you closer to the average, something to make sure you didn't stand out for being completely flat chested. Now you stood out for the exact opposite reason!

A jolt of pleasure shook your body as the researcher pulled the tape measure taut, gently squeezing your massive tit. The feeling of his analytical gaze on your chest was as embarrassing as it was arousing. He didn't look at your face. He wasn't concerned about the rest of you. To him—much like most of the people you encountered in your day-to-day life—the only thing that mattered were your tits.

Once the measurement had been taken, he let the tape retract into the case and turned around to make some notes. You could hear him muttering to himself as he wrote. "Overall bust... 108cm... Circumference... 60.5cm... Results... above average—" He paused to scratch out the last few words. "Significantly... Above average... But still... Within... Expected bounds."

Your mind reeled. Math had never been your strong suit and, ever since you signed up for these stupid experimental implants, you felt like you had gotten a little dumber, but you struggled through the conversion in your mind. Two feet. Almost two feet. That's how big around your tits were, individually. Each one was bigger than your own head! The word "significantly" echoed in your mind. You knew you weren't the only one in this trial, but the idea that those women were lucky enough to walk away with normal bust sizes, while your breasts inflated more and more, day by day...

The researcher spun around on his stool, looking up at you for the first time since you arrived. Whatever attempt he made to make his smile disarming clearly wasn't working. The look in his eyes was just a bit too eager, a bit too excited over your results. "Now, I know we originally agreed to a six-week period for the trial... But..."

Oh, God. Dread dripped cold down your spine.

"Your body has responded so well to the implants that we're very interested in continuing to monitor your growth. If we can understand why, we may be able to more reliably control the final size of the implant and even open up pathways for those who want particularly large sizes. Even larger than yours!"

You couldn't fathom it. How could people want to be this big?! How could someone want to be nothing more than a walking pair of bouncing, shirt-stretching, bra-defying tits? And you knew it would only get worse as you got bigger. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and this whole humiliating trial.

"Of course, we'll increase your compensation. You have become quite the valuable asset for us. We'd hate to lose you now, right when we're on the edge of a breakthrough."

And there it was. It felt dirty to accept more money, just because your boobs had gotten so big. You hoped the researcher wouldn't notice the way your nipples stiffened at the thought. Slowly, after painful consideration, you nodded.

It's really time for you to start pulling your weight around here. Your roommate is tired of cleaning up after you, of doing the dishes, of keeping the apartment in a semi-functional order while you're either laid out on the couch, melting your brain with TV, or sitting in your room, melting your brain with... Something else. The whole situation wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so entitled about it! Flopping down on the couch with a bag of take-out and "informing" your roommate that the trash cans are full isn't really endearing when you haven't once taken out the trash in the entire time you've lived together.

What finally tipped your roommate over the edge was when you used the last of the milk for your cereal and simply shouted "Hey! We're out of milk!"

If nothing else, your roommate would make sure that the two of you never had that problem again.

At first, you didn't even realize that anything had changed. You never really used the washing machine yourself; you just threw your clothes in with your roommates. When your shirts and your bras started to come back a little tight, you assumed that maybe she had fucked up the settings and that they had simply shrunk. You didn't hate it, though. If anything, it made your tits look bigger, bulging under your clothes, so it wasn't all bad.

The clothes kept "shrinking", though, and your breasts started to get tender. You winced, washing them in the shower, using your roommate's soap. Probably an allergic reaction to some new detergent your roommate was using. You'd talk to her about it. Eventually. Maybe. They were so sensitive. Even just laying in bed, on your back, your shirt draped over your swollen breasts, you could feel the fabric dragging over them with each, slow breath and your cheeks started to warm. Waking up the next morning with twin damp patches on was definitely concerning but not nearly as concerning as your roommate's reaction.

You have to cover your mouth to keep from moaning as she pins you to the wall and lifts your shirt, giving your tit a firm squeeze. A maniacal giggle bubbles out of her as she watches little streams of milk arc from your nipples. "Oh, wow, it's working even faster than I thought it would! I should have known you'd take to being a dumb, lazy cow."

Before you have time to ask what in the hell she's talking about, she latches her lips over your tits and sucks. Hard. Your vision goes white. Your knees nearly buckle. Pleasure floods every inch of your body until it flows out of you in the form of a desperate moan.

"Hey, everyone! Thanks for tuning in! I've got a big date tonight and she's soooooo cute! Last time, I only showed a tiny bit of cleavage and she couldn't stop glancing down at my titties. She got so flustered! You guys, it was genuinely the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I picked out this dress to show off my boobs even more, but really think I need to blow her out of the water. I have to make sure there's a third day! I think It's time to...

#getbiggerwithme!

"You guys know the drill, just bear with me for a moment. Gotta focus, gotta take a deep breath. Mmm... Thinking about Daniella. Thinking about how cute she looked last time we were together. Thinking about her blushing cheeks and her soft lips and—mmf—how badly I wanted to kiss them...

"Oop, yes, there it is! I can feel it—aahhn!—starting! Mmf... Her hands... They're so pretty... Fingers so long and slender... Need her to—fuck—grope my big, growing titties. Even if I have to grab her wrists and put her hands there myself! She's going to look so—oh, god—so sweet and so overwhelmed but that's just going to make me want her more!

"Fuck, yes, I'm growing faster! My dress is getting tighter and tighter! I'm spilling out all over and my cleavage looks so fucking big! There's so much for her to grab! Yes, Dani! Grope my big fucking titties! Suck on my massive, swelling milkers! I'll be your girlfriend. I'll be your mommy. Fuck, I'll be anyone you want! Just don't stop! Don't stop playing with my titties! I'll keep growing, every last fucking inch for you! Yes! Yes! Fuck, yes, I—

At the end of the day, it was a mutually beneficial agreement for both parties.

For Bowman Acres, Jamie was their saving grace. Bulls had been getting more expensive by the day. By the time they realized that their herd was aging out of their peak production, the cost of replacing them—either from market or the old fashioned way—had become prohibitively costly. With pressure to sell their farm to one of the big conglomerates growing, their options were dwindling away. They needed to do something bold, something risky. Jamie was their last hope.

While Jamie was Bowman Acres's final chance, they were everything for her. The job market had all but dried up and what the farm was willing to offer seemed like a dream come true. They'd feed her, house her, and her term of employment was for as long as she wanted. That didn't even touch on how good it sounded to have all of her hormonal needs met for as long as she worked there. Plus, there was something exciting about the prospect of something so risky. Hucow and hubull hormones were well-understood, but they had only ever been combined a handful of times. Jamie would be at the forefront of something new. She understood the risks and she'd be lying if it didn't make her heart race thinking about it.

Everything worked out even better than either of them could have imagined.

The hormones worked even better than expected, seeming to amplify each other's effects. Within a month, Jamie's tits had swollen into proper udders, huge and heavy, bigger than her head even in those rare moments when she was fully drained. By the end of the quarter, her gargantuan, hanging tits produced more milk than the entire rest of the herd combined and she had to spend almost every waking moment (and some moments unconscious moments) hooked up to pumps to drain the ocean of milk that filled her.

As a bull, Jamie couldn't have been better suited. Her gock grew and thickened, her balls swelling between her thighs. They had planned to have her breed the other cows in the usual manner, but after seeing just how much cum her enormous hubull gock produced, splattered against the far wall after a few hours on the pumps, they realized that they'd have to take additional measures. Finding a hubull milker that fit her impressive size was hard and the one they did find was a snug fit, but the riches that flowed from Jamie were truly remarkable. She didn't stop making cum after all the other cows on the farm were bred and so they were able to sell the extra. Jamie was, in almost every sense, their cash cow and, God, Jamie had never felt such pleasure.

When you breathe out, your lungs empty and pull your chest in. Your breasts do not follow. This is not normal.

For years, Aspen Daywillow—as she was known online—tried to establish herself as a wellness guru. She tried everything from soundbaths to supplements to "Sun Harmonizing Yoga at Dawn." A veritable roulette of buzzwords and cliche phrases bounced across her page but none of them seemed to gain any traction. Her follower count sat firmly at a couple hundred and refused to budge.

That is, until one of her videos went viral.

The video in question was the last thing that Aspen expected to be so popular, nothing more than a straightforward breathing exercise. Breathing in, holding, breathing out, and holding, each on a four count. Couldn't be any simpler! And yet, comments and likes and shares flooded in. Her follower count went up by more than one order of magnitude overnight. She didn't think that the video was anything special but, well, if this is what her audience wanted...

What Aspen couldn't see was that nobody was actually watching for the breathing exercises. Every time she took a breath in, her breasts pushed forward. They bulged out of her top and swelled under her chin. But they didn't budge as she breathed out again. On the next inhale, they did it again, tightening the straps over her shoulders and straining the clasp of her bra, only to stay exactly where they sat as she breathed out again.

Every video Aspen made brought in hordes of new followers. She even had a few that did exceptionally well, doing breathing at sunrise on the beach (visibly bulging more and more out of her bikini top) or before doing yoga stretches (testing the limits of her sports bra).

Alexis stared, distraught, at her own reflection. With each passing moment, her shorts grew tighter around her ass, digging deeper between her cheeks. Panic shortened her breaths and made her heart race. She had heard something snap as she bent down for a squat and it was only by some miracle that her shorts didn't burst wide open.

Turns out, she wasn't speaking quite as softly as she had intended when she called the goth girl a "fucking fatass" for, as Alexis felt, hogging the machines. Okay, fine, she wanted her to hear it, but she had no idea this would happen!

Gingerly, as if touching her ass would suddenly make this nightmare real, Alexis reached behind herself and placed a hand on her growing ass. Despite herself, a jolt of pleasure ran through her body and her growth accelerated. Her ass started to bulge out of the leg of her shorts, the material stretching tighter and tighter. The growth underneath her hand spread her fingers out, forcing her to reckon with her expanding backside. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. She had worked so hard to get herself toned and now her ass was twice as big as it ever was!

For a moment, fear and guilt made her consider something she normally would never do: apologize. She glanced towards the locker room door and wondered if a sincere apology would make this all go away, if this could be chalked up as some silly misunder—

SHRIP!

All at once, the seam gave way and her ass exploded out of her shorts. The swelling globes jiggled and sloshed and lightly clapped together. Her panties wouldn't be far behind. A pathetic whimper whined out of her as she surrendered to her growth. That bitch probably wasn't even there anymore. She'd just have to wait it out, see how big the curse would make her before it stopped.

Nobody was buying Amy's Goody-Goody Singer act anymore; her last gig was a county fair in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere and the corndog guy was getting more attention than she was. Her agency denied it, saying that her flannel-and-denim vibe was perfect the way it was, but she could see the writing on the wall. Something had to change. And she already knew what it was.

The agency really tried hard to keep Amy in the "Wholesome Hometown" niche. For them, staying in that lane was more about filling out their portfolio than making money, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Amy wasn't. Part of maintaining that wholesomeness meant maintaining a certain style and, when Amy's figure started changing, they fought against that, too. She had to wear binders under her shirts to go out and perform, eventually doubling up to make sure that nothing too scandalous was showing. Amy had to be wholesome and, to the agency, that meant not an inch of cleavage and nothing that so much as hinted at anything sexy.

As Amy's crowds dried up and gigs got canceled, she had to take drastic measures. Agency? Cut. Tour? Ended early. She posted a heartfelt apology on social media to her fans (what few of them were left) and disappeared from the public eye for almost a full year.

When she reappeared, Amy had become Amber.

Gone were the flannels. Gone were the blue jeans. Gone were the quaint fairground stages. Gone were the lyrics about finding a husband and settling down.

Amber was darky. Amber was edgy. Amber was "goth". Most of all, though, Amber was busty.

To the world, she had never sported more than a B cup. Now, she bounced on stage with tits that dared you to measure them, knowing that they defied such petty things as cup sizes. Not that she ever wore a bra on stage. With the harsh lights beaming down, her black tank tops were almost translucent, the outline of her areola visible under the thin fabric and the barbells through her nipples glinting. Instead of tractors and true love, now she sang about getting railed under a full moon by something not entirely human.

Amber felt no strong attachment toward the aesthetic she now adopted; she just needed a way to get new fans and bring attention to herself. And, boy, did she ever. Fans poured in. Overnight, thousands and thousands of followers subscribed to her social media, some already begging her to go on tour. A lot of them were just thirsting over her tits, entranced by how she embraced her sexual energy, but Amber didn't mind. The more she saw the comments, the more they engaged, the more she grew to like it. She leaned into it. Her boobs were still growing, after all, and she had hidden them for so long. Embracing her massive udders gave her a thrill she never would have expected.

Between her prowess as a fighter and her impressive, imposing figure, Pyrrha's celebrity seemed almost inevitable. She was the pride of Argus and a fixture at Beacon Academy. Standing two heads taller than just about everyone else made her easy to pick out of a crowd, not to mention that it put almost all of her fellow students at eye-level with her magnificent, armor-straining bust. Even with her popularity, she remained friendly and outgoing, with many of her classmates and especially those on her team looking to her for friendship and support.

While many of them thought that the expectations of others were a heavy burden, they knew nothing of the true burden Pyrrha carried.

A deep sigh rolled out of Pyrrha as she closed the door to her dorm room and leaned back against it. For the first time since she had left that morning, she could finally relax. Her shoulders dropped. Her expression softened. She allowed her strong legs to weaken for just a moment. She set Milo and Akouo on their rack and let her arms hang at her sides. A quick glance around the room confirmed that nothing was in the way. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Pyrrha pushed off of the door and moved, somewhat shakily, towards the center of the room.

She took a deep breath.

She closed her eyes.

And she let Polarity go.

FWOOOMP!

Her semblance had been pulling on the metal in her outfit all day, keeping it close to her body. Without that effort, it immediately gave way. Her breasts surged forward, her center of mass shifting so suddenly that Pyrrha was almost pulled off of her feet. Her breasts looked large inside her uniform, bulging over the edges slightly and easily matching the size of her head. Without the compression, they extended a few feet in front of her, so large that her strong arms could barely reach her own nipples. The brilliant green of her eyes nearly disappeared as they rolled back in her head, her tongue lolling out and a moan erupting from her throat. Compressing them didn't hurt, but letting them free felt so fucking good!

Flesh bulged around her arms as she reached around them, squeezing them as hard as she could. Drool dripped from the tip of her tongue and disappeared into her own cleavage. In the past, in this fit of arousal, she had been known to buck her own hips against the undersides of her tits in lewd fury. She was too exhausted for that today, however, and simply slumped forward, resting her weight on top of the massive mounds.

I went to the club last night and this man kept giving me drink after drink. Of course I accepi. But now? my chest feels a little full. Is this something I should be concerned about as a guy? it feels softer for some reason...

Concerned? No, not at all! What's happening to you isn't something to be worried about; it's something to be celebrated!

You're growing tits!

We can talk about whether or not it was fair for that guy to force you to grow them, but now that you are, I just know you're going to love them! Everybody loves tits and everyone should have the chance to enjoy a pair of their own!

If it started last night and you're already showing plump fullness and growing softness in your chest, then I have a feeling that you're going to wind up with a pair of BIG tits, too! You're so lucky!

Over the next few days, you'll get to feel your chest swelling and growing, plumping up and getting heavier. It'll expand outward, little mounds at first, and then eventually get full enough to properly hang down from your chest. Honestly, with how quickly you'll be growing, I wouldn't worry about trying to measure them for a while. Don't try to quantify it or assign a number to your size. Just enjoy the feeling of growing, of getting huge.

It might be embarrassing at first, to have to debut as a busty boy, to be a boy that's bustier than almost every woman you encounter, but you'll find it empowering so quickly. You'll love being big. You'll love being bigger than anyone else. You'll love your massive titties!

While BimboWoman's methods weren't exactly what one would call 'orthodox', it was difficult to argue with the results. Crime—at least real crime—had plummeted in Bedlam, down more than 80% from the highs before BimboWoman first gained her powers, such as they were. And most of the crime that remained was more or less just token crime, crime in name only, perpetrated not for material reward or financial gain or even to wreak havoc; they just hoped that BimboWoman would arrive to 'like, totally stop' them.

Mega-Bloated Bimbo Titties were her signature weapon and they simply couldn't be resisted! Wrap them around a foe and they crumpled in defeat less than a minute later. The "Luscious Lips of, like, Lightness and Junk" were also mighty weapons, rendering her opponents incapacitated with just a few, hard sucks. While she rarely put anyone behind bars herself, BimboWoman was more than capable of occupying and distracting criminals and keeping them busy until the authorities arrived. The Bedlam Police Force would usually haze their rookies by having them show up to a BimboWoman scene, just to see their reactions when they saw the Hero of Bedlam, the Lady of Lust, the Silicone Savior herself in the middle of three or four criminals, all getting their dose of 'justice'.

BimboWoman wasn't completely effective, though. All heroes have their weaknesses and BimboWoman was no different. What set her apart, though, was that—more often than not—she was her own biggest weakness. The Bim-Signal would illuminate in the sky and Bianca Jenkins would leap into action, but she didn't always make it out the front door. Sometimes, she'd get distracted by the thought of all the yummy cocks she'd be servicing and her mouth would water thinking of all of the pretty titties she might get to suck. In some cases, it just took a glimpse of her own reflection, an inflated porndoll through and through, to get her too worked up to continue. The Bim-Signal would go unanswered as she sat on her couch, edging herself and letting her brains leak out of her heroic pussy.

Like a super tall lady who's self conscious of how flat she is and ends up getting her wish at the cost of her height leaving her under 5ft but super curvy and busty?

"I know, right? It's crazy! Little o'l me, standing tall at four feet and eight inches, used to be a basketball star! I also used to be flat as a board, but they don't usually give out trophies for that. God, I was tall back then. Almost seven feet, if you can believe it! And that was just about my only measurement that was even close to average, let alone above. It felt so weird, to be the center of attention in every room just from towering above everyone else, and yet have nothing that would normally draw one's attention to a woman. That's why I made my little wish and that's how I got to be the busty, curvy shortstack you see before you.

"Now, I didn't know, when I made the wish, that it was going to use my height to make my curves bigger. I just wished to be curvier; that was it. In hindsight, could I have been more specific with my wish? Sure, absolutely. Do I regret the way things turned out? Fuck no!

"There were some things that sucked about it. Going from star of the basketball team to being 'retired'—that's what they called getting booted to make me feel better—in just a few short weeks didn't feel great. It was especially troublesome because I was in college on a basketball scholarship, so I lost that, too. And then there were little things, like needing to get a step stool just to reach the shelves in my dorm room and, y'know, needing to get an entirely new wardrobe. Shit, that was expensive.

"But, for god's sake, I have tits! And not just some proportional C cups boobs or any bullshit like that. They're tits. Fat, full, heavy, and fucking huge. And that's not even mentioning the wagon I'm dragging behind me. It may be kind of obnoxious to have to look up at people now, but I still have absolutely no problem holding their attention. Plus, my girlfriend loves it. She liked my height before, but now she gets to throw me around and we both really like that. And she's definitely not complaining about how big my titties have gotten; I'm just at the right height for her to spontaneously fuck my cleavage!

It had been... fuck, Carmen had no idea how long she had been obsessing over her own reflection. She never used to be like this. Even at her own sister's wedding, she had barely worn makeup. Spending more than five minutes on one's appearance was, to her, a waste of time. She actually had a brain and that was far more important than anything external. The feeling she felt towards bustier women—something she barely acknowledged as jealousy—was clearly just a product of society at large. She definitely didn't envy how they filled out their tops, how they commanded attention, how they exuded sexuality; at least, she didn't envy them in a way that mattered.

Now that she had them, though, her eyes were opened.

Rather, her eyes were focused entirely on her reflection and the big, bouncy tits spilling out of her top.

God, they were huge. She looked at her cleavage, biting her lip as she tugged on the neckline of her top. The movement of the fabric pushed her tits together, not only showing off more of her cleavage but actually making it deeper. She thought about how she felt one time when she saw a woman pull her phone out from between her tits and she wondered if she now had the power to make someone else feel the same way.

Carmen turned to the side and her jaw dropped when she saw just how far in front of her those massive tits extended. They were enormous, sticking out ahead of her while also sloping down her torso. She lifted an arm and poked at the soft flesh spilling out of her top. Meeting almost no resistance, her finger sunk into the softness. A spark of pleasure arced through her body and she gasped, her eyes fluttering.

As she turned towards the front again, she started to fantasize about all the outfits she could pull off now. She thought about wearing nothing but a tank top, not even a bra, and catching everyone staring at her bouncing tits while her nipples poked through the fabric. The idea of wearing a push-up bra when her tits were already this big made her giggle, but the thought of her tits looking even bigger sent another jolt of arousal through her. Dresses, tube tops, all sorts of outfits that had seemed off limits to her and her flat chest were now possible. She could even still wear her graphic t-shirts. The way her tits would warp the logos on the front beyond recognition would make her tits seem even bigger!

That sounds like a growth sluts heaven to be constantly grown over, over, and over again as I'm getting or taking more of those delicious supplements or growth radiation. I'd love to volunteer for as much of your breast and giantess supplements, radiation, and "secret" tests as i can get at once.~ So please come an sign me up to be stuffed aggressively by as much growth supplements as possible can be physically stuffed in me, mmm~ I'm dripping just thinking about it.~

Sincerely Amalga Tig-Bits

I'm glad that the offer sounds so appealing to you! All I can say, though, is that I hope you're ready to deal with my flights of fancy.

Part of my special kind of greed is that I don't just want more or want bigger, I want everything and in all kinds! I refuse to be limited to just one kind of expansion or one kind of growth.

One day, I might not be able to get colossal, fake titties and plumped up lips out of my head, so you'll wind up strapped to a chair while tens of thousands of cubic centimeters of saline are forced into your chest and your face. There's a sadist in me that wants to see how big I can make you, how fake, how pornified, how grotesquely huge. There's no goal, there's no target, there's only a number and it's going on.

The next time I require your services, when your tits have been drained of all the saline, I might want nothing more than to turn you into a cow. Instead of cheap, slutty saline filling your pornballoons, it'll be milk sloshing inside your overfilled udders. They'll be so big and so full, leaking and begging to be milked properly. Swollen nipples—teats, really—capping your udders and as thick as my first, twitching and quivering and begging for attention. Even with the highest powered milker I have, it'd take days to empty you, especially with your body continuing to make milk even as the pumps do their work.

After that, maybe I'll be obsessed with getting up close and personal with your tits. Now your growth won't just be confined to your tits, but to the rest of you, too. Growing taller, curvier, bustier, bigger and bigger until it becomes to see you as anything other than a part of the landscape, your tits rising like wobbly, warm mountains. I want to be able to walk through the valley of your cleavage, surrounded by unfathomable tit on both sides.

You'll be a very special volunteer. You'll be the perfect toy that I can use to satisfy any and all cravings that I have. Whatever lewd whim crosses my mind, you'll get to experience. You'll have no choice.

"No... No... Ugh, seriously? That pay scale is criminal! Hard pass...Psh, dairy farm? Really? I didn't even know there were farms around here... No... No..."

The endless list of jobs reflected in Jordan's eyes as she scrolled through them, glazing over as boredom crept in. None of them were good fits, no matter how she tweaked the search terms, how far she extended the search radius. Even the good jobs she did find were rotting as she waited for an answer to her application. Anything would be nice. Even a rejection would at least acknowledge that someone had looked at it. Jordan let out a heavy sigh and kept scrolling.

With her attention fully consumed by the job listings, Jordan failed to notice that, directly under her chin, something was changing. Her tits were growing. They were already fairly large, a pair of full DDs, so she was accustomed to resting them on her desk whenever she was at her computer for a while. Now, however, as her finger rolled the wheel on her mouse, her breasts bulged larger. Each passing posting pushed her tits just a hair fuller, just a touch heavier, just a bit bigger. But there were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. And Jordan kept scrolling.

As her frustration mounted, something else was building inside her, too. She leaned in closer towards the screen, too distracted to deal with the pressure inside her tits. Her nipples stiffened and swelled, creating little tents in her top, while her breasts engorged underneath them. Veins stood out against her skin. Getting bigger wasn't enough; her tits were filling, swelling, engorging. Jordan winced at a touch of discomfort, but she couldn't look away from the screen.

Without even realizing she was doing it, Jordan let down her milk. Immediately, it soaked through her shirt and began to puddle on the desk. More and more milk gushed out of her tits, which were still getting bigger as Jordan kept scrolling. She couldn't stop. Nothing could break her concentration.

Except feeling something wet drip onto her foot.

"What the— HOLY SHIT!"

For the first time, Jordan saw what had happened to her. She felt not just large but massive tits bounce and wobble on her chest as milk flowed freely from her nipples. She reached out to touch one, only to bellow a moan. Milk gushed out of her as her body writhed in pleasure. As she regained her composure, she swallowed and looked back at the screen.

Wet sounds and quiet grunting filled the living room as the two occupants glared at each other from their respective armchairs. Both of them were panting hard, cheeks flushed with arousal, but anger burned behind their eyes.

"God, you f-fucking asshole! MMF! L-look at what you did to—holy fuck—my f-fat fucking t-tits! D-do you have any idea h-how much—aahhn!—how m-much this fucking b-bra cost?! And n-now it's r-ruined!"

Lauren did her best to be angry but it was tough to properly convey her fury while she was actively touching herself. The movement of her arm, resting against the side of her colossal tits, made them wobble and slosh, bouncing back and forth inside her overworked bra. The arms of the chair under her were pushed outward slightly by the wide hips stuffed into it and her whole body was lifted by the plump ass sinking into the cushion. Her hand writhed between her thick thighs, sending pleasure through her entire body. She narrowed her eyes at the person sitting opposite her.

"Yeah, b-but I bet you fucking like that, h-huh? Knowing that this b-body you gave me is t-too big to w-wear clothes! Turns you on to see how you fucking ruined my life! T-turned me into a f-fucking porndoll!"

Between huffs and moans, Ryan let out a wry scoff.

"R-ruined your l-life?! J-just look at w-what—oh jesus fuck—you d-did to me!"

As he glared back at his girlfriend, Ryan's hands never stopped moving. They slid up and down the length of his cock, all three and a half feet of it. It was thick enough that he couldn't fully close his hands around it and precum gushed from the tip, coating his cock in a glossy sheen. Between his legs sat a pair of swollen, heavy balls that churned and sched and begged for release. A wave of arousal struck him and he bucked his hips, forcing his cock upward between his hands. Tilting his head back just made his moans even louder. He did his best to press on.

"I c-can barely w-walk with this thing! In the r-rare fucking moments when it's s-soft, it hangs p-past my fucking knees! If I don't c-cum—shitshitshitfuuuuck—If I d-don't cum at l-least three t-times I day, I go f-fucking insane! And then I c-cum a fucking ocean!"

Despite herself, Lauren moaned, the thought of her man unleashing that much fucking cum overwhelming her. "Th-then do it! Quit f-fucking around and c-cum! You're t-too fucking big to actually fuck me! Or anyone! S-so you might as well just j-jerk off that gigantic fucking cock!"

Another wave of arousal made Ryan's balls twitch. Fuck, he was close. "Of c-course you want me to d-do that you f-fucking cumslut! You want every l-last drop of my ballsludge! You wanted to be p-painted in it! You w-want my thick, h-hot cum all over your h-huge fucking p-porntits! You w-want me to b-breed your f-fucking titpussy!"

"You... Y-you... Oh, fuck, FUCK, I'm gonna— AHHHNNN!!"

Tension gripped Lauren's body as an orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs and ass clenched, lifting off of the chair as she shoved her tit against her face. It barely muffled the intense moans that poured out of her, humping the air and thrusting her hips. Milk arced from her nipples, spraying across the room in her lewd display.

Finally, her body relaxed. She collapsed back into the chair, panting and sweating, heart pounding and chest heaving. "Fuh... Fuck...."

Across from her, Ryan gripped the arms of the chair as hard as he could. Slow, deep breaths held his concentration and, gradually, his cock softened. Precum poured from the tip as it did, slowly coming to rest draped over his humongous balls. His cock twitched but it stayed soft and, gradually, Ryan relaxed. "H-hah! Guess I win! Th-that's another cup size for you!"

Looking for pictures to caption has completely warped my social media algorithms. In the last few weeks, I've probably added a few hundred to the list of accounts that I follow. A workplace friend sent me a reel and I accidentally sent him a Big Titty Thirst Trap reel in response because I didn't close my phone properly before slipping it in my pocket and that was just the next reel the algorithm wanted me to see.

It's gotten to the point where I'm getting off on the self-corruption. Like, the stuff it's showing me is hot. Scrolling through and seeing nothing but gigantic, jiggling titties and close-ups of lips and puppygirl bulge is as arousing as it is addicting.

But I keep watching them. I make sure to like and copy links and watch reels as many times as I can. If I'm being honest, though, watching some dumb slut wobble her tits in a bikini top that's three sizes too small isn't made more erotic by watching her do it multiple times at double speed, especially with whatever bullshit trending music is playing in the background.

What's so fucking hot is knowing that I'm doing it, not because I particularly enjoy it, but because I know it'll make me worse. I'm retraining the algorithm to show me stuff that'll make my obsessive gooner brain absolutely melt and I'm doing it on purpose. I'm going out of my way to make sure that all I see is stuff that's going to trigger me and turn me into a throbbing, leaking, stroking mess.

The prudish woman ends up being cursed in two ways - a compulsion to wear clothing that shows cleavage / an inability to hide her breasts completely, but also cursed that the more people stare at her breasts the larger they become.

When she had walked out the front door that morning, the deep neckline of Zoey's shirt had purely been a compulsion from her curse. Now, even if the curse had been lifted, there was no way she'd be able to cover herself up. She crossed her arms over her swelling bustline, barely covering a fraction of her swelling tits.

"H-hey! Stop it! Look away! It's rude to stare!!!"

For her entire life, Zoey had tried to blend into the background. She was quiet and didn't particularly enjoy attention, but that made her feel rather isolated. When she saw how women far bustier than her basked in the attention that their tits brought them, she couldn't help feeling resentful. That's what led her to her outburst, calling that goth woman all sorts of names she now regretted—and some she still didn't.

A few short days was all it took for her tits to reach a critical size where people simply couldn't stop staring. Some in lust, some in disgust. As frustrated as Zoey was, she couldn't truly blame them. Her tits swelled outward, filling, inflating, making their presence even more known. If she had only limited her insults to the size of the goth woman's tits, but she had to call her a bimbo and a slut, too. So instead of merely growing larger breasts, her tits were overly perky and firm, filling up as if they were implants!

She didn't want this. She never wanted this kind of attention, but now everyone was looking at her, gawking at her, whispering about the kind of person that would willingly choose to get such obscene implants, but she didn't! They weren't! She—

A sudden flash of light snapped Zoey out of her spiral. She looked up just in time to see some person in the crowd lowering their phone. By the time she realized what was happening, the picture of her spherical bimbo tits had already been posted and the views were rolling in. The growing accelerated, splitting her shirt open and exposing her tits entirely.