But I Don’t Really Want This
Nicole arrived back at home after the salon and surveyed the clothes, shoes and jewellery that Will had laid out on the bed. Ugh. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and had to admit it was consistent with her makeover. Double ugh.
Will had told her that she would have her hair done, a manicure, a pedicure and had hinted about other things as well, but didn’t give her time to ask. The salon would already know what to do, she wouldn’t have to specify anything. Her hair was now big. Almost a modern, and very stylish cut, but just a bit too much volume had been teased out of it. The hair cut alone made her noticeable. But there was more. Her finger nails and toe nails were nice she admitted. A lovely, deep cream, the ends of the nails curving beautifully. She was happy with them. Well, she had been happy until she saw the outfit.
And then there were the other procedures. First of all make-up. Nicole didn’t usually wear much make-up, she had wonderfully smooth and blemish-free skin. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. She did often go for a bit of mascara and eye shadow, but a modest amount. She prefered subtle. Her eyes were big and beautiful anyway. She let the eyes do the work. She looked at her cheeks. A thick layer of make-up covered them. It was skilfully applied and there was no outrageous colour, she had to admit that, but there was just too much. She was looking at a woman who was wearing too much make-up. That’s what she would think, if she saw someone done up like this. Even if she had had anything to hide beneath the layers, less make-up would surely have sufficed. On the plus side, no lipstick, but she suspected that that would have been very different had she not been about to visit a cosmetic surgeon about her lips.
She winked one of her eyes as slowly as she could to see the effect with the other eye. The eye shadow was also expertly applied. But again more than was necessary. She winked again. Thankfully they had left her eyebrows pretty much as they were, besides just cleaning up slightly around the edges, something she had been planning on doing soon.
She winked yet again. Nicole wasn’t one for cursing, but fuck this was too much. She took out her phone and made a video of herself fluttering her lashes. She watched the video back to get a good view. She watched the video again. These lashes were insane. The lower lashes were just her old lashes, with extra mascara of course. But the upper set.. on the inside they were about a centimetre in length, curling extravagantly upwards. And as one moved to the outside of the eye they got bigger. At the mid point they were over a centimetre and a half, and at the outside over two centimetres. She looked in the mirror again. If she tried she could make them touch her eyebrows. The outer lashes didn’t just curl upwards, but to the sides, making her already large eyes stake a claim for more of the space on her face. Occasionally her tousled hair caught on those outer lashes. Annoying (very annoying), but not a hindrance.
People were going to see her like this. She was going to try to have intelligent conversation with two doctors today, looking like this. What will they think of her. Then she looked at the clothes on the bed again. She undressed and put on the skirt. A very short pencil skirt. Not very short as skirts go, but short for a pencil skirt. Brand new. It was tight, with a bit of stretch. And now she noticed, that while it was short for a pencil skirt, it wasn’t so short that it would be easy to walk. The hem didn’t allow for that, the material there not having the slight stretch that existed elsewhere in the fabric. Not designed for long strides. As with the blouse and the shoes, it was new. Will had bought them himself.
The blouse was loose and comfortable, perfect for the weather. It looked expensive. Her favourite of the items on the bed, not because of the probable cost, but because of the beautiful embroidery across the chest. Really pretty. She would be wearing this again.
Now the shoes. Four inch toe-less pumps. Very nice by themselves. Also new and apparently expensive. The combination of the shoes and the tight skirt would mean that she would not be hurrying between appointments. She would get away with it. She wouldn’t be mincing, but she would be forced to take her time. These clothes were designed for swaying. She looked at her ass in the mirror. Well, no hiding that thing. Certainly that’s what the designer had been going for the when designing the skirt.
And now here was the real problem with these clothes that she had been trying not to think about as she had examined them. They were all the same colour. All cream. The same cream as her fingernails and her visible-with-the-toe-less-pumps toenails. Just one colour. This was a girl with more money than style. It was only a relief that Will hadn’t bought a far-too-big cream-coloured hat for her to wear. Maybe he hadn’t thought of that. She wouldn’t of worn such a hat again. The rest she would wear again, but not all at the same time.
She looked at the remaining items on the bed. A bag and some jewellery. The bag was hers. A far too expensive Gucci bag she had bought a few years before when she had been a teenager and had wanted to impress some friends. Friends that she had since drifted apart from. She was too different from them. Mercifully, the bag wasn’t cream. It was a standard light brown leather. All the metal on it was gold-coloured. The gold-coloured metallic Gucci logo was huge. One on each side of the bag. Unmissable. A bag to be seen with. The zip pulls also had smaller Gucci logos, just in case it was not obvious enough. Why hadn’t she thrown this out or given it away!
Now the jewellery. Her gold bracelets, her gold ear rings, her gold necklace and a new gold chain to go around her waist. It wasn’t small. Each link was just under an inch in diameter. She walked around the room. Fortunately it didn’t jangle. Now the last piece of jewellery. Two more bracelets, this time plastic. Smooth looking, thick. No, not gold-coloured. More cream. Of course.
She looked at the completed ensemble in the mirror and groaned. This was not the woman she aspired to be. This was a woman who thought class was something that you bought. The more you spent, the more class you got. This is what the doctors would be seeing when they saw her. More money than sense. Not a shred of sophistication. Now buying new tits and lips in her misguided attempts to rise the social ladder further. Probably a trophy wife, or at the least she had a sugar daddy.
She took a photo of herself and sent it to Will. I look ridiculous!, she captioned it.
Hilarious!, he responded. Let’s see that ass.
She put her phone on a stand and started the video. She turned slowly in front of the camera. Stepping gingerly and daintily as she turned in the heels and skirt. She sent him the video.
Peach emoji. Suggestive emojis weren’t really his thing, but fuck it, he was in the mood now. Real sexy, he sent. How do you feel?
People will think I’m an idiot, she answered. Not happy about that.
Turned on?, he asked.
Yes. She sent him the video she had taken of her lashes.
Send me another one of those, but longer, make kissy faces!
Hot, he replied after he had viewed the new video. Fire emoji. Wanna cum?
Yes, but I have to go.
I know. Just teasing. I’ll sort you out tonight. Water spray emoji, eggplant emoji. You don’t get to cum before that. I will want to hear about everything.
Nicole was at a cafe/bar around a corner from the second cosmetic surgeon’s office. Will had told her that he would meet her there in 30 minutes. He had told her to order a large white wine for herself. She should drink that while she was waiting. She started sipping the wine, it was good, though she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She would need to eat soon.
The day had not been too bad at all, all things (mystery lips, overdone face, awful clothes) considered. The doctors hadn’t been condescending to her and hadn’t looked down their noses at her. Of course they were professionals with well established practises, she realised. Plastic surgeons were always dealing with rich women with little sense of style, she supposed. They saw someone done up like her every single day.
Her lips. That was the thing she had worried about the most. She knew what to expect from her breasts. Will had shown her the pictures he had chosen, and those were chosen from a selection that she had made. That was fine (better than fine, she couldn’t wait!). But the lips had been a mystery. She wanted the breasts. She knew that. But she had never said she had wanted the lips, to Will or to herself. It didn’t feel right, the way the breasts did. Why did she want the breasts? Sex. Better sex. She wanted Will to want them, to want her all the time. She wanted him aroused. More and better sex. Sex champions, that’s what she wanted Will and herself to be. So, lips. Did new lips fit into that picture?
Will had been good and hard this morning as she serviced him, looking down at her and the pictures of the new lips. That’ll be great. She wanted him hard. She wanted him turned on. It felt good. Of course he was always 100% hard for her. It was something else. It was the lust in his eyes. A need that had to be sated. That’s what it was. Raging desire. She wanted that look in his eye. Total lust. She wanted that. She squirmed. Bigger lips? Fun to think about anyway, just like with bigger breasts. She must make a note of the name of this wine.
What else. What will people think. Since she had moved to this city, a couple of people had already asked her where she had gotten her lips done. Three times that had happened. Twice, the other person had apologised profusely upon learning that they were her natural lips. The third time, on a night out, the girl who had asked just raised her eyebrows skeptically. ‘OK’, she responded, with a smirk, letting everyone know what she thought was the truth.
Bigger lips. If her lips are big now, then, if they get bigger, everyone will know they are fake. And if the lips are fake, what else? Most likely the breasts. Her future breasts were of a size that they could be natural, but the kind of girl that would get fake lips is the kind of girl that would get fake breasts. That’s what everyone will think. Everyone will assume that about her. She examined her face in a mirror across the room. What else will they think is fake? My nose? My chin? Will they think my cheekbones are fake? Are fake cheek bones possible? She thought she remembered hearing that they were.
Walking around outside with Will. His arm around my shoulder, holding me tightly against him. Maybe I can feel the pressure of my larger breasts against him. Maybe I hold them against him deliberately. Letting him know that they are there. That they are there for him. She watches herself walking with Will down the street. She is an observer. That girl has big boobs and lips. She is looking up at Will, devotedly. Big lips. What will people think?
They’ll think that I suck him dry with those lips. A girl with those lips is taking a load every morning, is letting herself be used every morning. Sometimes I do the work, a playful good morning kiss for the head, licking eagerly along the length, fondling the balls. Grinning at the first sight of pre-cum. Deep throating (I really must learn how to do that, bet Will would love it! Should I practise on him, or learn it and then surprise him?). Sometimes he does the work. Fucking my face. Holding a fist of my hair in each hand and thrusting in and out. Overcome with lust, a raging animal, roughly pulling my head forward and back. Doing it for his enjoyment with no thought about mine. Using me. That’s what people will think. That’s the kind of girl they will think I am.
‘Damn fucking right’, she said to herself as she grinned at herself in the mirror. She caught herself. The lady at the next table smiled in an understanding, these-things-happen kind-of-way, indicating the wine glass in front of her.
OK, no more alcohol until Will comes. ‘Damn fucking right?’. Such an American curse. She was adapting.
She was so turned on. Bigger lips. Everyone will know. Everyone will judge her. Why does that turn her on? Well, right now, with buzz of the alcohol, it was fun just to enjoy the feeling. Bigger lips for sucking Will’s dick. Hell, yeah. Let them look. Worry about the rest tomorrow.
At the lips guy she had passed him the envelope with the photos. He took them out, and for the first time she could see the images on front, but they were just a bit too far away to be able to properly examine them. The doctor had then come around to her side of the desk, shifting the other chair on that side to sit in front of her. He examined her lips, seeming pleased with everything. He held each image in turn beside her head, mirroring how Will had held both of them that morning, she still couldn’t see them! But the doctor seemed happy enough, thinking that what she was asking for would be quite straight forward.
The doctor had made copies of the images and given them back to her. Of course, he had put them in the envelope first, so she still hadn’t seen them at that point. Then she had to hurry to her next appointment at the boob guy.
She looked for the envelope in her too-large bag. She had to prop it on the small table, where it covered half the surface, while she rummaged around with the unfamiliar compartments. Where had she put them? There!
She put the two images on the table, between her arms so no one could see. Oh, wow! Full. Extra pouty! She already had an amazing natural pout, and these lips caricatured that ever so slightly. The centre of the upper lip, about the width of her nose, curled up and out, maybe two millimetres. Or three? She reached for her wine. Empty. Merde. No more until Will arrives. The centre of the lower lip too, about the width of her chin, had a similar effect, but less pronounced, a millimetre maybe, but there. She admired the symmetry. The rest of the lips, the sides, away from the centre, were also fuller, but they had the same shape.
God. So sexy. I want to see Will looking at my lips. I want to see him wanting them. If we are doing the most boring and basic things in the world, I want to catch him looking at my pouty lips. I won’t be able to hide them. They will always be there. In the middle of my face, where they can never be hidden. Where everyone will see. I want him to stare at them. I want him to lust for them. I want him to think about fucking my face no matter what I am doing; buying groceries, doing taxes, walking outside, reading a book, drinking water. When I’m not thinking about sex, I want him thinking about it. And then I’ll think about it. I want to give him orgasms the like of which no other man has ever experienced. That is what I want.
And I want people to see my sexy fake lips. I want them to see my fake lips and I want them to guess that my tits are fake too. And I want them to see me with Will, and I want them to know that that hole in the middle of my face is designed for his cock. I want them to know that it was enhanced according to his specifications. I want them to know that that is who I am. I will do whatever I have to do for his pleasure. That I will do whatever he asks me to. Let them think that. I am his slave and I exist for his pleasure and mine. Oh God, I’m so fucking horny, where is he?.
‘Hey, sugar’, Will said as he sat down beside her. She looked up from the pictures and reached over, kissing him passionately. She held the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go. Will pulled himself away with a smile. She looked back through half closed eyes, mouth still open. The lady sitting beside them got up to move table. Nicole didn’t notice. Will looked at the two pictures on the table, he looked back up at her.
‘What do you think?’
She leaned over again and whispered slowly in his ear, ‘I fucking love them, I want them. I’m so horny, I want them on my face where everyone can see them, and where you can always see them, so that you can use them whenever you want.’
Will grinned. ‘We’ll order take out.’
‘Yes, and we will need wine.’
They fucked each other senseless.