As a child, her puritan mother had been terrified Jenny would become a stripper or prostitute. She had put up posters in Jenny’s room that she had made herself, showing a naked whore with fake tits – a different one each fortnight – and always with the same words: “Fake tits make you a slut. Only stupid girls have fake tits. Fake tits are only for men to masturbate over.”
For much of her life, her mother needn’t have worried. Jenny was a nice, chaste, virtuous girl. She finished college and started dating a nice boy. But she couldn’t help staring whenever she saw a woman with fake tits, driven to look by a youth spent with pictures of sexualised breasts on her wall every day.
Her boyfriend noticed her looking, so he scheduled her a birthday surprise. Jenny had to go into hospital anyway to have her gall bladder removed. Her boyfriend paid off the doctors to keep her under anaesthesia a little longer, and do some extra work – and to her surprise – and horror – Jenny woke up after the operation to find herself with a set of first-rate giant, obviously fake, fuckbags.
Her boyfriend had thought she would like it, but before she could express her horror to him, she looked at herself in the mirror, and saw a girl who looked just like all the whores who had graced her wall as she grew up, and she remembered the words she had stared at every day. “Fake tits make you a slut. Only stupid girls have fake tits. Fake tits are only for men to masturbate over.”
She knew the truth of those words, and deep inside she accepted they applied to her now. She could feel her willingness to be intelligent draining away, and a deep need inside her to live up to her new breasts. And so she crawled towards her boyfriend, her new tits swinging beneath her, and started to beg him to masturbate over her new body and decorate her new whore tits with the first of many, many loads of his cum…
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