It's shameful, isn't it? The need you have burning inside your chest, the aching void that cries out, that screams and pleads and begs to be bigger. You can feel it when you look at your own chest and when you scroll through endless pictures of women with full, soft, heavy breasts that make your mind burn with envy. It's shameful to want something like that, to be so obsessed with size and growing and your own greed that even a glimpse of cleavage makes arousal burn inside your core.
But if it's forced, it's not your fault, is it?
No, no; how could it be? You're struggling against your restraints, begging your captor to do anything but inject you with more growth serum. You can cry and scream and fight because you know there's nothing you can do to stop it. You get to pretend like you don't want it even though your heart pulses arousal through every inch of your body when you imagine being bustier. There can't be any shame, any guilt, then, if it's being forced upon you. You get to hide in that safe shell of denial and still reap the benefits of feeling your breasts swell and grow, pulling heavily on your chest and spreading out as gravity wins out over their immense softness.
I won't let you hide.
I won't let you deny it.
I know, deep down, it'll feel even better to admit it. That shame, that guilt, will only heighten your pleasure more.
So I want you to admit it.
Say it out loud.
Just five little words.
"I want to be bigger."
You can massage your chest while you scream loud enough for your roommate to hear it.
"I want to be bigger!"
You can stand in front of the mirror, look at your chest, and say it proudly and confidently.
"I want to be bigger."
You can pull the covers over your head, barely illuminated by the light of your phone, while you whisper it.
"I want to be bigger."
Regardless of how you say it, admitting it is so vitally important. I want you to feel your lips as they form the shapes of each word.
"I want to be bigger."
I want you to feel the vibrations in your chest and in your throat, however subtle, as you breathe life into the words.
"I want to be bigger."
Maybe you've never said it before. Maybe you're worried that it'd be too greedy, that you're denying how lucky it is to be as busty as you are and yet still eager for me. Maybe you're worried about what people would think of you, watching you bounce and jiggle no matter how modestly you dress. Maybe you think that the size you want is perverse and obscene and that anyone who looks at you would instantly see you as a degenerate, even without knowing how badly you wanted it and how desperate you are to become even bigger.
It's okay to think those things and have those worries.
Feel the shame.
Feel the guilt.
But say it anyway.
It's okay.
Take a deep breath.
Close your eyes.
And listen to yourself say the words.
"I want to be bigger."
"I want to be bigger."
"I need to be bigger."
Feel the shame creeping hot into your cheeks, the guilt squeezing your chest, and say it.
"I need to be bigger."
Doesn't that feel good?
"I need to be bigger."
It feels so good to admit what you want, what you need, what you are.
"I need to be bigger."
There's nothing new.
"I need to be bigger."
Nothing has changed.
"I need to be bigger."
You're still you.
"I need to be bigger."
You're just admitting, finally, what you tried to hide for so long.
You want to be bigger.
You need to be bigger.
You will be bigger.
