Chapter 15: Plastic Dreams
The fluorescent buzz of her phone screen was the only light in the dorm. Amy lay sprawled on her frilly pink bedspread, the sequined throw pillow digging into her ribs. Her ass still throbbed faintly, a dull echo from the bathroom tiles, a reminder she pushed down. She scrolled. Endlessly.
Instagram. TikTok. Twitter. Her feed was a curated avalanche of flesh. LexiLuxe, draped over a Lamborghini, ass impossibly round, cheeks spilling from microscopic gold lamé shorts. SofiaSilk, submerged in a bubble bath, massive, gravity-defying breasts gleaming wetly above the suds. BunnyBabe, sucking cock with theatrical enthusiasm, her lips stretched obscenely around the girth, eyes rolled back in ecstasy, caption: ‘Morning protein shot! 💖 Cum see the full vid!’.
Amy’s thumb paused. Lingered. She zoomed in on LexiLuxe’s ass. Perfectly spherical. Unnaturally smooth. No dimple, no wobble that wasn’t perfectly controlled. She touched her own hip, tracing the curve down to where her shorts – similar, but cheaper, less shiny – barely covered her. Her ass was… fine. Natural. Soft. It jiggled when she walked, bounced when she got fucked. Guys stared. They grabbed. They used it.
But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t sculpted. Monumental. A billboard demanding attention from miles away.
She swiped. SofiaSilk’s breasts filled the screen. Water droplets slid down slopes that defied physics. Amy glanced down at her own chest beneath the thin camisole. They were… breasts. Average. Unremarkable. They filled Mark’s hands okay. Chad had squeezed them roughly in the library stacks last week, grunting about how ‘perky’ they were. But they weren’t those. They weren’t pillows you could drown in. Globes that made men trip over their own feet.
A tightness cinched her chest. Not sadness. Not exactly. Hunger. A sharp, acidic pang of inadequacy.
“Fuck,” she whispered, the word flat in the quiet room. Her voice sounded thin. Whiny. Like a valley girl complaining about a broken nail. She hated it sometimes. Loved it others. When it made guys smirk.
She tapped SofiaSilk’s profile. Bio: ‘Enhanced & Loving It! 💖 Surgeon: Dr. V. Miami 💖’. Links. Before-and-afters. A timeline of transformation from flat-chested girl-next-door to silicone goddess.
Amy stared. The ‘before’ girl looked… smart. Like someone who might have worn glasses. Read books. Had opinions. The ‘after’… pure fantasy. Pure fuckdoll. Men swarmed her comments. ‘Queen!’ ‘Perfection!’ ‘Worth every cent!’ ‘Would drain my bank account for a night!’
Her thumb moved to her own nipple, pinching lightly through the fabric. The sensation was dulled. Familiar. Nothing like the electric jolts SofiaSilk described feeling in her new implants. Amy imagined it. Cold, hard silicone beneath warm skin. Heavy. Unmissable. Men wouldn’t just glance; they’d gawk. They’d stumble. They’d want to touch, to squeeze, to bury their faces in them. Mark would lose his mind. Chad… Chad would probably just grunt louder, grip harder.
She swiped back to BunnyBabe. Mid-scream, mouth wide, tongue piercing glinting. ‘OH GOD YES! FUCK MY THROAT DADDY! I’M CUMMING! 💖💖💖’. Amy ran her own tongue over her metal barbell. Click-click against her teeth. She moaned like that too. Announced her climaxes. Said filthy things. It felt… necessary. Expected. Like part of the costume. But BunnyBabe seemed to revel in it. Own it. Like the screams themselves were proof of her worth.
Amy’s gaze drifted to her vanity mirror across the room. Reflected in its ornate frame, amidst the clutter of glitter palettes and sticky lip glosses, was a glimpse of herself. Smudged eyeliner. Hair messy from lying down. The camisole strap slipping off one shoulder. She looked… used. Soft. Imperfect.
LexiLuxe’s ass. SofiaSilk’s tits. BunnyBabe’s performative ecstasy. They weren’t just images. They were blueprints. Solutions.
The tightness in her chest flared hotter. It wasn’t just envy now. It was a craving. A physical ache for transformation. To be more. More visible. More fuckable. More worthy of the stares, the whistles, the rough hands, the careless use. To be undeniable. A walking fantasy.
Her small, natural breasts suddenly felt pathetic. Insufficient. Her ass, while exposed and jiggly, felt… flabby. Unimpressive next to those engineered marvels. She wanted that impossible curve. That shelf. That gravity-defying bounce. She wanted the cold weight of silicone pulling her forward, demanding attention with every step. She wanted to be artificial. Polished. Perfect.
She opened a new browser tab. Her fingers, tipped with chipped pink polish, hesitated for only a second before typing: ‘Best BBL surgeons NYC’. Then, ‘Top breast augmentation specialists’.
The screen filled with glossy websites. Smiling, transformed women. Diagrams of fat transfer. Silicone implants gleaming like oversized gumballs. Prices. Financing options. Testimonials: ‘Dr. X gave me the confidence I never knew I needed!’ ‘My new body changed my life!’
Amy leaned closer, the phone light bleaching her face. Her reflection in the dark screen overlay the images of augmented perfection. The girl with the sci-fi posters, the neat desk, the little plant on the sill… that girl was a ghost. A faint, fading smudge beneath layers of glitter and need.
She clicked on a gallery. ‘Dramatic Transformations’. Before: ordinary women. After: cartoons of femininity. Hips impossibly wide. Breasts impossibly large. Asses impossibly round.
A low sound escaped her, part sigh, part moan. Her hand slid down her stomach, under the waistband of her shorts. Her fingers found the slickness there, the constant low hum of arousal that never quite went away anymore. She imagined walking across campus. Not just her asscheeks bouncing freely under micro-shorts, but that ass. Sculpted. Hard. Round. Men stopping dead. Cars slowing down. Mark’s jaw dropping. Chad… Chad grabbing it with both hands, lifting her, slamming her against a wall, grunting, ‘Fuck yeah, this is an ass.’
Her fingers moved faster, circling her clit. She pictured the surgeon’s hands. Not Chad’s rough grip, but precise, clinical. Sculpting her. Molding her into something better. Something designed purely for male consumption. Her breath hitched. Images flickered – the cold operating table, the sharp sting of needles, the ache of recovery… then the reveal. Standing naked before a full-length mirror. Seeing LexiLuxe. Seeing SofiaSilk. Seeing BunnyBabe. Seeing perfection staring back.
She came suddenly, sharply, biting her glossed lip to stifle the sound. "Oh... oh fuck," she gasped silently, back arching off the bed. No announcement this time. Just a private, desperate clench. Waves of heat pulsed through her, merging with the ache of envy, the hunger for transformation.
As the tremors subsided, she stared back at the screen. At the gallery of impossible bodies. The tightness in her chest hadn't eased. It had solidified. Into resolve. Into necessity.
She bookmarked the surgeon’s page. ‘Consultation Request Form’. Her finger hovered over the ‘Submit’ button. The little potted plant on the windowsill, forgotten in the corner, drooped slightly in the dark.