“You’re going to love the tits,” Lexi said, after work.
For four months, Anna had been pinching pennies at Deja Vu in the hopes of getting Lexi-sized tits of her own. At least DD’s, she thought. Strongly cheered on by Mandy, with whom she had formally moved in a few weeks ago, Amber couldn’t stop thinking of her huge tits, shaking and thrusting on stage or, as Amber preferred, in a lap dance. Stripping had been easier than she thought, and way more lucrative. Now about three months in, she was raking in almost as many tips as Lexi, the top girl at Deja Vu.
She had just come back earlier in the day from lip injections, pumping her lips with collagen to achieve maximum puffiness, a monthly check-in. She kept her long, constantly bleached hair down to the small of her waist, resting effortless on top of a large, eloquently drawn, green, red, and orange serpent tattoo that extended from the base of her neck and meandered across her torso and side, down to the front of her right thigh, usually peaking out from the bottom of the mini-dresses she wore for client “meetings.” Two large tattooed bows decorated the rear of her thighs, and “Amber,” her stripper name, in delicate cursive was tattooed across her pussy, resting just below where her long, dangling belly button piercing rested. An array of multi-colored stars led from her right should down to her forearm. Two surface piercings adorned the two small dimples of her back.
Her always deeply tanned body, now toned from hours upon hours of pole dancing, seemed ill-suited to be under clothes. She often shopped at the grocery store in tight fitting, acid washed, cut-out jeans wearing 4 or 5 inch pumps, a tight t-shirt flaunting her pierced nipples, or a crop top showing her tanned tummy, piercings, and tattoo. A thong, a bra, a piercing, or a tattoo constantly poking out somewhere, from under her clothes, drawing the fawning attention of anyone in eye-shot. She could never be sure if she had seen them at Deja Vu, at M’s, or they were fans of her increasingly popular Instagram page, xXxitsmeAmberxXx, where she posted scandalous pictures of her at work, around town, or with Mandy, or her nascent amateur prom videos on PornHub, mostly with Mandy. She had recently begun directing followers to a Patreon page, where she charged for access to posed nude and topless shots. She had promised, if she raised enough for the boob job, she’d start taking requests from viewers for videos showcasing her sucking, fucking, masturbating, and whatever else they wanted.
Her consultation with her boob job doctor had been earlier in the week, when she went through sizing. The doctor had asked her if she wanted something, “proportional” to her body. Mandy and Amber exchanged a naughty glance.
“I mean like,” Anna started, “Like I want them like big. I want big. Round. Fake. Tits. Ok Doc?” she accentuated every word with her collagen-enhanced puffy lips, stopping on the “s” in T’s so he could see a peak of her tongue piercing behind her white teeth. Still high from a party last night with weed, coke, ecstasy, and top shelf alcohol, Anna had “played” with another escort for the better part of two hours in front of a crowd of suited onlookers, ending with some party favors off of Anna’s shaved pussy, and some “extracurricular” fucking in the bathroom, doggystyle, with an onlooker or two—she didn’t quite get a glimpse of their faces. She wiped the cum and coke off of her “Amber” tattoo before enjoying a laced blunt in the bathroom, pulling on her green sling shot thong, and a backless clubbing dress before confidently strolling out of the hotel room on her 6 inch black pumps. “Can’t wait for my fucking tits,” she thought, as she rubbed her pierced pussy on the ride back home.
“I got it,” he chuckled, “a Deja Vu girl.”
“I never see you there, Doc,” Amber teased, now licking her collagen-enhanced lips for the full effect.
“Well, when you’re married, you know, you get out a little bit less.”
“That, like, doesn’t stop most of my clients,” she smiled, “and where’s the ring?” Amber pointed to his absent ring finger.
“Oh, uhm,” He said, embarrassed. Something going on with him and Mrs. Doctor Boob Job, Amber deduced.
“Listen Doc,” she came closer, grasping his already rock hard cock, “you see tits all day, right?” She said.
“Uh, uhuh,” he nodded, girdled by Amber’s obvious power over him.
“Make me your fucking fantasy,” she whispered into his ear. “A little bimbo slut,” she finished.
“Well, uh. I mean,” he stuttered. “Well, you know, we are going to have to take these piercings out,” he pointed to her beasts, “and no smoking or alcohol or, uh, other, uh, drugs, before the surgery,” he forced a smile, seemingly trying to wrest control back from Amber’s sultry grasp.
“Hmph!” she pouted in mock anger. She sucked down two cigarettes on her way home in protest, and a few more after her shift.
A week after surgery, Amber first uncovered her now mammoth, bolted on tits, pressed tightly against her impossibly petite frame. “Holy fuck,” she said, as she squeezed her pierced nipples between her pink nails. “Looks like he managed to slip the jewelry back in after all,” she thought. Her hands covered only the front half of her mammoth tits, round and seemingly bursting from her chest.
“You owe that doc a blowjob or, uh, something,” Mandy said, gawking, as she finished the biggest blunt Amber had ever seen Mandy smoke. “You jealouf?” Amber slurred, herself high from a laced concoction of something she enjoyed earlier.
“So just how many PornHub videos are we going to shoot with those?” Mandy laughed.
“I think I’m going to get liked signed!” Amber smiled, slapping her own bare ass. “Big time porn!” She glanced at her side profile in the mirror, her now massive tits seemingly perilously balanced on top of a bronzed 115 lbs, 5′9″ frame, her hips and frame so slender she usually had to shop in the “teen” section of department stores.
Amber could barely wait to flaunt her fake tits, plastering Instagram with bikini shots, and her Patreon page with them in action—titty fucking a client, or with Mandy’s pierced tongue running up them.
It was barely two weeks later that she found herself, dolled up, breasts overflowing, on an elevator up to see a client at the swankiest hotel in the metro area. She already knew most of the bellhops, attendants, and employees—she had probably sucked off half of them, while the rest had doubtlessly seen her porn videos somewhere on the internet. Her fishnet stockings and tiny pink dress couldn’t conceal the litany of obvious stripper-tattoos adorning her skin, nor the obviously fake tits that permanently greeted any onlooker. Her 6 inch red platform heels accentuated her fuck doll look.
She opened the door to see none other than Dr. Boob Job, nervously waiting for her on the king-sized bed.
“Well, well,” she said, licking her lips with her pierced tongue in anticipation, her perfectly coiffed hair framing her narrow, immaculately make-uped face. “What’s your name anyways, I, like forgot,” she said.
“Oh, uh, well, my first name is T-Todd,” he said, barely able to vocalize his words. The name struck a long-forgotten cord in Anna’s addled brain. “Why was that familiar?” she thought.
“Well, uh, Todd,” she smiled, “am I your fantasy or what?”
“You’re every guy’s fantasy.”
She started dancing to music only she could hear, stripping off what little clothing she was wearing, as she zipped down his pants. Turning, just for a moment, to the mirror behind her, she caught a fleeting glance through her blue contacts: a girl, crying, scared, trembling in a library window, looking out at someone in a courtyard. Momentarily confused, then confident, she grasped as much of her huge tit in her hand, licking her pierced nipple with her pierced tongue. “I’m so fucking happy,” she said to the doctor, coaxing his dick into her supple, waiting throat.