Chapter 17: Silicone Smothering
The straps of the childhood bra bit into Josh's shoulders like phantom teeth, the stiff cups a ghostly echo scraping his now painfully sensitive nipples. He gasped, sucking in air that tasted like dust and jasmine, the pink boudoir swimming back into focus around him. The rocket ship nightlight was gone, replaced by the relentless throb of purple neon snaking up the walls. The air hung thick and cloying, heavy with synthetic flowers and sweat. Old-school pop, saccharine and distorted, whined from the jukebox in the corner.
He was still on the plush velvet stool, his reflection a warped, fleshy ghost in a mirrored vanity cluttered with glittering bottles. His hands, trembling, instinctively cupped the swell beneath his t-shirt – fuller now, aching with a deep, unfamiliar heaviness. Dad’s face… the bra… The memory fractured, dissolving like sugar in water, leaving only a residue of shame and the insistent throb beneath his palms. He felt… softer. Wider. His jeans dug into a waist that wasn’t as lean as it should be.
Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sound cut through the pop music, sharp and deliberate. Each step resonated on the polished floor, a rhythmic announcement. Josh’s head felt thick, stuffed with cotton wool. He turned, slowly, the movement causing his chest to wobble slightly under the thin cotton.
Evelynii filled the arched doorway. The six-inch heels were blood-red patent leather, strapped around impossibly slender ankles. Her legs, sheathed in glossy black vinyl, seemed to stretch for miles before meeting the tight hem of a shocking pink micro-skirt. But it was the breasts that dominated. Monumental. Unreal. 3000cc of silicone thrust upwards and outwards beneath a transparent mesh top, capped by enormous, dark, stiff nipples clearly visible through the fabric. They swayed hypnotically with each deliberate step, a gravity-defying pendulum of flesh and plastic. Her waist nipped in dramatically above hips that flared with lush padding.
Her face… it was Evelynii’s, yet not. Plump, trout-pout lips glistened with fresh filler, stretched into a cartoonish smirk that pulled at the corners. Thick layers of mascara coated lashes that seemed weighed down. Her eyes, once sharp and knowing, held a vacant, lustrous sheen. Platinum blonde hair cascaded in improbable waves over her shoulders.
"Ooooh, look at youuu," she cooed, her voice syrupy and distorted by the lips, each word an effort. She clicked closer, the scent of overpowering vanilla and musk rolling off her. "Just sittin' there, alllll confused in your little boy clothes." Her giggle was a high-pitched tinkle. "Poor widdle Joshie."
He tried to speak, to ask what was happening, why she looked like this, why he felt like this. "Ev… Evelyn? What…?"
"Shhhhh, sugar tits," she purred, stopping inches from him. Her enhanced lips curved wider. "No thinkin’. Just… feelin’." Her gaze raked over him, lingering on his chest, then dropping lower. "Mmmm, yeah. Puddin’ up real nice, ain’tcha? Gettin’ all soft and sweet for me."
Before he could react, her hand shot out. Not gently. She grabbed his face, her long, acrylic nails digging into the flesh of his pudgy cheeks. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Painfully strong. She forced his head up, her glistening lips inches from his.
"My perfect," she whispered, her hot, candy-scented breath washing over him. "Fat." Squeeze. "Titty." Her thumb rubbed roughly over his lower lip. "Sissy."
The word, hissed with such possessive glee, slammed into him like a physical blow. Sissy. It echoed his father’s roar, tangled with the phantom scrape of the training bra. Panic flared, cold and sharp. He tried to pull back, a choked noise escaping him.
Evelynii laughed, a throaty, wet sound. "Oh no you don't, slut." Her other hand clamped onto the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. "Time to worship."
With terrifying strength fueled by silicone and surgical steel, she yanked his face forward, plunging it mercilessly into the suffocating canyon of her cleavage.
Smothered.
The world vanished. Blinding pink. The overwhelming, cloying stench of perfume and hot plastic filled his nose, his mouth. His face was mashed against the unnaturally smooth, cool surface of the implants, the stiff, protruding nipple digging into his cheekbone. The sheer mass of them pressed against his skull, his nose, threatening to crack bone. He couldn’t breathe. Only gasp futilely against the slick, unyielding surface. Milky? It felt slick, like oiled plastic. The push-up bra beneath the mesh was a rigid scaffold, unforgiving.
He struggled instinctively, hands flailing, trying to push against her vinyl-clad hips. It was like pushing a marble statue. She held him fast, grinding his face deeper into the silicone valley, her hips swaying slightly, making the massive mounds jiggle and press rhythmically against him.
"Mmmmf! Gggkk!" He gagged, the sounds muffled, pathetic. Tears stung his eyes.
"Yessss," Evelynii moaned above him, her voice thick with pleasure. "Smell it, sissy. Smell the bimbo. That's your fuckin' perfume now." She pressed down harder, the pressure intense. "Kiss 'em. Worship Mommy's big, beautiful tits. Lick the plastic, you desperate little bitch."
Pure, animal panic warred with something else. Something shameful and undeniable. Trapped, smothered, humiliated… his body betrayed him. Despite the terror, the confusion, the raw discomfort of his face being crushed, a traitorous heat ignited low in his belly. His cock, confined in suddenly too-tight jeans, gave a violent, aching throb. Followed by another. Hardening rapidly against the denim. Precum leaked, hot and sticky, soaking into his boxers. The sheer obscenity of it, the overwhelming sensory assault – the smell, the suffocating pressure, the smooth artificial flesh, Evelynii’s degrading words – became perversely electric.
He stopped struggling. His flailing hands fell to his sides, then, trembling, rose again. Not to push her away. Hesitantly, fingers shaking, they touched the vinyl covering her hips. Then drifted upwards, over the flare of padded curves, towards the impossible swell of her sides, his fingertips brushing the hard edge of the implant beneath the mesh top.
Evelynii cackled, a sound like breaking glass. "That's it! Touch 'em! Know your fuckin' place, titty slave." She shifted her grip, releasing the back of his head slightly, but keeping his face buried. Her hands slid down, fingers raking possessively over his own thickening sides, squeezing the soft flesh of his love handles before sliding down to grab two handfuls of his ass through his jeans. "Look at this fat ass bloomin'! So ready for a real cock, ain'tcha?"
Her words sent another jolt through him. His cock pulsed, demanding attention, trapped and straining against the zipper. He moaned, the sound a desperate, muffled vibration against her chest. His fingers clutched harder at her sides, seeking purchase on the vinyl and the unyielding curves beneath. The scent was in his lungs, in his pores. The rhythmic sway of her hips kept the massive breasts moving against his face, a bizarre, crushing caress.
He felt her shift her stance. One red heel planted itself firmly between his spread thighs, the sharp point perilously close to his trapped, aching cock. She leaned into him, using her entire augmented body to pin him to the stool, grinding his face deeper still. The pressure was immense. Stars danced behind his squeezed-shut eyelids.
"Gonna keep you right here," she slurred, her voice thick with arousal and filler. "Face first in my tits. Till you fuckin' drown in them. Till you forget your stupid boy name. Just my fat, leaking sissy cow, mooing into Mommy’s cleavage." Her hand slid from his ass, around his hip, fingers crawling spider-like towards the straining bulge in his jeans. "Gonna milk that pathetic little clit next. See how much you really wanna be a girl."
His breath hitched in his throat, a wet, desperate sound against silicone. His father’s disgust warped into Evelynii’s mocking ownership. The sharp chafe of the training bra became the smooth, suffocating press of impossible tits. Shame burned, hotter than ever, but it was rapidly being consumed by the raw, involuntary throb between his legs, the terrifying pull of her words, and the dizzying, cloying darkness of her embrace. He was losing himself, sinking into the pink, perfumed abyss. The jukebox melody seemed to warp, stretching and slowing, as Evelynii’s painted fingers finally brushed the denim seam over his cock, and the future narrowed to the promise of her touch and the crushing weight of what he was becoming.