Chapter 15: Bimbo Aftercare
The cloying sweetness of jasmine hit Josh the moment he pushed open the door to Evelynii’s boudoir. It was oppressive, thick as syrup, mingling nauseatingly with the underlying tang of antiseptic and something metallic – blood? The room was a suffocating explosion of pink: satin drapes, ruffled pillows, lace doilies under perfume bottles. Soft, rosy lamplight cast long, velvety shadows, failing to mask the sterile reality at its center.
Evelynii lay propped up like a broken doll on a mountain of satin pillows. Her torso was a landscape of bandages, stark white against the pink sheets. Above the surgical compression bra, her neck seemed impossibly thin, dwarfed by the sheer, obscene bulk resting on either side of her head. Her new 3000cc breasts weren't just large; they were monstrous, unnaturally spherical and swollen, pressing against the bandages like twin, pale planets, their sheer weight forcing them to rest beside her ears like grotesque fleshy earmuffs. Tubes snaked from beneath the bandages into small, discreet drainage bulbs half-filled with pink-tinged fluid. Her face, usually puffed with filler, looked oddly deflated and pale beneath a thin sheen of sweat. Her lips, though still artificially plump, were chapped.
"Joshie... sissy... you came," she breathed, her voice a weak, drugged rasp. Her eyes, heavily lidded, struggled to focus. She tried to gesture, but her arm flopped weakly onto the satin. "Gel... the gel. On the vanity. Rub it... into the scars. Under the bra. Nurse said... massage."
Josh stood frozen, rooted to the plush pink carpet. The air felt thick, hard to breathe. The phantom ache in his own chest pulsed, a dull, insistent throb that had become his constant companion since... since the locker room? Fragments flickered – cold tiles, grunting, tearing pain, the name 'Jessica' whispered – then dissolved, leaving only a hollow dread and this persistent, unwelcome heaviness beneath his own worn band tee. He absently brushed a hand over his chest, flinching as his fingers grazed nipples that felt perpetually swollen, sensitive. His reflection in a gilded mirror across the room caught his eye. His jawline seemed softer, blurred. His frame felt... softer too, pudgier around the middle, straining the fabric of his old jeans. Disgust churned in his gut.
"Joshie!" Evelynii’s voice sharpened with a brittle edge of impatience. "Now! It hurts... burns. Rub the fucking gel!"
He flinched at the command, the crude word falling clumsily from her usually vacant lips. Mechanically, he moved towards the ornate vanity cluttered with glittering bottles and tubes. He found the scar gel, a thick, clear substance in a clinical-looking tube. The cool plastic felt alien in his hand. He walked back to the bed, the scent of jasmine and sickness intensifying.
"Under... the bra," Evelynii instructed, her breath catching as she shifted slightly. "Careful... fucking hurts."
Josh knelt on the edge of the bed, the satin slippery under his knees. He stared at the bandages, the swollen flesh spilling out from the top of the surgical bra. He could see the angry red lines of fresh incisions peeking out, tracing the curve where the massive implants met her natural tissue. He unscrewed the cap, squeezing a dollop of the cool gel onto his fingers. It smelled medicinal, sharp.
"Go on, sissy," Evelynii coaxed, her voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper. "Be a good girl. Rub Mommy’s boobies better."
Mommy? The word sent a jolt of revulsion through him, mixed with a confusing flicker of heat low in his belly. His hands trembled. He reached out, his fingers – noticeably plumper than he remembered, the knuckles less defined – hesitating just above the bandage. He hooked a finger under the stiff elastic edge of the surgical bra, near her sternum. Her skin was hot to the touch, clammy.
He lifted the edge slightly. The wound beneath was livid: a red, angry line punctuated by dark, neat stitches. A smear of yellowish antiseptic ointment covered it. Gently, tentatively, he dabbed some gel onto the scar line with his index finger.
"Hhhhh!" Evelynii hissed, her back arching minutely off the pillows. "Fuck! Cold! Gentle, you clumsy sissy!"
"Sorry," Josh mumbled, the word feeling thick and wrong. He pressed more carefully, the gel slick under his fingertip. He began to rub in small, circular motions as the instructions likely dictated. The flesh beneath the scar was hard, unyielding – pure implant. Yet around the edges, he felt the swollen, bruised give of her natural tissue. The sheer scale of the mounds, the heat radiating from them, was overwhelming. He moved to the outer curve of the left breast, beneath the bra strap near her armpit. Another red scar line. More gel. More careful rubbing. He became aware of his own breathing, shallow and rapid. The ache in his chest intensified, a deep, internal pressure.
"Mmhmm... that's it," Evelynii sighed, her eyes drifting closed again, a faint, dopey smile touching her lips. "Good sissy. Such soft hands... knew you'd be good at this." Her hand fumbled across the sheets, landing heavily on his thigh. "Little lower... under the curve. Massage... deeper."
Josh swallowed hard. He slid his hand further under the bra’s edge, his fingers encountering the hot, swollen underside of her breast where it met the bandages wrapping her ribcage. The flesh here was incredibly tender, bruised. He pressed slightly deeper, massaging the gel into the tight, inflamed skin near the crease. His pudgy fingers sank into the swollen softness.
"Yessss..." Evelynii breathed, her hips shifting subtly on the satin. Her other hand came up, not to help, but to clumsily grope her own right breast over the bandages, pinching the nipple through the fabric. "Feels so good... helps the swelling... makes Mommy feel nice..." Her voice was thick with narcotics and something else – a vacant, burgeoning arousal.
Josh focused on the task, trying to detach. Gel on the scar. Rub. Massage. Avoid the drainage tubes. But his own body wouldn't cooperate. The relentless ache in his chest flared into a sharp, stinging pain. A sudden, warm wetness bloomed beneath his own shirt. He looked down, horrified. Two distinct, dark patches were spreading rapidly across the thin grey cotton over his nipples. Milk. It was leaking again. Warm trickles ran down his soft, hairless belly, soaking into the waistband of his jeans. He froze, mortified.
Evelynii’s eyes snapped open. Her gaze, suddenly clearer, sharper, locked onto the dark, spreading stains on his shirt. That vacant smile widened into something predatory, hungry. "Ooohhh," she cooed, her voice dripping with perverse delight. "Look at you, sissy. Leaking like a little cow." Her hand on his thigh tightened, nails digging in through the denim. "Is Mommy’s good girl making milk for me?" She giggled, a high, grating sound. "Poor thing... your little titties are so full and achy, aren't they? Just like Mommy’s. Need someone to rub your scars too?"
"No!" Josh choked out, trying to pull his hand away from under her bra, trying to cover his chest. But Evelynii’s grip on his thigh was surprisingly strong.
"Oh yes," she hissed, her drugged lethargy replaced by a sudden, demanding intensity. She tugged on his wrist, pulling his hand not away, but deeper under the bandages, forcing his slicked fingers into the hot, bruised crease beneath her massive breast. "Rub harder, sissy! Make Mommy feel good! And you..." Her other hand shot out, surprisingly fast, and grabbed the front of his soaked shirt, yanking it up. Cold air hit Josh’s wet skin. His own breasts – soft, rounded mounds, still smaller than hers but undeniably female, crowned by large, dark, erect nipples – were exposed. Milky droplets pearled at the tips and ran in glistening trails down the pale swell. "Look at those pathetic little milkers," Evelynii sneered, her eyes fixed on the leaking nipples. "Dripping all over yourself. So desperate. Rub Mommy, and maybe... just maybe... I'll help you with that ache."
Humiliation burned Josh’s cheeks hotter than the pain in his chest. He felt tears pricking his eyes, a desperate sob building in his throat. But his traitorous body responded to the rough handling, to the crude words. His nipples tightened further under her gaze, leaking more freely. A low throb of unwanted warmth pulsed between his legs, a betrayal deeper than the physical changes. He was trapped – by her, by the room, by the alien body he inhabited.
Evelynii’s demanding grip tightened on his wrist buried beneath her breast. "Rub!" she commanded, her voice sharp. "Rub Mommy’s sore titties, you dumb fucking sissy slut! Before I make you suck the drainage tubes clean!"
A strangled whimper escaped Josh’s lips. Defeated, trembling, he pressed his slick, gel-covered fingers deeper into the swollen, bruised flesh beneath Evelynii’s monstrous implant, massaging in rough, clumsy circles as she moaned with vacant pleasure. His own milk continued to leak, warm and shameful, tracing paths down the soft curve of his belly onto the pink satin sheets, marking his place in this suffocating, unreal hell. The only sound was her drugged sighs, the slick slide of gel, and the soft, mortifying drip of his own humiliation onto the silk. The jasmine scent choked him. The pink light felt like a prison. He rubbed, the contours of the massive implant beneath his fingers a horrifying mirror of the unwelcome, aching weight growing on his own chest. The name 'Josh' felt distant, meaningless, dissolving like a sugar cube in the sickly-sweet air. Who was he now? He didn't know. He only knew the ache, the leak, and the terrifying, vacant eyes of the monster commanding his hands.