Earl, my agent, called me into his office. Hopefully he had found a role for me, but by the glum look on his face, it did not seem to be the case.

I had moved to LA from New York City three weeks ago. From my acting career on and off Broadway, I had Earl Hauser, one of the best agents on the West Coast, lined up to represent me. Over that time, he hadn't found me a single role.

"Come in Fiona," he said softly.

I took the seat in front of his desk. "I take it you haven't got me a role."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"What's the problem?" I asked. "I would think my video tape of my performances would knock the directors' and producers' socks off."

"It does, but..." The sixty-something man blushed a deep red.

"Earl? What is it?"

"It's ... It's your figure."

My stomach fell. "Oh."

"You've got to understand. When they want to show you on the big screen the public wants to see some curves. And to be honest, you have as many curves as a little boy."

"Earl!"

He held up his hands. "Hey! I'm only quoting what a director said to me, not two hours ago."

"So, you want me to have a boob job?"

"Maybe some hip implants too."

I had feared this would happen. I had hoped I would get by on talent alone. "I've worn falsies before, on stage."

The agent shook his head, "Won't work when you are fifty feet tall on the big screen."

"I don't have the money to get one," I said.

"I'll pay for it," said my agent. "I'll take an extra percent on your first movie, to pay for it."

I nodded glumly. "Okay."

Earl beamed. "I've got you an appointment with one of the best in the business. He'll see you tomorrow, nine am."

I took the business card he handed me. It had the doctor's address on Rodeo Drive. "The things you do for your art," I muttered.

"You won't regret this," he assured me.

The "Aesthetic Medical Clinic" was inside a gated parking lot. It looked like it could be any business in Beverly Hills. You couldn't see the sign for the clinic until you were inside the gate. There was no waiting room. I was escorted to my personal room, where I filled out and signed medical forms while I waited for Dr. Warner.

It was only about two minutes after I had finished the paperwork, the doctor entered. The fit and tan plastic surgeon walked in. He looked like he was in his thirties, but the touch of gray in his hair hinted that he may be older.

"Ms. Cole? Pleased to me you."

I shook his hand. "I have several questions for you."

"Of course you do," he said, handing me a gallon Ziploc bag filled with a pale yellow jelly-like substance.

I looked at it critically. "What's this?"

"This is my exclusive bionic gel that I use for breast implants."

"It's so ... light."

He nodded. "It has the same consistency as breast tissue, but only one-tenth the weight. That helps minimize the back problems so many women have after boob jobs."

That answered one of my questions before I even asked it. I blushed slightly and bowed my head. I have problems talking about intimate matters to strangers. But he was the doctor who would be working on my body. "My, um, breasts are major erogenous areas for me. Will these implants..."

"Not at all!" he said, reassuringly. "As a matter of fact, some of my patients find their sensitivity enhanced."

"Really?" I asked.

"Definitely; just ask my assistant, Georgia. She'll tell you."

The redhead who had escorted me to my private room was a stunningly stack woman. "I will."

"Now, I don't want massive tits. C-cups will be plenty."

He nodded. "Of course."

Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a photo album. "These photos are all private. Don't use your cell phone to make copies."

"Of course," I said.

Inside the album were before and after topless pictures of some the biggest names in Hollywood. "These are all your clients?" I asked, amazed.

"That's right." He said. He pushed a button under counter, and in walked Georgia, holding a digital camera. "And now it's your turn."

I was a bit panicked.

"This'll be private, just like the others in the album. Only if I found you had made copies of the picture would I share your picture with the public."

That seemed like a sensible safeguard. He was going to see me naked anyway. So I took off my blouse and let Georgia take my picture.

"Do you have any more questions?" Dr. Warner asked.

I didn't.

"Then let's get started."

"So soon?" I protested.

The doctor took my hand. "I am a busy man, and I wedged you into my schedule as a favor to you agent." He and his assistant escorted me down the hall to his treatment room, which looked like a fully appointed operating room.

I laid down on the table, and Georgia put the anesthesia mask on my face. I quickly started feeling woozy.

"Won't Matthew be surprised," I muttered.

"Who's Matthew," Georgia asked.

"My boyfriend; he is still in New York, performing in a Broadway revival."

With that, I drifted off.

When I woke, I was no longer in the operating room, but what looked like your standard hospital room. There was a three-way mirror in the far corner. My head on the bed was elevated.

Dr. Warner and Georgia were standing by my bed.

The doctor smiled. "You're awake. Good. How do you feel?"

"Still fuzzy," I said.

"Give it a minute. It'll pass."

I remembered what I went there for, so I looked down at my chest.

I let out a gasp. My tits were huge! Much bigger than the C I had requested. They stuck out of my chest, with no sign of sag. They were so big I couldn't see my navel. "Too big!" I cried out. "Way too big!"

The plastic surgeon spread out his arms. "In the forms you filled out, it clearly says I have discretion in the size of the implants I use."

My mouth flapped up and down. I hadn't read all the fine print in the forms I had signed. "How big are they?" I finally got out.

"They're DDD's. But, before you get too upset, go look at yourself in the mirror. I think you will like what you see."

Still naked, I walked to the mirrors. The sensation of these large breasts swaying on in front of me was new to me. The additional weight wasn't as bad I feared. Dr. Warner's gel was a real back saver.

I stood in front of the three-way mirror and was stunned. I look good; I mean REALLY good. I had aimed for my body to be average; what I got was a knockout body, one that would be at home in Playboy.

While I still thought my new breasts were too big, I thought the hips were just perfect, and helped me from looking top heavy. I was afraid that I was going to get a bubble butt, but what he gave me was wide, but appropriate for my height. And when I sat down on my new ass later, I found the additional cushioning felt very nice.

And it wasn't all plastic surgery either. I had always taken care of my body. I worked out hard, five or six times a week, and my hard flat tummy was a spectacular contrast to all the new curves.

"Feel your breasts," said my new doctor. "You won't be able to tell them from the real thing."

I gasped as a shockwave went through my body. The sensation of me grasping my new breasts set my body on fire, radiating all the way down to my clit. These feeling we so intense, I didn't want to let go. I moved my hands up and down my breasts, almost like I was giving a hand job. When I touched my nipples, I came with an intensity I had never experienced before. It was the first time I had ever come without touching my clit, and the first time I had ever squirted.

Even after I had come, it was hard to let go off my new mammaries.

Dr. Warner did not seem disturbed or surprised. He acted like my orgasm was to be expected. "Put your hands against the wall. I want to check out one more thing."

When I did what he said, the doctor gave me a swat on my left buttock with his bare hand. It wasn't a hard slap, but it was a light tap.

What that simple swat did, was send incredible ripples through my whole pelvic region, inflaming my clit anew. I let out a moan, "Again, please."

He gave an identical swat on my right cheek, and I came yet again. My knees gave way, and I collapsed on the floor, a quivering mess.

My plastic surgeon gestured to his assistant, which I had forgotten was still there. "Georgia here will escort you to one of our recovery rooms, where you can spend some time adapting to your new body."

I managed to regain my feet, and followed the buxom redhead down the hall. I was still nude, but there didn't seem to be anyone else around to make me self-conscious.

Georgia led me to an all-white room with a king-sized bed. The bed had just a contour sheet over the mattress; no top sheets or blankets. The room was plenty warm, so I guess I didn't need them. The only other door led to a bathroom, with a sink, toilet, and small shower. There was a dresser in the corner. In the drawers were dozens of dildos and sex toys of all types, many of which I had no idea how they worked. Some items, like nipple clamps, I had heard of, but not actually seen.