D Cups are too small

The wish was simply enough and one that the Goddess was more than happy to grant. Every time someone tried to claim that she was anything other than a woman, her body would change to make even the suggestion of that a little more ridiculous. In addition, everyone saw her for who she was and recognized it, she'd experience an elevated level of euphoria and bliss.

Being misgendered hurt, but she pushed through it knowing what blessings awaited her and those blessings did come. She cried when she finally outgrew her AA bras and seeing herself in the mirror, her ass stretching out a pair of panties and her tits overflowing her brand new, C-cup bra, was so exciting that she did a little dance, savoring the bouncing and the jiggling of her new body.

Thankfully, she had friends to fall back on when things were tough and they were always so supportive of her, making her feel safe and seen. At first, she thought that the warmth that spread through her was the Goddess's reward. It felt good and made her a little horny, but she couldn't figure out what it was really doing to her. It just felt good to be seen as herself and who she was.

Once the scale started to tip, once more people were correctly gendering her than otherwise, she realized what was happening to her. That little bit of horniness started to compound and she found her panties getting tighter, but not in the way she expected. Her wide hips barely fit into the bathroom stall as she squeezed inside and let her cock flop free. She just stared at it in awe. How did she not notice it had gotten so big! Fully hard and almost painfully throbbing, it stretched a good foot in length and felt so very thick in her hand. She couldn't stop herself, groping her gigantic tits through her top and stroking off over the toilet, hoping that nobody would come in.

When she went back to her friends and showed them what had happened to her, explaining the blessing, her friends didn't react quite the way she expected.

The next thing she knew, her arms were tied behind her back with her ankles tied to the legs of the chair underneath her. Her best friend marveled at her curves as they bulged out of her bra and gawked at the massive cock sticking straight upward, pushing against the underside of her tits. Her friend smiled. "Remember, all you have to do is say 'Ukulele' and we stop, okay? I just want to see how big you can get! And I think you want that, too." She swallowed and, slowly, nodded her head. "Good girl."

"In hindsight, I'm actually very proud of myself for learning my lesson so quickly! Beating them by a single cup size made me realize that, while their whole worlds revolved around their bodies and their curves, I had a rich, inner life and beating them with bigger tits wasn't necessary. I had hobbies and interests and a personality and friends that loved me and those were all vastly more important than being the bustiest woman on campus.

"It is a bit of a shame, though, that the revelation came after the spell was well underway and that there was nothing I could do to stop it. Talk about egg on my face! There I was, walking around campus, feeling enlightened and relieved, free from the burden of having to be bustier than those bitches in my class, and yet still growing bigger and bouncier by the day. I had made my request, burnt my offering, and I had to see it out to the end. Ironically, if anyone on campus could actually understand what I was going through, it'd be them. Talking about it with them, however, didn't seem like the best idea. What was I going to say, 'You guys made me so mad that I drew upon a mysterious and ancient power to give me the biggest tits on campus by a mile and, just, wow, outgrowing bras sucks, am I right?' I just didn't think that would end well, you know?

"As a matter of fact, yes, Professor McMillan. I am completely serious. This is my final thesis. It's a statement on the commodification of women's bodies and the dehumanization they experience as a result. You are welcome to grade the artwork as you see fit.

"You seem scandalized, Professor. I can't say I blame you. I doubt you've ever seen this much of a student before, at least in a professional context. I assure you, sir, that I have nothing but pure intentions. I believe it was you who said that art is art, whether you like it or not, and this is my art so I trust you to be impartial in your appraisal.

"Now, as I recall, being forced to grade your student's massive, silver-painted titties could have been avoided. I seem to remember having a conversation with you at the beginning of the semester, a brief exchange where I sent you my medical information and begged you for the opportunity to delay my graduation a semester while I figured things out. What was your charming little response? Don't recall? That's okay, I have the e-mail saved. Let me just pull my phone from out of my cleavage and... dum dum de dum... Ah, here we go! E-mail from one Professor McMillan, received January 17th, 3:54PM. You said: 'Even with a note from a doctor'—and I'm quoting directly here—'growing huge, perverse, whoretits is not a valid reason to delay your education.' Wow, what a thing to say, huh?

"So I sat there, the whole semester, and grew my, as you called them, huge, perverse whoretits. I showed up to class every day a little bit bustier, bulging out of my bras a little bit more. Even though I felt like a whore with juicy jumbo jigglers, despite the stares and the gawking and the begging to serve as everyone's nude model, I dragged myself to your class. And now, here we are at the end of it. As you once told us, the best art is deeply personal, so I figured that painting my—once again—huge, perverse whoretits silver to demonstrate what has been done to me and my body, well, nothing could get more personal than that.

The sound of gunpla hitting the floor made Nessa cringe, especially considering that she knocked them over with her big, round titties, but she couldn't focus on that at the moment. She hugged the shelf as she peered through the slats. The sound of her own, racing, pounding heartbeat drowned out almost everything else. She bit her plush, bee-stung lower lip as she watched and she waited. Had she been mistaken? She could have sworn...

There!

Tension gripped her entire body, freezing her in place, as Nessa watched Jason walk by. Her heart fluttered. Her knees felt weak. Her plumped up bimbo pussy began to leak. Oh, God... The one day she dared to venture out of her goon cave and she had to run into her biggest crush! Without thinking, her hand drifted up to one of her pornballoon boobs and began squeezing it, a fidgeting, calming measure she had picked up ever since she first drank that serum.

Nessa held her breath as she watched Jason move down the aisle. The outline of his body drew her in; she couldn't look away. He wasn't supermodel hot or anything, but their shared nerdy interests had made him a god in her eyes. Watching him put together a model with his big-but-nimble hands made her imagine all the things he could do with them, whether it was touching her body or his own. Those images of his hand wrapped around something long and hard made Nessa's eyes flutter. She had to bite her lip harder just to keep from moaning in the middle of the store!

This was stupid, Nessa thought. This was all so stupid! She made that serum after seeing that he had followed a bunch of blown-up bimbos on social media specifically so that she could be perfect for him! She had lips that could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. She had tits that were huge and pornographic and so obviously fake. Between her widened hips and her fat pussy, Nessa had made herself into the perfect bimbo fuckdoll! She knew what he liked and she changed herself to match. She did it for him! He'd love it! Of course, he would! He'd probably cream his jeans just at the sight of her, let alone if she stripped off her shirt and showed him her spherical tits bulging out of her bra and—

A lot of men like the idea of a woman like this or the fetish of one, but will often not choose them. They meet them, fuck them, and then end up with a girl they can take home with less judgment. It's honestly wild.

Being kidnapped and dragged to a fraternity, assuming the worst was almost too easy. The hours since your last milking had left your tits swollen and aching, begging for release. The room they threw you into was, mercifully, clean. At least, it was clean by fraternity standards. It still smelled of Boy, but it wasn't messy and that was all you could really hope for. The bed creaked under your hips as you sat on its edge, rubbing your sore tits to try and relieve some of the pain. Every so often, you'd hear laughter or cheers from the other side of the door, a chorus of masculine voices, and your body tensed. Any moment now, the door would fling open, and some big, burly man would come in and have his way with you; you were sure of it. You shuddered to think of his big hands groping your udders or his thick cock sliding between them. The growing warmth between your thighs was difficult to ignore, but you did your best anyway. You look at the window, wondering if you could maybe make your escape. With your tits as engorged as they were, it seemed extremely unlikely.

Your whole body jumped when you heard the doorknob jiggle, your softest parts jiggling in return. The sounds of the party outside grew louder as the door creaked open. You waited. Your heart pounded. You couldn't take it. Just as a body was thrust into the room, you turned your head away and closed your eyes tight. Let him do what he wants and get this whole thing over with, that's what you thought.

A few seconds passed. Nothing seemed to happen at all. A big, burly guy like the one who was there to do God knows what to you would have made some kind of noise. Refrigerators with heads aren't usually light on their feet.

Slowly, cautiously, you raised your head to look towards the door. There was no behemoth of a man there. Instead, cowering near the door with his arm crossed over his body, stood a tiny, slender, waifish man. Far from the hulking monster in your imagination, this boy was nice looking—cute, even. For a few moments, you looked at him, until he finally raised his head to meet your gaze. As soon as the two of you locked eyes, he let out an adorable yelp and looked away, his cheeks burning pink. He looked at the floor in a way that expressed a deep desire to sink into it as soon as possible. It was all very pitiful, like a helpless bunny.

You weren't sure exactly what to say, so the two of you sat in silence for a few moments. Just as you're about to break it, he beats you to it.

"Th-they, um..." He swallowed, attempting a deep breath to calm himself. "The frat... They, um, they want a m-mascot, too." Slowly, he raised his head and looked at you, peering out between yellow-blonde bangs. "They want me to be, um..." He glanced down at your chest then back up to you. "They want me to be like you."

Suddenly, the whole dynamic in the room shifted. A sigh rolled out of you, carrying away a breath you don't realize you were holding. A maternal instinct flared inside you. You were in control. You had the power.

The boy looked even smaller as you stood and crossed over to him. Every sauntered step made your hips swing wide and your udders bounce, sloshing and full, and filled you with more and more confidence. By the time you had him backed up against the wall, you felt entirely at home, holding him in the palm of your hand. With a single finger, you tilted up his chin.

"You want me to give you big, milky udders like mine?"

The poor boy was trembling! You could tell he was desperate to look away, but you held him fast. He was locked in on you. A meek nod gave you the answer you needed.

"Good."

You reached down and took one of his hands, bringing it up and pressing it against the side of your tit. He gasped; you moaned. A little pressure was all it took to get milk leaking from your nipples. Your bra soaked through almost and milk dripped onto the floor at your feet. Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your thumb under the strap of your bra and pulled it down your shoulder. Acres of soft flesh came into view before finally moaning as the air cooled the milk clinging to your exposed nipple.

The hand under his chin moved to the back of his head while the other hefted your tit from underneath. With a gentle pressure, you guided him down, down, down towards your nipple. He whimpered when he felt it brush against his lips, but he knew what he had to do. Milk rushed into his mouth as he latched on, moaning around your tit. His eyes fluttered. His legs weakened. You stroked the back of his head.

"That's a good boy! Drink it all up. It took a while for my udders to grow this big and become this milky, but I didn't have anyone to help me. I had to make a herd all by myself."

You grabbed his hair and yanked him away from your tit. Gasps and sputters bubbled out of him, confused and dazed by obviously aroused. A quick smile was the only warning you got before you pulled him up for a kiss. Between the softness of his lips and the sweetness of your own milk, the sounds that rolled out of you were filled with lust and need. Your free hand moved to his chest, kneading the place where his udders will grow. It would be next to impossible, but you could have sworn that there was already some extra softness there. You bit his lip and dragged your head away, raking your teeth over it. His eyes, so cute, so blue, looked up at you, hazy and clouded over with arousal. A giggle sent ripples through your udders.

AI slop is a turn-off.

I unfollow people who repost AI content.

I block 🚫 people who generate AI content.

Support real gainers, feedees, encouragers, artists and writers.

Do the right thing.

Don't follow, produce, or reblog AI content.

Just because AI has gotten 'prettier' doesn't mean it's now okay.

It's still soulless.

It's still damaging.

It's still slop.

God bless trans women with just sickening amounts of boob greed...

I don't even know what to say! I mean, yeah, I have ideas about what you could do. Bovine Growth Hormones are an excellent option. There are all sorts of supplements you could take and adjustments you could make to your diet. You could massage your—jesus fucking christ—H-cup Tgirl udders to encourage them to keep growing. Fuck it, start lathering them in cum and put them in suction cups each night! Just do whatever, y'know? Every method you can think of, from the 'normal' to the lewd, just throw it at the wall and see what helps those massive milkers get even bigger!

Concise advice isn't something I can really provide for your situation. Just look at yourself! You've got twelve pounds of sloshing, bouncing, wobbling titflesh on your chest! You're double the national average of even the bustiest of countries! You don't just have mega stuffed-up milkers; your sweater-stretching, bra-busting, jumbo jiggly, porntits are gigantic enough to be a fucking medical condition! For God's sake, what advice can I reasonably give to someone who has all of that and it still isn't enough!

I could tell you to use bovine growth hormones and, in a couple months, you'll have M-cup udders that audibly slosh with milk, bulging out of every bra you own and turning every outfit pornographic. And then what? Do you really think that would satisfy you? I cannot fathom a world in which you reach that size—or any size, for that matter—and you think "Yes, finally, my colossal fuckmeat tits are big enough; better stop here!"

I still don't know exactly how she did it, but my girlfriend has somehow managed the art of angry scrolling. There's a certain tightness to her lips, a sharpness to the flicking of her thumb across the screen, a forced steadiness in her breathing that gave away the fury simmering just underneath the surface. Fortunately for me, this has happened enough times to know that I'm not the target of her wrath.

The act of sitting on the bed next to Denise sends waves through the gargantuan bust resting on her chest. I let out a long sigh and drape my arm across the pillow behind her head. "So... who was it?"

Denise's nostrils flared, her jaw setting. "Hm? I haven't any idea who—"

My arm slides down, resting on her shoulder, squeezing the far one with my hand. "Come on, Dee... You don't have to pretend with me. Who was it?"

Frustration burned on her face, her lips pursing and her eyes widening. Her phone let out a quiet click as she turned off the screen and shoved it, with perhaps a little too much force, deep into her cavernous cleavage. In pointed silence, Denise drummed her fingers against one of her colossal tits.

"...Dee...?"

A pathetic whine rose from Denise's chest. Her arms flailed in petulant frustration, her breasts wobbling back and forth. With a huff, she rolled towards me. I could help a quiet gasp as I felt her breasts brush against me, filling up the space between us almost entirely. Gone was the anger from a moment ago; instead, she just looked up at me looking as pathetic as she possibly could. "It's just... It's just not fair! You know how hard I've worked to get this big!"

"I know, love."

"I've put so much time and effort growing these big fucking tits! The way I've suffered! The bras I've broken!"

"I know, Dee. I know."

"I really thought..." Denise looked down at herself before wrapping her arms underneath her tits. A squeeze lifted them up, pulling them towards her chest. In that pose, it's clear just how much bigger her tits are than her own head, each one close to doubling its size. Just as she was about to release the hold, she paused. Suddenly, her head lurched forward and buried itself in her own cleavage. I gave her shoulders another gentle squeeze as she let out her frustration in the form of a loud—if muffled—scream. Her face was red as she lifted it away from her bust and laid her head against my shoulder. With so much of the anger released, her voice was much softer as she spoke. "I mean, look at me! I just thought I'd be so big that I'd never be beaten again! I'm fucking enormous! And then this fucking intern wobbles in and, god, where did they even find her, a fucking dairy farm?! I bet she didn't even have to try to be this busty when I've put in so much fucking work..."

My head leaned over to meet hers, kissing the top of it as I held her closed. "It's alright, Dee. It's going to be okay. You've grown bigger before and you'll grow bigger again. You can let yourself be pitiful and sad for a little bit, but then we'll get right back on it, okay? You know I'll help you no matter what. You're my big girl."

Despite herself, Denise blushed and wiggled her hips, her bust wobbling. "Say it again."

I chuckled softly. "Say what?"

With a fair bit of effort, Denise rolled further towards me, lifting her tits to rest them on top of my chest. Their weight forced me to breathe with intention to keep the wind from being knocked out of me. A cheeky grin on her lips, Denise leaned in closer. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "I'm your... what kind of girl?"

My smile widened. My arm reached up and rested on the mountain of tit perched on top of me. Spreading out my fingers as far as they would go only covered a tiny fraction of the massive globes of wobbling flesh.

"You're my big girl. My huge girl. My fucking massive girl."

I want you to know that I hear you. I hear you and I can totally understand how that might happen, overcompensating while you try to balance your curves, needing to go back and forth while 'accidentally' turning yourself into a porndoll. I hear exactly what you're saying.

I just don't believe you.

Firstly, did you go back to the same plastic surgeon each time? Because, according to you, you went at least three rounds in your tits and your ass. If you went back to the same surgeon the second time, and still wound up unbalanced enough that you felt it necessary to inflate your curves again, that's a "Fool me once..." sort of deal if I've ever heard one. If you were really that upset over being unbalanced, you ought to have been changing doctors instead of going back for another fill-up! Either that or suing for malpractice for not following your instructions.

But, more than that, there's one thing that tells me that it wasn't just the inconvenience of being slightly unbalanced in your bimbodoll aesthetic that made you keep getting bigger and bigger.

It doesn't appear to have occured to you to go smaller.

You didn't have to go bigger, right? If your ass implants were too big, you could have gotten them removed and replaced with smaller ones. If your sloshy, saline-filled balloonboobs were too massive, you could have gotten them drained a little. There were other options! You didn't have to keep getting bigger.

But you did anyway. Time and time again, you took the first opportunity to inflate your tits, to blimp up your ass. You wanted this. You wanted to be bigger. Being 'unbalanced' was just the excuse you gave yourself to justify going back to the surgeon and begging them to stuff you even bigger, even fuller, even faker. You could have balked at the obscene amount of cheap saline being poured into you, tens of thousands of ccs between your tits and your ass, but you didn't. You signed on the dotted line as soon as you could. Some part of you hoped that you'd wake up from surgery 'unbalanced' so that you could go right back and do it all over again.