A Tale of Two...Titties?

"Do I have to repeat all of that or can we just Fuuuuuugggghhh!" I screamed out the last syllable as his mouth clamped onto my nipple and his fingers gently rubbed my exposed clit. Rick knew exactly what I liked and he didn't mind doing it at any time of the day or night.

As the years went on and we settled into our careers, it became obvious that we'd always be comfortable but we were never going to be Bill and Melinda Gates. We were solidly in the middle of the middle class. We never had to struggle to put food on the table and we always paid our bills on time, but there were few extras and we didn't have a lot in the bank.

It was a sudden windfall that both thrilled us and lead to the destruction of our idyllic life. We often stopped for coffee at a Seven Eleven on our way to our jobs. It was on the road that just before Rick turned left to go north and I turned right to go south. We always bought the same thing every day for breakfast. Rick got black coffee and a cinnamon roll; I got an espresso and a bagel. On one particular morning though, Rick bought a lottery ticket. He didn't understand why he'd done it. Both of us laughed at the people who wasted good money for those things every day. I actually think he did it to be an asshole. He'd just pointed out the futility of the people we saw buying them day in day out and never winning.

I often told Rick that they were mostly paying for the dream, not the ticket itself. They'd spend the whole day thinking and dreaming of what they'd do with the money if they won. Rick pointed out that over time if they saved the money or invested it they'd have even more money and probably still be able to get whatever it was they'd dreamed of. So I really believe that he was just being an asshole or making fun of them when he bought the ticket.

The funny thing about it was that it wasn't even a ticket for the Giga Millions or whatever the big retardedly giant lottery was. It was just our local state lottery and it had been previously won the week before so the prize was a paltry hundred thousand dollars. We didn't even react when he saw it on the news the next day. It was a couple of days later when we heard that the winning prize hadn't been claimed. We just shrugged our shoulders and declared that the person who won it had to be stupid or something. A few days after that we found out that the ticket had been purchased from our Seven Eleven and we began to wonder which of the morons that bought tickets there had hit.

We hit upon a brilliant strategy to determine which one of the morons it was. We'd watch them to see who among them had stopped buying tickets. We then noticed that they were all still clinging to the dream of someday winning so we decided that it had to be someone who bought their tickets at a different time of the day. They had those winning numbers posted in the store as if it was a badge of honor. Rick was cleaning out his car and throwing away the old receipts and junk he had in there when he noticed his ticket that he'd thrown away in his ashtray as soon as he'd bought it.

When I looked at it with him, the numbers seemed familiar. We'd been about to throw the ticket away with the rest of his in-car debris when we noticed that he had all of the numbers. We looked at each other and started screaming. We screamed for only one second before we got paranoid and started to look around. Anyone of the people around us would probably kill us for the ticket. Rick wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. The bastard actually stuck his hand under my skirt and rubbed my pussy.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked him pulling my skirt back down. I have to admit that I was pissed but more intrigued by it.

"Obviously doing that brings me good luck," he said. "I rubbed your pussy the morning I bought the ticket too, remember." I started laughing.

"Rick, you're always rubbing on me," I smirked. "But don't worry I like it."

That evening on his way home from work, Rick stopped by the state lottery headquarters. He had his picture taken as a winner, but they didn't make a lot of hullaballoo over it because it really wasn't that big of a prize.

When we got home Rick revealed to me that after taxes we had sixty grand. "How much money do you want?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Lucie, there isn't enough money here to really impact our lives," he began. We can't quit our jobs or buy a bigger house or any of that shit with this amount. So we're going to save some for a rainy day. But I think that we should each buy one thing, no matter how expensive that will make our lives better in some way. One little dream," he said. "I already know what I want, so how much money do you need for yours?"

"I already have mine dumbass," I snapped. "I have you. You make me happier than anything else in life ever has."

"Well think about it," he said. "And then just go out and get it."

Rick came home the next night with the biggest smile I'd seen on his face since the day I'd said yes to his marriage proposal. He'd bought a shiny glossy red 2009 Mustang GT. The car was loud and aggressive and it had always been his dream car. Me personally, I'd have gotten a convertible, but guys always want the hard top.

"Your turn," he said smiling. "I love you Lucie Manette. Do something to make yourself happy."

"My name is Lucie Ens," I told him. "I took your name when we got married. And there is just one little thing that I kind of want."

Actually, I'd been thinking about it for a long time. I didn't tell him what I was going to do. I just told him that I'd probably be gone over night and that I'd be different. "You're going to Paris to go shopping at all of those stupid stores you're always talking about, right?" he asked.

"Honey, as much as I'd love to. I can't go to Paris and shop and be back over night," I said. "Just let me surprise you. My dream is as much for you as it is for me. And I think you're going to like it."

I made my appointment that morning and went in for it on Thursday. I came home on Friday morning and from the second I got out of the cab I needed to pop pain killers. I told Rick that he'd have to take the cab back and bring my car home for me then I went to bed.

"Are you drunk Lucie?" he asked.

"Nope," I smiled. "I'm just in a lot of pain. I'm trying to wean myself off of the pain killers. The scars should fade in a few weeks."

"What scars?" he asked.

"Honey, just go get my car. We'll talk when you get back," I said. I had on a bulky coat that disguised my figure so he couldn't tell.

When he got back, he was so concerned that I had to tell him. "Rick, sit down Honey," I said. He sat right where I told him to and looked at me. He was afraid for me and then I didn't think it was a big deal but I realize now that his concern was warranted.

While he'd been gone I'd put on a loose bathrobe, but to tell you the truth I intended to take it off as soon as possible. He looked at me strangely and I think that even before I took off the robe he knew. When the robe came off, he could see that I'd had my breasts enhanced. And I hadn't just gone up a cup size. I had genuine almost stripper sized DD boobs. When they were revealed he went through a lot of different facial expressions. I'd expected him to say,"Whoah," or "Shit." But what he actually said was, "Why?"

His face was a mask of concern. I realized then that I had severely underestimated the depth of Rick's love for me. He was concerned about everything. He wanted to know about the health risks. He wanted to know about possible rejection of the foreign tissue. He wanted to know about infections and complications and whether or not the implants would irritate the muscles and tissues they touched. Would they freeze in the winter? He asked me hundreds of questions and he never even really looked at them. His eyes never left mine.

Then he went back and asked me his first question that I'd never answered. He wanted to know why I'd done it. We sat down at the table and talked about it. I tried to explain to him that for most of my adult life, I'd had body image issues. I'd never been proud of my body. I'd never been comfortable in my own skin. It's the same type of thing that makes some people choose sexual reassignment surgery. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"And then there's you," I said.

"I've never wanted you to have casaba melons on your chest," he said.

"No Honey you haven't," I explained. "But I want you to be proud to walk down the street with me."

"I always have been," he said.

"It's different Rick," I told him. "You're proud of me because you love me. It's the same reason that you drove and took care of that old Toyota for so many years. It was dependable transportation and we didn't have a choice. But as soon as we could afford it, you bought that Mustang and you actually love that car and you're proud to drive it. I've noticed that you actually volunteer to drive when you go places with your friends now and you never did before." He nodded.

"Well, Rick, I'm yours too and I want you to be proud to walk around with me. I want to be the human female version of your car. Instead of farting around in a crummy old Toyota, you're jetting around in a Mustang. So instead of farting around with that woman who's built like a boy, I want you to be the guy who's married to that woman with the big tits. I want all of your friends and everyone we meet to be jealous of what you get to play with every night."

At first, after the pain and the redness went away, not much was different. People who'd known me for a long time were, of course, shocked. But I started to realize that everyone who saw me, looked at me. Whereas before I'd been almost invisible, everyone saw me now. In some cases though, they saw me the wrong way.

People I'd worked with for years that I thought respected my intelligence suddenly started treating me like I was stupid. Apparently big tits and brains don't go together. And men who never paid me any attention suddenly treated me nicer than they ever had before.

I, of course, started buying completely different clothing to show them off. It started to become harder to buy clothing too. In a lot of cases if I was buying a suit, I had to have the skirt or pants and the top in completely different sizes. There was also the problem that my legs were still skinny and my ass was nonexistent but I was pretty big upstairs.

I loved the effect I had on some men. I liked watching them walk or run into walls when they got distracted looking at my boobs. I especially got a kick out of seeing Rick's old friends re-evaluate me when we had our usual cookouts or parties. Now the guys all wanted to look at me or talk to me and the women treated me like I was the enemy.

I didn't notice it at first but things had changed between Rick and me as well. If I'd been more attentive to the way the person who loved me the most reacted, the whole fiasco might've been avoided. We still made love far more often than the average couple, but our sleeping positions though not really changed had been altered. We still slept spooned together with his arms around me but now his hands were usually on my tummy or my pussy. At first I thought it was because he thought my boobs were still sore, but even weeks after the surgery he hadn't as much as touched them.

When we made love it was still awesome. He had the ability to turn me into a quivering pool of jelly, but he no longer touched or licked my breasts. I again thought it was because he didn't want to hurt me, but thinking back on it, I can see that I was wrong.

It was about a month after the surgery that it started to happen. One of the guys at my job followed me into the supply room and locked the door behind us.

Bart was known all over the building as a pussy hound, but he had never paid me any attention. "I'm tired of you teasing me," he said. Without even asking for permission he just reached up and squeezed my boobs. I was so shocked that I didn't do anything. I just stood there with my mouth open.

"I'd do anything for a chance to see them," he said and quickly left. I stood there with my mouth still open not knowing how to react. I did smile afterward because it hadn't felt like a violation. In fact, I thought that it was kind of a compliment. A grown man was so turned on by me that he couldn't resist himself. After spending most of my life being ignored, the surgery had turned me into some kind of sex goddess.

A part of me recognized that what he'd done had been wrong, but another part of me was turned on by it. Not by the possibility of having sex with him, I'd never do that. But by the thrill of knowing that men wanted me. Really, it didn't hurt anyone. His wife would never find out and neither would Rick. Besides, all he'd done was to squeeze my boobs and they really weren't part of me. They were only plastic sacks of saline that had been inserted under my skin. If that turned him on, who was I to complain? It also increased my self-confidence and my body image so it couldn't have been that bad.

I'm not a stupid woman so I knew that it had been wrong. But that one little gray area went so far towards balancing out all of the people who'd ignored me or made nasty cracks about me over the years that I felt I was due some payback.

My fall didn't come from one huge screw up. Bart was a master of this type of thing. He took me in a series of ever escalating small steps. After the first time in the supply room, he started to invite me out to lunches with a group of his friends who ate together. In all of the years that I'd worked there, I'd never been invited before, not once. It made me feel special.

The second step was that whenever I went into the supply closet or the stairs to go upstairs or downstairs, Bart was always there. And his squeezing and fondling kept escalating. After a few days, we'd gotten to the point where he had me believing that he worshiped my breasts. As soon as we were alone, he not only felt them up but opened my blouse or shirt to lick and suck on them. As I've mentioned before, my nipples are kind of sensitive. So before too long he had his hand in my panties too.

The first few times he did it I objected very strongly but over time my objections got weaker and weaker and as I've mentioned before it pumped up my sense of power and it wasn't hurting Rick. But after a week or so, we were caught. Another guy on the staff came into the supply room while Bart was sucking my tits. The new guy acted shocked at first but the next time I went into the room for staples, he showed up and promised me that if I'd let him do what Bart had done, he wouldn't tell anyone what he'd seen. I had to grudgingly go along with it. I needed my job and there was also the fact that if I got fired, Rick would find out about it.

Before I knew it though, it seemed like most of the guys on the staff were regularly feeling or sucking my tits. Bart had still been escalating his needs and had been begging me for weeks to give him a blow job. I refused every time. I told him that the only guy I'd ever done that for was my husband and that was the way it would always be.

Bart had been fingering my pussy though for a long time and he'd gotten to the point where he knew the exact combination of sucking my breasts and rubbing my clit to get me off. He took me to the back stairwell supposedly so we could go to the restaurant for lunch and pulled me into another supply closet on the lower floor. He was sucking my nipples so hard I thought I would cum right there and fingering me furiously. Before I knew it he'd put something in me other than his finger. I was too far gone to stop him and in fact when he noticed the recognition in my eyes he asked me if I wanted him to stop.

"No damn you," I spat. "But this is the last time you ever touch me." I guess I realized then what I'd become. Over a series of tiny steps, he'd turned me from a faithful wife into a slut. I'm not stupid, I also finally realized that the other guys had all been friends of his and it hadn't been by accident that they'd caught us. I could see that if I hadn't awakened when I did, within a few weeks I'd have just become their whore. They'd be running trains on me after work and I'd just be another woman with a bad reputation around the office.

I was so close to my climax that I didn't even react as he started to shoot his sperm deep inside me. Feeling him shoot off in me started my own orgasm just as the door opened and the light came on. I looked into the eyes of our boss, who quickly closed the door and left. "Sorry," he'd muttered.

I slapped Bart across the face. "Don't you ever speak to me again," I spat. "Don't talk to me. Don't touch me and don't ever come near me again."

"You can get as angry as you want to," he smiled at me. "I already fucked you. And seriously...It wasn't that good. Except for those giant titties, you ain't shit. I'll find someone better. There are always lots of sluts around. Who knows, maybe I'll clue your husband in so he can find out what kind of woman he married."

"And I'll let your wife know what kind of man she's with," I hissed. He just nodded his head and left the room laughing.

Over the next few days, I avoided going to the supply room and no longer went out to lunch with the group. Several of the men did try dropping hints but I just didn't speak to them anymore. I ate lunch at my desk alone and talked to Rick on the phone during my lunch hour.

I also sank into a depression over what I'd done. I hadn't thought that my behavior had changed over the two or three months since the surgery but thinking about all of the things I'd done, I realized that it had.

That night at home, I got the first of the three blows that destroyed me. I wanted to make it up to Rick without ever letting him find out what I'd done. I'd thought about my behavior intensely over those few days since the last time with Bart and realized that I had seriously cheated on the man I loved. I wasn't talking about just letting Bart fuck me. All of the times I'd let guys fondle or suck my breasts, I'd been cheating too. I wondered how stupid I had to be to let that happen when I had a man at home who loved me so much. I felt like a fool. And I was a bigger fool than I realized.

Any way when I got home that night I put on my sexiest lingerie and waited for Rick. When he got home I pounced on him.

"Guess what I want to do," I purred.

"I can't figure it out," he smiled rubbing my ass. I noticed right away that I'd positioned myself so that his hands were near my breasts but he'd skipped over them and grabbed my nearly non-existent ass instead. He flipped me over and started nibbling my ass and licking it. I rubbed my own nipples and wondered why he didn't. He always had before.

"Rick," I said, my voice thick and husky. "Get up here. We can't make a baby with you licking my ass as good as it feels. And I want to get pregnant now." He suddenly stopped what he was doing and sat up. He moved away from me and looked at the floor.

"Rick, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "You tell me."

"What do you mean Honey?" I asked. I was sure that he had heard something. I thought that maybe Bart had gone ahead with his threat and told him but it was worse. He went over to the dresser and reached into my drawer. He pulled out my supply of birth control pills.

"Ten weeks ago, just after your surgery, you told me you were going off of these so we could have this baby you're bringing up." he said. "When was the last time you took one?"

I didn't say anything. "It was yesterday," he said. He snapped one of the pills out of the container and handed it to me. "You forgot today," he said, handing me the pill. I know it was only my imagination but the pill was so hot it almost burned through my hand.