Roger stared at his smart phone, an obsidian brick weighing down into the cheap wood of his easy-to-assemble flat-packed desk. Were he to pick it up, and with each passing moment the temptation grew stronger, he imagined he would see the outline of its rounded cuboid shape in the tabletop.
He wanted to call her.
In fact, he’d wanted to call her ever since he’d gotten home, but had thus far resisted. The young college student’s eyes drifted up again from his laptop to look out of his bedroom window, and out across the fence that divided their yard from hers. A thin strip of grass seperated his window from the fence, and beyond that a wide expanse stretched across the vast garden around the mansion next door. Her windows were blacked out; she was probably asleep at this time. Yet that inky dark only gave him room to wonder. Just 60 feet away was the object of his desire, the subject of his every dream and obsession of his every waking moment.
Layla.
From the first moment he saw her, Roger had been smitten. She had been laughing and chatting with his mother in the kitchen when the pair had been introduced, as Roger and his Mom had just moved into the home next to her massive estate.
Layla was, to put it bluntly, enormous. Easily over eight feet tall; he didn’t actually know quite by how much. She had been clad in a deep purple silken summer dress at the time that had done embarrassingly little to conceal her truly unfathomable curves. Her legs, bared to an incredible degree in her revealing dress, stretched on and on, thickening and widening to colossal scale as his gaze travelled upwards. Her whole body was prodigious in every sense of the word. Svelte and lithe, yet curvy in every place that mattered, her soft and forgiving body towered over him, dwarfing the pair of comparatively tiny kitchen chairs that had been slid side by side for her to sit one cheek in each, and hell dwarfing his mother in the process. She was just shy of having to duck her head not to hit the roof.
Thick, luscious dark red hair wrapped around her head and across her shoulders like curtains over… well, the two most prominent features of her body that had gripped his young mind most irresistibly on their first meeting, and had haunted his mind every moment since. Her breasts were simply the largest Roger had ever seen. Even for her absurdly large body they seemed disproportionately big. They were large enough that he was quite sure had she not been a giantess of a woman she would have struggled to even stand with so much weight upon her chest.
it was all Roger could do not to stare openly at them with his every adolescent instinct insisting upon him to do just that. Each of them were easily many times the size of his head, in fact if he curled into a ball his entire body might only equal the mass of one, and together they could have effortlessly smothered him completely between them from head to toe - a thought that would lodge itself deep into his deepest and darkest fantasies from then on.
Roger had stood like a deer in the headlights, a young boy face to face with an utter goddess of a woman. Slowly he’d forced his eyes up to meet hers and away from her breasts, using every ounce of concentration he had; it was only then that his fate was sealed. Behind a kindly and nurturing smile, the polite and charming neighour, something truly terrifying lurked. It set its sights upon him in turn for the first time, and a primal heat made the boy its prey. Roger felt as though he were cornered by an inescapable, dominating predator, in that moment it was as if she could see right through him. Her gaze penetrated his very soul, leaving him naked before her. The tiny smirk she had shown as he blushed wasn’t entirely lost on him, but its meaning had kept him guessing for long after.
Locked deep within her gaze the poor boy had stammered out a jumbled polite introduction, his knees weak with the certainty that she knew exactly what he was thinking. She had taken his hand and from then on he had known he would never want anybody else.
Roger swallowed thickly as that memory rolled around in his head, shifting in his second hand office chair, his cock twitching against his thigh as it often did when Layla was on his mind, which was itself often. From that day he had spent every night ‘fantasizing’ about her. His goddess of a neighbour, the woman so large if she laid atop him nobody would have ever found him buried beneath her. The massive woman who lived just next door, never far from him in body or thought.
Even in his sleep he couldn’t escape her - he dreamed about her looming over him, pressing him into the mattress with just the weight of her body, her thick thighs wrapping around him so easily, being utterly smothered by those colossal breasts…
That thought alone now had his fingers poised, trembling as they hovered over the ‘send’ button on his phone. Indeed shortly after meeting her, Roger had begun to phone and message his unfathomably busty neighbour.
Often.
Far more so than could be explained as that of a simple polite neighbourly conversation, or even casual acquaintance with a family friend. She indulged him, never quite rebuffing his obvious over-enthusiasm. Always dancing just out of his reach. That had been the state of things for years. Roger, the shy and nervous neighbour boy, ever lusting after the statuesque woman just a door away.
He had kept in touch with Layla even after he left, her indulging his eager communiques as she had always done as he told her about college life. He hadn’t seen her for an entire year now aside from obsessively looking through her social media pictures online, and knowing she was just a stone’s throw away at that moment was driving him wild.
It was perhaps a bit more than an understatement to say that Roger was infatuated with his massive next door neighbour. What had begun as a teenage crush had developed into an aching, throbbing obsession for her. She, of course, couldn’t be blamed for that. It wasn’t her fault she was so utterly beautiful, or that her body was so impossibly alluring. She hadn't really done anything to encourage his desires after all.
Roger had never really thought much about romance before college, unless you could describe his nightly imaginings and self discovery as romance. Even as friends had paired off he’d been a bit too distracted, finding the thought of Layla ever enough to slake his thirst.
However, a full year away studying at college had done a lot to slowly dull his adolescent fixations. Of course, being surrounded by young women all day didn't hurt much either. Though, he had to admit, adapting to college life was a struggle.
Roger wasn’t so much a late bloomer as had never bloomed much to begin with. Round about the same time he and his mother had moved in next door to Layla he had really just never grown much more. Going into high school he had only just scraped the absolute minimum height to play sports, and even then his choice of footwear sometimes made the difference. He quickly got used to looking up at his fellow students, and each year he had to look up further and further.
Layla had always been very reassuring, of course, whenever he’d been anxious about his height. Always the caring hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little too tight.
“Don’t worry Roger, girls don’t really care about that kind of thing.” His mother had insisted.
“Well, some girls might… but I think it suits you!” Layla had pulled him in for a reassuring hug, though given she was double his height and a dozen times his mass it was more of a half-body smothering. “It makes you so small and cute!”
Cute. That always made him wince. Then again, if Layla liked it… well, that did a lot to soothe his ego.
Plenty of girls were more than friendly to him at college, yet somehow they just never held the same appeal to him as Layla had. One by one he’d seen history repeat itself as his new college friends hooked up with girls their own age, while every time he tried he’d been unsuccessful. Or perhaps… reluctant.
Every time he’d gotten close to a connection with someone he would remember that final day before he left for college. As soon any girl so much as brushed up against him he would be brought back to the overly affectionate hug his titanically proportioned neighbor had given him; the one that had dragged on just a bit too long until he was practically smothered in her chest, forcing him to breathe her in and be surrounded by her warmth. On that day she had seemed as reluctant to let him go as he'd been to end it.
The memory of it always made him shudder, but those were no doubt maternal feelings, he reasoned. After all Layla had never had children of her own, but she’d often made it clear she thought of him more as her son. Undoubtedly that very same maternal affection had had a rather influential effect on his development given his fixation with her. Her maternal figure and sexual ideal had never struggled to blend together in his private moments.
After a year at college and having never really adapted to the student lifestyle or romance scene, he'd been more than eager to come home. Outwardly he was looking forward to finding a part time job and visiting home, but on some level he had to admit he really just wanted to see Layla again.
That led him to be sitting at his desk, back home in his bedroom for the first time after a year away. The same bedroom he’d spent so many years in lusting after Layla, in their modest home sitting next to her utterly gargantuan stately home, albeit perhaps appropriate for her size. His fingers were trembling over his phone at 1 AM on a Thursday, and he was about to send his much more mature neighbour a polite “hey how’s it going.” There was nothing wrong with that, right? They were close after all, and he’d been gone a whole year. What would be the harm in just-
Roger’s breath froze in his throat as he saw movement coming from her window. Layla was there, now. Not asleep yet. As a young man he had long since learned that his and Layla’s bedroom windows faced one another and he had - to his burgeoning adolescent shame - spent a lot of time coming to admire her very intimately from his own room. He was very cautious at first, terrified that she might see what he had been doing, but over time he became certain that she couldn't see him. Perhaps it was due to the reflections of the light outside at night, but whatever the reason, it left him free to indulge in his voyeuristic pursuits… however morally dubious they were.
As he gawked, dim moonlight filled her room; it hardly seemed to matter if his own was lit or not as she ne’er spared a glance his way, though he had oft lavished her with many.
Roger was utterly transfixed as Layla sauntered through her bedroom in nothing but a silky, translucent nightgown clinging to her canyonesque form as delicately as spider silk. She stood there completely unaware, casually rearranging a few things as she slowly moved around her boudoir. Somehow despite her immense size she carried herself with cat-like grace. Though given her sheer size… perhaps she was more like a Lioness. A huntress.
As Roger watched he had to remind himself how much he had changed over the past year, how much he had matured. He wasn’t the young man who ogled his neighbour through her window anymore… and he certainly did hope his newfound maturity wouldn’t go unnoticed by her.
Despite that, he couldn’t help but stare, feeling his cock incessantly throb, rubbing against the underside of his work table and tenting the threadbare shorts he so often wore in the comfort of his room.
His eyes drifted across the gap between them and he leaned forward, as if to get just a bit closer, as she stretched, arms raised, pulling her silken nightgown up along with her, revealing just a little more of her supple flesh to his voyeuristic gaze. Then, with a subtle shrug of her shoulders, the fabric slid over her heavy breasts, catching itself momentarily on her budding peaks as it traveled along her equally massive nipples until it fell away completely.
Liquid silver moonlight painted her impossible curves in silver - the impossible swell of her chest, the rolling expanse of her waist, and her thick dimpled thighs made Roger's mouth go dry.
They could crush him so effortlessly.
With but a minor turn Roger could only whimper under his breath, that slight movement brought the sheer jiggling weight of her breasts into his full view; he watched unabashed as they gently shuddered, jiggling with each delicate step she took towards the window. Soon they were basking in the full light of the moon, their magnificence lit up by the same stellar glow that highlighted that little smile that she always seemed to have just above the objects that dominated his gaze.
Roger blinked, suddenly aware that his mouth was open and closing it rather embarrassed, even if she couldn’t see him.
After a few moments she reached to one side, grabbing a blanket-sized towel from her bed. She disappeared for a moment before returning sans nightgown, and began to slowly and carefully, wrap her towel around the immensity of her waist. She was going for a shower… which meant soon she would be out of sight.
Sensing that the opportunity of a lifetime was slipping away, he snatched up his phone from his desk with such ferocity that he nearly lost his grip and sent it careening into the wall. He hurriedly typed in his password, 5318008, and mashed down on the call button until it redialed the last number called.
Roger anxiously drummed his fingers on his desk as a few seconds passed, Layla disappeared into her bathroom and the awaiting shower, which would so cruelly obscure her naked body behind its frosted glass. She paused mid-step, a blue light shining off the nightstand and lighting the empty void of her room like lightning.
She strolled back over, letting the towel casually slip down her back as she reached out for her smartphone.
“Hello, Layla Rose speaking.” She intoned, her voice relaxed as she casually toyed with the towel in her other hand.
“HiLayla-” Roger blurted out, far too fast. “It’s… Roger.”
“Oh Roger! Your mother told me you would be home soon. I was wondering when my favourite little boy would call… but, shouldn’t you be asleep? A young man like you should be in bed. You need to focus on your studies.”
He winced at her ‘little boy’ comment, hoping a year away at college might have earned him a somewhat less diminuitive term of endearment, but persevered.
“I uh… c-couldn’t sleep.”
The lights in her room came on and he flinched, having to remind himself she couldn’t see him from here. Layla turned back towards the window, her towel-wrapped body now on full display as she slowly walked closer. Every step sent every beautiful inch of her gorgeous body shuddering with supply softness.
“Is that so? What’s got that cute little head of yours all worked up, hmmm?” She asked in her ever-so-slightly patronizing tone, the same tone she always took with him, though he couldn't exactly say he disliked it.
As she spoke, Layla gently pressed herself to the window, her massive bosom spreading beneath the towel and across the glass as she gently ran a fingertip up and down across the slick, transpartent surface.
“I just- um… I was wondering if-… uhmm…”
Suddenly Roger found it incredibly difficult to repeat the carefully practiced lines he’d spent the last hour rehearsing when he was supposedly studying. In fairness, how could he be expected to deliver them on such short notice when face to face with the idol of his every sexual fantasy?
“Wondering what sweetie?” She mused, pausing to twirl her finger in her hair before she readjusted the towel around her waist, causing her immense breasts to sway hypnotically as she did so.
“Ah-… aaahhh~…” He sighed, doubling over slightly as his cock throbbed demandingly.
“Ahh…?” She asked, allowing just a hint of warmth into her voice before giggling.
“A-are you… free on friday? M-my mom was wondering i-if you wanted to meet for coffee.” He choked out the words, his hand wringing out his shirt in a desperate attempt to stop himself from going any lower. The sheer sensual sound of her voice alone was enough to urge him to grab his cock, let alone the cosmic beauty that stood, in the flesh, just a window away.
He sat there, shirt in hand, for an uncomfortably long moment. Left to stew in his own awkwardness, he watched as the figure in the window slowly squared her shoulders, rising to her full height.
“My my, Roger,” Layla chided her voice taking on a lower, somewhat husky tone. “You realize it’s past midnight. I could have been nice and warm in my bed by now. You really ought to think for a moment before you go bothering someone at this hour.”
“You… you’re right”, Roger mumbled with an uneasy grin, suddenly aware of how childish he was being, and yet just hearing her voice was enough to give him butterflies. “I shouldn't be bothering you. I’m-”
Fwoosh.
The sound hit his ear before his eyes could take in what he was seeing framed in her bedroom window. The towel was suddenly around her waist. She had let it go entirely, revealing her fully nude breasts in all their glory.
“I'm- So-sorryy-!”
His apology echoed through the phone, his last words morphing into a pathetic whine as Layla placed her hand against the window, and she looked out as if… as if she were staring directly at him.
The delicate dimpling of her skin was utterly mistifying. The tiny pebbles that erupted from her aerola, the delicate, dusty texture of her skin - his mind was melting from the sheer expanse of womanly flesh on display.
For a moment Roger's heart froze. She couldn’t see him… right? No-… no of course not. If she could see him… surely she would have said something after all these years. After all, if she could see into his bedroom… then-
A flit of panic hit him as he realized just what a scandalously lurid show of nascent sexual discovery she would have witnessed by now if she could... But she couldn't see. Of course she couldn’t.
“That’s quite alright, sweetie. It's polite of you to to apologize, but I understand. It can be hard to get to sleep when you're so excited. It must be so nice to be back home…” She sighed, a smoky lilt in her sultry register. “Now you get your cute little butt to bed and I’ll make sure to call your mother in the morning, I have something I need to ask her.” She cooed smoothly. “Night night sweetie.”
Before he could say another word, she hung up, and sauntered out of sight just slowly enough to admire her from behind a few moments more. The lights went out and she was gone.
Roger continued to stare, longing and hopeful, at the empty black square of her window. Eventually he had to admit to himself she was gone. Instead he simply stared down at his phone, the last refuge of his As he scrolled through her social media he found himself imagining that her voice would come back somehow, as her sultry tone played in the back of his mind while he closed his phone and watched as it stayed lit for a few seconds longer. His background image was taken from that exact same social media account Roger had spent hours browsing, and it showed Layla’s face smiling up at him until the screen went black. Her face was replaced by the distorted version of his own in the reflective surface. Hopelessly, he stared back at himself in what moonlight could reach him.
He crawled into bed and tried to sleep, staring at the teddy bear she had given him all those years ago. It was a silly thing really, but having something of hers with him had always made him feel better; he’d even taken it with him while he was away at college. He was hardly the first person to grow an emotional attachment to a childhood keepsake, but the fact Layla was the one who had given it to him meant he would likely never let it go.
After a while he turned to stare at the ceiling, trying his best to tune out the persistent ache between his legs - though eventually it became too strong to ignore.
With a resigned acceptance and slow caution, Roger let his hand glide down his stomach until his knuckles brushed the damp spot in his shorts where precum had long since soaked through them. His mind was made up, and very preoccupied. The sheer, almost impossible size of her body was almost too much to wrap even his very productive imagination around. He could scarcely conjecture what it would be like to try to wrap his hands around her. No, he would barely make it halfway round one of her thighs with both arms… When he hugged her, or rather, when she quite forcibly hugged him to little complaint, his hands barely reached the edges of her stomach.
Roger sighed, her voice quietly singing away in his mind as he imagined Layla in the shower. Her heavy thighs soaked in the spray, water cascading down the supple curves of her body, droplets clinging to the swell of her sex as the steam rose.
Roger groaned at the thought of her massive body, slick and slippery with soap, slowly cornering him, pressing him against the shower wall, and leaving him no room to escape. He imaginedHer thick lips curled into a knowing smile as she stared down at him, growing closer, threatening to trap him between her breasts, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping them, droplets slicking down the slopes of her full body. Sweat beaded on his brow as he pictured her legs parting under the stream, a deep sensual moan as her fingers dipped into her folds, steam curling around her colossally thick thighs.
He bit his lip, almost drawing blood in his effort to stifle a moan, as if he was worried Layla would hear him all the way from next door. His hand worked furiously as his mind envisioned her own rising climax, her massive tits bouncing, her stomach tightening, and her thighs trembling as she came. Watching him, waiting for him, her eyes on his hand as she watched him surrender. His own moment was no less titanic. Shivering, he laid gasping and moaning Layla’s name into the dark.
Unfortunately for Roger, his little voyeuristic fantasy was far more real than it seemed.
Across the yard, in the sanctity of her own room, Layla stood by her window, directly observing Roger’s… indiscretions. She was well aware that, as long as she wasn't out in the open, she would be practically invisible to him in the dark. Roger, on the other hand, had no such luxury. Some years ago, after Layla had ‘accidently’ broken his bedroom window in a freak lawnmower accident. In return she had ever so kindly offered to pay his mother to replace not just his, but every window in their house. It was the least she could do.
Hell as long as Roger could remember Layla had always taken care of everything. Roger’s bedroom had received its own very special window. One which, at the press of a button, could adopt a non reflective completely transparent nature - as if it wasn't even there. Its adaptive design was intended to protect those who lived around harsh, artificial light, but she had divined a far better, and more subtle use for it.
Beyond just the window, there were in fact quite a few things Roger didn’t know about his own bedroom. For example, he was just as unaware that the innocuous teddy bear Layla had gifted him a few years ago were her eyes and ears. Although he had already been a bit too old for cuddly toys by then, Layla had known full well that, as soon as she told him that it had slept every night with her in her bed, he would put it exactly where she wanted, and he would never get rid of it. And even if he had discovered her little spy, he would never have suspected her of using it as such. Besides, it was hardly the only one in his room.
Roger's massive neighbour couldn’t help but smile. A tiny smirk played over her massive full lips as she watched the boy's bedsheets rise and fall in the same rhythmic pattern that she had grown intimately familiar with. With the way he was thrusting so eagerly into his hand, rutting himself so desperately, she knew this might have been a bit of an overdose for his hormonal little brain - but nonetheless Layla couldn't be happier with the results. Roger was so needy…so helpless to his own desires, even after a year away. Watching him spoke to something very deeply rooted within her: something primal, something maternal. As she looked on, her hand slowly creeping below her waist, Roger was none the wiser of his clandestine overseer.
Layla had ensured that every ragged breath he took was laced with the same aroma that permeated her bed. Washed in her scent, Roger's bedsheets had been practically saturated in her own linens after his mother’s washing machine mysteriously broke just the day before. Layla had been visiting for coffee when it happened. With Roger coming home soon, of course she had been more than happy to launder her friend's bedsheets for her while helping to pay for a repair. Ensuring that Roger came home to a nice, clean room was very important after all.
Layla had to admit, she'd been a bit worried when Roger first went off to college. What if some young girl caught his eye? What if some assertive little hussie took advantage of her beloved Roger? After all, he was a growing young man with very frequent and evident needs. just look at him practically lifting himself off the bed in his eagerness to hump his own fist. Her darling little Roger had to be protected. However unlikely it was that he might ever be able to grow out of his adolescent obsession for her, that was a risk she just couldn't take.
After this summer he would be going back to college, and who knew how long he would be snatched away from her this time? How long would it be until he came back?
Would he even come back at all?
No. Layla had decided that college simply wasn’t in the boy’s best interests. Some young thing would, inevitably, break his heart. Besides, the poor boy was so innocent, so naive. She couldn't have him be so easily manipulated like that. So, she would do what any caring neighbour would do. She would take the young man's troubles away. He needed someone to protect him, to take care of his needs. Roger would be disappointed, yes, but a young man could not hope to survive on his own if he was so easily manipulated by beautiful women.
In fact that was something she was counting on.
Her grin slowly broadened as she heard the boy's voice weakly croak out her name, watching as his movements suddenly became much more vigorous.
This was hardly the first time she’d been the subject of his masturbatory fantasies, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Well… for a moment her mind wandered at that, grinning mischievously, before wrestling her attention back to the here and now. Tonight was special. He had finally returned home. This was his homecoming. Thanks to his dorm-room wifi she had been able to witness and record each and every one of his dirty deeds from afar. Though she could still watch him through its glassy eyes at her leisure, that would no longer be necessary.
She watched as the young man she desired so as he tossed to one side in his bed through his window. He was home now, and she had no intention of letting him go ever again.
With a glint in her eye, Layla lifted her phone and tapped a button, and the childcare app the teddy came with went back to work.
A faint hiss of static, and the teddy's lullaby began. Slowly, smoothly, a recording of Layla’s voice formed its way through the static and relentlessly burrowed its way into Roger’s libido-ridden mind. She was well aware just how perilously vulnerable his poor subconscious was, especially whilst his body teetered on the brink of a stomach-clenching, mind-melting orgasm.
Not that Roger could possibly have known, but Layla was well aware of every time the poor boy jerked himself off thanks to her little companion whispering into his ear, flavouring his every masturbatory session with a heavy dose of her subliminal suggestions.
Roger didn't know why it felt so good, so much better and more natural, and, after years of post-cognitive influence, he would never think to question why. All he knew, consciously or not, was that having his teddy made him feel better. It made him feel safer. It made him feel loved.
The whispered voices gradually dimmed as she watched the boy reach absently for his handy clean up kit in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. It was the very one she’d been watching him use for years. Any time she saw he was running low she would conveniently leave something he could use behind somewhere out in the open after visiting. She was sure he would make use of them, especially knowing that they came from her.
Layla waited, watching patiently, hungrily, as the boy cleaned himself, his eyes gradually growing heavy until he found himself settling into sleep. She glanced at her phone, a simple animation of a baby's face greeted her. Beneath it was a breathing pattern analyzer, something the baby care app so helpfully provided, letting her know precisely when he was entering REM sleep. Layla let her fingers trace delicately down the cool, smooth glass of the window that separated him from her, eyes sharpened like a beast clawing at its cage.
She waited a few more moments, watching him sleeping soundly on her phone before resuming her merciless bombardment on his sleeping mind. This time it wasn't a recording, but her own voice, blanketing him with her words as he slept. Slowly, inexorably, her suggestions embedded deep within him: submitting to her, worshiping her, seeing her as so much more than human - something divine.
The feature was originally designed to let mothers record sweet, loving messages for their babies, and with an evil smirk, Layla realised she was using it more or less as intended.
She slid back into her massive, custom built bed, the silky faux-fur sheets gliding over her immense, mountainous body. The prospect of a shower had been entirely a ruse at Roger’s expense. Her fingers thumbed through contacts on her phone one by one, and her eyes lit up as they landed on an entry simply labelled ‘LF’. It was, at long last, time to set her plans in motion.
As it transpired, there were quite a few things Roger didn’t know. Having spent his life in Layla's shadow, thinking about her, obsessing over her, worshipping her, he had become so used to it that he was unable to see the truth. He fretted as to whether she could ever love him the way he loved her. A sad irony that perhaps she never could, because she instead felt many times more strongly about him; though in a way which if he had known, he would likely have tried his best to escape from.
As it was her grip on him was slowly closing without him knowing. He lay there dreaming of her breasts, unaware that it would be his inability to see the forest for fear of the trees that would soon be his undoing.