Basically, you want to know how and why I got it don't you? Well, I can tell you that I got it by choice. I know, you wondering why I would get something so weird. I didn't really want it at first. I just felt that I needed it, for competition's sake. It wasn't until later that I truly enjoyed the idea for it's own sake. I'll be happy to tell you about my little story, and to answer all of your questions. But first, you need a little background. I'm sure you know a little bit about it. I mean it has changed human society dramatically, but I think you would be better served if you allowed me to analyze the history of the therapy. It will probably help you to understand.
I'm of course talking about gene therapy as it relates to cosmetic alteration of the breasts. It is, of course, widespread now, as any idiot can see just by looking at the world around him or her. I don't know how much you know about the process, so I'll explain it briefly. I'm not a doctor or anything, so I don't know the exact mechanics of it, but basically, the doctors activate dormant breast cells found naturally in all people to make one's breasts grow larger. Or, conversely, they deactivate breast cells to make one's breasts disappear or shirk in size. The whole process is pretty amazing when you think about it.
Since the treatment was first approved for public use seven years ago, it has quickly become the most popular medical treatment of all time. The original funding for the research on such treatment had come from the various breast cancer groups. Indeed, it has been a very fortunate treatment for women recovering from mastectomies. It provided a quick, easy, and relatively cheap way to grow a new breast where the old one had been removed. But, of course, it didn't take long before people realized that it could be used to increase breast size in normal, healthy breasts. The number of people wanting this treatment skyrocketed, and the manufacturers of breast implants quickly went bankrupt. I mean, why put some funky piece of plastic in your body when you could naturally and easily grow your breasts out bigger and better with a noninvasive treatment? As you probably know, millions of woman submitted to the treatment. Even women who would never have considered putting an implant in their body submitted to the new treatment. It is to the point where A- and B-cup size breasts are a thing of the past. It is very rare to see any small-breasted women anymore, as I'm sure an admirer like you has noticed.
In the past seven years society has really dramatically changed. A whole new reality of breast size has been born. Feminists complain about how strange it is for so many women to want to change what nature has given them, but you'll notice that most of these feminists that complain, are sporting larger breasts too. You can't blame them. Most women feel the same way, but at the same time, they want to look good too. I mean, who doesn't want to look their best? Breasts have become so easy to change, that it is almost irresistible not to want to alter them. Hell, most women are going back and forth from larger to smaller sizes these days. Breasts have become less a body part, and more a fashion accessory.
It only takes about 2 days for the breasts to grow or shrink to the size requested at treatment. I know plenty of women who keep their breasts at a C-cup size and then go in for treatment a few days before a big event. It's become a lot like getting your hair done. You make an appointment, you walk in the clinic, wait in the waiting room for awhile, submit to the 15 minute procedure, and in two days, you've got exactly the right size breast for the event. It seems so strange now, that just a few years ago, you were pretty much stuck with whatever size breasts nature gave you, unless you submitted to an invasive surgical procedure.
Do they even make wedding dress sizes to accommodate a woman with less than D-cup sized breasts anymore? I haven't seen any. I suppose you could have it specially made, but what woman would want to appear on one of the biggest days of her life in anything less than D-cup size breasts? Big breasts have become just as important as the dress itself. It just wouldn't look right for the bride to not fill out her dress. It has quickly become a tradition to be big-breasted on your wedding day.
Weddings are of course not the only aspect of society to change. What single woman is going to go out in search of a man without a big set of hooters? Even single women who resent the attraction to big breasts aren't going to put themselves at a disadvantage. Also, what about that old anxiety that girls used to feel over breast development? Twelve and thirteen year olds used to wait and worry about when and how much their breasts would grow. Now, they need not worry. The right of passage for a daughter used to be the first trip to the store to buy a training bra. Now, the real right of passage is that first trip to the clinic to order the best set of breasts. I have overheard many a dispute between mother and daughter.
The child would whine. "But mom, I want the big breasts!"
The mother would of course explain. "You're not old enough to have big breasts like that. If you want the breasts of some harlot, then you'll just have to wait until you're 18. Hopefully, you'll be mature enough to know better by then." Of course, that maturity is rarely the case. Most eighteen year olds are concerned with popularity, and they know that bigger breasts will make them more popular.
That's not to say that small breasts are never to be seen. One look at the female athletes in the Olympics makes it apparent that small or flat chests have their advantages too. What female driver, swimmer, or gymnast had anything over an A-cup in the last Olympic games? Not many that I've seen, at least not while they were in competition anyway.
Yet, the therapy had an even more profound impact on society if you think about it. It wasn't just the female half of the species that had changed, it was the male half too. Men's brains all but turned to mush. I'm just kidding of course, but you have to admit that when big breasts started popping up all over the place, you guys were all like some slobbering, moronic kid set loose in a candy store. Men's wildest fantasies had come true. How wonderful for you, and how terrible for the backs of those poor women who pushed the size barrier to the limits. But men weren't just on the receiving side as you well know. It started with the transgendered obviously. They didn't have to wait a year, nor go through hours and hours of expensive psychological therapy just to get the opportunity to inject themselves with female hormones. All they had to do now was make a simple appointment, and two days later, they would have breasts just like women. They no longer had extended waits or expensive psychological analysis. They could get the breasts they wanted quickly and easily. Moreover, they could get rid of them just as quickly and easily if they decided that they didn't like having boobs after all.
To many people's surprise, regular men got in on the act too. It was mostly younger, rebellious guys, as you know. Many of my friends were shocked when guys first started doing it. I didn't shock me all that much. I had always suspected that guys have a certain amount of breast envy whether they want to admit it or not. Guys always seem to want what they can't have. It quickly became the trend for young guys to "experience the mams" as it is called. Teenagers and guys in their 20's would take a few days off, wax the hair off their chest, and experience what it was like to have big hooters. I can just imagine the masturbatory thrill you guys get out of that experience. Of course the first guys to start the trend of "experiencing the mams" were called "fags" and all other sorts of other pejorative names. Eventually though, it became like guy's earrings in the 1980s. It was odd at first, then just accepted as a youth trying to be different.
Most guys only keep the boobs for a couple days, masturbating wildly, and then giving them up. Others, of course, kept them for longer periods, and even went so far as to have the hair on their chest permanently removed. It's pretty much replaced piercing and tattoos as the rebellious thing to do. I wonder how many family disputes were created by the son coming home sporting a nice, new, big set of tits. Only the young and more rebellious guys are keeping them for any period of time, and most have to get rid of them when they go to start their careers. It's not good for a guy to go to a job interview sporting a nice pair of boobs. I say about what, 20% of 18 to 25 year old men have them presently? Yeah, that sounds about right to me. Think about the huge new market for men's bras. They are less frilly of course. Just think of how silly the idea of a "manly bra" would have been just a couple of years ago. Not to mention the idea of a father breast feeding. I think it is really nice that some new fathers are temporarily growing lactating breasts, in order to help feed their children. It is still kind of strange to see though. I never quite get used to it. Even though most of these fathers only have A-cup size breasts, it is strange to see a baby suckling from a guy. Anyway, my point in rehashing the history of the breast treatment, is to illustrate just how many ways it has changed society.
Then, there is my story. I'm not trying to change society. Although, I can't help but wonder what other changes will result from the revolutionary cosmetic treatment. I wasn't even really into all that breast alteration stuff. When I first started working here in fact, I had never had even a single alteration done. It is very unusual for a young woman not to have had any alterations done in today's society. I didn't dismiss the possibility of having them altered one day. If there was a big enough event in my life, I had little doubt that I would probably want to have them enlarged a little, at least temporarily. I had just never felt the need up to that point. It was very unusual. It was even more strange that I didn't have them changed after I started working, not that I didn't have the urge to alter them mind you. Every exotic dancer has the urge. A market still exists for small- and normal-breasted women, but basically, "the bigger, the better." And with the new technology in breast alteration, "big" in the men's entertainment industry means "absolutely huge."
Nature gave me want used to be considered a nice pair, 36C, and that was the size that I wanted to stay at when I started my dancing career, even though it looked pathetically small compared to most of my altered coworkers. I did get a lot of tips from what we dancers call "nature-size fetishists." Those guys are the ones that prefer natural-sized breasts rather than the new reality of big breasts created through a greatly altered society. Yet, the fact was, I wasn't making nearly the money that the altered women were. Thus, as I said, the urge was definitely there.
Not only that, but soon after I started working, a bitter rivalry brewed. For some unknown reason, one of my fellow dancers, Cheryl, hated my guts. Most of the dancers got along fine. I loved all my other coworkers, but I couldn't stand Cheryl. She demeaned me every chance she got it seemed. She carried most of her self esteem in her massive breasts. I didn't know why. Any woman could get breasts just as big as hers if they wanted to deal with having them. They were nothing of which to be all that proud. Maybe she was proud of the fact that she could deal with them. It was true that it's not easy to live with breasts that size all the time. They could become quite a nuisance. She wore a J-cup! Even though her breasts were so big, they had been designed to stick out firmly in front of her, like some bizarre shelf of flesh.
In a club full of huge-breasted women, hers were the biggest. She also made the biggest bucks, mostly because of the boobs, but also because she had a great face and body to go along with them. Many of the customers who came to the club were not shy in telling me that I had the most beautiful face and body in the club along with Cheryl, but she always got a lot more tips, because she had the big boobs too. Cheryl loved the fact that hers were the biggest. She would flaunt them, especially around me. Unlike most of the dancers here, who got bigger breasts just for the bigger tips, Cheryl was not just interested in the bigger money, but also the breasts themselves. She was a breast lover just like most of the customers. It didn't bother her that she had to wear a back brace most of the time outside of the club. She loved her big boobs. She always made sure that I always knew she had larger ones, and that she made five times more money than I did. I too was a breast lover, but unlike her, I loved breasts of all shapes and sizes.
I tolerated Cheryl's degrading comments to me for quite some time, but after about six months working for the club, I decided that I would get altered. I wouldn't get altered so much for the increase in money, but to shut Cheryl's mouth. I loved the club, but I hated Cheryl's comments to me. My attempts to work opposite hours as she did hadn't worked. It seemed that she was intentionally trying to hurt me.
After my two days off, I returned to work with full F-cup size breasts. I had thought that it would shut Cheryl's mouth, but her hurtful comments only became more intense. She would tell me. "You're going to have to get bigger tits than that if you expect to make some real money. Exotic Dancing isn't for the weak like you. You have to love big breasts, and be willing to dance in them in order to make it in this business." With my F-cups, I had breasts comparable in size to the other dancers at the club, but Cheryl still chose to pick on me. I knew that I would have to get bigger breasts than she had to finally silence her.
The doctor explained the consequence of carrying around two K-cup size breasts. She explained how the breasts would always be getting in the way, how it would put great pressure on my chest, how I would be completely unable to engage in any athletic endeavors, how I would often have to wear a back brace. I didn't want these breasts. I was just doing it for the sake of competition. Did I really want to go to the trouble of carrying these huge tits around just to compete with some pompous, stupid, big-breasted bimbo with whom I worked? I guess the answer to that question was yes, because I underwent the treatment, and developed K-cup sized breasts.
Over the next couple days, I watched and felt them slowly expand. The treatment resulted in rapid development. My already large F-cups quickly swelled over the next two days from cantaloupe size to the size of two basketballs. I could detect the swelling. It occurred too slowly to perceive it just by looking, but noticeable differences in size were present only an hour after I got home. They continued to swell for the rest of the day. By the time I went to bed that night, they were already big, but by the time I awoke, I had two massive mounds of flesh on my chest that were almost smothering me, and yet they continued to grow.
As my breast flesh expanded, the skin surrounding them expanded as well. It was another nice feature of the treatment. You didn't have to worry about your skin not being able to stretch around an implant. Unlike the old implant style where one would have to endure several intermediate implants in order to get the skin stretched out enough to accommodate a huge implant, the new therapy expanded the breasts and the surrounding skin all at once.
When my new breasts finally stopped swelling on the middle of the second day, I really felt like some freak. I had these two huge mounds of firm flesh sticking way out in front of me like my own personal battering rams. I was undoubtedly going to be the center of attention no matter where I went now. Moreover, I felt like I now needed a trained monkey just to do ordinary everyday tasks for me. It was going to take some time to get used to these monstrous boobs. Chores that I used to do without even really thinking about them now required careful consideration. My gigantic tits were like a magnet, attracting everything in the general vicinity of my body. I would turn around and knock something off a shelf, lean over to take a sip of soup and flip the bowl over with my breasts. Tying tennis shoes had become the masterful skill of avoiding breast flesh as I would strain to reach the laces.
All the inconvenience paid off though when Cheryl got a look at my new beauties. Cheryl didn't say one word to me the whole day. It was one of the most satisfying days of my life. I had finally managed to shut that big mouth of hers. I should have known it was too good to last though. The next time we worked together, four days later, Cheryl's insulting comments reemerged. She was also accompanied by a new set of even bigger breasts, what I estimated to be about L-cup in size
I was so angry at her. The first and only thing I could think of was another treatment. The doctor from which I had received the first treatment refused to give me anything bigger. I went to a male breast alteration specialist this time. He was notorious in the exotic dancing community for giving women huge breasts, although usually not as huge as what I wanted. He agreed to give me the treatment, and my huge K-cups now expanded to an M-cup. Even in this new world of large breasts, K-cup bras were very hard to find, and M-cups were downright impossible. I had to special order several M-cup bras at $100 each. I had to go be measured for some new dresses as well. These gigantic hooters were going to cost me a fortune in clothing bills!
As it turned out, I would cancel the order for the new clothing. I didn't even get a chance to enjoy one day of silence or satisfaction. When I went back to work to show off my new M-cups, Cheryl was sporting a new pair of N-cups. She wasted no time in gloating. Someone must have tipped her off about my third expansion, either that, or she saw that I took yet another three days off work, and made an assumption. This competition was ridiculous, but I couldn't help it. I had to be bigger. The huge breast fans, who came to the club, were certainly enjoying it. Here was the two of us, trying to dance on stage with beach ball sized boobs.
I of course went back to the doctor to have my breasts expanded to O-cup size, but he refused me. The doctor told me that the American Medical Association's rules forbid doctors from expanding breasts beyond an N-cup under any circumstances. He offered to bring me up to an N-cup size, but absolutely refused to bring me any higher. I pleaded with him to give me larger ones, but he said that if I wanted anything higher than the regulation N-cup size, I would have to go to another country that didn't have the size cap.
I didn't want to travel to another country, nor did I even really want those huge breasts, but I couldn't stop now. I had to have more. I couldn't just be the same size as Cheryl, I had to beat her. It seemed that I had four choices, none of which were that appealing to me: Stay at a smaller size than Cheryl; move up to a size equal to, but not bigger than, Cheryl; take a trip to another country an get mountains for boobs; or quit, and work at another club. Yet, that last choice wasn't really an option. It was personal. I couldn't quit. I had to be better than she was. I had to have more than she did. I had to outdo her, but how? Did it really matter anyway? I surely didn't want to end up with breasts the size of cars, carrying them around in front of me in some fucking wheelbarrow. I was confident that Cheryl would go that far. She wouldn't stop and neither would I. She loved huge breasts to the point of absurdity, and hated me enough to die just in order to show me up.
I would have to beat her some other way, but once again the question was "how?" Murder, battery, blackmail, kidnapping, and extortion were out of the question. It just wasn't in my nature to do such unscrupulous deeds. I was a fair and nice person, and unfortunately, a very competitive one too. I had to outdo her, and I had to do it in some way that she couldn't follow up with something even better. I needed more than she had. It was at that moment that I had an inspiration.
I looked to the doctor as I thought of the best way to proceed. "Can this gene therapy, that you use to expand and shrink the size of breasts, be used to say... grow a nipple. If for instance, because of some birth defect or something, a woman had no nipple, or only a small deformed one?" I asked cautiously.
"Yes." He answered simply.
I nodded. "How does that work?"
"Stated simply, all the cells in your body contain the same genetic code. It is entirely depend upon what genes are activated and which ones remain dormant as to what those cells develop into. Your body naturally tells the developing cells in your body which ones to activate and which ones should remain dormant. The majority of this process is completed by the time a person is born. Through this type of therapy, we activate or deactivate cells in your body. Thus, if we wanted to create a new and better nipple for some woman, we would active the genes in the cells at the top of the breast to develop into the nipple of your choice." He stated while showing me a laminated page filled with different types of nipples, everything from small and flat to large and puffy.
I again nodded in understanding. "You said all cells throughout the body contain the same types of genetic codes?"
"That's right." He confirmed.
I paused for a moment still proceeding cautiously. "What if, hypothetically of course, you activated the nipple cells at a different place on the body, like instead of the top of the breast, the person's thigh say? What would happen?"
He doctored smiled. "Well, then that person would soon find a nipple developing in the middle of his or her thigh."
"Interesting..." I pondered the many interesting possibilities that suddenly filled my head.
"Was there something on your mind? Would you like some different nipples? Your current nipples don't have to be deformed or anything. I change women's nipple style all the time" He said, pulling the nipple chart out again.
"Actually, I was thinking of having three." I finally admitted.
"Three Nipples?!" He almost yelled.
"No," I responded.
He looked relieved. "I was going to say, that would be pretty weird."
"Three Breasts!" I asserted.
"Three Breasts?? Are you out of your mind?" He gave me a look of total confusion.
"No, I'm quite sane and quite serious." I explained. "I want a third one in-between my other two, probably all about DD-cup in size. What do you say? Will you do it for me? Or is there some AMA rule against that too?"
He shook his head, still bewildered at my strange request. "Uh.... Well... there is no specific rule against it, but I did take an Oath, and as part of that, I can't purposefully harm or deform one of my patients. So, I don't think that I'll be granting your request."
"But, I'm asking you to do it. It is what I want, so you wouldn't be harming me, you'd be helping me." I assured.
He considered it for a moment. "I suppose that's true. It is a very unusual request though. I'd have to have a letter from a licensed psychiatrist attesting to your mental health before I would consider granting such a request. The letter would also have to make mention of your request for the... uh... extra, and say that you are making this decision of sound mind."
"Very well, I'll go see a psychiatrist in that case, and return to you with the signed letter." I stated confidently as I stood up to leave, balancing myself as my huge breasts heaved forward.
The doctor sighed. "Ok, you get that letter, and then I will most likely grant your request." He shook his head. "Although, I don't know why anyone would want such a thing done to them."
I made an appointment with the psychiatrist for the following week. Putting up with Cheryl's constant gloating in the meantime, I could hardly wait to get that letter. The psychiatrist wasn't keen on the idea of giving it to me. His first reaction was that I was crazy. Not to mention the fact that I could not deny the fact that I was under great stress from my competition with my fellow dancer. At the end of our long consultation however, I was able to obtain the letter from him. I asked him how an extra breast was any more weird than having a HUGE breast like the ones I still had. I caressed my giant bosom as I mentioned them, figuring a little sex appeal wouldn't hurt my chances of convincing him either. His response was that nature gives women two breasts, not three.
"True, but not this size." I said, once again caressing my huge breasts as I did so. These size breasts aren't any more natural than three smaller ones would be. I just want to trade one weirdness for another. If it is ok to do one, then it should be ok to do the other as well. That fact he could not deny. I don't know if it was my logic or my sex appeal that finally convinced him, or a little bit of both, but he finally agreed to give me the letter.
The doctor wasn't exactly happy to see me again. I think he was hoping that I either would change my mind about seeing the psychiatrist, or that the psychiatrist would deny me the letter. But here I was, ready for the treatment. I realized how odd it would be, and that it might be a mistake. I could always pay for another treatment to have the extra removed if I didn't like it. And, if nothing else, I would get the satisfaction of having more than Cheryl, even though it would be in a different way. Cheryl loved big breasts, but would she be willing to make herself freaky, as I was prepared to do? I doubted it. She didn't have the guts for it. It was going to take a lot of guts to dance while looking like a freak. It scared me, but I thought that I would be able to muster up enough courage to go through with it.
The doctor give me two treatments, one to decrease the size of my two regular breasts down to a more manageable DD-cup size, and one to grow a third nipple and breast in-between my other two. I couldn't help but be a little frightened when I came home that day. I couldn't imagine what it was going to look or feel like to have an extra breast between my normal ones. I was going to find out soon though whether I was ready or not. The changes started about an hour after I arrived home. The first thing that I noticed was a small point of discoloration in-between my two large breasts which were already starting to shrink. It looked like a small mole in-between and at the same level as my two nipples. An hour later it looked like a bigger mole. It was a couple hours after that when it finally started to take on the shape of a nipple. In addition, the flesh surrounding the forming nipple started to swell out slightly as the flesh surrounding my outer two nipples continued to decrease to a more manageable size.
I found myself looking down at my chest to watch the changes all day long. I stayed home and went without a shirt or bra for the whole day, constantly walking into the bathroom to look in the mirror. I found the changes that were slowly occurring in my body to be mostly frightening, but also exciting in some strange way. At one point I even broke down and started to rub my pussy, moistening myself, and sliding my fingers in to play with my clit as I used my other hand to glide gently across the newly developing area. The new nipple was sensitive and the new mound of flesh that surrounded it was soft and supple.
When I came into work a day later, I brought none of my sexy lingerie with me, nor did I slip into any of the sexy dresses supplied by the club. Many of the club regulars were surprise when I started my first dance wearing a T-shirt. It certainly wasn't as sexy as my usual attire, but I wanted my new breasts to be a surprise, especially to Cheryl. I knew she was watching me. She had been eyeing me as soon as I walked in the door without my huge M-cup size breasts. She was obviously wanting until I finished my first set to start in on her gloating. She would undoubtedly remind me of how she had told me that I wouldn't be able to handle huge breasts like hers for very long. I wasn't going to give her that chance. She would be surprised when I revealed my new chest. So would the rest of the customers for that matter. I was very nervous about their reactions. I was sure that a three-breasted woman would do well in a freak show, but what about a strip club? I had my doubts. It was fun to look at a freak, but would anyone actually come up to tip me? Would anyone in their right mind want a freak to rub all over them? I doubted it. I suddenly felt sure that I was going to have to give up the extra breast if I wanted to make a living, no matter how this competition proceeded.
As I started dancing, I felt as if many more eyes than normal were starting at me. Usually, only about a third of the eyes were fixed on me, and the rest were on the other dancers or looking off somewhere else. It could have just been my nervousness, or it could have been the fact that I wasn't dancing very well. My body was shaking terribly. I couldn't help it. I was so scared. I was shaking the very first time I danced, when I first started working at the club, but even then, it wasn't this bad. I suppose it also could have been the fact that my T-shirt was hanging strangely. My breasts were much smaller now, than they had been, and they were completely covered by my shirt, but DD-cups are still very large by normal standards, and the outline of the breasts still showed through a little. I don't think they could tell that I had three, but if you looked, you could tell something was not quite right. Instead of the usual central valley which accompanies two large breasts, I had what outwardly appeared to be one full ledge of breast that went all the way across. Also, more people may have been looking at me because my chest had changed so many times over the past few weeks. With the competition, my breasts had become sort of a surprise package. You never knew what you were going to get. Yet, I don't think any of them were prepared for what my chest beheld that day.
As the second song of my set started, it was time for me to start stripping. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt with trembling hands, and pulled it over my head, revealing my three, bare, DD-cup size breasts. I hadn't had time to get any specially made three-cupped bras, and my two-cuppers didn't fit right at all. So, there I was, trying to dance through my nervousness as a started to hear gasps and whispering as the guys in the club, as well as my fellow dancers, all started to point at me, and creep closer to my stage to get a closer look at the strangest chest any of them had probably ever seen. A crowd of people soon surrounded my stage, not to tip, but just to gawk at my strange boobs. The nervousness became too much to handle at that point. I froze in place, no longer able to dance as all eyes were on me. I noticed that the other two dancers who were dancing at the same time as I did stopped as well, and were also looking at my chest in shocked silence. I looked out into the crowd of shocked faces and gaping mouths. I finally found Cheryl. Her face was the only one not displaying a look of surprise. In fact, she didn't look surprised at all. She only looked angry. Her stare caught mine.
She yelled at me over the loud dance music. "You should have quit when you had the chance!"
Her yelling broke most of my nervousness, and I started to dance again, trying not to pay attention to all the shocked faces. After another song finished, the tension started to lessen in the room, and a couple of guys even came over to tip me during the last song of my set. I didn't get tipped much that day. Most of the tips I did get came from the same small group of people who kept tipping me again and again. I didn't know if they were truly attracted to my three breasts, or if they just felt sorry for me. Even with their generous support, I still made out very poorly that day.
The next day, I did a little better, but not nearly as well as when I had just the two huge breasts. It was mostly a small group of the same guys that would tip me again and again. It seemed I had developed a new group of "multiple breast fetishists" to go along with the "small and natural size fetishists." Except my group of fetishists seemed to be even more selective. Those customers who weren't interested in three breasts, avoided me like the plague. They would even give me dirty looks as they passed me to get to a different dancer. It was as if their looks were saying "How dare you go against nature like that. How dare you grow an extra breast in some vain attempt to make cash. How dare you pay money to make yourself look like some witch or freak when there are people with deformities still suffering who are unable to afford to get them fixed." I guess they drew a distinction between what I had done and what most of the other dancers here have done in making their breasts unnaturally large. I personally didn't think that such a distinction should be made. What made getting a third one so much worse than getting two absolutely and ridiculously huge ones? It seemed that many people hated my appearance. It was ok though, those who did like it supported me enough that I could still make a living by dancing here.
Most of those who did like my new breasts weren't filled with the most intelligent of comments though. They would repeatedly say: "I wish I had three hands." "You're perfect, one for each hand, and one for my mouth." "I was always looking for a girl with a little something extra." "Too bad that extra one isn't on your back, it would come in great for dancing." I heard these and similar smart-ass comments all day long. It grew very tiresome.
I hadn't heard much out of Cheryl those two days, but I hadn't heard the last of her or our rivalry. A couple days later, she had a surprise of her own. I could tell she had done something to her chest as soon as she walked in the door. Her huge shirt hung very strangely on her body. It looked almost like she had gotten really fat in the course of a couple days, but I knew what she had done. When she stripped for her first set, she revealed four huge J-cup size breasts covering her whole front torso, like four basketballs sticking out from her chest and belly. After Cheryl got extra boobs too, that really fired up the conversations around the club.
Everyone would keep asking. "What's with all the weird-ass freaks around here lately?" Actually, it was just Cheryl and me. We had sort of isolated ourselves. Our fellow dancers didn't talk to us in the same way. They would still speak to us, but the old friendliness was gone. They quickly got tired of trying to explain about the multiple-breasted freaks in the club. They grew to resent our extra breasts.
Their resentment didn't stop our competition though. Once Cheryl got her four breasts, it started a new competition not in size, but in number. It bothered me to be thought of as a freak, but I couldn't let Cheryl get the advantage. A new batch of one-upmanship started. A few days after Cheryl revealed her four breasts, I returned to work with five breasts. All of them were DD-cup in size with a new row of two under my row of three. It didn't stop there of course. Cheryl returned a few days later with six F-cups in three rows of two. She almost looked like some kind of animal with teats extending down her abdomen. I, of course, responded by growing a third row of two to bring my total to seven. Cheryl responded in typical fashion by growing a third one in-between the two breasts in both of her upper two rows, bringing her total to eight.
I replied by what I thought was the ultimate addition. I had my bellybutton flattened out and replaced with a nipple, and having breast flesh emerge around it. I then had nine breasts! I had three rows with three DD-cup size breasts per row. I had a whole chest fill of breasts, extending from just below shoulder level all the way down to just above my waist, so that when I sat down, the lowest row of breasts would rest on my lap. I was quite a sight. It was difficult to dance too. Once my upper body started in motion, my chest was like an avalanche of breast flesh jiggling in all directions but with a general motion that would carry me with it. Some customers found it sexy. Others found it disgusting. I just found it necessary. Those who were willing to tip me though, got their money's worth. Other dancers would rub their two big breasts up against the customers face. When they would tip me, I would hug them, and smother them in a wall of warm, soft breast flesh. The nine supple globes would surround them and cradle them in a soft loving warmth of which no two-breasted woman could duplicate.
I often got asked by the customers that tipped me if it hurt my back to have so many breasts. Surprisingly enough, it didn't hurt much at all. It was much more painful to have two huge breasts than it was to now have nine DD-cups. I told the doctor that I found it surprising that when I added a third row that it didn't seem to put any new stress on my back, and in fact, it seemed to lessen the stress. He told me that it was to be expected, since two huge breasts would put all the pressure on the upper back, whereas three rows of breasts stretching all the way down the front of the abdomen would distribute the weight evenly, and put equal pressure on the entire back rather than just one part of it, thus putting a lot less stress on it.
I felt confident in my new nine-breasted form, because I knew that there was no more room for breasts on an abdomen without going to a breast size that was smaller than D-cup, and I knew that Cheryl was not fond of smaller-sized breasts. Cheryl didn't stop as I expected her to though. She went to DD-cup size breasts too, in a three-by-three style just as I did, but she returned to work that day, with nine on her front and on back! She had eighteen DD-cup size breasts! I couldn't believe it, and neither could anyone else. Even with the strange competition that Cheryl and I had, no one had expected her to come in with breasts all over her back. All the breasts covering her front and back made it difficult for her to even move her shoulders or to walk gracefully. She came in the club all stiff-armed and stiff-legged. She slowly stomped her way into the club, looking like a cross between Frankenstein's monster and the Michelin Man. I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at her as I saw her lurch her way into the club.
She had beaten me. I was ready to admit that. Sure, I could have matched her eighteen breasts, or gone to a smaller breast size, and had even more added, or even added breasts on my arms or legs, but it had just gotten too silly. Seeing Cheryl waddle her way into the club had made me realize that fact. I would continue to hear her boast, but I didn't care anymore. Seeing her as she was then, and remembering how she looked, would make any gloating seem more funny than demeaning. I approached the eighteen-breasted woman and admitted to her that she had won, and that I didn't care about the competition anymore, and that she could brag all she wanted, and that it just wouldn't bother me anymore. To my surprise, the gloating didn't continue. She had grown just as tired as I had. She had realized just how ridiculous it was too. She was ashamed of how far it had gone.
We actually became friends soon after that day. In fact, I consider her my best friend these days. It is strange how things work out sometimes. A few days later, we both returned to the clinic, and had our breasts changed into one pair of DD-cup size breasts. Even though we returned to normal two-breasted women, news traveled fast about our extra breasts. We were even written about in medial journals, magazines, newspapers, and tabloids. Some men made special trips to our club just to see the multibreasted dancers. More than a few disappointed travelers came into the club to discover we only had two breasts each now.
Rumor had it that our story had influenced a few others to try the multiple-breasted look. It was hard for me to believe that anyone else would want the extra breasts. I mean, my mind was affected by the extreme competition, and that was my excuse. Why would anyone else want to turn themselves into freaks?
The more I thought about it though, the less I thought of it as some kind of perversion, and the more I thought of it as a thing of beauty. I had long told myself that I loved breasts of all shapes and sizes. I think the truth of it was, that deep down, I like them of all numbers too. Science has given me the power to change what nature has given me. It is a gift, a gift of science. Who am I to refuse such a wonderful gift? Cheryl and I went back to the clinic. We would bestow ourselves with that gift again. Whereas before it seemed freaky and perverted, now it just seemed right.
As I look and feel this beautiful new breast, I can't help but think how much I love it. You must love it too, otherwise you wouldn't have tipped me or have listened to my story. You can say it was something else, but I don't think that I would believe you. When people see me dancing, they see my breasts first and foremost. I'm not complaining mind you. It's fine with me. I've grown to love my three breasts in the short time I've had the extra. I'm glad when others like them, and I could care less if others don't like them.
You asked if I got them to make more money. The answer is no, because as I explained, I make less money with three than I did with two huge ones. You asked if I got them just to be different. The answer to that question is no as well. It is easy to talk about being the rebel, but it is very difficult to live differently than others. Many people would seek to ostracize you. It's not easy trying to live as a social pariah. So, even though I do enjoy being a little different, there is more to it than that. I grew extras the first time because of competition. I did it the second time because I loved it. It is pretty much that simple. It is a part of me now, and it shall remain that way forever.
You also asked about if I was trying to set a trend. No, it was not a conscious effort. I do wonder about it sometimes though. Will it start a trend? If so, How many will follow it? Will it endure, or just be a passing fad? Finally, how will it be accepted by others once more people start doing it? Cheryl has already gone back to two breasts, not being able to tolerate the dirty looks and snide comments. I, however, shall never go back. If anything, I would add more. Will others follow my lead, or shall I be alone in my desires?? That question lingers. Am I a freak or a trendsetter?
Hopefully......... both.
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