Silicon Paris, Part I

If you were to look at Paris Duvernes, you would think she had everything. You really would. You would see her slim, petite, 5’6 frame, her beautiful, symmetrical face, her high, film star cheekbones. You’d notice her long, blonde hair. Maybe tied up in a bun, maybe draped across her slim shoulders. You’d notice her bright, sparkling blue eyes. If you spoke to her, you’d hear her tinkling, pretty voice, light and airy but with power and strength when it needed. You may even – if you were really lucky – hear her laugh, surprisingly sharp and energetic. Hearty, you might say.

Moving down, you might notice her slim, tan legs. Paris was white, but she had a healthy glow about her. You’d notice that, maybe admiring her thighs, folded over each other at a coffee table outside a fancy café, in the nice part of town. As she sipped her latte, lifting the cup up to her slim, pretty mouth, her pink, perfect lips moving over the rim as she eyed you, you might notice how her whole being exuded a sense of power and delicacy, all at once. Like, you were looking at something beautiful and frail, but something that could really fight, if it needed. But it would rather not. It would rather do everything it needed, and then sink into a life of luxury and pampering. But if it needed to defend that life, you might think of her as something of a lioness. 

There are so many things you might notice. Her sense of style, her beautiful clothes, that seemed tailor-made for her, even when she bought them off the rack at a discount store. She seemed to just melt into her clothes, and they into her,  until it was just…Paris. Maybe it was her fancy name, maybe it was the fancy people she surrounded herself with, maybe it was the very fancy, very rich partner she had. You’d definitely notice him. Dripping with style and class (and money) – of course someone like her would go for someone like him. And you’d slink off, knowing you had no chance with someone like Paris Duvernes, because you couldn’t help but notice that her life was completely perfect, that she had everything she could possibly want.

And you’d be right. Almost. There was one thing that Paris didn’t have. One thing that she desperately wanted. You might not notice it at first, but as her husband comes out with his coffee, his perfectly fitted shirt, his designer sunglasses, to join his perfect wife in the sun, you might notice – if you were looking very, very carefully, that is – that his face would turn ever so slightly, and his eyes would move, behind the cover of those sunglasses, to the very large-breasted woman sitting behind Paris. You might notice this woman was sitting on her phone, looking down, and her tits were bulging from her top. You might notice they were fake – too large, round and pert for natural breasts, and – depending on your tastes – you might think they look great, or perhaps disgusting. Or somewhere in between. But, and this is for sure, and most likely by design – you would certainly notice them.

Matthew Duvernes certainly did. And that nagging, snagging imperfection in Perfect Paris’ otherwise perfect life came bubbling to the fore of her mind. She’d tried to shove it down, tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that she had everything she wanted. But when she stared into Matthew’s eyes, and saw them looking over her shoulder, and then when she looked into the reflections of those sunglasses and saw nothing but the warped reflection of those huge, fake boobs, shoved into that too-tight top, bulging out of the bra that tried to contain them, so big and fake and round…Paris saw everything that she was not. Everything that she didn’t have with Matthew. Her perfect Matthew. And she knew. Something was going to have to change. 

Paris Duvernes didn’t settle for anything less than the best.

**

Paris sat in front of her computer, tapping away at the keys with her slim, slender, powerful fingers. Fingers that had brought so much pleasure to Matthew. They had such a good sex life, and yet – there was a part of him that wasn’t satisfied. That longed for those large, fake boobs. Paris, for all her charms, did not have large, fake boobs. She did not have huge breast implants. She had gentle, natural 30B breasts that could be squeezed up with a push-up bra to look like they were something, but really, she had nothing much to speak of. She deployed the best clothes, and she wore things well, but with the best will in the world she was never going to look like that busty bimbo at the café. 

Paris caught herself judging this woman. “Busty bimbo?” She knew nothing about her! And yet there she was, casting aspersions at someone just because they wanted to have larger breasts. She, Paris, wanted to have larger breasts – did that make her a bimbo? Of course not. She just wanted to feel sexy, to have her perfect Matthew look at her the way he looked at those other women. This wasn’t the first time Paris had seen him looking, of course. Large breasts had always been a draw for him, she’d known that before she married him. But there was a particular fascination with huge breast implants that clearly penetrated some deep, primal part of his brain, some hungry, animalistic side of him that Paris had never reached.

And she felt alone, in this moment. She felt like she didn’t know her husband, the love of her life, who she’d met at college, fell in love with, and never looked back. All her friends were so happy for her – she came from moderate means in the mid-west. She was smart and beautiful and passionate and skilled – but she wasn’t rich. She didn’t have class. Matthew was all the things she was and more – and she loved him for it. And he loved her. Except now she knew for certain: she wasn’t enough. And she wanted to be. She so desperately wanted to be. For him, for sure. But for her as well. She wanted to stop having to try so hard to be so many things in life. She had achieved so much at such a young age, and it had been hard. And she knew that the one thing that would help her, was on the screen in front of her.

Because Paris knew that Matthew had given up on his dream to be with her. His dream of being with someone with huge, fake, pornstar tits. He would never say anything, she knew that. He was a gentlemen, and put his needs before hers. Plus he loved her, and wanted her to be happy. But she knew, now. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the way to make him truly happy would be to bring his fantasies alive. To not have him worry and be wanted things that she could never provide. She had to change herself, into the thing he wanted. And, if she was honest with herself, the thing she wanted for herself, too. She always looked at the women he stared at with a certain greed, a certain desire. They were so in control, so admired, so big. Paris had spent her whole life chasing class, she couldn’t deny there was a certain charm in something so base as big, fake, sexy tits.

So she looked once more at the screen. Her hands were shaking a little, as she read the disclaimers and looked at the pictures. She had been through all the forums, read what people were saying about how it had changed their relationship in drastic ways, how it had revolutionised their sex life. And that was the thing that clinched it. Paris and Matthew had good, regular sex. But he rarely paid attention to her chest, and when he did, it didn’t seem like his heart was really in it. If she was honest, there wasn’t much chest to pay attention to, but she was sensitive there, and now that she knew how much he was turned on by big, fake tits, she was resolved to win over and claim that essential part of their love making. 

The fact that Matthew had given up on experiencing that part of their life together to be with her made Paris want to give it to him, to give him everything, to become everything he wanted from his perfect woman. She wanted to be his perfect woman. She was so close. She just needed a boost. He’d been good to her for so many years, plus, she knew that on some level this was something she wanted for herself, to have bigger, heavier tits. But she was scared. Scared at being thought of as trashy, or cheap. She was scared at how other people might react.

But she booked the surgery. She was too afraid to do much, but she knew something had to be done, or else she would never be truly happy. So she booked in with a surgeon, a really friendly, helpful man named Dr. Smith, to whom she poured her heart out, telling him what she needed and why. He completely understood what she wanted and why, and agreed to get her small, saline implants that would improve her bust, make her bigger, and solve all her problems.

So, with shaking hands, she walked into the surgery, and embarked upon the most insane journey of her life…

**

It had been a couple of weeks since the operation, and Paris was still getting used to her new size. She’d gotten 250cc saline implants, and had boosted her small B-cups to a respectable D. They were larger and firmer, but kept their softness and naturalness, they just filled everything out more. Paris had loved the sensation of sneaking around, buying larger bras and tops designed to both support and show off her bust more. She loved the fact that she now had cleavage to play with, now had enough flesh to squeeze into bras and bulge up, and could fill out shirts. The best and sexiest thing for her was putting on her old clothes and watching them warp and stretch under the pressure and size of her new, bigger tits.

But she was careful. Paris needed this to be a subtle, stealthy experiment. She wanted to surprise Matthew after all, to give him the delight and inspire that desire that she knew was buried within him. So whenever he was around, she wore loose clothes, mentioned nothing about her operation, kept the small scars hidden and generally acted as normal. It was hard for her, as she was bigger and more powerful and was so excited about it! But she knew the big reveal was going to be totally worth it, so she waited until he was out at work to try on her new bras, to push her breasts up into lovely, sexy cleavage, to cram herself into her tight old clothes, loving how the fabric stretched and warped, trying to contain her impressive new boobs.

Paris was quite shocked at how much it turned her on to experiment with her new chest. To be able to literally make herself grow like that – it was something she had never even considered possible, and now that it had happened, it was like a light switch was on in her mind. She had the power, and the resources, to change her appearance to exactly what she wanted. Luckily, one of the many great things about her Matthew was that he was a very successful businessman, and was incredibly wealthy. He had no problem sharing his cash with the love of his life, and so she had plenty of money squirrelled away to help her with this project. She didn’t even need to ask him, so that at no point was he made aware of the surprise she was planning. 

So Paris waited for the swelling to go down, for her breasts to settle at their new, larger size, and planned the big reveal. It would be at night, over a candlelit dinner, and she’d come downstairs, in a revealing black dress, slinky and gorgeous and busty, her breasts pouring out of it as best she could, and she would blow Matthew’s mind and then they’d fuck like how she imagined he would fuck that big-titted slut at the coffee shop. Paris caught herself again, chastising her brain for assuming that woman was a slut! Just because she had big, fake tits, and attracted the attention of men like Matthew, it didn’t make her a slut. Paris realized all the things she was worried about people thinking about her existed in her mind because she secretly thought them about other people. She realized she needed a mental shift as well as a physical one.

Then, two weeks after the operation, she could wait no longer. It was a Friday night, Matthew was coming home from work for a nice dinner for the two of them, and Paris was ready to go.

She’d found the perfect black dress, just slightly too small for her frame, as well as a lovely, sexy black push up bra that really made the most of her huge breast implants. She looked like a slim, busty beauty, and her dress really accentuated her curves. She admired herself in the mirror, running a hand down her smooth, newly voluptuous body, and smiled. This was it. She’d fixed the only issue in their otherwise fantastic relationship, and she couldn’t wait to reap the amazing rewards.

“Honey, I’m home.” Matthew called, as he stepped into the candlelit room. Food was already ready on the table.

“Coming!” She called from upstairs, adjusting her tits in the dress, pushing them up a little more so she had the most of her substantial cleavage. She loved that she could slip a couple of fingers in between her breasts. She imagined Matthew’s cock sliding between them, and shivered with arousal. He was going to lose his shit at this.

She slowly stepped down the stairs, her high black heels stretching her calves and making her figure even more impressive. One by one she descended the stairs, one hand on the bannister of their large, impressive stairwell, the other trailing by her side. 

“Good evening, Mr.” She purred, smiling from ear to ear as she sashayed down the steps, waiting of the moans of pleasure that were sure to emanate from her beloved.

“Oh hey babe. You look nice.” He said, placing his jacket over the chair. “Thanks for dinner.”

He went to sit down, as Paris reached the bottom of the stairs. She frowned. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She walked across the carpet towards him. Maybe he hadn’t seen. The lighting was dim. She’d give him the full view.

“Hey, so…see anything you like?” As she said this, Paris placed on hand on the table and leaned over Matthew, her breasts almost spilling out of her bra, large and full and with a gorgeous cleavage.

“Mmmm, you look lovely.” He replied, sensing that was what she was after. It was not. None of these platitudes! She wanted lust. Deep, primal lust!

“What about my boobs?” She tried one last ditch attempt to get him to notice her, to want her like he wanted those big fake tits at the coffee shop, and so many other places before and after that.

“Yeah, they look a bit swollen. Is it your time of the month?” He asked, innocently. “They look nice in that dress.”

That was the moment that changed everything. Before this point, Paris had assumed a little bit of expansion would fix everything. But in this moment, in this blasé comment that Matthew had no idea would alter both their lives for ever, a seed was planted that would sprout and grow into something truly monstrous, something truly grotesque. The fertile soil had been waiting, developing all the nutrients it needed, fermenting and preparing. But now the seed was in, and the idea was growing, warping, sprouting into something truly insane.

Paris’ mind broke, in that instant. Her view of a perfect life, the thing she’d worked for since she could remember, knowing exactly what she needed to do and why, being the perfect girl, perfect young woman, perfect wife – all of that shattered at the realization that she needed to change, much more than she thought, and while she picked up all the pieces, ready to put them back together into her new mental state, the idea lodged in her receptive brain, like a sperm into an egg.

And Paris knew, deeper and more essentially than she ever knew anything, what she needed to do. She needed to be bigger. So much bigger. 

She didn’t say a word to Matthew. 

“Yes darling, it is my time of the month. Have they swollen? I hadn’t noticed. Now let’s eat.”

But they would swell. Paris knew that now. She would make them swell and grow and balloon and expand to be as big, as huge, as enormous as they needed to make Matthew happy. She was prepared to make this happen, by any means possible.

And she had so, so many means at her disposal.

To BE continued…

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