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@huntingbigfakeboobs
Fuckably cute 💦✨️🥰✨️💦
#breasts
The silicone ideal
Forget natural beauty - it’s boring and overrated. Forget what your body used to feel like - ordinary and slim and not weighed down by silicone. Forget being forgettable. All you need in life is a body that looks so unnatural there’s no way you can walk straight. Breasts so large they reach your chin. A nose so small you can’t breathe through it and lips so big that you salivate constantly. Become the silicone ideal.
She's gotten so much surgery over the years, her face is completely unrecognizable from the person she was before. Multiple nosejobs for a pretty doll nose, fillers in her cheeks and chin, plumped up lips with juvederm, endless botox, multiple boobjobs to blow up her chest, and multiple BBLs and implants for a huge fake ass. This should just be your beginning, baby doll. Surgery is sexy.
Veronica saw her favorite customer walk in, a girl about her age named Annie. Sure enough, it'd only been a couple weeks and Annie's breasts were noticeably larger again. Remain professional. Veronica tried, anyway. She drifted over to Annie, greeting her, "Heyyy! You're back again! Getting something new for the weekend?"
"Oh, hey..... I remember your name this time. It's ..... oh! Veronica!"
"Yay, you remembered." She cleared her throat. "So, Annie, how can I help my favorite customer out?"
"Well, I'm going to a concert tonight and...." She looked down at her breasts. "I'm, well, you know....."
"Bigger again?" Veronica giggled.
"The surgery students are just having a total field day with me at this point. Like, I'm in web design and marketing, but I get an email one day that's like, 'Due to your insurance package you've been chosen to assist in the elective surgical training program. Or ESTP. I had no idea it was a thing. Before I know it I walk into a room, get stripped naked, and a bunch of horny med students obsessed with turning girls into bimbos touched and drew all over my body to indicate what they wanted to do to me.
They overhauled everything about me and the results are ... incredible. I was always pretty but never stood out. Now? I look like a mother in her mid forties who's pushed out like twenty kids. I look insanely hot. They told me they wanted to age me up and give me a sophisticated, yet voluptuous body. I film myself nonstop. I can't stop looking in the mirror. I masturbate to my own reflection constantly. Like, full on gooning to my own body.
Fourth Wall
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“No, no… hmm, no…” I sighed, leafing through blouses and tops on the clearance rack with about as much enthusiasm as I’d have for browsing an old phone book. Not much in my size, nor my style. Everything was so bright. And tight. My personal style, if you could call it that, was more about blending in than standing out. Soft cotton, muted tones, and definitely nothing too flashy.
Today I was sporting a typical outfit for me. Long-sleeve shirt in charcoal gray. Straight-fit blue jeans. Navy blue Vans. My plain, dark canvas tote, worn threadbare at the corner from countless errands. My hair was in a lazy bun; it was always such a struggle to get it to look decent, so I usually didn’t even try. My face was clean and free of cosmetics. I didn’t usually wear any makeup, figuring it wasn’t really worth my time. I didn’t usually wile away my afternoon at the local mall either, but after being forced to retire a few more graphic tees that had faded beyond recognition and few more pairs of jeans that were getting a little too distressed in the wrong places, even boring old me had to admit my wardrobe needed a refresh. Even so, I’d try to be efficient, in and out, spending as little time (and money) at the mall as I could possibly manage.
I had put together a relatively utilitarian shopping list, basically replacing what I’d retired, one for one, like usual. I needed some new straight-fit jeans (maybe even relaxed fit). Some new simple tops. If I found a good bargain on sensible socks, I’d pick those up, too. No need for underwear, I usually bought that in multi-packs from a basics shop I liked online. They were nothing special, and it’s not like I was showing off for anyone.
It’s not like I was ugly either. I knew I looked fine. Nothing to write home about, but certainly not off-putting. People often described me as “cute,” or sometimes “sweet,” which I would try to take as a compliment, even if it did feel a little like being patted on the head. I could imagine putting in more effort, trying to be, well, hot, but I never did. I just didn’t like being the center of attention, I guess. And that should be okay! Not everyone needs the spotlight. Certainly not me.
I had finally caught sight of some suitably muted options on a rack out in front of Zara, and I began browsing through them when I started getting a strange feeling in the back of my mind. I tried to shake it off and directed my attention at the light gray top in my hands, but the sensation lingered. It was almost like I was being… watched.
Uneasily, I glanced around. I’m usually a little shy in public anyway, but this feeling was… more than my standard social anxiety. It really felt like someone was looking at me. A subtle tickle in my peripheral vision that made me feel just a little too aware of myself. But as I looked around, it didn’t seem like I’d attracted anyone’s attention. There were a few other shoppers on the main walkways of the indoor mall, but they were just going about their business. None of them were looking in my direction, let alone focused on me and my boring shopping. I looked deeper into the store. There were a few retail employees on duty, but they were all preoccupied either with tidying the racks and shelves or assisting other customers.
Huh.
Even after reassuring myself that no one around was staring at me, I couldn’t shake that feeling. If anything, the sensation felt even closer; not just like somebody was watching my every move, but like they were literally looking over my shoulder, or hovering over me, noticing everything I felt, or reading my every thought. I started to get really spooked.
I had half a mind to abandon my shopping and head home. Escape to the safety and security of my apartment. Surely that would erase whatever was causing this feeling.
Little did I know, that wouldn’t work at all.
Wait, what?
I didn’t think that.
I went back to my browsing, doing my best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.
But… why would I do that? This shopping isn’t that urgent. It’s not like I don’t have any clothes at home. I could easily just leave and do this another time, when I wasn’t feeling so freaked out.
But that wouldn’t be much of a story.
Why does it have to be a story? That didn’t even make any sense… I’m just a boring girl running my boring errands. Why would anyone care about the mundane story of me buying yet another gray top?
The feeling of intense scrutiny continued to rise, getting closer and more present, until a slow, surreal realization hit me.
This was a story wasn’t it?
Yes.
I could feel it, somehow, deep down, as real as the force of gravity. This wasn’t just an ordinary day. My narrative was being observed.
And not just observed by anyone. Not the customers in the mall, not the employees in the store.
I was being observed by you.
Suddenly the unsettling feeling of being watched became much more present and much more real. Instinctively, I turned to look at you, not sure how I knew which direction you were watching from, but turning all the same.
Okay, so I had an audience. I raised a finger to my cheek thoughtfully, tapping my short, unpolished fingernail gently against my skin, feeling the faint, uneven texture of an old acne scar while I processed the sheer absurdity of it. Why did I have an audience at all? This seemed impossible no matter how I considered it, yet I could feel in my bones the truth of the situation.
It hit me. I was more than just a boring girl doing her boring shopping. I was… a character, the main character. In a story. And the story, I suddenly understood with a jolt, was being read. By you.
Good choice
Yesbabylisa
Great beauty ! Successed transformation
"Wait.... what's going on?" Vicky asked, in a slight daze, posing for a photographer.
"Oh shit," the photographer said, fumbling with his equipment. "Don't worry darling. I think the flash on my camera might've accidentally broken...... Just hang tight and try not to think too hard."
"Ummm OK, why am I here....? Oh! Holy shit, my boobs are enormous." Vicky blushed and tried to hide her chest.
The photographer quickly called one of his contacts as Vicky looked around confusedly at her body and surroundings. "Yeah, hi, it's Harry. Your doll snapped out of your hypnosis. ... Which one? The one you sold me! Vicky. .... How should I know? I dropped the camera, it flashed a couple times. Clanked around. .... Did I say anything? Yeah I shouted "Oh rhinestones! Like my mama used to when she stubbed her elbow. ..... Oh. The doll's magic word is 'Orion?' And that was close enough? Sheesh. You hypnotists gotta come up with better magic words." Harry, put his hand over the receiver, lowering the phone to holler at Vicky. "Almost done, don't get freaked out, sweetheart!"