Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice at first as Layla descended the stairs, each step slow and deliberate as the prodigious mass of her thighs sashayed from side to side, old darkened wood groaning beneath her colossal weight. When the creak of the stairs got his attention at last Roger fixed his eyes firmly on his plate, afraid to even move, as if she would somehow be able to know what he had just been thinking. She wore a faux-fur gown that must have been the size of a bedsheet to encircle her body as much as it did. As her hips swayed hypnotically the hem of her nightgown rose up just enough to reveal an ever expanding swathe of flesh - and he was powerless not to let his eyes creep to the side just a little, and then a little more.
Rounding the final step she turned towards him with a smile, and he suddenly became very fixated upon his food with an intensity that could have burned through steel.
“Oh Roger… I thought you might want to take a break before you get back to work!” She cooed with delight, each step bringing her closer and - as if she were radiating heat - causing his neck to prickle more. He tried so desperately hard not to stare as her colossal tits bounced with each step, jostling together like they were competing for his attention and he quite understandably did not have the brainpower to give them both the equal attention they deserved. “Would you like to take a look at that photo album you found earlier with me?”
Cradled in her arms was the same massive black leather bound tome that had half-crushed him before, which she now held beneath her breasts as if presenting them on a serving platter - though he supposed with a chest so massive she must have had to have gotten used to carrying things at awkward angles.
Appearing at his side she placed it on the marble countertop next to him and gave him a reprieve by providing something to look at other than herself. The cover was embossed with very fine gold filigree that caught the afternoon light, and he found himself almost as intrigued by it as he had been intently enraptured by her body just moments before.
“I’ve been looking through it upstairs. It’s a photo album from, well, a lady would never admit how long it’s been…”
Roger couldn’t help a sharp inhale as Layla flipped the cover open. The scent of aged leather and her perfume mingled to reveal a faded photograph of a younger, yet unmistakably massive, Layla. She was lounging on a beach, laying on her generous stomach as her mountainous ass rose up above her. Each of her breasts, which strained the framing of the photograph as much as mechanically possible, was restrained by the flimsiest strips of a spaghetti bikini, with the cups little more than patches of fabric that hardly even covered her coke-can thick nipples, leaving the areola utterly undisguised.
Her thighs dominated the frame, deep indents in her waist suggesting the possibility that she may be wearing a bikini bottom, but with no actual visible evidence to prove so. If it existed it was being utterly devoured by womanly flesh.
“This was a trip to Monaco I made back in my 30’s.” She explained slowly, the rote recollection doing nothing to distract from the thought-melting image searing its way permanently into Roger’s mind.
Roger’s lips twitched in utter disbelief. If anything this photo was even more erotic than her nude escapades the night before though sheer intentionality. His knees spasmed slightly as she once again leaned over him, allowing her monumental breasts to utterly devour his upper body through their sheer unstoppable mass. He pressed his thighs together in a both futile and all at once unnecessary effort to disguise his utterly turgid member which was reaching out as if begging to touch her; she could likely barely see the top of his head past her absurd bust resting on his shoulders.
The heat radiating off her skin was making his shirt stick to his back, unhelpled by the sweat his own body was now producing due to the incredibly intimate closeness and his sheer arousal. His fingers dug into his thighs as he fought the primal urges within himself. With a dark chuckle, one that Roger understandbly interpreted as totally innocent reminiscing on her part, she turned the page.
What followed sent his entire body positively rigid rather than just one part in particular. The artistic, black and white image of Layla showed her sat upon an opulent throne which in proportion to her body her sheer size made seem normal. Yet the scenery around it spoke of just how massive the plush and ornate victorian throne must have been. She was dressed in a way that seemed more akin to a pornstar’s parodic take on royal attire, her body draped in the sheerest of negligee, though it was styled as a royal robe. An absurdly low cut corset around her chest was doing little more than holding her already colossal breasts up for further admiration and worship. The outfit was completed by shoulder length transparent gloves and a rose adorned tiara.
“Ahh, and this was taken during a trip to a small enclave in Luxembourg where… Mmmm, how should I put it. You’re a bit too young to understand perhaps.”
Roger only half-caught her remark, though still had to disguise his obvious disappointment at her sweet yet condescending view of him.
“It’s a small royal kingdom- well, more of a Queendom I suppose, where the line of succession is entirely female, and they have some… rather different views on how society should be run.” She smirked, staring down at the boy as his ears burned red, oblivious to the fact she was deeply enjoying her bosomy torment of the poor lad.
It took everything Roger had not to shudder in utter hormonal overload as, one by one, Layla subjected him to one insanely erotic - yet always somehow believably excusable - memory from her past after another. He kept making excuses in his mind for her utterly lascivious presentation, that perhaps these were taken in a different time, or her wide travel had rendered her less sensitive to the sexual repression that was so common here at home.
“This was taken at a communal retreat in… you know, I don’t quite remember where. I just recall feeling so refreshed when I left.” He nodded frantically, asking himself how he was supposed to look at the picture of her in nothing but a white towel without looking like he was ogling her.
Roger was understandably a little too distracted by the utterly sweltering embrace of her tits to recognise just how provocatively erotic every single image seemed to be. Well, he was very well aware of how erotic they were, but he was too preoccupied with his arousal to question her motives in showing such an exclusively pornographic photo album to him.
Everything narrowed down to the hammering of his heart in his neck, the pulsing behind his eyes as he stared at each fresh piece of unabashed debauchery, and of course the humming erection between his thighs doing its utmost to tunnel through his increasingly tight-fitting shorts. Each image was if anything more scandalous than the last, and to Roger the world felt like it was closing in around him more and more.
In reality that feeling may have had more to do with her massive breasts doing just that, slowly swallowing him whole as she leaned in closer. In fact she hadn’t seemed to notice that her bosom had begun to encompass his peripheral vision, reducing his field of view quite literally to only that which her collosal breasts would allow. Soon after, Layla’s monstrous tits began to subsume his upper body into its depthless cleavage as she leaned in ever further and more heavily with each turn of the page. By now his chest was pinned to the marble counter top, forcing him up so close to the photo album he worried the next drop of sweat from his brow might land on it. With each beat of his heart he felt himself shriveling more, torn between the sheer embarassment that would come from pointing out it was getting difficult to breathe and praying she would never stop.
Her mass upon him was suffocating as the heat radiating off her skin seeped through his shirt and her breasts simply engulfed him from shoulder to waist. Each breath he took was increasingly laced with her cloying scent, sweet but earthy. His vision swam as his hands trembled on his lap, inches from his cock which throbbed with such an ache he had never felt before in his life. In fact his hands were torn between the opposing urges to reach down and jerk his cock to the most mind blowing and explosive orgasm of his life, or to simply submerge themselves into the ocean of flesh in which he was swiftly beginning to drown.
Instead they shook there impotently, fists curled so tightly his nails bit into his palms, as his mind melted under the myriad of conflicting signals he was being given; the ironclad social contract of feigned ignorance and professed innocence warred with the overwhelming and utterly incomprehensible sexuality of the situation.
She had to know what she was doing! She had to know what this would do to a young man like him, right!? How could she not!? But of course she was such a large woman she probably hadn’t even noticed she had almost buried the poor boy alive. He squirmed in agonized embarrassment, but found she sheer weight of her breasts had him more or less imprisoned on all sides, holding him firmly trapped as she forced him to look at one intoxicatingly provocative photo after another.
Roger’s fortitude was spent, he soon couldn’t help but buck up into the air, chasing the delightful friction that the tension of his truly impressive erection was finding against the confines of his shorts. Perhaps as a defense mechanism, trying to think of anything that wasn’t the precise moment he was in, his mind tried to escape from his body.
That however proved no refuse, as he was merely forced to relive every single instance his horny adolescent mind had carefully chronicled for future use during his late night masturbation marathons, every instance where he had been able to touch those same effortly soft yet incomprehensibly vast breasts which now so utterly consumed him.
Roger had been smothered against her chest before, though never quite like this. They were simply so large that they were quite literally an unavoidable fact of life after spending any amount of time around her; either as she moved past him and accidentally brushed against his body, or those occasions where he had - perhaps a little too enthusiastically - enthusiastically leaned in for a hug.
This however seemed so much more blatantly intentional, so outrightly sexual, so… intimate! His humping, previously as surreptitious as he could manage, had now given way to outright thrusting into the delicious little pocket of cloth the fold in his shorts had provided.
Yet as she turned the page once more, the breasts closing in around his head threatening to submerge him entirely as she leaned forth just a little more, he felt the breath stolen from his chest as much by the image as by the oppressive mass of her tits.
“Oh my, this really is a favourite of mine…” She whispered into his ear, trapped as it was mere inches from her lips.
She carefully removed the tinted polaroid from the clinging plastic sleeve that covered the page, holding it up directly in front of her breasts to allow him to see it for himself. Layla was lounging upon a fur-covered divan, her entirely naked form only barely obscured by a perfectly sheer and transparent silk robe that did absolutely nothing to disguise the obscene swell of her luscious curves as it clung to each and every one of them with the same fervour that in that moment Roger wished he could emulate. Her immense hips spilled across the gentle furs that tickled them, her waist plateauing to a gentle roll as the swell of her titanic bust lay like twin peaks beneath the faint dusting of fabric atop them. The way she held the photo allowed her thumb to brush its edge and cover the spot just shy of where her thighs parted, until it moved… and suddenly she wasn’t hiding anything anymore.
The sheer intensity of it all was just too much. The image of her wanton repose, the sheer eroticism of the situation, it all impressed as deeply into his memory as it could go. The scent of her body, the musk of her skin and her sweat, her sheer primal heat, it was a sensory overload that the poor boy simply couldn’t take. His vision blurred at the edges. The sound of her slow, deliberate breathing underpinned the echoing thwop-thwop-thwop of her heartbeat which drummed into his mind like a battering ram, a stark contrast to the poor boy beneath her whos heart was beating faster now than it ever had in his entire life.
In a moment every detail of the photo imprinted itself on him, the way the silken garb clung to her sweat-slicked thighs, the way her body spread so broadly across the bed, the way she stared directly into the camera where her lips curled in self-satisfied and smug satisfaction. Her breasts were mountainous atop her chest even in recline, and the curves at the crest of her thighs bordered on bringing him to a hormonal panic. Between the suffocating embrace of her breasts and the sheer electric arousal coursing through his veins, the result was all too predictable for a young man.
Hyperventilating, his hips bucked violently in their confines, a sharp grunt giving way to a breathless groan as heat exploded from his core. He shook as he felt every nerve in his body light up, primal relief intertwining with utterly overwhelming embarrassment as his cock pulsed with frightening intensity - before a violent burst of thick, ropey cum erupted into his shorts, followed by one gout after another as he desperately thrusted into the pathetic little pocket of pleasure he was trapped within. His eyes rolled back in his head as each throb was echoed through his spine and felt in the tips of his fingers and toes, her scent violently imprinting upon his orgasmically vulnerable mind as the beautiful image of her was the last thing he saw hovering inches from his eyes before everything went white.
His thighs froze and locked in place as wetness spread through the fabric, coating his thighs and pooling around his achingly empty balls. Layla huffed slightly, grinning with utter delight, as if entirely satisfied with the results. His fingers twitched in mid air, misfiring signals from his overloaded brain leaving him twitching bodily with every phantom touch as his cock spent itself.
She waited just a few moments more before she relented, pulling back enough to let the poor boy breathe. He sucked in a shaky breath as her two humid walls of flesh released his face, plastered with sweat and burning red with a mix of shame, heat and unbridled sexual bliss.
“Is everything okay sweetie?” She chirped ever so innocently, staring down at him from atop the peaks of her breasts, down through the sodden valley of skin which had so recently held him captive.
Panting and heaving exhaustedly, he felt a cold chill creep his way across his skin as the reality of what had just happened ever so slowly began to penetrate his conscious mind.
“Aww, sorry, was I leaning on you?” She asked, eyes wilting with seemingly genuine concern. “Sorry, sometimes I forget my own size… I didn’t realise, I must have been smothering you, you poor thing!”
Roger gaped up at her, lips twitching uselessly as he tried in vain to articulate the incalculable wave of thoughts and emotions bubbling up in him at that moment. The sheer impossibility of her claim was lost amidst the utter morass of rapidly escalating panic as his shorts clung to his thighs with slowly cooling shame.
Heat burned at the corner of his eyes as her look of faux-concern blurred into a watercolour. His throat tightened around a sob he couldn’t release, the sudden ache of guilt and shame in his chest punching above it all. When the first traitorous tear spilled over, he could hold it back no longer, and the flood gates opened proverbially for the second time.
“Oh! Sweet boy, what’s the matter… don’t cry.” She cooed, a fingertip curling across his cheek to wipe his tear with infuriating gentleness, yet forcing him to look up at her towering form through bleary eyes. “Whatever it is we’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not-I didn’t-I need-” Roger choked out, voice cracking like a preteen, his fingers wringing at the hem of his shorts as he struggled against himself.
Every defence he scrambled for evaporated, but confession was utterly unthinkable under her utterly content and bemused gaze. Her fingertip pressed to his lips, the salt of his tears wetting them as she silenced him to mumbles.
“Were those photos of me too mature for a young boy like you? Did it frighten you sweetheart? Oh, I’m so sorry sweetie…” She murmured, voice dripping thick as caramel, her tongue rolling around such biting accusations with the passion of fellatio. “You don’t have to explain, I understand.”
His body heaved another sob. He did have to explain - desperately so. Not only was her implication excruciatingly infantilizing, but if he didn’t say something she would find out exactly what had just happened, and that thought was simply unbearable. His mouth opened and closed behind her shushing finger like a fish gasping for air, breaths escaping in shaky bursts as his every attempt to speak dissolved into an incoherent tear-ridden mess.
Layla’s lips curled in faux-reassurance, eyes narrowing with keen interest on the boy’s features as Roger’s tortured expression shifted through panic, shame, and something altogether far darker. She had anticipated embarrassment, perhaps even arousal - but this raw, frantic desperation twisting his features was more than she could have dreamed of. He wasn’t just mortified, the poor boy was utterly terrified of her figuring him out.
“You’re shaking like a leaf, Roger.” She murmured, barely able to disguise the arousal behind her words, eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. “Was it really just the photos that upset you? Or is there something else…”
Fight for flight instincts kicked in as his numb legs twitched, trying to carry him away, to crawl under the table and run to a bathroom or just cross his legs to hide himself a few moments longer. Yet he was rooted to the spot, utterly paralyzed by his shock. Seemingly having decided her interpretation was correct, she now sought to truly wrench what little of his dignity remained from his trembling hands. Her hand touched his knee and a tiny wail of sheer desperation escaped his throat.
“Let me see, sweetie.” Her voice, like warm honey over cold steel, was soft enough to soothe yet utterly impossible to resist.
Like a patient mother speaking to a child, her command slithered past his woefully crumbled mental defences before he could even think to resist, her fingers curling around his wrists with effortless dominance. When she tugged it was as gentle as lifting a kitten but as firm as steel, as she slowly but gently moved his arms aside.
A sharp, practiced gasp escaped her as she inhaled, catching sight of the unmistakable dampness clinging to his inner thighs with humiliating clarity. A heavy, wet sigh which followed gently ran down his chest, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, slowly and deliberately, as if savouring the moment.
“Oh my…” Layla sighed, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated sympathy. “Roger sweetheart, it’s okay. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Even as she said it, she did everything in her power to accomplish just the opposite; her fingertip tracing slow, patronizing circles on his knee like she was soothing a child who had tripped in the park.
“It’s perfectly natural for growing boys to get overwhelmed by all these new feelings. So many hormones and emotions that are just so hard to understand…” She cooed, talking down to him both figuratively and quite literally. “It’s normal for a young boy to be flustered around a beautiful woman. No wonder you’ve been calling me so much lately, does my sweet little neighbour boy have a crush on the big lady next door? Hmmmm?”
He winced in utter despair as she tore into his feelings for her, talking with the same energy one admired a child’s drawing before hanging it on the fridge where everyone could see it. His stomach twisted as she continued her excruciatingly condescending reassurance. Every word carved humilation deeper into his being, tone dripping with faux-innocence as each syllable was laced with the unspoken implication: You are just a child to me. At twenty one years old it stung so deeply he could have curled into a ball and never faced the outside world ever again.
“Oh poor thing.” She sighed wistfully, head tilting to one side with a sickeningly maternal smile. “Don’t you worry. This will be our little secret, I promise. Oh… you must have gotten all worked up because of my big, soft breasts and - oh my, all those pretty photos of me - of course…”
Tears now soaked the collar of his shirt, having dripped far enough down his chest to meet there.
“Your precious little penis got all excited, and I bet you didn’t even mean to make such a sticky mess, did you?” She leaned down close to him, bringing her perfectly thick, pursing lips inches from his cheek as she described the most powerful sexual experience of his life with all the ceremony as if had spilled a glass of milk.
His jaw clenched painfully tight, impotently stewing in his seat as the come down from his mind blowing orgasm was coloured by her utterly infantilizing speech. Her massive breasts swayed mockingly just beside his face, a visual taunt to match her verbal ones. With
“Now don’t you fret little one, Auntie Layla will make it all better.” She dragged out the last two words so reassuringly it made him hiccup as tears began to stream anew. “Would you like to go to the bathroom and clean it up? Or…” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, as if to ensure no one would overhear, and protect the very pride and self respect she had just mercilessly crushed. “If you’re too upset to do it yourself, would you like me to help you?”
That last notion finally shook him from his misery, and as he felt her fingertips gently running their way up his thigh towards the damp material of his shorts, he swallowed with resignation.
“I can do it.” He whispered, standing up as slowly and with such gravity as if walking to his grave. His shorts clung wetly to his thighs, the cooling stickiness now intolerable evidence of his shame.
Layla smiled as he did, the predatory smirk gone and replaced with something softer and indulgent. Perhaps even a hint of regret… but she had long since made her mind up.
“It’s the second door on the left, fresh towels under the sink.” She bit her tongue, staring longingly at his ass wiggling in his tight shorts as he shuffled away, his cum-slickened thighs clinging together.