Chapter 32G
My bust has gained three inches in two weeks. It's impossible. Insane. Am I losing my marbles? I hope so. I'd rather be insane and wearing a 32C-sized straightjacket than have any of this be real.
Heart and head pounding violently, stomach reeling sickly, feeling violated and broken, Selena Gomez drove back to her mansion.
She rummaged through her wardrobe, found dusty old bras she'd left behind months previously, and put one of them on.
32F. Her all-time largest size. A level of boobage she'd never expected to have again. And now she was straight back there, like a boomerang, in a matter of days.
This isn't happening. I'm not a 32F!
One week later, she measured her chest again, and found that she was correct, in an unfortunate way.
She wasn't a 32F, she was a 32G!
As the number leaped off the tape, she did not scream. Did not pass out. Did not smash her room. She was past all that.
She released her trapped boobs from their corset of tape. They flopped with painfully loud slaps, jiggling above her belly button for several seconds.
Her dangling globes looked like huge whales beached on the sandbar of her skin, scary-huge and scary-helpless at the same time.
She put hands on her hips and made her huge, saggy-looking boobs swing around like pendulums, feeling nothing at all, whatsoever. Just dizzy emptiness. The same nothing the dinosaurs beneath the Chicxulub meteor must have felt. Why even worry, in such a lunatic world?
She was now a woman free-falling into absurdity. No net, no parachute.
Just a tape, and it's rapidly running out of numbers.
Selena lifted her G-cups, stunned by the sheer distance she could pull the flesh-sacks from her body, feeling them squish and jiggle like fistfuls of dough. G for Gomez!
"Hahahaha!" Suddenly, she wasn't calm. She felt giddier than she ever had drunk, more existentially terrified than she ever had sober. A person at every edge at once.
She ran some errands that day—walking in public, profoundly conscious of the mammoth G-cup hooters bouncing and slamming up and down in her bra like cannonballs.
Nobody photographed her. At least there was that.
Two men hit on her. The first was actually out on a date with his flat-chested girlfriend—Selena gave her a pitying stare, and got back one of horror and anger in return.
The second guy did not even seem to realize she was Selena Gomez as he asked for her number. His stare was fixated hungrily on her cleavage, as though trying to explore its hot and dark interior with his eyes, as he couldn't with his hands.
Everything in life was now complicated by her chest. She still hadn't mentally adjusted to the spatial dimensions of her colossal boobs, and they kept brushing people in the street, and knocking over random objects. When she sat down at a coffee shop, she dropped down into a chair. Her boobs heavily flew down in front of her like sledgehammers, sending her coffee cup flying. Her yoga class became all kinds of awkward. Poses she'd nailed before were now nearly impossible.
That evening, she tried to do the Flatter Chest, Fuller Life Self-Hug, touching her elbows together.
She could still do it. It was a struggle—doughy ribbons of boob expanded on each side of her skinny arms—but if she was patient and bit her lip against pain, she could just smoosh her elbows past her boobs. At least that's something, she thought, panting with exertion, boobs hanging low. Not much. But something.
But speaking of Flatter Chest, Fuller Life…
"We need a progress update by now, Selena," Mrs Lispector's voice was sharp enough to shave with. "We have only five weeks to get you into a 32A. By our calculations, you should be a 32B by now.
"There…could be a problem," Sweating, she tried to pull together a story.
"No, Sel! There can't be a problem! Not at this stage! Time's running out!"
"I'm a 32C" Selena stammered, staring down at the huge projection of her chest. The top shelf of her tits muffin-topped out of the 32F. She had ordered a 32G, but it had yet to arrive. "I'm not losing bust size as fast as I should."
"Well, a 35" bustline isn't as bad as I thought. Can we see a picture as proof? You haven't been photographed in public for a long time."
She sent Charity a picture, and earned a grudging huff of approval.
"Alright, we appreciate that you're still on the wagon, so to speak. I was worried that you'd gained weight, or something. I will emphasize that we need to see you losing more weight. You look exactly the same in that picture as you did three weeks ago.
And so she did.
That was when the photo had been taken.
* * *
She tried to distract herself with boys, cycling through Jared and Micah and Trent and Ethan.
Sex now felt awful. Her chest got in the way, in multiple senses. It was like a third person was now in the bed, or perhaps two people—monstrous boobs, spilling and flopping everywhere, always getting in the way, always attracting their eyes and hands.
Ethan excluded, they were quietly growing obsessed with her breasts.
What she hated, they loved.
She broke up with Trent. A moment of confusion meant she'd called him Ethan by mistake. Naturally, he was curious as to who Ethan was. Guiltily, she'd confessed that she was seeing another guy.
At first, he'd looked heartbroken. Then he said that he didn't care.
"Can we still fuck?" he asked. "You can see other guys. I'm cool with it."
She recoiled. "Don't you care? I thought you wanted to go all exclusive."
Her mental image of Trent included someone pushing for monogamy, for marriage.
"Fuck that, I just want those awesome tits," he said, reaching out for their pendulous lower surfaces. "They're worth being cheated on."
That crushed her. His values, his identity—all of that meant nothing next to his lust for her. She couldn't stay in this bed a moment longer. She dived out of bed, grabbing her bra from the floor.
"Trent, we're through."
"But baby…!"
She hauled her mammoth flesh-sacks into the 32G.
"Through!"
* * *
Chapter 32H
The next evening—fire warnings were out in LA, dust and smoke billowed against the windows like fungus—Jared was on top of her.
He pulled his cock out, yanked her forward on the couch, and flipped her around. She collapsed into a doggy-style position, ass wagging in his face. He started driving his dick into her warm receiving pussy from behind.
He ploughed into her, fucking her warm depths with urgent, exploring thrusts. She screamed, her voice a hot wind fueled by lust. "AHHHHHH!"
Deep powerbombing thrusts shuddered through her. Her muscular legs collapsed inward like broken springs. Selena's hellcat mouth spat and cursed as pleasure exploded with nuclear intensity.
"FUCK ME! FUUUUCK MEEEEE!"
…and yet…
Plap! Plap! PLAP!
…she was jiggling so much. Her enormous breasts were crashing up against her collarbone, slapping her chin, blurring into sweaty explosions of white flesh swinging back and forth.
"Yeah, baby, that's it," he said, as he snatched her wide hips and rowing his dick through her spongy cunt-flesh. She shut her eyes, tried to ignore the oceanic tidal shifts happening on her chest.
He slapped her ass, sending a cascade of ripples through her bent-over hindquarters. Jared thumbed her tight asshole, feeling it contract. Selena whimpered and whined. He pulled his cock back, feeling her tight pussy tunnel suck against his retreating prick, before stabbing himself back in.
But as Jared lunged between her splayed legs, screwing her from behind, he noticed the large swinging milkbags jolting under her torso.
His thrusts slowed.
"Yo, what's up with your rack? That shit's bouncing like crazy. I thought you were shrinking your tits."
The huge flesh balloons dangled. Sweat dripped from the nipples onto the tangled bedsheets.
"Shut up," she whined. Please just ignore my chest. Pretend it's not there. I try to do it and at least 10% of the time I succeed, so it is, in point of fact, possible.
But Jared was now utterly fascinated by her huge sweaty boobs. He slapped one, grasping her bra-bursting tit and swinging it back and forth, like a cow's udders. He pulled and jerked it around, marveling at how it flexed and distorted.
"Woah…this is intense."
You're not wrong. She balled up her fists.
He played with her tits for long minutes, completely ignoring her. She wriggled her fat bubbly ass his way, purring seductively, but he couldn't even pretend to fuck her. His cock slipped out, trailing pre-cum and vaginal fluid across her thigh. It still pulsed with arousal…but Selena knew why.
He didn't care about her anymore.
He cared about her breasts. They were what he wanted, not the woman attached to them.
* * *
Micah, the next day, was even blunter.
"Can I fuck your tits?"
He gripped a big keg-sized breast with his fist. She blushed, feeling a nipple grow erect in his hand.
"They make me feel so gross…" she whined. "Something is seriously going on with my rack, and I don't know what."
But he was already on top of her, squirting lube into the channel of her breasts, and shoving his cock into the moist valley between her tits.
She closed her eyes in silent disgust as he straddled her body with his waist, gripped both boobs, and clapped them around his dick. He rocked and thrust inside her cleavage, shunting in and out with frantic need. His golfball-sized cock head spat and dribbled pre-cum along the huge slopes of her flesh. It thumped against her chin as it slithered forward, hot and hard inside her rack.
smack! plopp! shlupp!
As he ploughed her dense white fields of cleavage, Selena lay back in bed, sinking into a spill of her flowing black hair, mind wheeling into a fantasy that became a dream.
They were stalking her.
Even with her eyes closed, they hunted her. Her own breasts. Two enormous person-sized mammaries, detached from her body. They took wing, seemed to swirl above her through a dark landscape like abstract shapes, each capped by a nipple. They were like jellyfish in the black sky, watching her.
"Huhh! Huhh! HUHHH!" back in the real world, Micah's convulsions made her tits slosh like ocean waves. Their surfaces rippled, like physics simulators.
She felt it, even if she couldn't see it.
…in her mind…the disembodied breasts began to spray milk, showering the dry arid darkness with warm fresh white. Showering her, until she was covered in the stuff…
Half-dreaming, half-awake, sanity crashing against nonsense, cock crashing against tits. Micah's moans were increasing in volume, his humping cock thundering through her squelching wet cleavage.
plop-plapp-sklch-splurchhhhhh…!
Micah grasped her fuck-balloons hard enough to sting, and gasped.
Bursts of cum struck her chin over and over. Smack! Smack! Smack! Her breasts jolted hard in his hands as he rammed with short, powerful thrusts.
His load sprayed across her face in scattergun blasts. Ropes and beads and drops fountained across her bedsheets, her breasts, her face, and her hair.
Selena just stared past him in utter horror, feeling his cock twitch its way to softness inside the bath of sperm he'd splattered out inside her cleavage.
"Wow…" his eyes were big enough to drive a tank through.
He'd ejaculated far more intensely between her tits than he ever had in her pussy or asshole.
* * *
Chapter 32I
It was now four weeks until she showed the world—and her sponsors—her wonderfully flat 32A chest.
My big reveal. Hurr hurr.
Cursing as she trapped a fold of skin under her body and pinched herself awake, Selena tumbled out of bed. Before reaching for her phone, she groped beside it on the dresser, seeking something else.
Her fingers closed on the sweat and powdered deoderant stained measuring tape—she now measured herself dozens of times each day, always hoping that this time her breast growth would prove imaginary—and looped it around her chest.
32I.
She jokermoded hard. She brayed a laugh that scalded like vomit—ha! ha!—as her head and ribcage thudded with savage violence.
The nipples of her behemothic breasts were sore and swollen. The tissue ached, like overexerted muscles. Pulses of fire ran through them. Every movement of her breasts was misery, and they moved so, so much.
Selena spent part of the morning ordering new, bigger bras for herself.and the other part drafting and redrafting an email to Charity Lispector, deleting each one after a few words. She couldn't explain what was happening to herself, let alone to another person. There was some dietary issue. Some health concern. Maybe her kidney transplant was reacting to pollen in the atmosphere or some shit.
She swallowed another pill from the open Flatter Chest, Fuller Life supplement bottle.
She was shotgunning them like Tic-Tacs. Bring on the illegal horse steroids. Right now, I need all the androgynizing agents I can get my mitts on.
Then she got dressed for public, which was an adventure in itself.
All her clothes bulged and distorted in disgusting new ways. The band shirts stolen from Jared's closet stretched the faces of Elliott Smith and Stephen Malkmus into bloated nightmare caricatures. She slipped on a demure work blouse, and the buttons were almost pulled apart. In a mirror, she saw the buttons exposing lewd, pornographic views of oceans of cleavage. She was a sea, and that sea was at high tide.
Sweat trickled down her neck, and down her cleavage. Even when she couldn't see her tits, she could feel them. Moving, swaying, sloshing, bouncing.
She'd strapped on her largest bra. She didn't just bulge out the top, but out of the sides and bottom. Her breasts were literally making escape attempts, the flesh pouring out every way they could. She anxiously stuffed rolls of flab back inside the bra, but with any movement of her shoulder girdle, rolls of boobmeat would explode back out.
She was sickened by the sight of her body. Two mega-busty torpedos of flesh jutting in front of her, swaying and oscillating with hypnotic jiggles. They seemed to move with a mind of their own.
The rest of her body was noticeably filling out too, despite the fat burners and the crash dieting. Her ass flowed out in a wide, heavy sweep. Her thighs were thickening. Her waist was soft and matronly. She just looked…fertile.
Breedable.
Awooga.
The phone on her bedside dresser rang.
Anonymous caller. She didn't pick it up.
The ringing echoed deep within her mountainous jugs, as though they weren't skin and fat and glandular tissue but purest glass, and the ghosts confederated within their depths were answering in her stead.
And what might her boobs be saying?
Selena's gone. We're her replacements.
* * *
She left the house infrequently these days.
Each time she did, she thought not infrequently enough.
Men shamelessly ogled her huge wobbling knockers. Construction workers whistled, leaned over scaffolds, risked becoming fodder for cautionary OSHA training videos to get a glimpse down her neckline.
It was like her huge boobs were magic. They snared attention, caught eyes like fishhooks, turned heads wherever she went. Men around her seemed to slide into a dizzy halllucinatory state, their words trailing away, their eyes bugging out, their expressions as dazed as those of boltgunned cattle.
One day, she got papped while shopping for maternity bras. The flash of the camera blinded her, and when she turned her head, the photographer was already running for his van.
She rang some contacts who worked for print and digital publications. She threatened them with lawsuits if they bought bought and published the photos. It did nothing. Hours later, the pictures were all over the internet.
They showed Selena Gomez, looking plump, curvy, shading her eyes against the sun on the cracked Rodeo Drive sidewalk.
But nobody would notice details like that.
Boobs bigger than her head exploded from her chest. Huge pressure-lines of flesh—where they quadboobed out of her bra—were clearly visible through her clothes. You could see the exact line where they quadboobed out of her overstuffed bra cups.
Seeing herself in third person made her feel sick..
The pictures went viral. They topped every social media site she visited. Don't read the comments, Selena felt sweat flowing between her tits, which she was forced to rest on the desk for support. Don't read the comments.
Naturally, she read the comments.
> wtf selena girlie…nooooo > SHE LOOK LIKE COW > this bitch fat > milk truk just arrive > wtf she getting booby > hello miss i am jayaprakesh from mumbai. i give u sexi tiem. pls snap. pls send bedrum pic with cloth off. pls. > not my proudest fap > this latina getting THICC! another huge W for TRUMPS AMERICA!!!
Eyes unfocusing, she fell back in bed, dazing for a while—sinking not into a dream but a cold bone-chewing sea of anxiety—until a text from Charity Lispector jolted her awake.
> SELENA, I HAVE SEEN THOSE PHOTOS! > EXPLAIN YOURSELF!
She flung the phone away, hard enough that she heard the screen crack.
What was she doing? She couldn't cover this up. Couldn't reverse it. Couldn't undo it.
Then she sat on the bed, legs folded, a crazed smile, like her face was being unzippered.
* * *
Her boobs were still growing. They distended massively from her sternum. She kept touching them, lifting them, vacillating between revulsion and arousal. She knew every inch of their loathsome, massive surfaces.
By the time her new bras arrived, she would be too large for any of them.
She wore one and broke out laughing. Massive amonts of sideboob and quadboob sloshed out. The bra straps cut into her shoulders, into her back.
She cracked open another bottle of those scam Flatter Chest, Fuller Life pills, and robotically forked them into her mouth, swallowing them without water—half-hoping that one would choke her.
The pills were doing nothing. Which meant they were just as effective as any other option she had.
She felt a twinge - an itch - irritate her massively globular tits. A shudder wracked her. She grabbed the boob and massaged it, wondering if she was fucking it literally growning. Oh God. It's like it's getting heavier in my hand.
She had to let it flop before it strained her wrist.
The phone rang again. She picked it up.
The dark. The night. The endless ocean. It rumbled against her hearing, insinuating and insissipating.
"I want this to stop…" she said.
Strangely, she sensed someone listening.
"Whoever you are…" she whispered. "Tell me why this is happening. Then tell me what I have to do to stop it."
Are you prepared? a softly lilting male voice said. For your journey?
She cackled demently, brokenly, feeling her huge boobs sway pendulously and her stomach roil with those dogshit scam pills.
"This is your doing," she said. "Tell me your name. I'm not trying to get you in trouble. I just…don't understand why."
"My name is Lao Wei," he said. "And you have stolen my property."
"I don't even know who you are."
Lao Wei gave her an address.
A Skid Row apartment complex.
"If you wish to hear my story, I will tell you. Come, and come alone."
* * *
Chapter 32J
Xinjiang, China.
Under a wide, ancient sweep of sky, the land sprawls in its curves and folds and twists. The hills ripple outward to the horizon like coruscating waves of water, each flash-frozen to strange ice. An endless sea, full of the sense of motion, yet absolutely still.
A forgotten place, it holds worlds. Clasps extremes to its breast. Fierce burning desert, wind-straked dunes, umber-flamed mountains, nights that are drowning-dark and leave the lakes scummed with ice, days that breach a hunred degrees, the stars that seem to wheel and arc like slits torn open in the velvet of the sky.
Flocks of fat-tailed sheep browse, upon beautiful meadows bejeweled with poppies. In the distance, the ragged teeth of the Pamir Mountains press hungrily against the day's clean lapis lazuli flesh.
And here, buried in plain sight near Tian Shian and the Taklamakan Desert, there is a place that is not ancient, not eternal, not beautiful.
A place that—officially—does not exist.
It would be better if this were true. If the Laogai camp existed upon the steppes of Xinjiang, it would be one of the worst places in the world, a sickening cancer.
The prison camp sprawls in a spider's web of interconnected sub-camps. Huts erected from fragile wood stand circumscribed by fanged barbs of wire, spitting with high-voltage electricity. Death to run. Slower death to stay. Thousands of undesirables are interred at the Laogai camps. Uyghers, Buddhists, Falun Gong, Tibetan radicals, and assorted political malcontents. Scraps plucked from the teeth of the dragon. Like the camps themselves, the prisoners do not technically exist—another lie better than the truth. Conditions at the camp are brutal. Prisoners are kept in cages, worked as slaves, euthenazed and experimented on, but the world does not know. The Red Cross is denied access to the Laogai complex, as is UNICEF.
Xinjiang is a beautiful place, with clear open spaces of grass and sand and stone and sky. This is how it should be remembered.
The camp will be unwritten in history books, and forgotten.
* * *
Rumors of forcible organ harvesting have emerged from the Xinjiang camp for years.
The official PRC's line is denial.
And the escaped prisoners who report that they had blood samples taken? That they were subjected to x-rays and ultrasounds? That they were questioned about their ancestry and past history of disease? Liars, one and all. But one fact remains, as inescapable as it is unsayable.
In America, if you need a kidney you can expect to languish on a waiting list for months or years, no matter who you are.
In China, you can have a kidney in a single day, if you are willing to pay.
* * *
In the darkness of his apartment, Lao Wei's lips moved in a thin macrame of woven shadow. His voice didn't break the silence. It barely rippled it.
But Selena forgot not one thing he told her that night.
"The secret police let me speak to my wife just once, before they took her inside the camp," Lao Wei said. His lips were thick, and his face, although lined to parchment, did not seem very old. "I hugged her, and told her not to worry. She had done nothing. This was an administrative error, surely. Something that would be rectified."
Selena Gomez sat opposite from him, listening, her transformed body hidden in a poncho.
"I never saw her again." Lao Wei's voice seemed to splinter like a ship upon a reef of horror. "I do not understand why they imprisoned her instead of me. She was innocent. I was the one who had offended the government, with my research into Tibetan mystic rites. Perhaps this was their punishment. They wanted me to suffer."
A single Coleman lantern spat flickering light over the table they both sat at. She could see little of her surroundings. The walls and furnishings seemed to devour all light, giving back nothing.
"I received one letter from my wife, inside the camps. She said she was being treated well. She said that the government would commute her sentence, in exchange for a patriotic gesture - the donation of a kidney. I do not know if she actually wrote that letter. When I replied, I heard no response. Or at least not from her."
His eyes left Selena's face, and stared at the table. He brushed a hand over it, interrupting the reflection that glowed vaguely on the varnished wood.
"The government replied on her behalf, two weeks later. They informed me that she had died upon the operating table. A tragic error committed by the surgeon."
She still did not speak. Merely held open a space so he could talk.
"It was no error, and the letter was a lie," Lao Wei's voice was as quietly lethal as a stiletto. "A living person can provide one kidney. But a dead person can provide two. That is why my wife died."
Selena frowned. "I am sorry." If you're not lying. "But how does that affect me?"
"You underwent a kidney transplant, did you not?"
She scratched the scar knifing down her side. "If you're implying that…"
"You have her inside your body," Lao Wei said, jabbed a cracked yellow fingernail at her sternum, pinpointing the exact place, even though he couldn't see it. Selena shuddered. How could he know?
"I hear her screaming, from where you sit."
Selena shuddered, and shook her head.
"Look," she said, "I have never been to China. I had my transplant done in Mexico. I'm sorry about your wife, truly I am, but I had nothing to do with what happened to her."
Momentary annoyance twisted the vellum of his face. "The clinic you went to is owned by an expat with ties to the PRC. The kidney was very cheap, wasn't it? Suspiciously so."
Selena screwed up her face, trying to recover facts and prices. Years had passed. Her management had handled most of it.
She remembered the senior physician. A Chinese man. And it had been a very cheap operation: cheaper by far than the other clinics she'd investigated. Fast, too. No waiting list. Two weeks after she had signed the form, she had a stranger's kidney in her body. Her label had started a story that a friend had donated the organ.
"When we kill," he whispered. "We create. When things die, other things are born. They took my wife from me. In its place, I have…hate."
Selena felt all of that hate, pressing upon her like the edge of a blunt but massive knife. Space. I want space between him and me. His will had a presence; the air separating them seemed to boil, as though malignantly alive.
The sensations racing across her breasts were more intense than ever. Hard not to scratch herself raw. Even her kidney seemed to leap beneath her skin. Is it true? Was my kidney harvested from this dude's fucking wife?
No....Impossible.
Her mind just rejected it.
Lao Wei was lying. And she was done with his shit.
"This is bullcrap," she said. "There's no way you can know where the kidney ended up. It's not possible."
He laughed. "Just as it's not possible for your body to chance this fast. Your own experiences should prove that we live in a universe of impossibilities."
She clenched fists under the table. What is this mean capable of? What does he know, and what can he do? She was in the most dangerous situation possible. A battle with an unknown enemy.
He spoke words that fell on her like a guillotine.
"My wife died to provide you with a kidney, and you will pay. I will take away everything. Your career. Your dreams. Your body and mind. Unless…"
Selena fought to lock out his voice, but it seemed to be racing around her skull, like an uncaged animal.
"…Unless what?"
"You give back what you stole."
Selena's hand flew from her breasts to the surgical scar on her side.
"This is ridiculous. I'm leaving."
She stood up, and sprinted for the door. She wanted the night, wanted Los Angeles, wanted to escape his softly snarling voice.
"You cannot run. This does not end…"
* * *
Chapter 32K
"…untl I have what's mine." his voice crackled through the recording device.
Selena's poncho had hidden more than her breasts. She'd wrapped a tiny lavalier microphone around her neck. Now, at her mansion, she played it back. His voice was fuzzy. Faint. She would pass it over to an audio engineering friend who might be able to clean it up, but his words were more or less understandable.
And then she unclipped the pinhole camera that had been fastened to the poncho's lapel.
She plugged it into her laptop, and downloaded the data. Blurry nonsense, mostly. But for just a few seconds, the camera focused…
…and caught his face.
Good. He's not a ghost. I have his address, name, face, voice, and words.
She couldn't wait for vengeance. You're not the only one who hates, Lao Wei. But she needed help. She didn't know what this man could do.
She needed backup. But she could no longer rely on any man in her life.
To Jared and Micah and Trent, I'm just a pair of breasts with a woman inconveniently attached, she thought, horrified. They don't even care that this is weird, and impossible. They just look at me and see…tits.
Maybe this is his plan. To remove all of my possible allies from the picture. If so, it's worked…
…except for one man.
Ethan. She remembered his words. "It's us against the world. Bodies change, but who you are never will. Believe me, Sel, you are not your body. How you look does not matter."
The progressive ally. The male feminist. The one man in her life who would never objectify her. Ever.
Time to see if he'd meant any of it.
She invited him over—her partner in crime—with the intent of telling him everything that had happened to her.
But she never got the chance.
* * *
As soon as Ethan came through the door, he froze, dumbstruck by the massive flesh torpedos ballooning from Selena's front.
"Big tits…" he whispered, eyes not leaving her chest.
"Yeah, they're pretty big," she said.
Understatement. Selena couldn't even guess how vast her boobs were now. Far larger than her head. Each time she walked, they sloshed with a massive bounce that stretched the elastic of any maternity bra she could find to breaking point. She felt herself being violently pulled forward by their weight, ready to topple over.
Her big bazookas dwarfed her entire torso. She looked like a cartoon drawn by a horny 14 year old boy. Her head poked up behind her cleavage, looking comically small next to the globular bra-busters.
"I have a problem, and I need some advice—"
"I wanna touch them," Ethan said, stepping forward.
He threw himself at her.
Ripping away her top, tearing off her bra, he buried his face in her enormous tits. Coffee-colored cleavage jiggled around his sucking, kissing lips.
"OH MY GOD!" his voice gurgled out somewhere in the darkness of her chest. It had taken his entire head, leaving only a shaggy tuft of brown hair! "THEY ARE SO BIIIIIG!"
Selena pushed him back.
"Okay," she said, ruffled. "You've played with your boobs and had your fun, so let's talk. There's something really weird going on here. Can we talk?"
"Holy tits…" he whispered, wracked by shudders.
And then he lunged forward again, desperate for her hand-flooding, face-devouring breasts.
She squealed as his hands pulled and yanked them around like handles. "Ohhh….fuuuuck…" Ethan moaned as her tit-meat filled his hands. He grasped. He squeezed. He cossetted. He was all over their hot expansive surfaces, kissing them, slobbering them. "HUGE TITS! I FUCKING LOVE THESE SO MUCH!" he screamed, loud enough to make the surfaces vibrate. "OH MY GOD, THEY'RE AMAZING, SEL! FUCKING AMAZING!"
Then he was on top of her, pulling down his pants. He mounted her chest, angling his cock in line with her cleavage.
Like a man possessed, he rammed his dick between her boobs. They rippled like obscene pillows as his crotch impacted against them. Smack! Smack!
His body curled in immediate orgasm.
Ethan grunted as an enormous strand of semen blew from his yawning piss-slit, arching over her giant left jug and the three feet of tile beyond. The next shots slammed against her neck with enough force to sting. His cock was gushing and pumping cum until it flowed down her cleavage like a river.
Holy shit, she thought as his sperm glazed her. Where's all this coming from?
When the last of his load had emptied out over her rack, she assumed he was done. He'd never gotten hard again after fucking her, ever.
But Ethan stepped forward, an animal possessiveness on his face.
And his cock had not gone soft.
"Take your clothes off," Ethan ordered. His huge dick bobbed, causing precum to spill to the tiles.
She complied, an excited thrill bouncing back and forth down her spine. Her Calvins hit the tiles too, soaking in sperm he'd squirted over the ground.
But immediately, he thrust into her pussy.
"Ow! ETHAN! Slow down!"
His wild rutting was coarse and aggressive. Bullying. He frantically pounded her pussy, with the wild savagery of a dog. She found herself climaxing in spite of herself.
"FUCKING CUMMING!" he roared, pulling out of her twat with a plop.
He jerked his dick twice, and ejaculated.
The load that had been gathering in his balls for the past twenty minutes sailed out over her, splattering over the first load that had dried onto her skin. Cum spewed out in hot draughts. Shots hit her bowling-ball sized boobs with enough force to make them jiggle. Selena closed her eyes to protect them as wads of gloopy sperm sprayed over her body.
"You said you like them better…small…" Selena whined.
"You said you don't like them."
His hands jerked her vast rack upward. Mountains of titflesh to flowed up into her neck. Ethan grabbed and pulled with both hands, throwing himself directly at her chest.
"I LIED!" he hollered.
He fucked her again in the kitchen, then a fourth time in the bathroom. She was shocked by the nebbish young man's sudden viriliy. He'd never wanted to have sex more than once in a day. Something about her new body had turned him into a caveman, an animalistic beast.
"So much for not objectifying me," she snarled as he spread her legs, pulling his cock out of her slippery cum-filled vulva.
"I'm sorry…" he whimpered, his face planted inside her cleavage. "I'm sorry…"
His palm grasped her oversized left tit. The huge party balloon of flesh expanded in his grasp, ribbons of boob squeezing out through his fingers.
"…I can't help it."
And then she felt him get erect for the fifth time in two hours.
And as her eyelids rolled back and her mind filled with the whiteout shock of a ceiling light…
…he shoved his cock between her rack once again, and began pumping.
* * *
Late at night, in a deepening spill of shadow, her phone rang.
With a sigh, she picked it up.
"Lao Wei, you win."
There was silence on the other end.
"I'll do it. I'll give you back the kidney. It will take a few weeks. I'll need to find a surgeon ready to do it. God only knows how I'll explain it to them."
The silence deepened, became inky-dark and expectant. Something was still required of her.
"I'm sorry about your wife, and what happened. I know that doesn't make it better."
And then the static stopped. She heard an exhale.
"It is enough."
And then the man started to weep.
"It is all I ever wanted. Thank you, Selena. It is over."
* * *
As soon as she hung up, she realized that the primal throbbing in her breasts had stopped. They were still huge, overflowing her bra like stormy seas bursting dikes, but they no longer felt like living parasites. She looked down at them, and they were hers.
Tiredness settled over her. A need to sleep.
Selena collapsed into bed, her gigantic jugs flopping over her face, rolling over her in a wave of cleavage. Normally, she spent an hour propping and positioning her breasts so she did not painfully pinch them while moving in her sleep.
But this time, she was too tired.
Her head seemed to plunge right through the pillow, falling down into a murky dream. One that stained and poisoned and lingered in her psyche.
She was in a place she couldn't recognize. The physics and geometry of the walls were wrong. MC Escher-like. Bamboo-lined walls, reinforcing big wards made of curtains. She heard whirring of surgical equipment, heard high-pitched screaming that took a long while to digest as human. Through gauzy curtains, she saw human shapes thrashing.
Wetness soaked through her socks.
She looked down, and saw blood flowing around her feet in a sickening tide. Her stare followed her feet up to her ankles: she was wearing blood-splattered medical scrubs, and a mask stained red.
The blood-tide gushed higher and higher. Her shoes were ankle-deep in a swelling sanguinous tide that gained force until it was like a river, gushing down the hospital corridor.
Lao Wei voice broke through her mind.
Remember your promise…give back what you took.
Then she woke up.
And her breasts had shrunk.
Chapter ????
Her huge breasts were no longer there.
In wonder, she hefted the apple-sized globes. So small, so fragile, so perfect. Like newly born kittens, tiny enough to trip over their own paws. Her mind froze in awe that crushed it like a glacier.
What kind of man was Lao Wei that he could do this?
Was he even a man?
She had gotten so used to the massive mammaries that these new small ones felt like alien artifacts.
She bounced out of bed—emotionally, not literally—unsure of what to make of the fact that there was nothing weighing her down. She did jumping jacks. No pain.
A moonwalker's lack of gravity seemed to exist over her senses. Selena Gomez laughed and giggled.
She felt lighter than air. Like she could fly.
Her chest. A mystery. A secret. Locked up behind a bra, because the world does not deserve to understand its mysteries.
She didn't understand how, but she had her old body back.
* * *
The next day—after prancing around in public, almost begging paparazzi to photograph her—she confronted Charity Lispector. Her sponsor.
Selena wished she'd used the hidden camera to film the woman's face when she saw what had happened.
It would have captured a fury-pinched face—severe and stern, with a tartan dress pulled tight enough to emphasise her nonexistent chest—that melted, softened, losing itself in awe. A hand fluttered up, and fingers touched her mouth.
"I…I don't believe it."
"See?" Selena thrust her chest forward with oligeanous smugness. "I'm a size 32C, just like I said!"
The Flatter Chest, Fuller Life representative was stunned. She touched a hand to her mouth.
"You've had surgery."
Selena popped her top. Nipples jiggled modestly on her chest.
"No scars."
Charity stammered apologies and defenses. "Selena, I'm so sorry. When I saw those photos online…"
Selena winked. "I stuffed my bra to fuck. Just a practical joke. Guess it wasn't as funny as I thought."
"Okay, but now there are three weeks remaining, and you're still only a 32C…"
"I'm still shrinking," she said breezily. "I took a break from this dieting shit, but I'm on the edge of a 32B now."
She spoke with utter, total confidence. Effusive and bold. She was back to her old self: old mind, and old body. In control of everything.
Charity Lispector glanced around, as though seeking the missing words for her mouth.
"Ms Gomez…I am sorry. I misjudged you."
"People often do." Selena folded her arms over her small tits and stared the older woman down. "Your sponsorship is as safe as houses. Even if I'm not 32A on the day, I'll wear a binder under the bra. I'm small enough that nobody will ever notice."
Charity nodded. "So you're sure you'll be able to do it?"
"Absolutely."
She idly remembered that this crossed over the date she'd given Lao Wei for her surgery.
But that didn't matter. She wasn't going through with her promise anyway.
He didn't deserve her kidney. He deserved ruin, and she deserved to bring it down on him.
Smiling deeply, she laid plans.
* * *
Days later, she took a hit off a vape pen while texting with her LAPD contact.
Lao Wei was fucked.
They had his face, his voice, his name - or at least the alias he went under.
California was a two party consent state for recordings, but this does not apply when violent crime is involved. And extorting my goddamn kidney from me like a 90s urban legend sure qualifies as a crime, she thought bitterly, letting the smoke burn her throat.
She touched her elbows together, just because she could. No boobs! Hurrah!
Then she got the text she'd been waiting for.
It was from her contact on the LAPD.
SEL, THEY'RE ABOUT TO RAID THE APARTMENT COMPLEX TO GRAB YOUR STALKER.
Grab away, boys, she thought, snickering. Grab away.
She had no intent on honoring her promise to Lao Wei. Removing her kidney from her body would be expensive, sudden, and awkward. She could not afford a hospital stay, so close to the consummation of her contract.
And besides, fuck him.
Wrecking her body? He was going straight to prison..
She did not understand exactly what he'd done to her - whether he'd spiked her drinking water with some mystery breast-growth agent, or whether he'd scrambled her perception and memories with hallucinogens, or whether something genuinely supernatural was going on.
Surely he'd spill his secrets after the LAPD threw him in a box for a few hours.
You should have listened, Lao Wei, she thought. You fucked around, and now you're finding out.
A smile wefted across her face, and she raised the vape pen, in satiric toast.
* * *
The raid happened at dawn.
A Lenco BearCat rumbled to a half outside the apartment where the stalker lived. Camoflaged operatives from the LAPD's SWAT unit secured the perimeter, and then readied to breach and enter.
They assumed points, and smashed down the door. Flooding through into the building, they sectioned it off, room by room, yelling clear, clear, clear.
Such a display of force would have normally been excessive. But this was an unusual case.
Selena Gomez was being stalked—and perhaps poisoned or drugged—by an intensely disturbing individual, who seemed to think he had some sort of magical power to control her body. Officially, her identity was a secret. Jane Doe, according to the paperwork. But someone had leaked.
All the men knew who it was.
They made no arrests that day.
The interior of the apartment block was empty. Nobody lived there at all. Not even rats.
Judging by the inch of dust on every surface, it had been empty for a long time.
The police chief, anxious for results to justify the expensive raid, interviewed people in nearby addresses. Nobody recognized the stalker's face, or the sound of his voice.
It was like he'd never been there at all, except in Selena's imagination.
* * *
As the raid happened, Selena was in her mansion, phone in front of her, drinking a daiqari, pleased as punch. She had won. Lao Wei had lost.
She was just waiting for the LAPD to call, and report that they had him in handcuffs. They're gonna throw you in jail, throw away the key, and then throw away the jail, you son of a bitch.
The phone rang, and she took it. "Yo? Did you catch him?"
It was not the LAPD on the other side.
She was speaking to a huge aphotic ocean of static—streaked with rage and energy. It seemed to slam and echo inside her mind, ringing her like a bell.
"Liar."
Lao Wei's voice cut through the static like a whip.
"Did you think I could be caught?* He did not sound angry. Just exhausted and sad."Do you think I'm afraid of the American police? Do you think I'm afraid of you?"*
Her mouth fell open in a shocked oval. No words came out. Her hand drifted away from her head…
…toward her breasts.
"Our deal is canceled. I will deal with you in a different way. Far worse than I did before." He spoke words that were like nails piercing her flesh. Worms of madness seemed to flourish from the wounds.
"No....No....NO!!!" Selena screamed.
"Because you betrayed me, your body will betray you."
Her breasts started itching and throbbing. Insects seemed to crawl over their surfaces…which abruptly swelled against her dress. The nipples drove out like diamonds through the fabric.
"You will feel it change and alter and become foreign to you."
Her blouse ballooned out with the masses of expanding cleavage billowing underneath. She squawked as the fabric started to strangle her.
"You will suffocate under the weight of your flesh."
Utter horror blew through her like wind tearing through a broken window. "Please! Don't do it!"
Her breasts were exploding outward, blowing through cup sizes, swelling in front of her eyes. What had taken weeks now took minutes.
"NO!" she screamed. "NOT THIS!"
**"Die, under your own meat."* He hung up.
Gasping for air, clawing at her blouse, the weight of monstrous tits pulling her forward…she finally unhooked her choking 32C bra.
Her tits were muffin-topping out of her her neckline, expanding like rising dough until the heavy flesh almost seemed to cascade down the front of the dress's cut.
In utter disbelief, Selena grabbed at the huge sagging boulders packed into her dress. Two vast pumpkins of flesh, barely constrained by her blouse.
No! NO! NO!!!!
And then not even barely.
A button burst, then a second. Her boobs exploded through the gaps, bigger and bigger.
Buttons burst from the dress like popcorn as Selena's breasts tore it apart.
"AAAAAHHHH!" she screamed.
Mountains of titflesh gushed out, pouring into the air, nipples jutting further and further and further into space as her breasts swallowed all in their path.