Page 35 of Shameful Addictions

“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpered.

He laughed aloud and got up from his chair. “I like that. Mamba’s been doing some good work with you. Well, let’s get this show on the road.”

Almost as if arriving on cue, a nurse opened the door, showing a flash of Charlotte’s breasts to the several people outside the room. The nurse pulled a piece of equipment after her, severely delaying shutting the door. Charlotte’s cheeks burned and she lowered her head in shame.

The nurse set up her machine while Dr. Johnson fiddled around with Charlotte’s breasts, making an occasional contemplative sound. She could tell from how hard he dug his fingers into her that it was all for show, that he didn’t need to be doing this.

She didn’t need to be doing this.

She could go. No one was stopping her.

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, to call a halt to this whole thing.

The nurse straightened up with a syringe in her hand. “We’re ready, Doctor.”

Dr. Johnson let Charlotte’s breasts drop from his hands. They bounced around freely from the drop, pulling at her. “Okay. Charlotte, this injection is just a general anesthetic. That means it’s going to put you to sleep. Don’t worry. When you wake up, you’re going to be beautiful.”

I already am beautiful,she wanted to cry.

The nurse slid the needle into her vein in one practiced motion and depressed the syringe plunger. A strange tingling burn surged through Charlotte and then she fell sideways, into unrelenting darkness so deep and empty it was euphoric.

For a time, she thought of nothing, did nothing. She didn’t exist, in an even more thorough way than Mamba had caused.

She blinked and stared at a ceiling overhead long before she became aware of waking up. A strange pain, an aching heaviness, gripped her chest region. Charlotte lifted her arm and saw some sort of drip attached to her, another needle in her vein, right next to the bruises left by the first. She lowered her arm, a sluggish and dreamlike movement. Tilting her head, she looked down and saw the way the blanket covering her body rose up in hills over her breasts, much larger and rounder than what she was used to, than what she knew her body to look like.

She started shaking.

Charlotte took hold of the blanket and lifted it up. Her breasts were there, exactly where they should be, exactly like what they should look like. Smooth skin, pink nipples. However, they were twice the size they should have been.

No.

Charlotte reached and grabbed the drip needle and tore it from her wrist. Blood beaded up. She ignored it and sat up with a huge effort, dragging herself to the edge of the bed. Standing, the world tilted around her before returning to a somewhat normal orientation. She staggered to the wall of the room she was in and followed it around until she came to a curtained area, another bathroom. A mirror reflected her bed, the dangling needle hanging from a bag of anonymous fluid.

Charlotte reached out and fumbled, flipping the light switch.

Now she could see herself, just a snatch of her face in the corner. She shuffled over to get a better look and saw a woman that she didn’t recognize, a buxom blonde with big–huge–perfect tits and a head of tousled, flowing blonde hair.

The woman in the mirror was a purely sexual creature, the dream girl who appeared in every man’s sleeping fantasies.

Charlotte ran her hands down over her body and the minx in the mirror mimicked her, trailing her fingers sensually from her enormous breasts to her flat stomach and full hips. A tingle formed deep in her sex and she gasped, shaking. The quiver hurt her, her augmented breasts throbbing. She pressed her hands to them, shocked out of the hypnotic trance that had come over her. She had, for a second there, fallen into the delusion Mamba wanted her to believe.

“No!” she cried out.

The door to her room burst open and a nurse barged in, her face etched with a deep grimace. She noticed Charlotte and ran up behind her. Charlotte watched in the mirror as the nurse came up to her and grabbed her, holding her around the shoulders.

“What are you doing out of bed?” the nurse scolded. “And you ripped out your drip!”

“What happened to me?” Charlotte whispered.

The nurse tugged on her and turned her around, guiding her back to the bed. “Nothing happened,” the nurse soothed, misunderstanding. “We noticed you were a little dehydrated, so we gave you a saline drip. Everything’s okay. Your surgery went fine. You’ll be able to go home soon, but you need to rest so you don’t hurt yourself.”

What she had allowed to be done to herself hurt her more than enough.

Chapter fourteen

Flappy flaps

Charlottestoodinfrontof the big mirror in her bathroom, holding her breasts in her hands. She lifted them up, moved them around, searching for a sign of the surgery. At last, she spotted two small cuts, closed up with tiny stitches, in the fold of skin where her breasts connected to her chest. They were hardly noticeable, though she’d gone through the surgery only three hours ago.

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