Trauma

Vanessa’s night was not filled with happy dreams. She was plagued with nightmares of her ****, **** to relive how the man tricked her and **** her. How he **** her to endure orgasm after orgasm. She had relived the traumatic experience tens of times by the time she started to wake up.

As her eyes fluttered open, Vanessa thought for a second that everything could’ve been a dream. That wish was shattered when she looked down and saw the massive pair of boobs she was left with from the experience. She sat up, a difficult task with her even bigger breasts, and looked around her room. She reached her hands up to her breasts which were now big enough that they could rest on her lap while sitting. She pressed her fingers into them, the shirt and bra she was gifted restraining the overwhelming mass of the boobs. Her fingers sank into the flesh, sending a tingle through her body. Looking at her boobs, she finally notice what shirt had been given to her. She wanted to tear it up out of shame, but it was the only thing that could fit her new size. Rolling out of bed, shifting weight of her breasts almost sent her to the ground. She solemnly walked to her bathroom, catching her boobs on the doorframe which sent a wave of pain through her chest. Looking in the mirror, she just stared at herself.

“Why does this happen to me?” Vanessa asked herself. She asked the question, despite knowing the answer. She stared at her massive breasts, contained under the stretched “Mega Milk” shirt. Those stupid things were the source of all her problems. The names, the bullying, the comments, and now her being ****. They caused all of it. Now that they were bigger, even doors were a problem. They just made everything worse. She hated them. Yet, she wasn’t able to get rid of them. She had looked at breast reduction surgery, but it was always too expensive and too dangerous. She was stuck with them, and that made her angry. She had always told herself that she wasn’t defined by her breasts, that she could prove to everyone she wasn’t just a body attached to some massive boobs. Yet, at every turn she has been unable to prove that.

She started to think about the previous day, and how the man treated her. He tricked her and **** her, but she liked it. She noticed how wet she was from the nightmares. She remembered how it felt getting filled by him. The feeling of being pushed into orgasm after orgasm. She thought about how good she felt being treated like less than human, how she wanted to stop but the man didn’t care. Of course he didn’t listen to her, she wasn’t worth listening to, she was just a cow with big, fat, slutty tits. Vanessa had to pinch herself to snap out of that train of thought. “I am a person. I matter.” She whispered to herself. Still, in the back of her mind those thoughts remained. Looking at her wrist, she saw the band from the game. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the Hucow ID, the picture already outdated thanks to the pill she was given. She just stared at it, thinking about everything that had happened to her. She truly thought about if she deserved what happened to her, if she was made for it. She didn’t want to believe it but with everything that happened to her it was hard for her to deny. She needed find something to help her recover, but she didn’t know where to start. She couldn’t just give up on her self worth, but she needed help.

Leaving the bathroom, squeezing through the door and back to her room, Vanessa hopped on her computer. She had trouble sitting at her desk the way she used to, her breasts getting in the way. With no other option, she pressed forward and let the desk press painfully into her boobs. She pulled up Google and began to search for something. She didn’t know what, but she needed something to help her prove that she could be more than her boobs. Therapy, support group, meds, anything that could help her recover from the trauma.