My chest always announced my presence long before I did. My breasts were gloriously large, bursting from any garment I dared to wear. They were a constant source of both self-consciousness and a strange, thrilling power. Today, they felt particularly heavy, straining the delicate lace of my camisole as I moved through the quiet house. Dad was out of town, and Mom was at her book club, leaving me with the rare, unnerving silence of being truly alone.

Until the doorbell rang.

It was Mr. Thorne, Dad’s business partner, standing on our porch, a briefcase in one hand, a casual smile on his face. He was a familiar presence, almost...