Silicon Paris, Part II

Paris looked down at her perfect, teardrop shaped, natural breasts, and bade them farewell. They had tried, they had been themselves, they had done everything that people say you need to do to be popular, but it hadn’t worked. Now they needed to change. To grow. That was something people said too, right? To change and grow was a sign of maturity. Whatever – she needed to stop applying human emotions and aphorisms to her breasts. She just need to make them fucking massive. She needed truly massive breast implants.

Paris had gotten in touch with Dr. Smith after her first operation, to let him know that she wanted to go under the knife again. He’d blanched a little when she told him what size, but he had nodded and said that it was possible, and when she’d told him how much she was prepared to pay he had simply remained silent for a short while, swallowed, and opened his diary to set a date.

Now Paris was in the operating theatre, about to go under anaesthetic, and was tremendously, preposterously excited. She knew she was finally about the fulfil the dreams she’d secretly harbored for years. Dreams of being as big as she needed to be, dreams of turning heads, of standing out, of being a trashy, big titted bitch if she wanted to be, but most of all, dreams of turning her husband the fuck on. Dreams of being her best, sexiest self. These all coalesced around the idea of pumping up her boobs, so having given Dr. Smith strict instructions to do what she said, she placed the mask over her eyes, breathed in the gas, and drifted off to sleep… 

** 

When she awoke, Paris knew she had done the right thing. For a start, lying on her back, it was hard to breathe. That was one reason that she knew she was moving in the right direction. Her massive breast implants were so heavy they were obstructing her breathing. That meant she was committing to this massive new growth. 

She slowly opened her eyes, and could only see breast. That was the second check mark. She had such huge tits that all she could see was a massive, gigantic pink rack in front of her, topped by a pathetic-looking blanket resting on top. Everything looked so small, so weedy compared to her monstrous mounds, that she knew she had done the right thing. She knew this would fix everything.

She sat there in bed, her labored breathing a tangible sign of her victory, and fell back to sleep. She needed to rest up. She had a lot of love making to prepare for.

Paris knew that Matthew had to be the first person to see her new form. So she had said she was away on a business trip while she healed up from her latest operation. She was constantly blown away by how big she had become, by how she had dared to take the plunge, and by how incredibly sexy she felt with her new assets. She took plenty of time to heal up, to let her skin adjust to the new gigantic quantities of silicon inside them, and prepared to blow Matthew’s mind.

She could barely contain herself, just like her clothes could barely contain her massive breast implants. But contain herself she did. She pleasured herself repeatedly over that time, one hand clutching her gigantic new fake tits, the other buried deep inside her. She climaxed again and again and again. She’d never been so turned on in her life. She couldn’t wait to see what Matthew thought. 

He certainly wouldn’t be able to ignore these. 

**

A few weeks later, and Paris was ready to unveil her new, massive form to Matthew. She couldn’t wait. She had stayed indoors, avoided exposing her gigantic assets to the public, wanting Matthew to be the first person other than her doctor and his staff to see her in all her glory. She applied her gorgeous, smoky, slutty make-up with difficulty, her giant breasts resting on the sink as she leaned over, and eventually crammed her preposterous boobs into a custom-made bra, packing it into a huge dress that just about contained her monstrous new figure. She had set the table like the first time she’d revealed a new breast size, albeit with considerable difficulty now that her tits were such an obstruction, and prepared for Matthew to get home. She had told him she’d be back tonight, but not what to expect. She couldn’t wait to see his face.

“Honey, I’m home.” He said, as he entered the house.

“Sit down and wait for me.” Came the call from upstairs. “You’re not going to want to miss this.”

There was something in her tone that was different. Commanding. Confident. Domineering, even. Matthew had to admit he liked it. A lot. He had no idea what was coming, not even a slight clue, but if he did he would have creamed his pants before Paris even loomed into sight.

Instead what he heard was a loud creaking as Paris slowly made her way down the stairs. Her footsteps sounded so…heavy. What was going on? Little did Matthew know that Paris was struggling to descend the stairs in her heels, and able to see nothing of what was below her head…for reasons that he would discover shortly.

“Are you ok babe?” He asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“Oh I’m ok.” Came the reply. It sounded quite far away. Like the sound was being obstructed by something. “Better than ok, in fact. I’m amazing.”

Matthew didn’t know what was going on, but he felt his cock begin to grow hard. Something was coming. Something big.

He stared at the base of the stairwell, seeing two feet emerge from above, clad in large, tall, black stripper heels. As they descended again, with a shake and a rumble, two long, toned legs appeared, muscles tensed and straining, like they were carrying more weight than they were used to. Then thick, powerful thighs, followed by the bottom of a black dress – Matthew smiled, recognizing it as the same design from before – and then a slim, toned midriff.

And then.

Matthew’s mouth grew dry. His heart pounded in his chest. His cock almost destroyed his pants. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

From above descended the curve of the black dress, dropping down into his eyeline. But it couldn’t be. It was stretched and warped beyond belief, like two massive balloons were stuffed down there. Was Paris playing some kind of joke on him? It didn’t really seem her style, lately she’d been pretty sensitive about her boobs. Then another shaking step, and the huge, enormous, swollen curve of what he was now starting to realize were real, genuine breasts bulged into view, stretching the tight black fabric of this dress to within an inch of its life. Then one more step, and cleavage that you could get lost in emerged, and Matthew practically fainted.

He couldn’t process how big these tits were. They were beyond the largest breasts he’d ever seen in real life, warped and perverted to something insane. They were huge, round, pink basketballs, stuffed into a too-small black dress, which looked like it was painted on. Matthew didn’t even notice Paris’ face and her perfect make up as she tottered down the stairs, barely able to stand up straight and carry her gigantic, insanely heavy fake tits as she stood there, striking a pose, letting him drink it all in.

“What do you think?” She purred, after a long, sexually charged, stunned silence.

“I…uh, I-I…” Matthew stammered, staring at his beautiful wife, now the object of his deepest desires, with a chest like the biggest of big tit porn starts, thrusting out madly in front of her, taking up so much space, the sexiest thing he had ever seen. And she was his. Those massive breast implants. All his.

“H-how big…are they?” He managed, after a long, intensely sexual pause.

Paris began walking slowly towards him. This was going exactly as she had planned. She was savoring every single moment of this exquisite torture of Matthew, bringing him into her world, placing him between her tits where he would never leave, never want anyone else ever again.

“Five.”

She stepped closer. Her breasts swayed pendulously from side to side, threatening to burst her struggling dress apart at the seams. She had ripped two dresses trying to get the exact right amount of tightness required to really show off her new monstrous assets. This one was working perfectly.

“Thousand.”

She was close to him now, and with her huge stripper heels and him sitting down, she towered over him. The closer she got, the more her boobs blotted out the light, and her face.

“Ccs.” She finished, and now she was in front of him, and all he could see was her massive breast implants. Spreading out above him, stuffed into straining black material that looked like it was going to burst apart at the seams, was his stunning, impossibly hot, stupendously busted wife, who looked like she was going to burst apart at the seams, too.

She looked down at him almost pityingly, she was so sexy. All she could see was a mass of cleavage, deep enough to lose your arm into, her monstrous, basket ball sized breasts stuffed together, blocking out Matthew’s face. She moved closer, so that her phenomenal tits were inches from him.

“So…you like?” She asked. It was the most redundant question that had ever been asked of anyone.

Matthew stood up, moving back a little to avoid the overhand of her breasts as she loomed closer, and stared at them. His eyes flicked up to Paris’ face, but with one quick smile from her, they went right back down to her insane tits, where they stayed, admiring how huge and wide and heavy they were, how stuffed into her clothes they were, how they were the biggest things he’d ever seen.

And Paris took his hand, placing it down, between her tits, where it was gripped by their huge, fake, silicon-stuffed might, locked eyes with him. And smiled. 

**

The next few weeks were bliss. Paris loved being out in public with her Matthew, loved doing practically anything with him, as it all revolved around her massive breast implants and how incredibly huge they were.

Every time they left the house, she was stared at by literally everyone they encountered. Men would stop and gape, their necks craning as her insane boobs, perhaps stuffed inside a struggling tee or with a deep v-neck to reveal some of her wild cleavage, drew everyone’s eyes to them. They were just so huge it was impossible not to look at them. The men would stare, the women would slap them on the wrist, jealous and admonishing, then they would notice just how big her tits were and would stare on their own, jaws dropped, unable to comprehend how big and sexy she was.

And Paris would smile, and lean into Matthew, pressing one of her giant fake tits into him, and his cock would throb and swell, dripping pre-cum, and she knew that he was only waiting to get her alone so that he could fuck the hell out of her, lavish praise on her bust and appreciate her for the goddess she was.

Sex with Matthew was so different now. During it he would focus entirely on her tits, drooling over them, playing with the entire time, loving and obsessing over how huge they were, and how amazing they were to play with. No matter what she wore, her tits were huge and obvious and prominent, both in sex and out in the real world. She was able to wear the most massive of loose hoodies, and yet her tits were so gigantic they would show, and that in itself was a turn-on for Matthew, who loved the simple fact that not clothes could cover up how big his wife’s massive breast implants were.

This meant that going out in public was its own thrill, as Paris got to wear literally anything and feel sexy. She’d always been a confident woman, but her self-esteem had never been higher. She knew that her man was obsessed with her giant chest, and she knew that most men she encountered were thinking the same thing. If they were even slightly interested in big busts, she was the ultimate fantasy.

And she loved how they felt. They were like overfilled water balloons strapped to her chest, stuffed to the brim with silicon. She loved how huge and heavy they were, how they made any clothes tight on her, how bulbous and round they were, and how sexy and womanly they made her feel. She loved the weight, as well. It made her feel powerful and dominant. Everyone knew as soon as they looked at her that she had big, fake tits, and the fact that the communicated this sexy, lusty fact with such confidence made them understand who she was, and how happy she was with her massive, fake jugs. She got so many cat calls and whistles and stares that she didn’t know what to do with it. Her sex drive was through the roof, which was just as well, as Matthew literally couldn’t get enough of her. Her called her any spare time he had just to talk to her, hear her voice, and get her to send pictures and films of her tits. He loved her trying to do anything with that giant bust, be it struggling to get into tops that would have been huge on most people, or finding it difficult to put on her shoes, because her tits were in the way, or even just trying on old bras that were now comically small for her massively inflated, triple M-cup mammaries.

Not a day went by when Matthew didn’t compliment her on her insanely hot chest, and Paris was finally happy. It had taken a lot, to get over her fear of looking like a huge-titted bimbo slut, but she had taken the plunge, gone big instead of going home, and it had paid off. She had made the love of her life the happiest man alive, and in turn she was the happiest woman alive. There was nothing else she needed to do – she was complete, and happy, and perfect.

Until she wasn’t.

Until she realized she wasn’t big enough.

Not by a long shot.

To BE continued…

***

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