“Stupid big-titted hoes!” You yelled as you slammed the door into my dorm room. I could tell you had been crying and probably could guess the source of your anger.

“What’d they say this time?” I braced myself for how mean women could be toward one another. A group of more popular girls seemed to have made it their mission to make fun of your figure, or lack thereof. It wasn’t like you weren’t pretty, but the girls were more well-endowed that you.

We talked for a while and once you had calmed down, we just hung out and played video games. That’s when you brought up the “boob cream”.

“You can’t be serious. That shit won’t work, you probably just torched your money buying snake oil.” I responded, I knew your figure was on your mind but I never thought you’d be the kind to do some illogical to improve it.

You explained how it was guaranteed to work or you’d get your money back. Best of all, all the results on the website were from shorter and petite girls like you. I didn’t have the heart to tell you how foolish you were and if you wanted to spend your money that way, we’ll that’s your decision.

We said our goodbyes and said we’d text each other if anything came up. The next morning I read my phone and you had texted me, “IT WORKED!!!”

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Hey DPP, I’m in the mood to do a slice of life centered around you growing much larger breasts due to some cream you purchased online. My idea here is that you’d be texting me all about how much bigger your breasts are getting. We can decide on our relationship, how big you get, what side effects there are, and everything like that. The point is, you’re going to be much bigger up top. But what if you get too much of a good thing? Are there consequences?

Message me how big you dream of being and we’ll get our characters sorted out.

Limits: death, pain, vore, gore, toilet stuff, and the heat index being over 105.