It wasn’t fair, he thought to himself, blinking in disbelief as she lifted him onto one of the diner seats in her kitchen. It was like everything he did to try to prove himself to her backfired, and it was driving him to the brink of paranoia - she had to be doing this on purpose, right?
His uncertainty left him squirming in his tight shorts atop the column-tall diner seating in her kitchen. A few moments later she returned, this time thankfully fully clothed.
“You’re lucky I came back to check on you! I was just getting changed…”
Roger winced in confusion. Why would she come back half dressed in the first place? Yet he was understandably distracted as he blushed, tried, and failed, to not stare longingly at her. She had to have orchestrated all of this to make him feel small, helpless, childish… but why?
“Here we are, my sweet boy.” She announced with gusto, placing a small red plastic plate in front of him, adorned with perfectly cut peanut butter and preserve sandwiches - no crusts. She petted his head as if he’d just come home from the hospital. “Everything’s fine now. You’re okay. You stay right there where I can keep an eye on you.”
He grimaced at the once again childish treatment, but quickly wiped it from his face, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
“Thanks so much Miss - uh, Layla.” He corrected, reclining slightly to seem more at ease than he was.
“You’re very welcome sweetie.” She gushed, her smile seeming quite amused.
Wanting to try to move past the ordeal he’d just been through, and trying not to look directly at her when she was wearing naught but a bra above the waist, he stared intently at his food.
“I didn’t get a chance to say thank you before. It’s so generous of you to let me stay here while my mother’s away.” At least I can appear mature enough to show gratitude, he noted to himself.
Layla sat down opposite him, having prepared herself a far larger dish. It made sense, she had to eat much more to fuel a body that immensely large, but he couldn’t resist a pang of jealousy. Why wasn’t he given anything adult to eat?
She observed him a little longer before she said anything.
“You’re so very welcome, such a polite boy.” She grinned for a moment, eyes on him, before adding: “Not to wory. You’ll have plenty of time to make it up to me.”
Roger hung on her words for a moment, wondering quite what she had meant. Well, they had a whole week together he supposed.
“All done?” She asked as he finished his last bite, reaching out for his plate. “Oh! Not quite!”
She swept a tiny blob of jam from the plate and held it up to his lips.
“U-uh…”
“Good boys don’t waste food in my house.” She said, smiling reassuringly.
Grinning sheepishly, Roger licked the proferred morsel from her fingertip.
“Oh! That tickles!” She giggled, before gently tracing her fingertip across his bottom lip to tug at it for just a moment before she took his plate.
Roger felt his cheeks burn a little but his cheeks almost hurt from smiling. This was more like it! This was what he had fantasized about, what he’d hoped for from that weird woman’s promises. He rubbed his eyes a little as she turned to the sink. What had he been so worried about? Okay, maybe she was treating him a little childishly, but it was all in her good nature. Maybe he was making too much out of nothing. This was still the best opportunity of his life and he was going to make the most of it.
“What did you want me to…” Roger began, but swiftly found himself lost in the sway of her behind as she began to wash their dishes. “To um…”
With each move of her body Layla’s exaggerated dimensions rolled with the motion of her hips. As she shifted from one foot to the other her leggings clung impossibly tight to her overripened peach of a body. The fabric strained to contain the sheer volume of her dimpled curves. Roger couldn’t help but bend forward a little in sheer awe as the hem of her top rode up a little, exposing the dimpled swell of her ass just above her waistband.
“It will be so nice having you here Roger. You know, I’ve always wanted to have a boy in the house.” She offered in soothing tones that danced across the air, ignoring his attempt to speak.
“Uh huh…” Roger replied, utterly lost in the jiggling dance of her derriere as she rinsed the last remnants of lunch away.
She turned across her shoulder to see him resting his head in his hands, elbows on the counter top, dazing dreamily at her.
“Oh sweetie, I knew you’d feel right at home.” Her voice was as sweet as honey, and just as thick.
*****
Roger tried to gaze less obiviously as Layla turned fully towards him, damp hands resting on her unearthly wide hips. Her wide stance made her look even more commanding than she usually did.
“You must be tired after so much hard work.” She offered softly, clearing his plate as he blinked away his obvious arousal. “Let’s settle in for the evening. Go upstairs and get changed and I’ll get things ready for us.” Her voice dripped with faux innocence but the way her fingers drummed against her thigh hinted at more.
Roger glanced at the blackout curtains, bright sunlight just barely creeping round the edges. It couldn’t be later than 5pm.
“Settle in? Didn’t you have more for me to do?”
“Oh no, sweet boy, you’ve already done more than enough. Besides, I was obviously already asking too much of you.” She gushed, her cheshire grin burning into his blushing cheeks.
Torn between acquiescing - therefore agreeing to her diminutive summation - or arguing with her and seeming petulant, he elected to do as she wished.
“I left out something cozy for you to wear.” She called after him as he took the first step, giving him pause as his hand stretched up to the towering banister. Why was she now seemingly choosing what he wore?
Gently prising open the door to his room, as if afraid what he might find, he laid eyes on a silky tee and soft pyjamas she had neatly folded atop his impeccable bedsheets. He lifted the shirt in fingertips as if afraid to touch it, and wondered where she’d found it. It wasn’t one of his. It was yet another size too small… though it did feel very comfy.
For a moment he glanced at the cupboard, and considered picking something else out, but he still didn’t know where she had put which clothes.
With a nearby gentle ‘thud - thud - thud’ he expected her to enter his room any moment, but then heard Layla enter her bedroom instead.
Fraught with indecision, he glanced back at the shirt in his hands. She’d undoubtedly be happy if he wore what she had picked for him, and besides, did it really matter if she chose what he wore? Even if what she chose for him was a little callow.
He winced. Wasn’t he supposed to be proving himself to her, and not cowing to her every whim?
The tee felt quite revealing, but the silky smooth material felt incredible on his skin. He wondered where she’d even gotten it from. The pyjama bottoms were also a little tight. A glance in the mirror that stretched up to the already vaulted ceiling did its job. He really looked like a child.
‘Thud - thud - thud.’ Layla made her way back downstairs.
“Roger! Come on down sweetie!” She called up the stairs.
His shoulders slumped as he felt once again as if he had little choice. It seemed like no matter what he did at every turn he was forced to seem childish in her eyes.
Taking the stairs carefully he made his down, hearing her in the living room. Yet he came to a very sudden stop in the archway. She was wearing a scandalously tight fitting sweater with neckline that plunged outrageously low. If he had been meeting her for the first time he would have had to assume she had tucked her legs inside of it and the canyonous cleavage on display was created by her calves instead.
“Take a seat.” She said sweetly, patting the sofa beside her.
Despite having three very large sofa cushions, her absurdly rotund ass cheeks were easily already taking up one each, if not a little more between them. Yet it seemed the only other chair was covered in a stack of heavy books. In fact, the books looked suspiciously like those he had spent so much time and effort moving just days ago.
Roger tried to clamber up beside her on the sofa, but realised he couldn’t quite get up high enough, as the cushions sat about three feet from the ground. She waited a few moments before noticing his struggles.
“Oh, sorry honey, let me help you.” She cooed, effortlessly grasping him beneath the arms and lifting him up.
For a moment he thought she was going to sit him on her lap, and his ears burned at the thought, but thankfully she slid him onto the sofa by her side. He settled in, nervously spying her tree-trunk thick thighs spilling into the tiny gap she left for him. Her warm skin pressed up against him no matter how he adjusted himself, and he eventually just accepted it, his feet dangling in the air.
“There we go.” She gently rustled his hair, and he had to bite down a tiny moan as she did so. “Nice and comfy.”
Roger smiled politely, hands on his knees as deliberately far from his cock as he thought he could get away with without wanting to appear as though that was what he was doing. It had been a hell of a first day living with Layla and he was frankly exhausted in every sense of the word. He was trying to look everywhere but at her colossal body, though luckily she quickly gave him something to focus on.
With a momentous lean forwards her sheer bulk began to intrude further into Roger’s space, the swell of her thigh swiftly beginning to bury his leg beneath it as she retrieved the tv controller, before settling back onto the sofa with a relaxed sigh. Roger smiled nervously, trying not to think about how incredible it had just felt to have her leg burying his.
“For your first night here I thought we could watch something nice and relaxing together.” She grinned, and began to navigate through a dozen menus at a blistering pace.
It was obvious she had done this many times. For a moment Roger couldn’t help a pang of regret for her. How long had she been living here alone? She filtered through folders on her tv, and he didn’t get a chance to see what they were called, but occasionally saw words like ‘close’, ‘intimate’, ‘romance’.
He winced, hoping her idea of a fun evening wasn’t long and boring romantic comedy.
“Here we are.” She said softly. “One of my favourite films.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a German movie, set during the war.” She said, not looking at him.
Nice, a war film. Roger settled in excited for guns and action, but right from the start of the film he already had his misgivings. Usually if a film was going to feature action you saw it early on, but it was just a young guy walking through a city.
If it was one of her favourites he didn’t want to insult her, though. Besides, he was more than happy to be nice and close to Layla, and quietly nestled back into the sofa to watch. At least it wasn’t a foreign language film…
Roger was far more interested in gently pressing his cheek to her arm than watching, but barely five minutes in Layla was practically enraptured.
“Oh Roger, look at that poor boy.” She hushed, eyes on the screen, but her hand came to rest on his shoulder. “He’s so cold and afraid…”
Roger couldn’t help but smile nervously at her touch, and was similarly helpless not to lean into it. A woman came to help the young lad and Layla gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment.
“Such a sweet boy…” She whispered, and Roger wondered who she meant.
She gasped again a few minutes later when it was pronounced the boy was ill, resigned to his bed.
“Poor thing.” Layla sounded almost close to tears, and gently ran her hand over Roger’s shoulders.
It felt almost as if she was idly petting him like a cat, but it felt so nice he couldn’t help enjoying it. Maybe this was why cat’s liked it so much, he mused.
However Roger’s suspicions became aroused - and to some degree so did he - when after recovering from illness the boy went to seek out the woman who had helped him before. There was an undeniable tension between the older woman and younger man - both on screen and on the sofa.
Roger glanced to his side, taking in the utterly gargantuan swell of Layla’s immense breasts pressing out and encompassing much of his peripheral vision. They were simply so big they were impossible to ignore.
Layla’s arm came to rest on his shoulder, her fingers gently resting behind his head, the nails tracing gently through his hair as he watched the sexual frisson on screen bubbling.
On screen the woman got changed, soon half-naked, and caught the boy spying on her, who swiftly ran in embarrassment. Layla’s fingers traced imperceptible circles on his scalp as she smiled down at Roger, who glanced up nervously.
“He’s just like my Roger, so shy… but such a sweet thing.”
Roger tried to smile innocently, yet Layla’s implications were anything but.
Soon the woman was drawing the younger man a bath and asking him to change. It all seemed so innocent, and yet there he was naked in a stranger’s home, having a bath.
Roger soon found it difficult to ignore the growing tension between his own thighs. Much to his dismay the tight pyjamas she had picked out for him left nowhere for him to hide his growing arousal.
“He’s so completely naked in front of her, isn’t he?” Layla wondered aloud. “So exposed… yet she doesn’t mind at all.” Layla’s eyes remained fixed on the action on screen, yet her hand drifted down his neck to his lower back, rubbing in circles there soothingly over the silky soft shirt he wore.
As the woman helped the boy out of his bath and into a towel it felt almost like a mother with her son. Roger was struggling to maintain his composure between the electric scenes on screen and Layla’s soft but insistent touches.
“She’s so gentle with him. That’s how all women should take care of their boys.” She cooed softly, adjusting her own massive thighs just as the woman on screen did so. “Speaking of!”
Layla fished on the side opposite Roger and pulled out a faux-fur throw blanket. It was, like so much of what she owned, ever so soft and comfortable as she settled it over the pair of them.
Having been distracted by her movements it was only when the camera panned out again that Roger realised the woman was now as naked as the boy.
Layla giggled.
“Both naked. Both open with each other. That’s how it should be, hmmm?” Layla’s hand had crept around his back now, to his side. Her immense reach allowed her to easily encompass his body, and was gently pulling him closer to her. Those immense breasts heaved into his view now, ever so slightly obscuring the screen with their sheer presence as they bulged out either side of her. His vision was even more obscured by the fact his face was being ever so slightly pressed into those very enormous tits. The sheer heat radiating from her body was incredible!
“I wonder if he feels embarassed. All exposed… completely at her mercy. Yet she’s so calm. It’s the most natural thing in the world for her to take care of him like this.”
Roger’s mind raced. How much of this was the potion’s work? Layla was practically gushing over this older woman molesting a much younger man.
Her hand came to rest on his thigh now, gently caressing there, and Roger’s face burned with nervous heat. His cock was utterly throbbing - not helped at all by her sensual, soft touches. The soft and silky material he wore was clinging to him so tightly that her every touch felt as though it was on his naked skin. He shivered a little as her hand petted him mere inches away from his raging erection.
Roger could only hope the room was dark enough that she wouldn’t look down and notice his cock straining to be free from its tight confines. Luckily the blanket seemed to be doing a good enough job of disguising his hard cock as a fold in the material.
“He’s so young, and so shy…” Layla giggled again and kissed the top of his head. “Remind you of anyone?”
Like a flashbang, a few seconds of the young lad and the woman locked in the throes of sexual passion blew through his mind. Roger blinked in shock, for a moment unsure if he had really seen it. It happened again a few moments later. Had she edited this film to include pornography!? Roger suddenly sat upright and rigid in more ways than one.
The young lad on screen sat just as timidly and awkwardly as Roger did as visions of his hot and sweaty congress burned through his mind.
“Isn’t it such a beautiful film, Roger?” Layla cooed softly, wiping a tear from her eye with her other hand. “They love each other so much…”
Roger mumbled something after silently leaning into her gentle caress for a few moments, realising he hadn’t spoken a word since the movie began, though he wasn’t sure what he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. The boy was running to her home, and the moment he entered she was already undressing for him.
Layla’s soft chuckle felt like nails curling down his back; but hers were far too busy idly toying with the waistband of his pyjamas.
“Such a beautiful film.” Layla sighed. “You don’t know how much it would mean to have that kind of love in my life.”
Roger was practically on the verge of a heart attack at those words. She couldn’t really mean what he thought she did, right?
He forced his breathing to slow, his heart racing a mile a minute. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. Maybe she just meant love in the… emotional sense. Yet the way she kept grazing the sensitive skin of his waist was sending him the exact opposite signal. Roger didn’t want to say something too soon, what if he was wrong after all, what if this was all just her being… flirty?
While Roger was distracted, though, the film soon took a dramatic swerve. The woman was recruited into the military, soon after accused of crimes, and put on trial.
“That poor woman.” Layla breathed, and with little ceremony grasped Roger tightly to her.
Just as he was debating what Layla’s true intentions were, the sheer mass of her breast utterly enveloped the left side of his head. The other side was barely able to pull in a breath.
The rest of the film was a half-hidden, half-muffled mess. Roger could only sit there in a mix of utter arousal and disbelief as he was practically smothered by her bosom. He almost felt guilty for taking such sexual pleasure from it, after all it all seemed so innocent.
After all she was only hugging him so close because the film had gotten her so emotional, right?
If that were the case his cock hadn’t gotten the message. It was practically screaming for attention, and her hand was now resting very firmly atop his thigh, her fingertips dipping dangerously into the space between them.
Biting his lip, it took all of his self control to remain still, all the while with his face firmly planted into the hot, sweaty confines of her sweatered breast as she seemingly innocently teased with and toyed at the ever so sensitive skin just shy of his cock. It was pure and utter torment.
He could barely keep track of what was supposed to be happening in the film, far too preoccupied with the blood beating in his ears as his heart ran away with itself. Whenever her fingers traced ever so slightly over his skin it made his breath stop.
He did catch a few things. The trial went poorly, and she went to jail. He was far more aware of Layla’s reactions to the film than the happenings of the story itself. Every time she gasped her already massive body expanded, smothering him even more. He could hear her heartbeat echoing through the dense mass of flesh he was pinned against. Sweat trickled down his face from a combination of his arousal and the sheer heat radiating from Layla.
When she at long last relaxed her arm around his neck at long last, he realised the credits had been rolling for some time.
“What a lovely film.” She said softly, wiping her eyes. “Oh my Roger, it gets me worked up every time.”
You’re worked up!? He wanted to scream, practically wincing from the tension between his legs as she - much to his mixed reluctance - removed her hand from his lap.
“Well, it’s time for bed Roger.” Layla insisted, before slowly lifting the blanket from them both.
Roger stood upright as quickly as he could, turning away from her to disguise his raging erection. He was far too preoccupied with his humiliating arousal to argue with being sent to bed like a child, there being absolutely no way to disguise his tumescence in the tight clothes he had been at most partly-forced to wear.
“Right, up to bed young man.” She said, playfully patting his butt and making Roger jump up onto his toes.
In spite of the early hour he was genuinely quite. Far more pertinently he was very eager to get some alone time.
“I’ll be right up to tuck you in.” She announced after him as he took to the stairs.
Roger winced at her patronising tone, but all the same took the steps as quick as he could, hoping to get under the covers before she could spot the prominent reason he was so eager to be alone tenting his pyjamas.
It was only when he reached his bed, though, that a problem became obvious. He couldn’t lift himself up onto it. The soft mattress was too forgiving, and every time he tried to push himself up it just gave way beneath him.
The soft padding thuds of Layla’s footsteps approached from behind and he wilted in humiliation, arms resting atop the bedsheet in defeat as he couldn’t bring himself to turn to look.
“Come on, into bed honey, no time for playing.” She said smoothly, before acknowledging his issue. “Oh… Roger my sweet little thing, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise. You’re too short to get up! Oh sweetie this is the smallest bed in the house, I guess I’ll have to lift you into bed from now on…”
Roger was glad he was facing away from her so she couldn’t see the utter humiliation on his cheeks. As her cool hands encircled his waist, slid under his arms and across his chest with lecherous familiarity it was all Roger could do to hold in a shout of alarm. She easily lifted him off the ground not for the first time that day.
Hurriedly he tugged the bed covers over himself, but Layla just grinned at his bashfulness.
“Such a sweet boy. I’m so lucky to have you here with me. All to myself.”
For a moment her fingers drummed atop her enormous tits, eyes lecherously raking his body, as if she were considering something. The moment passed when she turned her back, then returned lifting something and placing it by the side of his pillow.
It was the bear. His teddy bear. The one she had bought him so long ago and he hadn’t had the heart to let go of.
“You left your teddy at home, silly! How on earth is my sweet boy going to sleep soundly without it, hmmm?”
Roger blinked, looking at it for a moment before opening his mouth to ask just when she had gone into his room to get it.
Before he could ask though he was stunned into silence, unsure what was happening, as her body swiftly encompassed the entirety of his peripheral view until she was all he could see. Her colossal breasts spilled out atop his body with only the sheets between them, and for the first time he came to know what it felt like to have her truly outrageous chest fully pressing against him.
Her lush, plush lips grew closer and closer as she sighed in contentment, her sweet breath washing over him and soon he could only breathe the air she was giving.
When those enormous, shiny cherry red lips finally made contact with his it was more of an assault upon his face than a kiss; her lips enveloping his entirely. Her kiss was cloying, smothing, almost as suffocating as it was intoxicating. The sheer heat of her breath felt like it was forcing its way into his lungs, before her tongue pushed past his lips and dominated his mouth, pressing in with a slow but relentless rhythm.
Every one of his senses was overwhelmed. The sheer totality of her essence was overpowering. Her deep, musky scent was everywhere now, embedding itself into him as the cloying, addictive taste of her lips, her tongue - like thick, honeyed wine - flooded his mind and sank into every crevice. Her low humming moan was almost deafening with their mouths so connected, and her gleeful expression and fluttering eyelashes were burned into his mind before his eyes rolled back in surrender. His vision swam with her sheer proximity, her vastness eclipsing everything else.
Beneath it all, the sheer softness of her body was enveloping him. On a primal level fear of being buried alive flooded through him as he finally came to appreciate how even just her breasts alone could engulf his entire body. His cock twitched painfully beneath the blankets, a futile gesture utterly lost beneath the depthless mass of her bosom.
When she finally pulled back with a viscous slurp, withdrawing from his mouth as trails of saliva kept them connected for a while after, Roger was left panting for breath. She gently stroked his head as he lay dazed, utterly out of it.
“Good night, sweetie.” She purred, licking her lips, and adjusting his teddy bear to be right by his head before closing the door behind her and turning off the light.
*****
Roger’s breathing game in ragged gasps for some time after. It was as if he was now branded with her scent, her taste, like melted candy. His cock was throbbing against the fabric with each frantic heartbeat. Out of the corner of his eye, as sweat beaded and dripped down his face, he watched as Layla left. As soon as the door clicked closed he had barely managed to shove the covers aside before he was clawing at his waistband and wrapping his hand around his member. Stroking himself with a desperation that bordered on violent - utterly helpless to escape the memory of her overwhelming dominance - the teddy bear sat beside him staring blankly, passively observing every choking whimper, every slick slide of his palm.
He writhed in an ocean of her body’s musk as it forced its way into his mind, overriding his olfactory senses. Even the air itself smelled like her. It occurred to him only now that every inch of the bed’s fabric was steeped in her scent, and that he would be inhaling it for as long as he slept. His tongue wet his own lips just to taste the ghost of her kiss again. As the blanket pressed against his chest he could almost feel the phantom weight of her breasts crushing him into the mattress.
His fingers almost trembled, slick with sweat from the sheer heat of her lingering presence. Her bit down on the back of his other hand to stifle the desperate noises escaping his throat, as his hips thrust up into his own touch. It was frantic, uneven, fuelled by the burningly recent memory of her touch and how her tongue had mapped the inside of his mouth like she owned it. As his eyes flickered shut all he could see was the shadow of her looming over him and eclipsing everything else.
***
Layla’s fingertips delicately traced the edge of her tablet, breathing shallow as the grainy night-vision feed from the bedroom played out before her. The teddy bear’s unblinking glass eyes captured every twitch of his desperate hips, every choked gasp muffled into his own wrist. She chewed her lower lip; couldn’t help tensing her thighs a little as she watched his fingers pumping his cock with the same fervency she’d conditioned into him over years of whispered suggestions. Of course in both of their minds they imagined her hand doing the stroking instead.
The room he was in was practically infested with hidden cameras and speakers, but using the teddy bear felt somehow more nostalgic. She lingered on that camera view a little longer, tracing the outline of his head across the screen. It felt as if she were lying right next to him. She tilted her head to the side a little just to complete the feeling.
She could have walked back in at any moment, or even waited to swing the door open just as he spilled all over himself, but Layla was a patient woman. She had waited years for this, and would let him marinate in his desperation a little longer. No harm in letting his imagination run wild with all the things she might do to him before she eventually chose one. Besides, the longer she waited the deeper those fantasies would root themselves in his mind, and after all, wasn’t that the whole point? To make sure he couldn’t think of anything, or anyone, else?
He was practically drowning in an ocean of her scent and the subliminal audios playing which were tapping in to triggers she’d been planting for years. All told it would set him up perfectly for what was to come. She counted the seconds as they ticked by, intimately familiar by now with the telltale signs of his impending orgasm after having watched him accomplish it many hundreds of times before through that very same teddy bear.
Her nail delicately tapped a steady staccato rhythm on the tablet’s glass. Just a little longer…
*****
The boy didn’t even notice as the door opened, so utterly lost in the feverish delirium of his own pumping fist and the suffocating fog of her essence. Her smile curled like a predator as she slipped into the bedroom, but forced her lips back down to a cold glare just before letting the door click shut behind her with a dull thud.
Roger’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, guilt ridden. His hand was frozen like a child with their fingers in the cookie jar.
“Roger.” Her voice cut through the air like a blade of ice.
He scrambled to belatedly hide the evidence of what he was doing, but she merely grasped his wrist and pinned it to the bed by his side with effortless dominance.
“M-Miss Honey! I-” Roger scrambled as he wilted, arms squirming in her fingers.
“Young boys do not have permission to touch themselves in this house.” She uttered coolly, letting each moment tick by as she stared down at him, revelling in his admonishment.
His throat tightened from sheer anxiety until he could hardly breathe. Yet his indignance forced its way through the fog, and he tried to salvage some semblance of his dignity.
“I’m not…” He began, but she merely placed her other hand on his cheek and silenced him in an instant, snuffing out the flame of his resistance before it could even breathe. She could feel the burning heat radiating from it, a mix of shame and very real warmth from his exertions. Beads of sweat and the start of a tear slid between her fingers.
“In this house they let their Mommy take care of it for them.”
Layla’s eyes roared as she rolled onto the bed beside him and descended inch by inch with deliberate slowness, as if to emphasize the inevitability of her crushing approach. Her pillowy thighs easily dwarfed his legs, pinning them comfortably into the mattress, as she curled around his side like a massive serpent. Her colossal breasts subsumed the entire space left between them, pressing flush against his body and then continuing like an avalanche of softness. They covered his chest entirely, spilling over his body completely within her tight low-cut blouse, until he was buried to the neck and down to the waist by their sheer mass.
Her other hand reached down to his hands, still hiding beneath the blanket, and pulled them free. With no effort at all she delicately but firmly lifted his hands over his head before pinching both wrists in one of hers.
The poor lad could only gasp as, with his body so sensitive from the throes of his pleasure, her warm flesh molded around him like batter. She lay by his side, propped on one elbow, her massive body stretching the entire length of the monstrously large mattress which had already made him feel so small in comparison. Now though as her immense body laid by his side and easily smothered him in soft curves he felt practically tiny.
“Now, show Mommy.” She cooed softly, and began to peel back the blanket.
He whimpered as the last vestiges of his dignity were quite literally peeled away, struggling fruitlessly to tug his hands free of her ironclad grip.
“Ohhhh, sweet boy…” Layla whispered at long last as she exposed his throbbing cock, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around his wrists as she drank in the sight of his flushed tip twitching helplessly against his stomach, where it was poking up into the underside of her breasts. “Poor thing. It’s okay. Mommy’s here now, and Mommy will take care of everything.”
Roger could only whine as he felt his cock grinding against her soft, warm bosom. He was drowning in a mix of shame and hormonal lust as his every sexual fantasy had become realised. Yet he couldn’t see past her massive breasts to his own cock, so every twitch felt like a phantom touch, making him shiver.
When she finally did take his cock into her hand, he gurgled with sheer bliss as his head rolled back into the pillows. Warm and impossibly soft, her fingers enclosed his cock gently. He shuddered instantly, choking a small cry before she began to stroke it slowly and tenderly.
His cock immediately began to paint the side of her still-clothed breast with copious precum, much to her delight.
“Oh my, sweet boy, you’re so excited! You must have been so worked up, hmmm?” She bit her lip, pressing her face close to his as she could, as if to drink in his submission.
He could only gasp and groan pitifully in response, far beyond words.
“Such a good boy, letting his Mommy take care of him. Mmmm. No no, only naughty boys touch themselves. Good boys let Mommy milk their cocks.”
Her fingers tightened just enough as she began to twist her forefinger and thumb in a circle just behind the head of his cock, making him whimper. She grinned, teeth beaming as she played him like an instrument, delighting in finding what noises she could get him to make by stroking slower, tighter, tracing her nails along the shaft or - as she found to her delight - tickling just behind his balls.
Her rhythm was hypnotic, occasionally switching from long languid strokes to feverishly quick ones that made his toes curl buried beneath their fleshy prison. She glided her palm up and down his shaft as if she’d memorized every ridge and vein. As it was, she very well may have.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this, my sweet little Roger.” She whispered directly into her ear, huskier than an antarctic dog sled. “My good little boy, my Roger, finally in my hands…”
Her breathing grew sharper as she breathed hotly down his neck like some great beast, leaving the poor boy sweltering under her body. The obscene sound of her hand slickly stroking was like background music to her melodic voice.
As Layla’s lips brushed the shell of his ear as she whispered, her tongue almost licking it.
“Mommy knows best. Just be a good boy for Mommy.” She cooed. “Does my good boy want to cum? Hmmm? Want to spurt out all those cummies? You must be so pent up… being around me makes you so excited, doesn’t it sweetie? Hmmm? Oh yes… Mommy remembers how excited you got when I showed you those photos… and when I was in my skimpy little bikini…”
Roger’s hips bucked up into her milking fingers as she flashbanged his mind with those erotic memories, which just happened to coincide with his utter humiliation.
“Yes, such a good boy. It’s natural for a boy to get excited by his Mommy’s body, especially one a big and soft as mine…”
She withdrew her hand and wrapped her fingers around the head of his cock as if she were opening a door knob and began to slide them up and down, splaying them as she did so. This new technique had the boy in near hysterics.
“Mmmmhhh… Muhhh…” He mumbled.
“Shhhh, now now, my sweet boy. No need to talk. Just listen to Mommy. All good boys need to say is Yes Mommy. Or better yet, they can talk with their cocks. When a boy’s cock is hard it tells his Mommy he’s happy… whether he admits it or not.”
Gently but insistently she shifted her body closer, and like the tide coming in her breasts began to envelop him ever further. Soft flesh crept upward until their pillowy weight pressed against his lips; her soft, milky white skin, the faint salt of her sweat and the lingering sweetness of her perfume flooded his senses as she smothered him up to the nose. He could only breathe in short, frantic gasps.
“There we go. Now you can make all the lovely noises you like sweetie.” She chuckled low in her throat, the vibrations transferring to his body through hers.
Her fingers tightened, moving faster now, a slick shucking motion that milked him with ruthless efficiency. Every stroke resulted in a squirt of precum from his utterly overwhelmed cock, rivulets of clear, hot liquid running down her knuckles, sticky and hot as she moved her fingers in precisely the same way she had seen him do so many times before.
“That’s it, there we go sweetie. Be a good boy for Mommy and let go. Just give in and cum for Mommy.”
His hips jerked up into her grip involuntarily, but her body weight easily kept him pinned. Such frantic thrusting barely resulted in any movement at all. Roger’s choked moans were the only sound aside from the obscene squelch of her hand around the slimy mess of his cock.
Thighs trembling, his breathing was ragged; stuttering gasps rasping as his stomach knotted. Every inch of his body was thrumming with pleasure as she mercilessly wrung his cock toward the edge. No matter how he whined or whimpered, though, she didn’t listen, didn’t respond at all except to shush and coo at him encouragingly.
“There we go, just let Mommy milk you. Don’t think about anything but being a good boy and cumming for Mommy.”
As he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, a burning heat in his cock rising and rising, her touch however grew more and more faint. The maddening friction of her fingers slowed to a crawl as she ever so gently ran her forefinger and thumb in a ring over the ridge of his head in slow, punishing strokes.
He groaned and grunted in exasperation, so desperately close to release that his every nerve was alight like a live wire. Yet no matter how he struggled her immense body kept him effortlessly pinned to the bed.
“That’s it, just be a good boy for Mommy.” She gushed, voice dripping with maternal honey, yet by now her fingers were barely grazing his cock, little more than a tickle.
She gently swirled her thumb in circles directly below the head of his cock for a few moments as she leaned in to kiss his ear, sending the poor boy into hysterics as he thrashed beneath her - his efforts translating into little more than the squirms of a helpless kitten in the face of her smothering control.
Licking the side of his face possessively, she lifted her body ever so slightly; lifting her breast to stare lovingly at his face for a few moments, before descending to fully smother his face in her breasts once and for all.
“Shhh, good boy. Just give in. Give in to Mommy.”
His breathing came in hot, claustrophobic bursts, heavily filtered by the perfumed blouse she wore. Sweat crested his face as the heat of being smothered by her chest grew. Her torturously light grip became pitifully slow now, a single fingertip swirling his head like a lover’s tongue.
“Now… I think you’ve learned your lesson. Good boys let Mommy milk their cocks for them. They do not touch themselves.” She breathed into his ear, the steaming hot air cooking his brain.
Roger was beside himself, tears and sweat staining her chest as he was simply overwhelmed; physically, mentally, emotionally. He could take no more.
With that she at last relented. Layla’s grip became like a vise, no longer teasing - she was taking what was hers. She stroked him at a brutal, merciless pace, her hand a blur as it jackrabbited up and down his cock.
“That’s it, good boy. You’re such a good boy for Mommy. Let Mommy milk your cock, let Mommy milk all that cum.” She gasped into his ear, no longer able to disguise her own arousal. “Give it to Mommy. Give in and cum for Mommy. Cum for Mommy.”
His body siezed like a taut cable, muscles rigid as her relentless strokes finally pushed him past the point of no return. A strangled cry tore from his throat, almost entirely muffled by her chest, yet she relished his orgasm with delight. Half sob, half scream, his cock twitched violently in her grip as she stroked him deeply and fervently through his mind melting orgasm. Volcanic pleasure erased every thought, every worry, everything that wasn’t pure ecstasy from his mind as his hips bucked mindlessly beneath the crushing weight of her fat thighs and massive breasts.
Roger’s vision grew hazy and whirled as he struggled to focus, blood rushing to his ears and making it impossible to hear anything at all. Cum erupted in gouts, strong enough to paint the side of her blouse and even crest the massive abundance of her breasts, spilling across her abundantly displayed cleavage.
Her grip didn’t relent, milking him through his convilsions until his body - wracked with pangs of orgasmic energy and twitching helplessly - at long last came to a rest.
It took several minutes before he even registered anything else at all, his senses slowly returning to him one at a time. A dull, burning ache in his limbs from how he’d been struggling slowly made itself known, but that was hardly the reason for his tears. He sobbed openly, finding his arms free, clutching so tightly to Layla it was as if he was afraid he’d fall if he let go.
She kept him closely tucked against her, having helped him ride out the pleasure of his orgasm, she was now more than happy to assuage his fears, his doubts and his shame.
“There there, it’s okay sweetie. You did such a good job for Mommy.” She hushed, kissing the top of his head and just holding him, placing as much of herself in contact with him as she could. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”
He couldn’t give words to what he felt. This was all at once everything he had ever wanted and not. It was like a dream come true only to discover it was a nightmare.
Layla just smiled, possessively trailing her nails through his hair, staring down at him with a lidded expression, and holding him with no intent of ever letting go.