Rich older trans woman who says she'll be your sugar mommy and pay for your top surgery and gets you super excited, says she knows the perfect surgeon, gets you booked in, promises she'll look after you and help you while you recover. It gets to the day and you're on the hospital bed, and shortly after they administer the anesthesia your vision goes blank but you feel so happy finally getting this thing you've wanted for so long. You wake up hours later, groggy, slowly coming back to yourself. You could feel some pain and discomfort, a sense of heaviness on your chest-- you remember something about the drains, maybe the bandages?
And there are bandages, but when you finally manage to focus your eyes and look down, you see a set of extremely large tits. You've only seen ones this big in porn before.
You're confused, distressed, and it sets off the monitors. A nurse pushes more painkillers and sedatives into your IV and your sugar mommy is suddenly there, holding your hand. She looks so happy as you struggle to ask her what happened, and she tells you that the surgery went perfectly and you're going to look so pretty for her.
She takes you home after a few days of recovery in the hospital, and you still feel so out of it. She forces you to take the medication the hospital gave her for you, so you can't really fight back or argue while she puts you to bed, or helps bathe you, change your bandages, and nurses you back to health. She won't let you do anything yourself, and it's humiliating and you're still distressed about having these massive fake tits attached to you, but it's too hard to keep your thoughts together. She tells you that she's still "giving you your hormone injections" but you never get to see what bottle they come in, and you have a suspicion she uses the same one.
It takes weeks for your body and mind to start feeling more normal again once the medication runs out, and by then your implants are starting to settle and your sugar mommy's touches to them start getting more and more bold.
It's even more distressing when you finally realise she's gotten rid of every masculine piece of clothing you own, leaving you nothing but tight, revealing dresses and skirts and tiny crop tops.
"I've always wanted a pretty little bimbo trophy wife," she tells you, squeezing one of your bolt-on boobies-- you don't even know how big they are since she hasn't bought you any bras and with the fake lift of them they don't need one for support.
You cry and beg her to take you back and get them removed, you're not a girl, you swear. She humours you and tells you that it'll take a year before any surgeon would consider doing revisions, so if you still feel the same after that, she promises, in a saccharine voice that you don't really believe, that she'll cover the costs for the removal then.
But until then she expects you to be a good sugar baby and pay her back for all the things she's bought you, all the care she's given you so far and keeps providing, the cost of keeping you when you can't work...
Mostly that means you're her personal fleshlight. She really likes making you tit fuck her pretty cock and then has you ride it until she fills you with cum, and she takes a lot of pleasure telling you how hot you look bouncing on her like a good whore, with those tits barely moving.
The dysphoria makes you shy in public, more demure, but you still see how people look at you and your artificial bust. Knowing you look like some hyper-feminine pervert. Your sugar mommy isn't exactly subtle about groping you in public, slipping a hand under one of those crop tops, or making you sit there while she drives somewhere with them exposed for anyone who happens to look through the windows or windshield.
She starts edging you for days and weeks on end as the months go on, and makes you say humiliating things before she'll let you cum, telling her that you really are a girl, making you beg her to fuck your soft, wet, needy whore pussy, tell her that you wish your tits were even bigger. She makes you say it in a silly high-pitched vapid voice, too. You know you don't mean it, but she records each confession and makes you watch it over and over until she decides you've cum enough times once you're allowed to.
It gets harder and harder to remember why you shouldn't say those things each time.
When the year finally comes to an end, you feel so detached and floaty in your body, so used to having your tits and your pussy and your mouth used, that you hear yourself like it's someone else, like a person on TV, as you tell her that you do want your tits even bigger when she takes you back to the surgeon for another consult. She even starts suggesting some alterations to your face to make you even more feminine, and you just sit there and smile.
I just woke up and I can barely process this but um uh um please????
