The Monthly Story: Turned into Her Breasts

This tale originally appeared in my new collection Trapped as a Girl. I'm reprinting it here for free as a little bonus for all my lovely loyal patrons, and because Gender Swap World is taking so damn long to finish (seriously, it's turning into a novel) there was a danger of no story otherwise being ready this month.

I’m a bit of a fan of non-human transformation stories, if only coz they allow you to write the craziest plotlines, and have endless fun while you do so. While they’ve got a bit of a reputation as a weird form of niche erotica (something I'm certainly guilty of indulging in myself from time to time) they’ve got an incredible literary pedigree. Philip Roth, of all people, wrote a book about a man who turns into a gigantic boob. Seriously, it’s called ‘The Breast’. Check it out.

For my own contribution to this not-quite genre, I wanted to write a simple revenge story. This tale is somewhere between a horror story and a little morality play. There's faint elements of the Stepford Wives, and other creepy stories about men forcing women to change their behavior, their very bodies, for the pleasure of their husbands. Only, coz I'm me, it ends with the jerkoff men getting a taste of their own medicine...

This is one of the few tales I’ve written entirely from a female perspective. I’m not sure why, but writing men – even if they’re secretly female deep down, and just need a little wish or magic spell to get the body they should have been born with – has always been easier for me, so it’s nice to flex my literary muscles a little and try doing a first person female character every now and then. Maybe it’s something I’ll revisit more often.

Lisa X

Turned into Her Breasts

Image via Pixabay. Used under a public domain license.

The first thing everyone always notices about me are my breasts.

They’re big, I’d be the first to admit. Far, far bigger than average, especially on a woman as slender as I am.

At first glance you’d probably think they were plastic, but trust me, they’re not. They’re probably the only natural pair of Double-Js in the whole of California. Maybe America.

Heck. Maybe the world.

It’s not just their impossible size that people react to when they involuntarily gape (men), or quickly glance down and let a brief look of disgust flicker across their faces (women). No, there are two other reasons why my chest is always the center of attention, wherever I go.

The first is that I take absolutely no care at all to hide my big, ol’ boobies. Even though it’s not really my style, I take extra care these days to wear low-cut tops, or bust-revealing dresses, or just extremely tight sweaters (as most sweaters are on me, nowadays). Anything that will draw people’s eyes to my chest.

After all, I have the figure for it. With my tight waist, curved hips, long legs and pert ass, I pretty much always look like a supermodel escaped from the Playboy mansion.

I don’t always enjoy it, if I’m being honest. The attention can easily get too much. Not just from the men, but from the women who are clearly whispering behind my back about cosmetic surgery and implants.

Well, what can I do? I let them whisper. After all, I’m fated to look like this now for the rest of my life. Have been ever since Trey…

Whoops. I’m getting ahead of myself now, overtaking my story.

Trust me, we’ll come back to Trey.

The attention doesn’t both my lover, Jessica. She likes having a girlfriend who men and women alike can’t stop staring at. I think it turns her on to go out with someone whose boobs are even bigger than her own Double-H pair (plastic, in her case). Whenever I start feeling a bit shy about my new figure, she’ll just roll her eyes and laugh.

“Brooke…” she’ll say in that tinkly voice of hers, one hand placed gently on my bare arm, “babe. Just stop. You look fantastic. Everyone thinks so.”

Then, with that warm little smile that always makes me melt inside:

“You’re the best looking girl here.”

And I know she’s right, but it still makes me feel good to hear her say it.

At those moments, I can almost understand what Trey used to see in her.

The other reason people are always staring at my new tits is because they’re exactly that: new. I didn’t have them a year ago, just like I didn’t have my current figure, or my supermodel looks.

Oh, I wasn’t bad looking before. Just normal and neurotic about it, y’know?

I worried about my weight, and I sometimes thought my boobs – normal, C-cup boobs, back then – were getting saggy but, by and large, I was quietly pleased with my body. Quietly pleased with the woman I’d grown up to become.

I used to think Trey was pleased, too. It was only after he found It that I realized just how wrong I’d been.

That’s my husband, by the way. Or was. Still is, perhaps. We never got a divorce, after all, and it’s not like he’d be able to sign the paper or anything now.

Not that I’d let him, even if he could. There’s something so… intoxicating about knowing we’re still married. Even after these crazy 12 months. Even after my moving in with Jessica. To know I still have his ring on my finger…

Let’s just say it reminds me that what I did was right.

(Do you hear that, Trey, do you hear what I just told these people? Can you still remember what you did to me? I think they’ll agree with my decision, won’t they, when they hear the whole story…)

Anyway, back to my husband. Or my ex. Or whatever.

Trey was a prop man working on the movies. Yeah, I know, right? What a perfectly stereotypical job to have in the Golden State.

I was no better. At the time – before I became famous worldwide as a swimwear model – I was writing erotic stories from our home in the mountains, dreaming up naughty scenarios sat in a wicker rocking chair on our porch and publishing them online.

Under my pen name I was even semi-famous. When we first got together, it turned out that Jessica had read a few of them over the years, and I thought that was just about the hottest thing ever.

But back to the story.

We’d been married for three or so years when Trey came home one day, all excited over something he’d found in an old prop room at the back of some movie lot.

He used to bring a lot of spare props home, in those days. A ray gun from a sci-fi flick here. An old, heavy clock from an unreleased steampunk movie there.

Not that he’d ever brought home anything like this before.

I can still remember it clearly. The battered old, twisted lamp with its curled spout and chipped handle. The one that looked like an ancient Arabian treasure.

I still remember the way it seemed to draw my eyes in as I looked at it. The way it faintly vibrated as I held it in my hands. Trey was prattling on that it was from an old Errol Flynn film from the silent era, and there were rumors that it was the real deal. An actual lamp from Arabia, picked up at a junk store by some long-dead prop man, nearly a century ago.

I don’t know why, but looking at it made me shiver. Like there was something very, very wrong with it. Something that made me wish Trey had left it in that dusty old prop room.

Today, he probably wishes exactly the same thing.

But at the time he was all excited, and evidently disappointed that I wasn’t equally interested in his find. So he took it next door to show Jessica, who back then was just our big boobed neighbor with the plastic HH tits, while I tried to go back to my writing and shake off my feelings of worry.

Oh, if only I’d listened to them, to those little voices telling me something was off, something was wrong.

I might still be a normal-looking woman. Jessica might still be straight. And Trey…

Trey might still be human.

There was a storm that night. A big wall of roiling cloud and lightning that rolled in off the distant ocean and pummeled our little house on the hillside.

I was lying awake in bed, unable to get to sleep, turning over something Trey had said to me when he came back from Jessica’s, a sheepish sort of grin on his face. When I’d asked what was up, he’d vaguely talked about putting the lamp to good use.

Good use, like, what? You made a wish? I’d asked, semi-sarcastically. Trey had just grinned some more.

Oh yeah, totally, he’d giggled. Two actually. If they come true…

You’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams? I’d replied, keeping the dry humor thing up. But Trey had barely seemed to notice.

Trust me. If these come true, my life will be awesome without any riches.

I was reliving these odd words in the darkness, listening to the crash of lightning outside, when I heard it.

“It” was a distant sort of ringing, like a tuning fork vibrating almost beyond the pitch of human hearing, strange and musical. It was coming from the living room of our modernist home, seeming to fill the darkened house.

What the-? I remember thinking. Is that the lamp…?

No sooner had I finished the thought than I became aware that I wasn’t just hearing something unusual. I was feeling it, too.

Not in my head, where you might expect a high-pitched noise to vibrate. Oh no.

In my chest.

It was a weird, tingly sort of feeling. Like electricity was dancing over my boobs. Like a pressure was growing behind them, causing them to swell slightly. Like they were starting to hurt. Like they were…

And then I looked down and nearly went mad.

There, in the half-light of the bedroom, I could clearly see my boobs were growing.

They were gently swelling up, slowly inflating from a C-cup to a D-cup, to a DD, right before my eyes.

As I watched in horror, I could feel the fabric of my once-loose top start to stretch, start to squash my expanding breasts, start to get uncomfortable. With a little squeak, I remember tearing it off over my head, looking down in fright…

And realizing, with a feeling like I was going mad, that it wasn’t just my boobs that were changing.

My entire body was shifting and warping like crazy.

I’d love to be able to give you the details here, of every little thing that happened. Of every little change that affected me. But I can’t. My mind is a near-blank, my memory wiped by a sea of panic.

I dimly remember screaming Trey’s name and leaping out of bed. Then, next thing I knew, I was stood topless before the bathroom mirror, howling with terror as I watched my entire body change.

It was the scariest, most surreal thing that’s ever happened to me, by a goddamn country mile.

Before my eyes, I was forced to watch as my normal chest swelled up and up and up until my boobs became the enormous, Double-J monsters they are today, all huge and swollen and so heavy I thought I was gonna topple over.

I was forced to watch, too, as my waist magically tightened. As my body grew curvier. As my legs got longer, as the faint traces of fat dribbled away from my sides and my body became a perfectly-shaped male fantasy.

My face also changed. Even as I wailed, my eyes grew incrementally wider. My skin grew springier, more youthful, like I was 18 instead of nearly 30. My cheekbones got sharper, my features more symmetrical. My hair took on more of a bounce and shine.

By the time it was over, barely thirty seconds later, I’d gone from being an averagely good-looking woman with a relatively normal body…

…to a dynamite 18-year old girl with a supermodel figure, a face that could launch ten thousand ships, and boobs that were bigger than any woman’s had any right to be.

I remember staring at my reflection in shock, thinking that I was going mad. That there was no way this could happen!

I still looked like myself, that was the freaky part. My face was still recognizably mine, only like I was a younger, more-beautiful version of me. My hair was still in the same style, only now it had more volume to it, more shine, more sleekness, like I was in a shampoo commercial.

I recall whimpering in fright as I ran my fingers over my perfect new features, over my suddenly flawless skin. Remember the way I hesitated before touching my new boobs, and the horrifying realization that they were now as real, as a part of me, as my old, normal-sized tits had been only moments ago.

I remember, too, the way the shadow appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. The way I turned to Trey, my face pale with shock, expecting him to share my terror with me.

And, most of all, I remember the way he slowly looked over my altered body. The way his surprised look turned to one of delight. The way he gently shook his head and said, with a happy sigh:

I guess the lamp really does grant wishes.

Neat.

I’ve since asked Jessica if she can remember what happened that day, if she can remember what wish Trey made. And she just shrugs and says she can’t really recall, but she knows my husband had spent most of the time he was showing her that lamp covertly peeking at her HH tits, like he always did.

Evidently, at some point, the bastard had a brainwave. Wondered why he was just peeking at big tits he couldn’t touch, when he could use the lamp to create a pair he would always be allowed to play with.

While Jessica was out, getting coffee or tea or a beer or something, he must’ve closed his eyes, held the lamp, and wished that his wife Brooke had tits even bigger than Jessica’s (and that the rest of her body would get fixed up, while the lamp was at it).

When he saw that his wish had come true, he must’ve felt like the luckiest guy on Earth.

Poor, dumb bastard.

Well, you can imagine what happened next.

After my body changed like that, we had the most furious row. I remember screaming at him that he should have just dumped me if my body wasn’t good enough for him, instead of turning me into a freak, while he screamed back and said I looked better now, didn’t I, so what was the big deal?

I remember, too, that I burst into tears at one point and, instead of comforting me, he just picked up the lamp and waved it in front of me.

Brooke, I remember him sighing, shut up, OK? Just calm down or I’ll… I’ll…

You’ll what? I spat back. Make my boobs even bigger?

I laughed hollowly and waved at his crotch.

You could have at least fixed something else from being too small while you were at it!

At my words, Trey’s face went dark as a thundercloud.

Careful, Brooke… he whispered. I did you a favor, OK? One more ungrateful word out of your bitch face and I’ll use my last wish to turn you into our maid.

He waved the lamp threateningly, but I was too busy blinking at him to notice.

Our…?

Mine and Jessica’s. I remember oh-so clearly the way he said it, so casual, so cruel. My second wish. I made her attracted to me and to me only. She’ll never look at another person again. Never think of anything but me.

There was a knock at the door. I saw his face light up.

That’ll probably be her. Don’t go anywhere. If you’re good, I’ll use my last wish to give us a happy 3-way relationship. But if you dare annoy me again…

…it’s maid time for you, Brooke.

And, sneering, he went to open the door.

I don’t remember how long I sat there, trembling with rage, with fear, with all this pent up awfulness. I don’t recall how long I sat there as I heard Trey’s voice, indistinct, say something, and Jessica distantly laugh that wonderful, tinkly laugh of hers.

All I remember was that my head suddenly cleared, and I realized what I had to do.

Trey and Jessica were still standing in the doorway as I padded into the hall, my brand new boobs still on display, my sexy new hips rolling seductively with every step. The lamp was in one of Trey’s hands, the other resting on Jessica’s hip as they kissed.

As I entered, Trey leaned back from Jessica’s perfect lips, turned, and smiled at me.

Brooke. He said. Have you decided to…?

I’ve decided to be whatever you want me to be, I said, forcing up a smile that was ten thousand times more stunning on my reworked face. I-I don’t wanna be a maid, Trey. If you want to use your last wish to make all three of us happy, to make the two of us into your sexy wives…

…then so be it.

I’ll never forget the way he smiled at that. So smug. So patronizing. Like he’d finally ditched boring old monogamous Brooke for the dream bisexual, top-heavy wife he’d always secretly wanted.

OK, then. He said. In that case…

He let go of Jessica. Closed his eyes. Began rubbing the lamp.

I wish…

That was as far as he got.

The split-second his eyes closed, I’d grabbed one of his old props from the hallway table, the fist-sized mechanical clock from that failed steampunk movie. Now I hurled it with all my strength, letting out a scream as I threw the heavy object right at his cheating head.

There was a crack that set my teeth on edge. Trey’s eyes went wide. He staggered against the wall, dropped the lamp, his face white as a sheet as Jessica devotedly screamed his name.

You BITCH! He gasped. You bitch! I’ll turn you into a pig! I’ll…

But by then it was too late.

The moment he stumbled, I’d darted forwards, ignoring the painful way my enormous new boobs bounced as I ran, ran like my life depended on it.

I grabbed the lamp, pushed myself to my feet and backed away from my evil husband, holding the lamp before me like a weapon.

BROOKE! Trey shouted, blood running down his face. Don’t you dare! You’re my wife and I order you not to undo my-!

You think I’m gonna waste this last wish turning us all back? I laughed, hysterically. Fuck that. You’ve got your just desserts coming.

As Trey continued to scream at me and Jessica clung to him, her face white as the wish forced her to act completely into him, I calmly rubbed the lamp, an evil little grin of my own on my face.

You like big boobs, huh, Trey? THEN I WISH YOU WERE A PAIR!

There was a scream, from Trey or Jessica, I’m not sure. The lamp began to tremble in my hands. I heard someone charging towards me, yelling that they were gonna kill me…!

And then there was a blinding flash of light. And, when it finally vanished, our old lives had vanished with it.

*

So, that’s my story. Me, Brooke Klein, 18-year old supermodel, forever fated by magic to look like a beautiful teenager, forever fated by magic to have these gigantic tits sticking out in front of me.

Forever fated by magic to have a girlfriend who is obsessed with my boobs. Who can’t keep her eyes off them. Who is incapable of feeling attraction for anything but my breasts, and can barely go ten minutes without begging me to let her fondle them.

Because here’s the strangest part.

After I made my wish, Trey transformed into a pair of breasts, all right. But not just any tits.

For some reason, the lamp took his mind and his soul, and transported them into my new boobs. Turned him into the huge JJ things growing from my chest.

And he’s been trapped there ever since.

Oh, his other wishes are still working. I’m still a supermodel. Jessica remains utterly devoted to him, even if, in practical terms, that means she’s basically in love with my tits.

Yeah, we became lovers mainly so Jessica could get her hands – and her lips – onto my boobs. Like I said, she’s utterly obsessed with them. As Trey wished, she’s only really happy when she’s kissing him, or sucking him, or playing with his new form.

For my part, though, that works for me.

Somehow, the wish left me able to communicate with Trey mentally, even inside his new home. I know he’s still conscious inside my breasts, able to feel, even able to see.

But I also know that, no matter how much Jessica tweaks his nipples, or licks his areolas, or squeezes his flesh, his pleasure can only grow so much.

It’s me who gets the orgasms, who gets to have great sex with the woman of Trey’s dreams, while all he can do is listen in misery to me moaning, able to get aroused, but never able to experience relief.

What a perfect punishment, huh?

I’m also able to feel his humiliation at being a pair of big ripe titties. That’s why I dress the way I do, so he can see all the horny men leering down at him as he bounces and jiggles in my bra, so he can be completely aware of what he is and what people think of him now, and not do a damn thing about it.

Sometimes at night, when Jessica is fast asleep, I like to tease him. I go and stand in front of the mirror, when he can get a full view of my perfect body, and gently tweak my nipples and softly caress my breasts and let him watch the show.

And I ask him if he likes it, if he likes watching me play with my big new tits, if he likes watching me play with him… and I hear his answer, in a distant part of my brain. A male sobbing and wailing as he begs me to change him back, to find the lamp again and make everything normal.

Well, fat chance of that happening, Trey.

The lamp is gone. It vanished after I made my last – and only – wish, gone off to cause havoc in someone else’s life, no doubt. Trey keeps mentally trying to tell me that it would still work for Jessica if we found it and gave it to her and instructed her to wish what we wanted, but I’m not really all that bothered about looking.

After all, I’m rich now. I’m famous. I’ve got a wonderful girlfriend.

And I’ve got the best natural tits in the whole of LA.

I keep whispering to Trey that, one day, I’m going to go out, find a well-hung black man, and let him violate me. I’m going to let him come all over my big new boobies, and give him as many titwanks as he wants, all in the name of humiliating Trey.

I’m not really gonna do that, of course. It’d be humiliating for me, too, but Trey doesn’t know that. So I let him believe it could happen, any day now.

So there you are. If you ever see an impossibly hot 18-year old supermodel with a gravity-defying rack wandering around LA with a well-stacked girlfriend on one arm and a faint smile on her pretty face, do come up and say hi.

And make sure you stare down at these big tits of mine, and leer over them, and maybe even give them a naughty squeeze if you want.

Because there’s a nasty little creep trapped inside them, who used to think women’s bodies were his to do with as he pleased.

And he deserves everything that happens to him.

The End.