Lena, the Influencer

The sharp sting of morning light sliced through the thin, sheer curtains in Lena’s room, streaks of pale gold spilling across the rumpled white sheets of her oversized bed. The air was still, heavy with the faint scent of perfume mingled with stale heat, while the steady hum of the AR interface threw soft, ghostly projections onto the walls. Her profile stats hovered there in flickering, luminescent digits—an ever-present reminder of her social value, ticking upward in lazy increments with each second her feed remained active.

She stirred beneath the covers, her bare legs tangling in the silk sheets, a faint grunt escaping her lips as she rolled to one side. Her hair, a dark, tousled mess, clung to her cheek and shoulders, catching the light in stray, errant strands. The cool air kissed her exposed skin where the blanket had slid away, but it wasn’t enough to pull her fully awake. What did the job instead was the pressure—awkward, fumbling, and oddly persistent—pressing and shifting against her chest.

Her eyelids fluttered open, pupils dilating as she blinked away the haze of sleep. And there was Rick, her mom's younger lover - same age as Lena.

He knelt on the bed, sitting on her tummy, his freckled face scrunched in concentration, lips pressed tightly together as he struggled to manage the impossible task before him. His blond stubble caught the light as he leaned forward, freckled skin flushed with effort. His delicate hands, pale and slightly shaky, were trying in vain to wrangle the sheer enormity of Lena’s chest, pressing her heavy, soft flesh together in an attempt to cradle his own oversized, thoroughly out-of-proportion shaft.

“Morning, Miss Bigtits,” he said, his voice light and teasing, as though they were sharing some kind of joke.

Lena blinked at him, still groggy but awake enough to process the ridiculousness of the situation. His slight frame—narrow shoulders, skinny arms, and a torso that seemed swallowed by the sheer size of the bed—made her own voluptuousness feel even more exaggerated in comparison. His stubby nose crinkled with focus as he adjusted his grip, struggling to keep her massive breasts pressed together.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her movements caused her breasts to shift, sending Rick fumbling as he tried to keep them in place, his cheeks reddening as his grip slipped.

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he shot back, huffing a little as he sat back on his heels. “Your mom didn't tell me, I would need a forklift to deal with those ... things!” He gestured at her chest, his freckled face alight with mischief.

Lena gave him a long, incredulous look before glancing at the AR display on the wall. The stats were spiking. Of course, they were.

“Rick, if you didn't only have ONE big working muscle on your body, we wouldn't have this conversation.” she said with a smirk, leaning back slightly and letting her breasts settle under their own weight. “But let’s face it—that's the only muscle mom cares for anyway."

Lena groaned reluctantly, shifting her position to accommodate his clumsy attempts. "Think about your audience," Rick encouraged her, his voice tinged with frustration but also that familiar cocky edge. “They’re loving this shit.”

Lena glanced at the AR interface, her stats still climbing steadily, feeding off the ridiculousness of the moment. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, readjusting herself so that her massive chest was positioned just right for him. "I’m not here for your entertainment, but I'm not going to disappoint my audience."

She reached up, her manicured hands effortlessly cupping and lifting the weight of her breasts. “Fine,” she said, adjusting herself into a more camera-friendly position. “Let’s get this over with. For the ratings.”

Rick’s grin widened as he repositioned himself, clearly pleased with her cooperation. “That’s the spirit, Miss Bigtits.”