Roger winced as he hauled one box after another through her kitchen, across the formal dining room, and up her staircase. Well, really it was Layla who had called them boxes, in reality they were more like crates.
The stairs presented the most arduous part of the ordeal, as not only could he not see the steps ahead of him but the steps themselves were larger than those in a normal house - though no doubt normal to someone of her stature. Despite its sheer scale her home only had two floors, though the journey between them was as a result much longer. Each step he took down was perilous as he had to blindly feel out for the next one above with one foot, trying to keep the weighty box in his arms up while balancing on the other.
A bead of sweat traced down the bridge of his nose as he trudged his way up her stairs for the seventh time that hour, and with no way to scratch it, he was simply forced to endure. Knowing that he was trapped, stuck, unable to perform even the simplest action to relieve himself, left him utterly frustrated. He hated it, feeling helpless…but there was something about knowing he was doing this for Layla that made it tolerable. Just barely.
He hadn’t really questioned why she needed these heavy boxes moved, or what was in them, she was doing him a favor after all, but now as he started to feel the burn from his exertion he regretted his decision to carry two or three at a time. Not only did he look ridiculous, hoisting around stacks that were taller than him, but he was proving Layla right.
Maybe he was just a little boy to her.
When he had finally lifted the last one into place, straining to get something so heavy up so high given his much smaller stature, it at last occurred to him that the original pile had been made by someone easily twice as tall as him - no wonder he was struggling so much!
It also stood to reason that Layla was probably stronger than him, come to think of it. Much, much stronger… When he was younger she’d often been able to easily lift him off his feet, and he wasn’t exactly all that larger now.
She probably still could.
Roger tried to shake that astoundingly arousing thought from his mind.
Panting with exertion, his shirt clinging to his skin, he tensed and untensed his arms as he tried to wax away the discomfort.
It didn’t make any sense. Why of all things was he moving boxes? She was obviously strong enough to have moved all these boxes here originally, so why did she need him to do this for her? He pondered it as he gently reclined his back to stretch it.
Was she just finding excuses to employ him? Surely there were enough jobs to do around an estate this massive in size without having to invent any.
Did she somehow know how he felt about her, and this was all just a game? Was this a ruse at his expense?
His irritation built as he considered, not for the first time in his life, that just perhaps she wasn’t as ignorant about his adolescent crush as she feigned to be. Why else would she call him over here if she could easily do this all by herself? Was she leading him on? No, besides it wasn’t as though she was taking advantage of him.
He reclined against the wall, uncertain, letting the cool stone soothe his heat, admiring the interior as he always did when he was here. The Gustavian chic did little to dispel the rumours of her insane wealth, although she had always seemed perfectly down to earth to him. She affected a pretty prim persona, but it always felt very genuine… though she was perhaps a little imperious; just like her home.
The vaulting roof, towering windows and brass fittings had always felt like he was in a castle as a child. Indeed, he’d even asked Layla as much, asking so innocently if she was a Queen. She had laughed merrily at that, but the look in her eye he remembered told him she obviously loved the idea.
“My my, such a strong young man! All done?” Came a delighted coo from Layla as she entered the room behind him, but didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Great! I was hoping you could do some cleaning for me next.”
Roger stared up into her dark eyes and for a moment he considered questioning what the point was in all the work he’d just done, why she couldn’t have done it herself when she was so very obviously more physically capable than him.
Yet as so often happened with Layla, the second she beamed him a smile, those piercing eyes digging into his soul as she did so, he simply couldn’t help but meekly agree as he withered under her gaze.
“Y-yeah. Sure, I’d love to Miss Honey.” He mewled, suddenly as eager to soak up her affection as ever.
“My my Roger, you’re always so polite! I do love that about you.” She beamed, eyes lidded as she caressed his cheek in a way that left his skin burning and caused all his prior worries to melt away. “But it’s Layla. Call me Layla, especially in my home.”
He was just so grateful to be near her, and couldn’t imagine ever questioning her, or anything she said.
*****
Some time later, Roger wasn’t quite sure how long since she seemed to have no clocks in her house, he was on cleaning duty.
“You missed a spot, sweetie,” Layla said softly, comfortingly, as if speaking to a child who had coloured outside of the lines. She nodded to a perfectly clean tile as she did so, much to his irritation.
It felt so condescending, and yet… sincere. There wasn’t a hint of malice in her eyes, at least not that he could find.
So as he knelt there scrubbing at an imaginary spot, his knuckles whitening around the sponge, each pass he made was slower and more deliberate. He tried to see what she was seeing, not wanting to believe she would deliberately do something so… frustrating.
The poor boy winced as her foot tapped mere inches away from him as he scrubbed each tile again, one by one.
Not long after that Roger was, at her request, ruefully dusting each and every one of the extremely heavy tomes on her towering bookshelf, meticulously wiping them down one at a time. It wasn’t particularly difficult, just very tiring. Even as he did so, rag in hand, he kept trying - and failing - not to glance over his shoulder at her every few seconds. She was lounging on a plush chair to one side of him in her study, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping at her coffee with exaggerated slowness - maybe just to watch him squirm.
The chore was mind-numbing, but the weight of her gaze on his back made his skin prickle with excitement. He could almost feel her tracing invisible patterns across his body with her eyes, and every time he looked back she inevitably caught him in her gaze, grinning ever so slightly as he would hurriedly - and embarrassedly - look away.
He tried mightily to disguise just how much he struggled to lift these books down under his own strength, but the sweat dripping from his arms and the shake in his elbows was likely giving it away.
*****
She watched with delighted admiration as the young boy tried so hard to impress her. It was quite endearing, though the boy didn’t have to do anything to earn her desire. She would have been more than happy to have him there suffocating in luxury… but there would be plenty of time for that.
It had only taken a few days of manufactured complaints and calling in a favour or two from old friends to have Roger fired from his summer job. It had taken much less effort to manipulate his mother into inviting him back to live with her over his college summer break in the first place.
“I’d be more than happy to have a strapping young man helping me around the house!” She’d giggled conspiratorially to his mother, who couldn’t have possibly known just how earnest she was. “It’d be lovely to see Roger more now he’s… all grown up.”
She sipped her coffee, smiling innocently, eyeing the boy like a prize cut of meat as his young muscles strained. So far everything had gone precisely as she had hoped.
*****
“Don’t forget the top shelf,” she added nonchalantly, relaxing in her luxurious armchair as her honeyed voice caressed him as deftly as if it were her touch, “those are my favourites.”
He swallowed hard as he strained up to reach one, unable to avoid watching the hem of her blouse riding ever-so-slightly-too-high up her milky smooth thighs as she reclined slightly in his peripheral vision.
Blinking, he swallowed and managed to tug a massive book free, and nearly collapsed under its weight as he caught it against his chest - coughing as dust enveloped his head. The black hard-leather bound album fell open, and he blinked away the dry dusting he’d just been given.
He couldn’t help glancing down at the page that had opened in his arms. Was that… a photo of Layla? No, it couldn’t be… she was practically nake-
“Are you okay sweetie?” Layla was suddenly behind him, and he jumped, dropping the weighty brick.
“Yep!” He nodded confidently, not turning to face her so as not to reveal his shock.
Layla bent over after a moment of observing him, her body pressing against his and gently nudging him up against her bookshelf. Though it wasn’t her intention, it felt like a police officer searching a suspect against a wall as she placed a hand on his shoulder, only to grab the album with the other.
“Oh my. I’ve not looked at this album in years…” She picked it up, and almost automatically his hand reached out with the rag to wipe the dust from the golden embossed lettering.
Layla Charlotte Honey - Modelling Arts.
It had been a photo of her.
Layla soothed his shoulder and took the album into her hands.
“I think you’ve earned a break, my little hard worker.”
*****
His giantess of a neighbour opened her equally massive, old red diner-style refridgerator and pulled out a platter sealed in plastic wrap.
“Take a seat sweetie!” She chirped, nodding to the bar stools that seemed practically enormous arrayed around it.
Clambering up he managed to swing one leg over, taking great care as he did so as his toes barely touched the footrest below, yet couldn’t get up entirely.
“Oh, sorry Roger. Let me help you.” She cooed, having watched him struggle from behind for a few moments chewing on her lip.
Much to his chagrin her hands found their way under his arms and - just as he’d thought - easily lifted him into the air like pulling a kitten away from a curtain.
His neck felt hot with embarassment… but the twitching between his thighs spoke to just how much disagreement there was inside him on that front.
“There we go.” She grinned, placing her hand against his back for a moment, and he had to stop himself from backing into her touch.
As she unwrapped the feast in front of him on the marble counter she leaned in just a little closer than she needed to, resulting in her soft body pressing just a little into his. Being so hungry by now, though, his eyes were fixated upon the food within - this being the first time since he’d arrived that he hadn’t been stealing glances at her every chance he got.
Then to his shock he felt something soft and warm against his skin. Slowly, she pressed one of her colossal breasts against his back, the mass of it beginning to spill over his shoulder… and she simply kept going. Soon the flesh of her breast was draped across his neck and shoulders like a cape, and the poor boy had gone as rigid as a statue - in more ways than one.
It was taking more and more effort for him to stay upright on the bar stool as more and more of her mass began to weigh against him. Eventually, inevitably, physics won the battle, and he was soon being bent forwards, pinned between the marble counter top and her all-consuming breasts.
Layla bit her lip, carefully measuring her words.
“I knew a growing boy like you would be hungry…” She spoke softly, directly into his ear, the moisture from her breath lingering there as if she’d licked it. “So please, dig in.”
As she pulled back, the sheer shifting of weight nearly caused him to fall backwards off his bar stool, having had to push back with all his might just to keep himself upright under her. Roger for his part had gone entirely red, every inch of his skin beaming like a klaxon.
He was too embarrassed to turn around for a while, his eyes fixed on the plate as Layla busied herself in the kitchen. Then he heard the creak of the floor and soon after the stairs above; he realised she had left him alone at last in her massive home. The air pulsed and thrummed around him as if the pressure had been turned up, but he knew it was just his nerves. Between his legs his cock was screaming for attention, just as he’d known it would.
It took a while but he was able to calm down enough to eat. It was delicious, she was an amazing cook, no doubt a product of a life spent mostly alone. In fact it tasted so good it was almost enough to distract him from the hot pulsing of his neck as he recalled the feeling of her body smothering his. The heat slowly faded away - though the memory of it likely never would. There was a reason he had always been all too eager to recieve a hug from his neighbour over the years, and she had always been more than happy to indulge.
Yet something about it all still rankled with him. She was perfectly capable of doing this work herself, in fact it would probably have taken her a quarter of the time to do these chores as it had taken him, and all the while she’d just been sitting there directing him, enjoying watching him work.
If he hadn’t known so much better than to hope for it, he’d have suspected she was doing this just to have him around; using it as an excuse to see him build up a sweat. He felt so strongly about Layla and yet… she only seemed to see him as the boy next door, quite literally. She was loving, she cared for him, but didn’t see him as the adult he was. He was a child in her eyes.
Roger couldn’t help feeling guilty a. Layla was the nicest neighbour any family could hope for, and here he was ungrateful that she didn’t seem to return his deep amour, even as he ate the meal she had so kindly prepared for him, after inviting him into her home, and after rescuing his summer prospects.
Slowly it was sinking in as he chewed on his thoughts as much as her food. He may have been a college guy now, but Layla would always be a much older woman. No wonder she still thought of him as the little boy who lived next door when he was still living with his mom.
She had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Hell as a kid she’d been around so much Layla had always joked he should think of her as more of a mother; especially as he’d had no father to fill the gap. When his own mom had needed medical help Layla had paid for it out of pocket and refused anything in return, simply saying she was sure that some day that she and Roger would find a way to pay her back... hell, half the things in their home were gifts from Layla.
Roger knew she wasn’t taking advantage of him. Not really. They owed her more than they probably could have ever repaid, not that she would ever accept their money. A little favour here and there was nothing compared to the overwhelming love she’d given them.
He simmered. He loved Layla. He was as sure of that now as he had been since… well, as long as he could remember. He thought about her constantly. In fact, his ears burned a little as they always did whenever he admitted to himself he was a little obsessed with her. If she ever found out how he felt, how he really felt… God, his head hit his palms in frustration. On one hand there was nothing he wanted more than to fall to his knees and confess his love for her. On the other, the very thought of her discovering how he felt was enough to make him sweat bullets.
She wasn’t taking advantage of him, she was doing him a massive favour. If she wanted him to do work around her house what right did he have to even question it after all she had done for him? He was just frustrated that she didn’t know how he truly felt, and that she probably never would since there was no way he’d ever have the guts to tell her. Maybe she was suspicious of a mild crush, or even just an adolescent fascination with her body, but nothing more than that. There’s no way she had missed the way he looked at her, peeking at her body when he thought she wouldn’t notice but always seemed to, but she didn’t know that was because every second he spent in her presence made his heart race like a horse at the track.
It was anxiety inducing enough just to be in her home, let alone being this close to her for so long, and he didn’t need to make it worse by spooking himself. Roger wiped his clammy hands against his shorts, fingers trembling ever so slightly as he ate. Not for the first time he felt like a child around her, not helped by the sheer scale of everything being sized for her. Of course it was impossible for him to think about her without thinking about her body. It always came back to that, the elephant in the room, or rather the elephant-sized woman. It was like the sheer mass of her womanly curves had short circuited his brain with an overdose too early on, and now he could never be satisfied with anything else.
A door creaked open somewhere upstairs, and the unmistakable sound of Layla’s footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls of her small mansion. Roger swallowed hard, eyes darting to the staircase waiting to see her descending them from above like a goddess on high - which in a way to him she was. He snapped his eyes back to his food lest she catch him staring, anticipation coiling in his gut and his pulse throbbing in places he was embarrassed to acknowledge, though he shuffled forward on the bar stool to try to hide the evidence of his hardness beneath the counter top.
Roger’s face burned hot, couldn’t help guilt rising in his throat - he couldn’t help feeling as though everything he did around her was wrong, always terrified to make a bad impression. Yet that guilt had never felt so sharp as now, sitting in her home, eating her food, unable to stop dirty thoughts flooding his mind.
After all, he had ogled his busty neighbour last night like a peeping tom as she spoke to him on the phone. It wasn’t fair to her, he thought bitterly, stabbing at his food with renewed aggression. She had always been so kind to him, practically family, and yet here he was fantasizing about her thick thighs framing his head, or her smothering his face in her massive breasts. Guilt warred with unbridled lust as he forced the delicious food into his mouth, unsure he deserved it.