Forced Breast Expansion
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Forced Breast Expansion
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This folder is for stories where the primary focus is on breasts. That would include Breast Expansion, Multibreast, and Lactation stories. It also includes stories with multiple transformations, but where one of the former themes is the prevalent subject matter.
[Tags: breast expansion, hyperbreasts]Let me tell you a story. It’s not about me, don’t worry, I’m nowhere near interesting enough to be the focus of a whole story. No, this is about my boss—her name is Annika. Now where do I begin with Annika? Well, probably the best place to start is to give you a warning: you do not want to meet this woman. Nuts, doesn’t even cover it. This woman is, I swear, a borderline psychopath. Sounds alarming, I know, but believe me it’s even worse than that. Not only is this woman a menace, but she also happens to be one of the most powerful women in the entire sector. Although, as a CEO, I suppose being a sociopath sort of comes with the territory. So, Annika is the founder and sole owner of a massive computer software company. I’m omitting the particulars of this company for fear of losing my job—though, as you will see, some of the details of this story are more than a little bit conspicuous. As for me, well my name is Julia, and I am but the lowly executive assistant to Annika. And lowly is the right word. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a job I am proud of attaining at such a young age, since it is one of the highest administrative roles in the entire company. However, working so close to a CEO like Annika does bring with it a certain level of workplace hazard—something that scared off quite a lengthy list of much more qualified people before me. My role means that I am forced to spend nearly every waking moment of my life at the beck and call of an insane woman and her endless list of impossible demands. I think it’s a testament to my stamina that I still have this job after 8 months—my forebears lasted on average a matter of weeks, and steered well clear of the company afterwards. Sometimes I just think that I really must have a low opinion of myself to put up all of the abuse. Perhaps I’ve just been beaten down, and it all just washes over me. It certainly feels that way at some points. In any case, the only pertinent detail for this story is that my role gives me a rather privileged insight into an extremely rich and powerful woman. So a bit about Annika. Putting aside the fact that she is a terrifying lunatic who delights in the misery and subjugation of her employees, she is actually quite a remarkable woman with an even more remarkable story. Annika was orphaned at the age of five and grew up bouncing around a series of abusive homes. Despite a troubled childhood and intermittent schooling, she somehow managed to educate herself to a much higher standard than the privileged silver-spoon trust fund kids who now work for her. By visiting the public library every day to experiment on the computers there, she taught herself how to code, and quickly realised she had an aptitude for programming. By the age of 13, she had already written several pieces of software—despite never owning a personal computer—storing them on CDs donated to her by kind librarians. Once she began to gain connections in the software industry, she eventually sold some of these programs. Even though they are dated by today’s standards, I believe they are still part of legacy code used by certain companies in one way or another. Around the age of 16, Annika realised that her inner-city high school was too underfunded to provide her with a useful education, and decided to leave school for good. She then swindled some banker into giving her a startup loan and formed her own company. Initially running it entirely out of her tiny one-bedroom apartment, for the first three years she did absolutely everything necessary to get that company off the ground. She wrote all the code, ran all the accounts, met with investors, and even managed her own advertising and marketing herself. The software she was selling was something interminably dull, like data collection or accounting programs used for the financial industry. But she was so hard-working, and her expenses were so low, that she quickly accumulated a sizeable revenue from this work alone. Oh, and she also somehow found the time to freelance as a web developer as well. As you can probably tell already, Annika’s intelligence was off the charts, and she had the work ethic to match. Her insane capacity for work is as dizzying now at the age of 32 as it must have been back then. I have no idea when, or even if , this woman sleeps—certainly the frequency with which I’m woken up in the middle of the night to do some task suggests that she doesn’t spend much time in bed. This woman is addicted to working like no one I have ever met, and yet that seems to be precisely the lifestyle she desires. So today, Annika’s company, and herself, are worth more than a billion dollars. The precise figure of her fortune is unclear, but I am entrusted with several of her credit cards, and never once have I heard mention of a limit. And with that fortune comes power. Not only is she the owner and CEO of a company, but she is the most powerful executive, of the most prominent company in the software industry in my country. You don’t even need to qualify her status with the word woman. No, she was more powerful than anyone, regardless of gender. So what, I hear you ask, does this impressive self-made genius woman do with her wealth and power? Well, diddly squat. When I tell you Annika is obsessed with work, I mean it. The fact that she is now a billionaire is almost incidental to her. Her home is nice sure, but absolutely nothing like the million-dollar uber-mansions that other billionaires in her echelon buy for themselves. It’s not that she is modest though, far from it in fact, it is more that Annika has absolutely no interest in using her money on anything unnecessary. Any thoughts to display her wealth in ways that do not advance her company are simply unimportant to her. She never takes vacations, has no hobbies or pastimes, and basically nothing in the way of family or friends—unless you could call me her friend that is. Her only expenditures are those things essential to do her job and maintain her reputation as a serious and ruthless businesswoman. Her only luxuries are the imposing black Mercedes she drives, and her wardrobe of designer business suits, skirts, and blouses. Typically these items of clothing are in array of aggressive reds and crimsons, with bold angular features like shoulder pads and wide lapels. In fact, the only times I ever see her out of this sharp business-wear are when I am called to her house to attend to errands. Often I will be required to transcribe notes for her while she exercises in her home gym. During these moments, she will wear some plain figure-hugging exercise gear and a sports bra. Still, even these are surprisingly simple for someone with her unimaginable wealth.So I suppose I should get to the other important part of Annika’s character, and that’s her looks. There’s really no other way to put it. Annika is hot. She is. I wish she weren’t—being bisexual myself—but she is a beautiful woman no matter how you spin it. In fact, a woman of Annika’s character really has no right being as stunning as she is, but there we are, the world is cruel like that. Not only is Annika gifted intellectually, but sadly, she is gifted physically as well—perhaps even more so, come to think of it. I have always suspected that her beauty must have had something to do with her meteoric rise to success. From the looks of her, you really would never suspect her to be the super-bright, power-hungry manipulator that she is, looking instead more like an air-headed fashion model. Standing at a tall 5’11’’, Annika’s appearance would be far more suitable for the catwalk than at the head of a board room. Thanks to a rigorous workout regimen, she has this wonderfully slender and toned body, with a flat stomach, prominent buttocks, and strong legs and arms. Her face is perfectly symmetrical down to the freckle, with pale unblemished skin and striking features. Her hair is the most remarkable thing of all though—a gorgeous mane in a shade of luminous platinum blonde. I knew that hair received frustratingly minimal maintenance while somehow always looking lustrous and curled to perfection. This hair turned her appearance even more into that of a real-life barbie doll. From my perspective, it was all just so unfair how pretty she was. It was true that I was terrified of that woman, but even I could admit that she ever made a pass at me, I probably wouldn’t be able to refuse.And that brings me to Annika’s personal life. Now, given my comments about her appearance, you may be surprised to learn that this woman was not successful in the dating sphere. But nor had she any desire to be, it seemed. I had heard of rumours of boyfriends, and maybe even girlfriends from the time before I worked for her. But as of my tenure there were no prospects whatsoever. Zero. Our working relationship was close enough that, believe me, I would know about it—if she ever wanted to arrange a date with someone, I would probably be the one arranging it for her. But as of the last eight months, she had shown no desire to form any new personal relationships whatsoever.That’s not to say there were not plenty of potential suitors. Annika was intelligent, filthy rich, and most of all, stunningly beautiful. In every other way, she was a highly available bachelorette. As it was though, Annika was self-absorbed, argumentative, arrogant, and, I would argue, a complete megalomaniac. I could not imagine inflicting Annika onto even the worst of her recalcitrant board members—those odd men who occasionally made suggestive comments in her direction. Annika’s unique combination of jaw-dropping beauty, unimaginable power, and also her bad-temper, was something that many men in the company had a difficult time navigating. Frequently, a poorly initiated intern, or wandering-eyed engineer would be caught checking out her ass, or throwing her a suggestive glance. Those poor souls would soon find out what a mistake they had made when a barrage of screamed insults from Annika rained down upon them. Those of us who had wisened to this sort of behaviour knew that this was not a woman who could be ‘picked up’ in any normal sense, and that impression was absolutely intentional on her part. People in the company often asked me in private why she bothered keeping her body in such good shape if she had no interest in a relationship. The usual explanation I gave was that being incredibly good-looking had always been one of her clear advantages: her looks were a way to disarm all those nerdy sex-starved software engineers who populated our industry. However, there was definitely another side to it. If I was really honest, as someone who was by her side practically night and day, I would say that the person Annika was most trying to impress was herself.***So where is this story going? Well the interesting stuff began one Sunday morning. I woke up to an angry text from Annika informing me that I was to drive to her house at once. These sorts of out-of-hours calls were not unusual, and given that I was paid quite handsomely for round the clock assistance, I didn’t really mind the disruption to my weekend. So I took the 30-minute drive up to Annika’s house, and let myself in with the spare key she had trusted me with. As I mentioned, Annika had no family to speak of, so the house was almost always deserted except for the occasional cleaner or handyman. As I walked through the door, Annika yelled my name and instructed me to join her upstairs in the walk-in wardrobe attached to her bedroom.So I walked up there and was greeted by the sight of Annika standing topless in front of one of her floor-length mirrors, staring at her chest. This was nothing new, you understand. My assistance to my boss extended well beyond simple office chores. I had dressed Annika many times in the past during moments when she had been too preoccupied screaming at someone down the phone to put on a blouse by herself. What was new this morning however was what Annika happened to be looking at. She was such a manic and highly-strung person usually that her muted demeanour in that moment was disconcerting. I wandered around her to face her and instantly realised what the problem was: her once modest-sized breasts had swollen to around twice their usual size. Annika was staring at her reflection in the mirror, biting down on the inside of her cheek in a mixture of confusion and frustration. This was quite a shock to me too, you see. I would definitely have known if Annika had booked herself a breast enlargement surgery—I would have been the one to book it. Where on Earth these breasts had magically appeared from was a total mystery to me. However, as much as I desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on, I stayed silent. Annika did not tolerate comments about her body, ever. If she happened to overhear even the faintest remark, positive or negative, about her physical appearance, a severe dressing down would soon be in store for you. So instead of asking her what was going on, I simply stood in front of my topless boss, trying my hardest not to look at the two plump breasts that she had conjured up overnight. After spending a good while staring at her own chest in the mirror, Annika eventually spoke up. Unfortunately it was not the explanation I wanted, instead it was another errand: I was to take her credit card and go and find her a new bra. I had no idea what size she wanted me to get, and thought better than to ask—it seemed as though this was as much of a puzzle to her as it was to me. The only benchmark I had to work with was that her breasts definitely looked larger than my own 34DDs, so I supposed that would have to do.So I did as I was told: I went out, and picked up a set of new bras from the expensive lingerie store she had sent me to. I returned with a range of large-ish sizes, and to my relief, a dark crimson 34G happened to just about fit. I couldn’t understand how she had gained six cup sizes in a single weekend, but clearly neither could she. Her mood over the morning’s ordeal had soured much more than usual, so it didn’t take my months of experience with her to recognise that any sort of comments about the issue would be unwise. After placing her swollen breasts inside the new bra, I helped Annika slip on a now mightily-undersized white blouse. After scowling at her misshapen reflection in the mirror for a while longer, she dismissed me, and that was the end of it. That week at work, I accompanied Annika as she went about her usual business—ordering around miserable underlings, screaming obscenities down the phone to board members, and piling on more tasks to her already overworked engineers; just the everyday work of a boss from hell. As she stormed through the hallways of our company building, I could tell Annika was finding the sudden appearance of these large breasts on her once-flat chest to be quite the challenge. Every moment when she was out of sight of other people I would stand with her while she adjusted her bra straps underneath her suit jacket. I presumed the only person who really knew what was going on underneath the CEO’s blouse was me. From my unique position by her side, I was treated to a near-constant view of my boss’s body. It shames me to admit that Annika’s new voluptuous figure was indeed very attractive. The only flaw you could even have remotely assigned Annika previously was that she was flat-chested, and now look at her. Not content with being a drop-dead gorgeous, stick-thin barbie doll, now she had to go and grow great big porn star tits to complete the package. *** It may surprise you to learn that Annika got through that week without a single comment about her new additions. The most she encountered were a couple of perplexed looks from new interns who weren’t familiar enough with the company to properly remember if their CEO had always had such large breasts. But then, the weekend that followed was when things really started to take a bizarre turn. The days leading up to my next phone call from Annika were already enough to warn me of what was coming. It made zero sense how this could be developing so quickly, but I could tell from the increasingly poor fit of Annika’s shirt during the latter half of that week that her breasts were continuing to grow. So, knowing that I was in a position to anticipate her demands this time, I decided to use Annika’s card to buy another set of much larger bras on my way to her house that Sunday. Sadly, when I arrived bearing bags full of new lingerie, Annika was not as pleased with my initiative as I had hoped. Far from it, she was furious. I discovered her again, standing topless in front of the mirror, glowering darkly at her body. As I walked in, she immediately began to scream a series of totally irrelevant complaints at me, things about me being useless and never on time. Why I had become a target all of a sudden was not clear, but this was something I was used to. Usually screaming like that was pretence for something, and that morning it was pretence for “why the fuck are my breasts growing so much?”. Of course I don’t think anyone in my position could have come up with the answer for how a woman’s breasts could once again double in size over the span of a few days, but unfortunately there was no one else around to ask. I endured the dressing-down as best as I could, but it was hard to focus on anything that she was saying. The breasts that jiggled around a few inches beneath her head as she wagged her finger at me were oddly mesmerising. Annika’s sudden bodily transformation really was quite a shock, and it was clear she was as unnerved as I was. In fact, I felt like I had underestimated how much they had grown during the week. Perhaps because they had been so compressed inside her bra I hadn’t realised. But indeed, they were much, much larger than I expected. She was already well past simply being large-chested, those things were huge. Like two plump, soft-looking cantaloupes hanging perfectly-formed from her chest. After allowing her to cool off, I managed to convince Annika to try on some of the bras I had bought. I could sense that even the suggestion that she wear a larger cup size was coming dangerously close to addressing the problem that was staring us both in the face, but she begrudgingly decided to try the bras on anyway. She made her way angrily through the bags, discarding one undersized bra after the next. With every motion her hefty naked breasts would swing back and forth, obstructing her movement as she tore through the shopping bags.Eventually, though, by the skin of my teeth, the largest one I had bought, a 34K, just about fit. Annika grit her teeth and stuffed her heavy, albeit remarkably well-sculpted breasts into the cups. I then watched through my fingers as she attempted to button up a silk blouse around them. The top three buttons were obviously three steps too far for Annika’s new bust however, so she was forced to leave several inches of a rather alluring cleavage open to the air. Annika had never been shy to use her obvious sex appeal to her advantage, however this level of immodesty was definitely beneath her. She was always a very professional dresser, someon
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