"Keys please," Helena said, holding out her hand as she stood in the doorway. He dropped the keys into the flower bed, turned on his heels, and walked down the path to his car. As the sound of his car faded away she sighed and bent down to retrieve his set of house keys from amongst the daffodils.
"Done. I am done with men," she muttered as she brushed the earth from the keys and headed back inside. The door closed with a satisfying clunk and she flopped down onto the sofa. Retrieving her phone from her back pocket, she began the purge. Photos of happier times with him were hard to delete but in the end she knew it was necessary to move on. At least this relationship had lasted a year.
A photo of their last holiday appeared. She paused. A beach in southern France, posing in a bikini as he took the photo. Helena hated beaches. Not because of the sand getting stuck in her toes, but because she felt somehow inadequate. She was at her slimmest when this one was taken - size 6, and when you're 5ft11 and skinny it's inevitable you'll look like a tall flat-chested stick when compared to others. She barely filled an A cup bikini top and was self-conscious about it.
Behind her in the photo she could see a group of women, early 20s at most, frozen in time as they walked down the beach in a line. "What the...," she noticed for the first time that all appeared to be unusually well-endowed for their frames. "Implants surely," she thought, "Got to be about E cups the lot of them. That bastard was looking at them!," she shouted, realising that her now ex-boyfriend had been interested in others even back then. She deleted the photo, flung her phone across the sofa and stared at the blank wall facing her. A blank slate.
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It was Sunday afternoon and the fear of Monday was setting in. Strangely it was going to work on Monday she was more upset about than the breakup. The trail of ex boyfriends was now so long she was used to it now.
She'd qualified as an equine vet three years previously and moved from her hometown in the leafy stockbroker belt of Surrey to rural, peaceful Dorset. Gone were the busy roads, London commuters and grand Victorian villas. Instead were rural lanes mostly composed of mud, country types who barely left the county, and beautiful villages with thatched cottages hardly changed since the time of Thomas Hardy. The locals even boasted that no motorways entered the county. It was tough work - long hours, messy, sometimes dangerous and in a typically British spring, wet.
Her accent reflected her privileged background. A Dad who worked in the city and earnt the bread, a Mum who didn't work and raised the children. Helena passed through a nice prep school, to a reassuringly expensive secondary school, and onwards to a fitting Russell-Group-but-not-quite-Oxbridge university for a 'proper' degree with solid career and earning prospects. Every middle-class parent's dream. All was going according to plan, except the boyfriends. She was nearing 27 and by this age her parents were married and starting a family. Now they were getting impatient for grandchildren. She decided it best to keep the breakup to herself for a while. "Not up for that disapproving look from Dad again", she thought.
House jobs complete and dinner eaten, Helena settled down for the evening, switching the TV on. She flicked through the channels finding nothing, so switched to Netflix and began doom-scrolling. Nothing but trash. She snorted and gave up. She found her mind drifting back to the photo from the beach. Not to her, but to the group of enhanced women in the background. She was surprised to feel a tingling start to build between her thighs. "Interesting...," she thought. Retrieving her tablet from the coffee table, she tapped in the pin and opened a browse tab.
'P...o...r,' she typed, before it auto-completed and sent her to Pornhub. "Am I that predictable?", she asked herself. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. "Hey, it's just research, right?" She started typing 'Huge...fake...tits' and hit return. Her screen filled with a predictable selection of the internet's finest silicone.
She didn't realise it was even possible to get implants so big. Some were freakishly large. "Oh my god", she held a hand over her mouth, scrolling through the page past pornstars with names like 'Vivian Rose' and 'Jessy Bunny'.
"How on earth do they carry those around, that shouldn't even be possible?".
Curiosity got the better of her and she carried on scrolling the page.
"Those look...great," she thought, "But, God they're huge. Am I starting to like these...?"
The preview image was fully taken up by a pair of beach ball sized breasts. They were veiny and sore looking, as though they had only just been enhanced. They stood out from the woman's chest like they were bolted-on. Helena clicked the image, moistening her lips slightly in anticipation. She found herself transfixed as the woman massaged her oiled, plastic-filled tits too close to the camera so they were all she could see. She could feel moisture building in between her legs and she found herself sliding her hand through the waistband of her pajamas, reaching down to find her clitorus. Jolts of pleasure shook through her body and her rubbing became faster and more frantic. The huge breasted woman was now giving a tit-job to a dildo, her breasts engulfing the average sized sex toy. They didn't even have a gap between them, just a deep crevice that was her cleavage, so rather than pushing her boobs together, she was actually using the toy to separate them.
It didn't take long. Perhaps the feeling of doing something forbidden helped, but in a few minutes she felt a wave start to build until it finally swept over her. Orgasm. Intense. She shook, like a blast of cold air had blown over her, and slumped back in the chair. Minutes passed before she felt revived, mental clarity returning.
"Wow, that was...intense," she whistled and took a look at the name of the pornstar she had just debauched herself to...'vanillaandcaramel'.
"Catchy" she smirked, "but with those assets, memorable".
Helena looked at her watch. It read 11.30pm.
"Aghh late for bed", she thought and traipsed up the stairs to her room. She went to bed that night thinking, not of her failed relationship, not of her next day working outside in the rain, but of something new, unexpected, and disturbingly hard to ignore - enhanced breasts.
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The next day at work was thankfully quiet. Simple cases, simple clients, and the added bonus of not being bitten, kicked or shat on all day. It could be quite solitary at times, driving between appointments spaced across the county, but better than an office job she always told herself.
The driving left a lot of time for thinking and today her mind was distracted. Flashes of swollen saline-packed breasts disturbed her thoughts, quite in contrast to the picture-postcard scenery outside the car. This was little-England, home of high hedges, cosy pubs and old men tottering to the Post Office (if it hasn't closed), XL boobjobs were an alien concept to this landscape.
By the time she returned home, it was dark and the wind lashed the daffodils by the door. Last years' autumn leaves blew around in an eddy formed by the porch and gratefully escaped into the hallway as she opened the door. She dived in, escorted the leaves back outside and thudded the door closed.
She shoved down her dinner and grabbed the tablet again - she had a clear aim tonight. Over the course of the day a plan had formed in her mind. She'd had enough of being the good girl and it was time to let her hair down and have some fun whilst she was still young. There would be plenty of time for dull boyfriends and settling down in the future.
Her plan wasn't to go on a gap year, or volunteer at an orphanage, or anything wholesome. Her rebellion was going to be sexual. Rather than discover herself in a temple in the Himalayas, Helena was going to discover herself in a sex party.
A scientist at heart, she did her research. She wasn't going to dive into anything without it. Googling 'Sex party' seemed like a good start...it wasn't. Millions of hits, mostly scams. She added 'near me'. More promising. Ignoring the sex club in her nearby town (average age 65 and possibly full of clients), she discovered a regular event in the city only 30 minutes away. It was ladies only but Helena had decided it was time for a change, maybe it would be fun to try a woman. It was also expensive, but at least the drinks were free.
Half an hour later Helena was rifling through the wardrobe for an evening dress. In the previous 30 minutes, she had made up her mind to go, signed up to the event, paid, and now realised in desperation that she needed to find a dress suitable for a classy event in only four day's time.
