"Fuck, just like that—harder," I moaned, my voice cracking as his rough hands gripped my hips, slamming my ass back into him. The sound of his cock pounding into my cunt echoed through the room, wet and filthy, like it was fucking meant to be. I was on all fours, my blonde hair plastered to my sweaty face, strands sticking to my cheeks like a slutty veil. My tits swung heavy beneath me, rubbing against the bedsheets with every thrust, the friction making my nipples ache in the best fucking way. I braced myself against the headboard, my fingers digging into the wood, as he spanked my ass hard, the sharp sting only making me want more.
"That’s it, Jaki," he growled, his voice low and rough, his hand coming down on my ass again. "Take it like the fucking slut you are."
I was a slut—no denying it. I fucking lived for this now, for the way his cock stretched me open, for the way my body craved every inch. But it wasn’t always like this. Seven years ago, I was just Jack, a regular guy with a regular life. I used to have a corner office, a suit, and a tie. Now I had great big fake tits that I can barely fit into my skimpy oversized stripper tops and a cunt that was dripping because of some asshole named Mike and a magical rabbit’s foot.
— 7 years Ago —
I was alone in my house, minding my own business, when—bam—I was standing in front of Mike. I blinked, disoriented, my head spinning. "What the -?" I started, but Mike cut me off.
"Shut the fuck up, Jack," he barked, holding up this weird little rabbit’s foot. It was brown and mangy, but it an an unmistakable aura to it. "You’ve been looking down your nose at me for years, blocking my promotions at work. Well, guess what? Those days are fucking over. I'm going to put you in your place, just like Terry."
"Who's Terry?" I opened my mouth to argue further, but he didn’t give me the chance. "I'm going to give you a job you deserve" and then he wished: "I wish Jack was a Hooters girl with C-cup tits," his grin spreading wide across his grimacing face.
I felt it before I saw it—my body shrinking. I stumbled back, my hands flying to my chest as my pecs swelled into soft, heavy mounds. My hips widened, my waist cinched in, and my fucking dick—I watched in horror as it disappeared, replaced by a smooth, bare cunt. My face softened, my jaw rounded, and my dirty blonde hair , falling in messy waves around my shoulders. Out of nowhere, a tight white Hooters tank top and orange booty shorts appeared on my body, clinging to my new curves like they were painted on.
I stumbled toward the nearest mirror, my tits bouncing with every step. Boobs. I had fucking BOOBS! My tits were round and perky, a perfect C-cup, big enough to create cleavage and heavy enough to spill out of the tank top if I leaned forward too far. My nipples poked through the thin fabric, already hard from the shock of it all. I looked like me, but… feminine. Like the girl-next-door version of myself.
Mike laughed as I stared at my reflection, my hands trembling as they pat down my new body. "You’re fucking hilarious, Jack," he said, slapping his knee like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.
I was horrified, but all I could do was stand there, what could I do against something so powerful? I stood there staring at the girl in the mirror—the girl that I am now.
— Present Day —
My moans echoed through the room as he fucked me harder, his cock slamming into my cunt with a force that made my tits jiggle. My nipples rubbed against the sheets, the friction sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I arched my back, pushing my ass further into him, begging for more.
"Fuck, Jaki," he groaned, his hands gripping my hips tighter. "Your ass is so fucking perfect. I could spank it all day."
He did—his hand came down on my ass again, the sharp sting making me yelp. It drove me crazy in more ways than one. My cunt clenched around his cock, squeezing him tighter as he fucked me harder, faster, his thighs slapping against mine. His left hand left my hip, cupping my heavy left tit roughly, squeezing, playing, and kneading it. His fingers pinched my nipple, twisting it just enough to make me gasp, my back arching as I shoved my ass back into him even harder. "Oh, god—" I moaned, my voice breaking as his other hand came down on my ass again, the sharp spank echoing through the room. "Fuck, yes, just like that!"
I moaned, my voice shaking. "Fuck me like you mean it."
He did. His cock slammed into me, over and over, gaining speed with each thrust faster. My tits bounced wildly, the weight of them pulling at my chest, the sensation only adding to the pleasure. I was a slut, a fucking whore, and I hated that I needed it.
"Fuck, I’m gonna cum," I gasped, my nails digging into the headboard as my orgasm built, hot and heavy in my pussy.
"Fuck, Jaki," he groaned, his voice breaking as he pounded into me. "I’m gonna fill you up, make you take every fucking drop." He smacked my ass one more time.
I moaned, "FUUUUUUUCK YEEESSS" the sound desperate and needy, as he slammed into me one last time, his cock pulsing as he came deep inside my cunt. My orgasm hit me like a fucking train, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me as I screamed, my cunt clenching around his cock, milking him for every fucking drop.
"Fuck," he groaned, pulling out of me slowly, his cum dripping out of my cunt and onto the sheets. "You’re such a good fucking slut, Jaki."
I collapsed onto the bed, my tits resting on the sheets, my body trembling in pleasure from the aftermath. My cunt was still throbbing, still wet and messy, my horniness temporarily sated.
I lay there, my heavy tits pressed into the mattress, still dripping with sweat from the fuck session. My mind wandered, as it often did, back to how I ended up with these massive watermelon-sized tits. I groaned, shifting slightly to relieve the pressure on my back. Fuck, they used to be so much smaller.
— 7 Years Ago —
Seven years ago, when Mike first transformed me, I had C cups. Cute, manageable, perky. God, I wish I had those back. I remember staring at myself in the mirror, horrified but unable to look away. They were round, firm, and sat high on my chest. My Hooters tank top barely contained them, and the orange shorts clung to my newly formed ass. I looked like a cheerleader, but worse—I looked like a Hooters girl.
I begged Mike to change me back. "Please, Mike," I said, my voice trembling. "I’ll change. I’ll stop being an asshole at work. Just turn me back into Jack." Mike just laughed, his stupid face twisting into a smirk. "Oh, I’ve already got a way to change your behavior, Jack," he said, holding up that cursed rabbit’s foot. I felt a chill run down my spine. "I wish that from now on," he continued, "if you don’t fuck at least one customer a week, your tits will grow by a cup size."
"What?!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "No! Please, no!" But Mike was already waving that fucking rabbit’s foot. "Don’t worry," he said, grinning like a maniac. "All types of fucking count. Titfucking, blowjobs, pussy, ass—just as long as you fuck someone, you’ll be fine. But if you don’t… well, you’ll end up with tits so big you’ll be bending over like a fucking dowager."
I felt a rush of panic. "Mike, you can’t do this!" I pleaded, but he ignored me. Instead, he said "I wish I had Jack's ID in my hand," and my ID materialized in it. He looked at it and frowned. "Jack Miller," he read aloud. "That’s not a very sexy name. We need something more… befitting of the whore you’re going to become." He paused, then snapped his fingers. "I’ve got it! I wish Jack Miller's official, legal name, was Jaki Tahmuhbazums!"
"What the fuck does that even mean?" I demanded, my voice shrill. Mike just laughed. "Jack it to my bosoms! Get it?" he said, doubling over with laughter. I wanted to strangle him, but before I could react, he was waving that fucking rabbit’s foot again.
"You know, I've already done a hooters one, how about something new? I wish Jaki was the horniest, most vulgar-mouthed stripper in the dingiest strip club in America," he said, and before I knew it, I was teleported to some shithole club in the middle of nowhere.
For the first few years, I managed. I fucked at least one customer a week—sometimes more, if I was feeling particularly horny or desperate. But there were weeks when I couldn’t work. Weeks when I was sick, or the club was closed for a deep clean, or construction. Those weeks were the worst. I'd go to sleep and the next morning I’d wake up, and my tits would be bigger, heavier, more unwieldy than before.
I lay there, my massive udders still heaving from the rough fucking session, and my mind drifted back to the journey these titanic tits had taken. It wasn’t just about the size—it was the weight, the sensation, the life-altering burden they’d become. I remembered it all, every fucking cup size, every moment of realization that I was becoming a walking, talking sex toy.
When they first grew to a D cup, I thought I could handle it. They were bigger, sure, but still manageable. My tits felt heavy but full, like a pair of ripe melons hanging off my chest. I could still wear regular bras, though they’d dig into my skin by the end of the day. But then came the DDD cups. That’s when I started to notice the momentum. I’d turn around, and my tits would swing with such force that they’d practically drag my torso in their direction. It wasn’t long before I realized I was knocking shit over—glasses, bottles, even a lamp one time.
By the time I hit an E cup, I was living in a nightmare. And that’s when the curse decided to fuck me over even more. With each additional cup size, my tits didn’t just get bigger—they got faker. It was like the curse was mocking me, reminding me that no one in their right mind would have natural tits this huge. They were high quality fakes, but they were still fakes, the kind that made my chest look like it belonged on a plastic blow-up doll.
I had to start shopping for specialty bras—industrial-strength shit that cost a fortune and still barely contained me. The straps left deep grooves in my shoulders, and the clasps in the back had 4 to 5 hooks to keep them together. I remember the first time I tried to bend over to pick something up, and my tits nearly pulled me to the ground. Top heavy doesn’t even begin describe it. I had to start squatting like a weightlifter just to grab something off the floor.
Then came the H cups. Jesus Christ, the H cups. My tits weren’t just big—they were monstrous. Each one was the size of a soccer ball, and the weight of them made my back ache constantly. I couldn’t even walk fast without them bouncing so hard it felt like they were trying to escape. And the sweat—oh, the sweat. They’d stick to my skin, and I’d have to wedge my hands between them just to air them out. I was a slave to these tits, and there was no escape. Every day was a battle, and every night, I’d collapse into bed, happy to have known that I've fucked a customer that week to keep them from growing even bigger.
But the worst part? They helped me get laid more often, and due to this body's urges... I liked it. Ya, these slobberknockers weren't good for much and they made my life worse in almost every way, but I made more money stripping and after one look people would know what I was good for — fucking. The fucking was usually quick, dirty, rough, and I'd always get off once or even twice.
But that was about all the good there was. It only got worse from there. Every year, my tits grew another cup size. Dancing with them became a fucking nightmare. They bounced and jiggled with every move, and the weight of them made my back ache. But the tips were better. The customers loved them. They’d stuff dollar bills into my G-string, their eyes glued to my tits as I worked the pole.
And then there was that one Christmas and New Years. Fuck, I’ll never forget that. I couldn’t find a single customer willing to fuck me. I tried everything—flirting, stripping, even offering a discounted rate. But there were too few customers and my regulars were out of town. By the end of Christmas and the New Year, my tits had grown two cup sizes. Even the novelty bras my my girlfriends at the club had given me as gag gifts didn’t fit.
I had to start ordering expensive custom-made fetish bras from niche websites because my tits had gotten so huge that normal bras couldn’t even come close to containing these overgrown tatas. These specialty monstrosities cost me a fortune, and they still only barely kept my massive melons from spilling out like overfilled water balloons. Fucking hell, I hated these udders—they were a goddamn curse, but even more so when I had to shell out cash for bras that could have bought me a short vacation.
— Present Day —
"Fuck you, Mike," I muttered under my breath, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. My tits jiggled with the movement, the weight of them pulling at my chest. I couldn’t believe this was my life now. I used to have a corner office, a nine-to-five job, respect. Now I was just a slut with massive honkers.
The man beside me stirred, his rough hand sliding over my stomach and up to my tits. "Morning, slut," he growled, his voice deep and gravelly. I turned my head to look at him, his face still half hidden in the shadows. He was one of my regulars—strong, with rough hands and a deep voice. He liked to be in control, and he was good enough that I let him.
"Morning," I said, my voice soft and submissive. He didn’t say anything else, just rolled on top of me, his cock already hard and pressing against my thigh. I moaned as he grabbed my tits, squeezing them roughly. "Fuck, I love these fucking tits," he muttered, leaning down to suck on one of my nipples. I arched my back, my body responding eagerly to his touch.
The bed creaked under his weight as his rough hands grabbed my tits, squeezing them hard enough to make me gasp. “On your knees, Jaki,” he growled, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. I knew exactly what he wanted. My huge tits swaying heavily as shifted to my knees on the bed. He stood up on the bed, towering over me, his cock already hard and throbbing. I tilted my head back, my tits wrapping around his cock as I gazed up at him, ready to do what I did best.
His calloused fingers tangled in my dirty blonde hair, tugging me back slightly as I shifted position. I pressed my heavy tits together, squeezing them around his throbbing cock. The weight of my giant jugs made them jiggle slightly as I wrapped them around him, the soft, pillowy flesh swallowing him up. He groaned, his hips twitching impatiently as I started slow, rocking my tits back and forth along his length. “Fuck, Jaki,” he muttered, his grip tightening in my hair.
I smirked up at him, my lips brushing against the tip of his cock as I whispered, my voice dripping with lust. “You like that, baby? My tits were made for this. Let me fuck you with them until you explode all over me.”
His cock disappeared between my cleavage briefly, and I wasted no time pulling him back up, my tits enveloping him in a warm, slick embrace. I could feel the weight of them pressing against his thighs, the soft flesh jiggling with every movement as I worked him over. My nipples, hard and sensitive, rubbed against his skin, sending electric shocks of pleasure through me.
I increased the pace, panting as I worked him over, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “That’s it, baby,” I purred, “Let me feel you blow your load all over my tits. I need it.”
His breathing grew heavier, and I knew he was close. I slowed down slightly, teasing him, drawing it out. “Come on, baby,” I whispered, “Show me how much you love these tits.”
As I continued to titfuck him, my mind drifted back again to how I ended up here.
— 1 Year Ago —
The club had been closed for weeks after the fire, and I was fucking desperate. My tits—already massive—had swollen even larger without my regular customers, ballooning another two cup sizes. I could barely move without feeling the weight of them dragging me down, my back aching with every step. I couldn’t keep living like this. But reaching out to Mike? The man who’d turned me into this bimbo stripper with gigantic gozongas? It felt like a last resort, a gamble I wasn’t sure I wanted to take.
I spent days agonizing over it, my hands trembling as I finally dialed his number. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he makes it worse? The thoughts gnawed at me, but I didn’t have a choice. A few more cup sizes, and I might not even be able to walk. The phone rang, each tone echoing in my ears like a death knell. When he finally answered, his voice was as smug and insufferable as I remembered.
“Jaki Tahmuhbazums! Long time no see! How’s it hanging? Pretty heavy, I presume? Unless you’ve gotten pretty good at flirting by now,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.
I sighed, my eyes dropping to my monstrous melons, the white tank top straining to contain them. “Both, Mike. And that’s why I’m calling. The club’s closed for construction and they're not sure when it'll be back up. I've managed to sleep with a few regulars here and there but I can’t keep doing this. I’ve done my time. Just… please lift the curse, okay? I'm sorry.”
There was a pause, and then I heard moaning in the background. It sounded like Mike was fucking someone while he talked to me. I wondered: Was he fucking someone he turned into a slut? Or some woman he used the rabbits foot on? Who knows, let's just end this call quickly. “Alright, alright,” he said, his voice distracted. “Well, it has been 6 years, I guess I can remove the curse.”
My heart leaped, finally, an escape.
“I wish—” he started, but he was cut off by the woman he was with screaming in pleasure.
“I wish I had put a ball gag on you,” he muttered, and the orgasmic screams turned into muffled moans. I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling up inside me. I'm so close to being free. “Where was I? Oh, right. I wish that Jaki’s tits no longer grew when she didn’t sleep with customers for a week.” Mike said with lackadaisical disappointment. My heart sank. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be normal again. To be a man again, not a slut with huge cannons. “Wait, Mike,” I interjected, my voice trembling with desperation. “That’s not what I meant. I want to be normal again. I want to be a man again. Please, just—”
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh cut me off, followed by a low, throaty moan from whoever he was with. “Are you kidding me, Jaki?” Mike said, his voice strained, either from annoyance or exertion—or both. “You’re lucky I’m even helping you after all this time.”
I could hear the rhythmic thumping of his hips, the wet sounds of him thrusting into the woman. I stammered, my voice breaking. “I just want to be myself again.”
He let out a sharp laugh, followed by a grunt as he buried himself deeper. “Yourself? This is who you are now, Jaki. A slutty bombshell with huge titties. And you know what? I think I and the rest of the world prefers you this way.”
The woman’s moans grew louder, more urgent, and I could almost picture him pounding into her, his eyes closed, his face twisted in pleasure as he dismissed me. I desperately pleaded “I just… I just want—”
“You just want, you just want. Shut the fuck up and let me finish this.” He mocked.
I heard the woman moan loudly, her pleasure reaching its peak as Mike let out a low groan. My heart sank. He wasn’t going to help me.
"Ah, that's much better, now I can think straight. Where were we? Oh ya," Mike said with a self satisfied chuckle “I wish that Jaki was the best tit-fucker in town and frequently got cravings for giving tit-fucks.”
“Mike, don’t do this—” I started, but he cut me off with a sharp laugh, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “I wish,” he said, his tone mocking, “that Jaki derives orgasmic pleasure from giving tit-jobs and that she frequently gets distracted by daydreaming about titty-fucking and having cum on her tits.” His laughter echoed through the phone, sending a chill down my spine. “There, now your life will match your name,” he added, his voice smug and self-satisfied. I could almost hear his smirk through the phone, knowing exactly what he’d just done to me. My stomach churned, and I could already feel the twisting shift in my body—in my mind. It would be an addiction.
I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white as I tried to push back the images flooding my brain. My huge, jiggling melons pressed against a hard cock, my nipples stiff and sensitive as they slid up and down the shaft. The thought alone made my pussy clench.
“Mike, plea—” I started, but he hung up before I could finish.
— Present Day —
I moaned as he picked up his pace, my hips rocking instinctively as I thought about how Mike had fucked me over—again. My great big tits bounced against his legs, the sensation only adding to the heat pooling between my thighs. Both arms heaving my huge tits up and down, there was no need to play with myself, I'd get off when he painted my cum catchers.
This past year had been a non-stop whirlwind of distractions, thanks to Mike’s last cruel wish. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been caught daydreaming about giving messy, sloppy titjobs with my massive, heavy stripper tits. Talking to my manager at the club, I’d suddenly zone out, imagining his cock sliding between my cleavage instead of the schedule he was explaining. Grocery shopping? Passing the bananas, I’d find myself picturing them as cocks, my bazookas aching at the thought of servicing a whole football team. The glazed donuts? I’d be fantasizing about how my airbags would look with their own glaze.
Doing mundane chores around the house, one minute, I’d be folding laundry, and the next, I’d be imagining my massive tits wrapped around a stranger’s cock, his warm load painting my chest like an art project. The weight of my watermelons pulled at me constantly, a reminder of their purpose, and I’d find myself lost in filthy fantasies before I even realized what was happening. My pussy was soaked, and I had to take a break to… handle myself.
Even at red lights, I’d get lost in these fantasies—my hands absentmindedly squeezing my knockers as I imagined the feel of a hard cock sliding between them, the precum making my skin slick and slippery. The honking from the cars behind me would snap me back to reality, my face flushed and my panties soaked. Mike's wish really did a number on me.
The act itself was orgasmic, the sensation of a warm, thick load splattering across my oversized rack sending shivers down my spine and making my pussy drip. I was Jaki Tahmuhbazums, the best tit-fucker in town, and I couldn’t escape it.
Now, here I was, on my knees, living out one of those fantasies. I moaned again. Mike’s curse had turned me into a top heavy cum dumpster. "Ya, that's right, jack it to my bosom. Cum all over my huge tatas."
“Fuck, Jaki, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his voice low and guttural as I sped up. His cock pulsed between my tits, and I could feel him throbbing. "Ya, that's it. Splooge all over my big pillows. Shoot your load all over my giant cans."
The first thick rope of cum splattered across my face, hot and sticky, landing with a wet slap on my forehead. My thighs clenched together as the heat of his release ignited something deep inside me, a wave of pleasure crashing over me with unexpected intensity. My body trembled, my orgasm hitting me like a freight train. I arched my back, forcing my huge tits forward to act as a canvas while craning my neck back and moaning in ecstasy.
“Oh fuck, Jaki, look at you,” he panted, his cock twitching as he aimed another load, this time at my tits. The shot landed on top of my right breast, the heat of it making my nipple harden instantly. My huge tits jiggled as the third spurt hit the melon on the left. I moaned, my back arching as the weight of his seed pooled between my cleavage and a second orgasm washed over me.
My hips rocked uncontrollably as I rode out the waves of pleasure. My mind went blank, consumed by the sheer intensity of my orgasm. It was as if every nerve in my body had been set on fire, and I couldn’t do anything but let it consume me. "AHW, FUUUUCK. OH, FUUUCK.“ I moaned, my voice trembling as I felt myself spasm.
“Fuck, you’re such a slut, Jaki,” he muttered, his cock still twitching in his hand.
I could only nod, my body still quivering as I tried to catch my breath. I looked down at the cum dripping off my chin and into the valley of my cleavage, my tits still heaving up and down from my heavy breathing. “Yeah,” I admitted breathlessly, knowing he was right.
“C’mon, you know I like there to be more on my tits than my face,” I pouted as I gazed up at him through my cum-streaked lashes. I was a mess, his cum dripping down my face and into my cleavage.
He smirked, his cock still twitching in his hand. “Yeah, but you know I love to watch you lick it off your face and tits. And let’s be honest: you like it however you can get it.”
I sighed, looking down at the cum dripping off my chin and into the valley of my cleavage. “Yeah,” I admitted reluctantly. I lifted my tits with my hands, the weight of them heavy in my palms, getting ready for the familiar process of cleaning myself up. I sighed, just another day for Jaki Tahmuhbuzams.
As I looked down at my tits, cum pooling in my cleavage, I couldn’t help but think: Fuck Mike, and fuck that fucking rabbit’s foot.