BOOBALOONS: 36-28-34 Jennifer woke slowly. She was bound to be a bit groggy, we'd kept her asleep while she recovered. She blinked up, trying to focus. "Mr. Hyatt? Doctor Fibe? Where am I?" She took in the white room, the medical equipment by the walls, the hospital bed. "Am I - have I been ill?" Just lying in bed, she looked lovely. Tumbled masses of auburn hair framed a round, slightly chubby young woman face, big hazel eyes, a sweet little snub nose, kissable lips. Very clear skin set off by a scattering of freckles over her cheekbones. "You've had an operation," I said, "but you're fine now. You can get up if you want." Her almost invisible brows drew down in a cute frown. "Operation? But why? I wasn't..." She began to realise where she hurt. "What...?" She started to throw back the sheet, realised she was naked in bed, and settled for lifting it. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Her face was now blazing with rage and embarrasment. "Doctor Fibe, if you - you'll fix - I'll sue -" I decided she had ranted enough, and pressed the button on the remote in my pocket. Of course I hadn't been able to test the system until she woke up, and I was interested to see how it worked. It worked even better than I'd hoped. In the middle of an unladylike word her protests turned into a throat-ripping scream, and she clutched her bosom through the sheet and stared at us with huge horrified eyes, her face suddenly white. "Wha..." she wheezed, dragging air back into her lungs. "Wha... happened?" "What will happen every time you disobey or displease me, Jennifer." It seemed best to drive the lesson home right away. "Get out of bed." "What?" She turned red again. I was starting to enjoy her colour changes, I'd never seen her go through so many shades in the years she'd been my secretary. "I can't -" Another scream; her nipples had just turned for an instant to white-hot bullets of pain. She stared at me with tears running down her cheeks. "Get out of bed, Jennifer," I repeated in my most reasonable tone. She was a quick study, I'd always appreciated that. She moved stiffly, her body language shouting 'Under Protest!', but she slid her legs out the side of the bed, swivelled and sat up, forcing herself not to grab the sheet, and stood. "You may sit," I told her, indicating an armchair in the corner, and she took jerky steps across and dropped into it. Without thinking, she folded her arms across her breasts, and I shook my head. "Hands by your sides." Fibe and I stood on either side and admired her. She sat rigidly, trembling with shame, shooting us deperate looks from tear-filled eyes. "Wonderful, Doctor," I breathed. "They're all you claimed. Never mind brilliant, you're an artist." Jennifer was petite, and though slightly plump, she had never had much to speak of in the way of breasts. Now a perfectly shaped, incredibly pert pair of C-cup globes stood out from her chest without the benefit of lingerie. They wobbled gently to her jerky breathing, but showed not the least tendency to sag. I bent, tucked my fingers under one and lifted; Jennifer gasped and froze as I inspected the long healing cut that had been hidden in the undercrease. "You won't need to reopen this?" "Only a little nick in the middle," said Fibe happily. "A cut you'd close with a band-aid." "Marvelous." I dragged up a stool and sat in front of Jennifer. "Since this concerns you very personally, my dear, it's only fair you should have an explanation. You're aware that one of my company's main concerns is prosthetics for cosmetic surgery." She looked down at her newly enhanced mammaries, then up again, still puzzled. "Patience, all will become clear... Now a few months ago the Doctor here came to me with a very interesting possibility. You're probably aware that it's considered unsafe to use gasses in prostheses - risk of a leak causing bubbles in the bloodstream, embolism, you know the kind of thing. But he has developed a mixture of gasses that is only stable when perfectly dry; on exposure to water it reacts to become a much smaller volume of harmless liquid. Hence, safe in containers in the body. "At least that was the theory, but he was afraid that despite all the wonderful possibilities, we'd never get FDA approval - you know how conservative these people are. But when he explained some of the more - extreme - possible applications, I saw other potentials. I saw possibilities that would appeal to buyers who aren't bothered by such legalities. So I gave him a free hand to develop his idea: and you, my dear, are the first beneficiary." Despite the bewildering situation, her curiousity was piqued. She cupped her new endowment, feeling their unnatural lightness. "These are full of - gas?" "Not just gas!" Fibe's glasses flashed with pride. "Gas in a special polymer prosthetic form, multiple chambered to keep its shape, and enormously elastic!" He beamed at her. "You see, that's the most enlargement that was possible in a simple prosthetic insert. But once your incisions have healed, it will be possible to pump in more gas..." She clutched herself in instinctive protection. "NO!" I thought she should learn that that word was no longer in her vocabulary, so I made her scream again. This time she slumped forward till her head touched her knees, and I amused myself with the thought that before very much longer she wouldn't be able to do that. As she sat up and stared at me I explained "This was my contribution to the project. When I was starting up the company I designed most of the medical electronics myself, and I haven't lost the touch. Inside each of those forms in your breasts is a little radio controlled unit which, whenever I press this -" I showed her the remote and feinted at the button, and she cringed most satisfactorily - "will deliver a hefty shock right up against the nerves of both your nipples. I strongly advise you not to do anything that might make me press this button, is that understood?" She nodded dumbly. "Any questions?" "Wh... Why me?" she pleaded, and I smiled. "Pertinent question! As I hinted before, this system - I call it the Booballoon process -" Jennifer blushed again - "will be of immense interest to people who operate on the... hmmm... fringe of the law. Pimps, pornographers, sex-slave dealers..." "Imagine!" said Fibe, his face alight with enthusiasm. "Huge breasts that never droop or soften! A dancer with breasts the size of melons - who can dance naked, and neither knock her eyes out or have them swing to her knees! Women with enormous breasts firm enough to..." I clapped him on the shoulder, and he gulped and shut up, a bit embarrassed. "Well, you can see..." "It'll be beautiful," I told him. "And they'll be all your wonderful work." I turned back to Jennifer. "But you can see that people like that, to pay the prices we'll ask, will need convincing. We needed a model to show off just what Booballoons can do. We have plenty of photos taken when you were first on the operating table, to show how small your breasts used to be." She bit her lip angrily. "So when we've pumped you up to - what do you think, Doctor? A seventy-inch chest?" "Eventually," he said, eyeing her front, torn between creative fervour and professional caution. "We must go slowly, you understand, to give the tissue time to adapt. It wouldn't do for her breasts to have stretch marks like a pregnant belly." That image finally stung her. "You can't do this to me!" she flared. "I'll -" I didn't reach for the remote, just gave her a warning look, and she subsided. "You'll do nothing," I told her, "and neither will anyone else. Which answers your question: why you? In the time you've worked for me I've learnt all about you. You've no family, not even a serious boyfriend. It was easy to arrange for you to disappear without making waves. You're no longer my secretary Jennifer: you have a full time, permanent career as "Bouncy" Booballoons, our first model." She looked blank with shock. I picked up her chin and caught her eyes. "What's your name?" "J- Jennif -" she began dully, then screamed and sagged. I pulled her head up again. "Silly girl!" I said fondly. "You haven't been listening. What's your name?" She thought frantically. "B-Bouncy! Bouncy B- Booballoons!" "Very good! But -" I considered - "it needs emphasis. Whenever you say it, you should cup your hands under your boobs and bounce them a little, to make the point. Got that?" Her eyes were streaming tears again, but the nipple-shocker was a fast teacher; she nodded. "Show me. What's your name, girl?" "B-" She hastily cupped her lush globes. "Bouncy Booballoons." She joggled them enticingly, and Fibe groaned in sheer bliss. "When those are bigger," he said reverently, "that will look beautiful." "It looks pretty good to me already. What's your name?" I repeated, and Bouncy performed to order, sobbing with shame. The combination of those tits being shaken at me, and the sight of a lovely girl in such anguish - OK, I admit it, I'm a bit of a sadist - was turning me on like crazy. I made her do it a few more times, making me more excited every time. If only, I thought, and then, hell, why not? "Could she stand some tit fucking?" I asked Fibe. Bouncy jerked her head up to protest, then choked it back. Fibe looked almost as upset as her, lust warring with professionalism. "I really wouldn't," he said reluctantly. "Not till they've had at least another week to heal." "Too bad. Then you'll just have to give me a blow job," I told Bouncy. Her colour came and went in waves, but she didn't protest. "Say 'Yes, Sir,' Bouncy." "Y- Yes, Sir." "And -" ideas were coming to me all the time, the way they do when I have a new product to launch - "whenever anyone says your name, you give a big smile and bounce your boobs. It'll be a cute touch, the clients'll love it. Understood, Bouncy?" She hastily forced a ragged grin and cupped her tits. "Yes, Sir." "Very good, Bouncy." Another painful smile, another joggle of two handfuls of enhanced woman-flesh. She was sobbing openly now. I had planned to humiliate her some more, but I couldn't wait; I stepped quickly up to stand against the chair. "Do it." "Yes Sir," she snuffled, undoing my fly. I was so hard I nearly tore my way out of my shorts before she got them down. Then her mouth slid round me, unskilled but desperate to please, and I bent down and grabbed a handful of each tit. They even felt real, not with a lump in the middle like silicone jobs but softly springy. They must have been still a little sore from the operation, because she moaned round my cock, and in sheer bliss I kneaded them till the pleasure of that did what her clumsy tongue couldn't, and I shot my load into her mouth and then, as she recoiled in reflex horror, all over her face. She slumped down weeping, spunk trickling down her cheeks and drooling from the corner of her mouth, a picture of defeat. I tucked myself away feeling very happy. This was going to work. "All yours, Doc," I told Fibe, handing him the remote. He licked his lips, breathing hard; I had a feeling that Bouncy was going to be improving her oral technique real fast. "Keep her safe, don't play with her more than she can take, and start pumping her up as soon as you can. Call me when she gets to fortyfive inches."
BOOBALLOONS: 45-26-33 The next few weeks were some of the hardest waiting I've done. I had to get on with all the normal business of the company; I had to cope with a new secretary settling in, and everyone telling me what lousy luck it was Jennifer just taking off like that, and she always seemed such a sensible girl; I was having trouble covering up the expenses of Project BB. I knew that Fibe had to take his time. After all, this wasn't just any girl: Bouncy Booballoons was going to be our showpiece, the walking, bouncing, wiggling sample which I hoped would make our prospective clients reach for the cases of laundered bills. She had to be perfect. But it was tough just to wait. When I finally found a memo from Fibe in my in-tray, I pounced on it like a winning lottery ticket. It said simply: "45" I buzzed my new secretary. A lovely girl, blonde, curvy, normally I'd have been dreaming of getting in her pants by now, but I had only been able to think of Bouncy. "Jane, I have to go out to a project. Something just came up." I realised that was no lie; when I looked at that figure on the memo, and imagined what it meant, something definitely came up. I'd set up Project BB in a small lab unit in an industrial estate out of town. Bouncy's room was down the end of a corridor, with two heavy doors that were supposed to be for fire control but which also made pretty good security and soundproofing; there wasn't any way she was going to run. Fibe added that he had told her that the implants in her breasts were keyed to the transmitter in the remote, and if she got out of range of its signal they would fire and keep on firing. They weren't really that sophisticated, of course, but she wasn't going to risk it. "I hope you haven't over-used that zapper," I said as he opened the second fire door. "I don't want her scared into a nervous breakdown." "Don't worry, she's a strong girl. She's coped." I began to notice a rhythmic creaking noise from the room ahead, and shot him a puzzled glance. "I've set her an exercise regime," he explained, "to trim down her waist and set off her - h'm - assets more dramatically." He unlocked the door. "And to protect her from brooding on her situation." Bouncy was lying on the bed, her feet fastened to the bottom rail by padded hospital restraints. She had her hands clasped behind her head and was doing painfully slow sit-ups; as we came in her eyes locked onto us fearfully, but she didn't stop. I realised she was doing them to the ticks of the wall clock: halfway up, hold for three ticks while her belly muscles quivered, up, tick, halfway down and hold for another three ticks, down, tick, and repeat. The windowless room was hot, and her naked skin was running with sweat. It was a routine to scare the Marines, and I wondered how long she'd been doing it. "You can stop, Bouncy," said Fibe, and even as her face went slack with relief, she brought her hands quickly round and cupped and joggled her breasts. Then she sat panting, watching me apprehensively, while Fibes unstrapped her ankles. "What do you think?" he asked. His tone was smug: he could already see from my face that I was floored. "Awesome," I said sincerely. When I'd said fortyfive, I hadn't really thought about the proportions. A fortyfive inch chest on a girl as slight as Bouncy meant a lot of tit. They were the size of California grapefruit, and too wide to rest separately: even naked they pressed together with a lovely little cleavage. I'd been worried that she'd end up looking like a cartoon girl with bowling balls glued to her chest, but their shape was still natural, with the same lovely swooping curve down and out from her collarbones and over and down again to the nipples. Only bigger. Much bigger. The skin of her amazing new bosom seemed to be paler, with a translucency like expensive bone china, threaded here and there with faint blue veins. The aureoles had stretched as well and were a good three inches wide. Without even deciding to I found myself standing by the bed fondling and kneading them, marvelling that they could still squeeze and bounce so deliciously. Her face was screwed up with what might have been shame or pain. "Are they sore, Bouncy?" I asked her. She nodded dumbly, at the same time as automatically joggling herself with both hands. I glanced at Fibe. "Her last inflation was yesterday," he said. "The pain passes off after the first few hours, but they usually remain sensitive for two or three days." There were tears of anguish running down Bouncy's cheeks as I mauled her inflated titflesh. I decided that Fibe, like most doctors, used "sensitive" to mean "the patient isn't actually screaming". "And how long between inflations?" "Two days seems to be a safe margin." I pictured the last few weeks for a moment: every couple of days, when her breasts had just about stopped hurting, Fibe had strapped her down to the bed and pumped them up to the point of agony again. No wonder she looked a bit subdued. "But they won't be harmed by rough handling at this stage?" "Not at all," he said confidently. "You can do anything to them that you could do to natural tissue. Except stick pins in them, hahaha!" "Hehe," I agreed, digging my fingers in and marveling at how deep I could push them into the resilient globes. "Well, I'm glad you said that, because that's the next thing I need to check. But first another question. Can you apply your system to padding out other areas?" "No reason why not. What did you have in mind?" "Stand up, Bouncy." She jumped to her feet with an automatic smile and tit-shake. "See, big tits, fine, but the sort of people we'll be dealing with may want more. In the Middle East and Japan, particularly, they like a bubble butt as well." Fibe's exercise routine had sweated the puppy fat off her waist, but it had also tightened her rump. "Could you..." I sketched curves with my hands round her hips, outlining a Rubenesque shape. Fibe's eyes lit up. "A challenge. The implants would have to be more delicately shaped - and there isn't a natural fold to lose the incision in. On the other hand, the buttock crease is always defined even when it's flattened - if I was careful -" "Good man. How long would it take to have that done and blown up a bit?" Bouncy made a desperate little choking noise. "I'd have to design the implants... Say four weeks." "No sweat. It'll take me that long to set up the kind of appointments we need to start selling. Which reminds me - lie down again, girl. You better strap her down, Doc." She stretched out obediently on the bed, but her eyes were asking me frantic questions. "She's not saying much, is she?" I noted. Fibe fastened the soft restraints on her wrists. "I got tired of her complaining, so I told her to keep quite unless she was actually told she could speak. After a few shocks she got the idea." "Sounds good to me." He had certainly done a good job; she was obviously longing to ask for explanations, beg, protest, anything, but nothing came from her pretty lips but a wordless little whimper of fear. We both admired her as she lay. It was now that her breasts showed their more than natural perfection: real ones that big would have been in her armpits, but these just settled a few inches outward and stood there, huge and proud and sexy. "What I'm thinking," I explained, "is that if we're intending these for whores and suchlike, they're going to have to take more than the usual amount of rough treatment. Are you sure they're up to it?" "I'm staking my reputation on it," said Fibe confidently. "Anything you can do to real ones, and probably more." I backhanded the right one as hard as I could hit, so that it bounced across and smacked into the left before rebounding into place. Bouncy shrieked at the top of her voice. "Looks good," I admitted, and smacked the left one even harder so that it bounced back and forth twice. Bouncy began to sob hysterically. "Okay," I said, "time for a serious test." I unbuckled the heavy belt I had put on in the car on the way here. "Are you sure about this?" I asked Fibe, hefting the belt. "Remember, it may be her tits on the line, but it's your ass." We both laughed over that, while Bouncy started to howl in terror. "Worry about your electronics, if you're going to worry," he assured me. "My work will hold." "So will mine; that's why I put them so deep in the implants." I swung the belt with a full overarm down onto her right boob. The effect was amazing: the whole mass of flesh seemed to half flatten while the belt sank a good inch in for an instant, before everything rebounded and Bouncy screamed. I inspected her breast. There was a hot crimson track across it, and no other sign of damage. But the angle was awkward, so I knelt up on the bed and straddled her hips while she looked at me with enormous horrified eyes. "Brace yourself, honey," I told her as I doubled the belt, "this might sting." I lashed her boobs with all my strength, left, right, left, right, trying to mark them from every side. The great globes of woman-flesh bounced, squashed, rolled, shook, while Bouncy howled incoherent pleas for mercy between screams, and Fibe gave up even pretending to be only looking and squeezed his dick urgently through the front of his pants. When at last I dropped the belt the breasts were every shade of red from chilli to burgundy with stripes of violet; and though Bouncy's shrieks died away to hopeless sobs, her agonised face showed that they were two burning masses of pain. "Final test!" I gasped, dragging open my fly. Shuffling quickly up the bed I grabbed them and crammed them together with my rigid boner between them. The feeling was beyond belief. Any tit-fuck I had ever enjoyed before had been less than a hand-job by comparison. My dick was completely enclosed and squeezed in soft, hot, suffering breast-flesh, and I fucked them with brutal force, lying with my full weight on them, crushing and mauling them till Bouncy screamed afresh, until with a shuddering cry I shot a scalding explosion between them. I climbed off the weeping tit-raped girl and put myself away. "Perfect," I breathed. "Doc, we're going to be rich... Doc?" He blinked at me, embarrased, and I laughed. "All yours," I told him, indicating the glowing red, cum-smeared breasts. "And make sure her butt can stand as much. See you in four weeks."
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