Out of work after college, money had been too tight for a Mother's Day gift. But he'd wanted to do something. Between her career and housework, Mom was run ragged. He'd offered his services to keep the house tidy instead. She had smiled at that and sent him for a spa treatment, oddly.

He found the place on the edge of town - its back alley location belied the luxurious interior. A half dozen women -at least he was fairly sure they were women- in black satin dresses ushered him into the foyer, gathering around him to take his coat... then his jacket, then pawing eagerly at his t-shirt and pants, all of which were whisked off and out of sight. Naked and nervous, he was led to one of the hot, bubbling pools, while they cooed in thick French accents..

This wasn't how presents were supposed to go, he thought vaguely, as a trio of therapists massaged cream into his chest hair. Why was he the one getting pampered for Mom's present? One rinsed the cream away, another stroking his smooth chest in delight.

It was hard to think with the scent wafting from the pool - floral with a chemical undertone. What had this place been called again? "Make-A-Maid?" Or "Maidover"? There'd been a pun in there somewhere, he thought hazilly. A dainty hand stroked his manhood, tugging it back between his legs. The experience was enough to distract him as another woman trailed a fingertip in a circle beneath his right nipple before pressing a device to the spot.

"Ow!" he gasped and rubbed his chest. There was a small red puncture mark just under his nipple, and he could feel a lump there. "What was that?!"

"Just ans osmotic implant," said the therapist in a businesslike tone. She was holding what resembled a wide-bore gun with a gas cylinder attached. She snapped open the barrel and slotted a soft, squidgy ball the size of a marble into it. "They gradually absorb fluid and testosterone from the bloodstream to swell themselves. They should grow into a perfect pair of breasts within a week. Don't blame me for the pain - it was your mother who requested the extra-large set."

John thrashed for the edge of the pool.

"Looks like we've got another runner," the therapist groaned in a low male voice, pinning John in a headlock, his head crushed tight against the man's breasts while three other technicians pinned his arms and legs.

"Next year I'm just getting her chocolates", John whimpered to himself, helpless as the therapist pressed the cold metal barrel of the gun to his pectoral and implanted his left breast with a pneumatic hiss. The therapist plucked two larger balls the size of grapes from his pocket.

"Flip him over," the therapist barked, dropping the faux French accent. "Time to do his ass."