I'll tell you my story. I was just an ordinary freckle faced kid until puberty. then things started to change. I became really popular. By graduation my classmates had all found me to be intelligent, witty, and charming while my tits grew and grew. By college I was tall too and could rest them on the shoulders of a short guy ahead of me on the cafeteria line. Short guys always liked my attention, and still they grew.
The problem wasn't my bulging sweater though, it was my stomach. Looking around me I saw that most big girls had big guts too and I didn't want that. I began to live on salad but still didn't like the shape my body was taking below my tits. Then one day I dared to asked my mom if I should get a waist clincher to keep everything in that I didn't want out. To my surprise she actually seemed glad that I took the initiative, She too was full bodied though without the really oversize breasts that I was trying to hold in place with a 38D bra. She'd been a model, or so she had told us. By then I was beginning to realize that had probably meant a whore. I didn't care though; I had a real mom that I could talk to about real big girl stuff.
Anyway they grew and grew but I was able to keep my stomach small with the waist clincher and a diet of yogurt and salad. By twenty-one I was even able to fit into a smaller cincher than I'd first bought and since then it has been my pride every time I get a new one to try one that is smaller than the last and an agony to put on. I'm twenty five now and I look great. Men tell me I have a pretty smile, as though they care about that. If my legs aren't skinny they are shapely, and plenty long in the highest heels that I can find.
A few months ago I met Dr. Fletcher. I took an immediate liking to him and he to my tits. He seemed surprised that I had so much pride in them. Most big girls are embarrassed by their outsize mammaries and complain of what a painful nuisance they are. Not me. It's great to entertain at parties by carrying wine glasses on them. Of course that requires a stiff bra but I like to watch the guys hands nervously shake as I jiggle their wine and they have to lift the glass off of me. Well, you say, one can't do that even with a pair of 38Ds. That's where Doc comes in, He's pumped enough stuff into them to make them swell to Es and he's still working on them.
Two weeks ago he surprised me. As you may have guessed, we're more than physician and patient now. We're lovers, and kinky ones, though I still call him Doc. One night when I stepped out of the shower, my mammaries hanging down to my waist as I dried myself off, I found him suddenly standing in front of me with our handcuffs. Before I could more than smile he'd spun me around and ratcheted the cuffs on me behind my back. I do love the sound of cuffs ratcheting closed.
"Shh," he said and taking me by the arm walked me to the bedroom. "We'll make those cow udders of yours stand out even without a bra," he said and drew several really wide rubber bands from his pocket. I'd seen enough porn to know their purpose and I pushed my chest forward to receive the bands; three tight rubbers on each breast. Then he decided that such erotic torpedo tits deserved more than simple handcuffs and going to our bureau retrieved a whole armload of stuff. The leather bands that soon encircled my arms above the elbows drew them much tighter though he could not make them touch. "They will in time," he said and sat me on the bed to receive long black stockings and 5" heels that locked.
