A Young Wife's Forbidden Treatment

He says they don't satisfy his needs.

He urged me to get breast augmentation. I told him I'm afraid of pain and don't want implants.

My husband claimed he knows a place that practices traditional acupressure breast enhancement and asked me to try it.

Later I discovered this so-called ancient method was just a pretext. Everything had been deliberately arranged by my husband.

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My name is Kiara Roscente. I'm an alluring young woman.

My body remains enviable since I've never given birth.

The only flaw is my small breasts.

I've tried many ways to conceal this imperfection.

But these only fool outsiders.

When I remove the disguises and face my husband, I still feel deeply inadequate.

He prefers large, voluptuous breasts like those of European women. He complains mine are too small to provide proper enjoyment.

During intimacy, he never touches my breasts.

This deprives me of much feminine pleasure.

Moreover, my small breasts limit the positions I can satisfy him with.

He repeatedly suggested breast augmentation surgery, but I always refused.

I've always felt uneasy about having foreign objects implanted in my body.

That day, my husband told me about a friend who could help women achieve secondary breast development.

Suspicious, I asked what kind of friend? Was this another sales pitch for breast enhancement pills?

I'd tried numerous methods before - applying creams, taking pills.

Papaya breast enhancement tablets, kudzu root powder - I wasted plenty of money on these scams that never worked.

My husband pulled me into his embrace, playfully tweaking my nipples. "This is different from before. My friend practices traditional breast enhancement."

I let out a delicate gasp. "Stop it. What's traditional breast enhancement?"

He explained it involves massage, acupressure, and application of a secret herbal ointment.

This actually intrigued me. If I could achieve growth through massage without medication - no bodily harm while reaching my goal - that sounded perfect.

"Really?"

My husband exhaled cigarette smoke. "Why not try and see? Please? Do this for me."

Seeing the hope in his eyes, I finally agreed.

The next day, my husband brought me to meet Alexander Lopez, who claimed to be the fifth-generation inheritor of traditional breast enhancement.

He was twenty-six or twenty-seven, with a hormone-charged physique and a face women would admire.

My heart suddenly raced. Would this man be the one enhancing my breasts?

My husband made introductions.

Alexander's gaze burned intensely as he extended his hand, revealing a full sleeve tattoo on his wrist.

Looking at those substantial hands, imagining them massaging me, I felt inexplicable heat rising to my cheeks.

When our palms met, a powerful energy seemed to radiate from him.

My small, delicate hand disappeared in his grasp, creating a sensation of being completely enveloped.

I quickly withdrew my hand, trying to conceal my fluster.

After introductions, my husband told Alexander, "Shall we begin?"

I urgently pulled my husband aside and asked Alexander, "Don't you have any female apprentices or technicians here?"

Alexander smiled. "I apologize, but this ancient secret isn't taught to outsiders. I personally treat every client. I understand your concerns, but Charles can stay throughout the session."

His words only made me more self-conscious.

The thought of being breast-massaged by a stranger in front of my husband felt utterly humiliating.

My husband seemed to read my thoughts and comforted me. "Don't worry. There are male gynecologists - does that mean women stop having babies?"

He had a point. I wasn't doing anything shameful. Why should I feel guilty? Besides, my husband would be present.

Thus I accepted the arrangement.