Old cobblework walls were lined with aging, dusty shelves whose wood had long since begun to rot. Roger imagined it had likely once been a brewery, and these shelves had once been lined with wooden casks. Now each one instead sparsely featured oddly shaped glass bottles, of every shape and size one could imagine. Some were filled with swirling liquids, and others thick oils. Still more churned with slimes that seemed to move on their own. As he stared into the swirling purple liquid of one, he could have sworn he could see a beautiful woman’s face smiling back at him...
He blinked in surprise, staring closer, only to see that the reflection was gone.
Excellent, he told himself, now you’re hallucinating.
It was just nerves, his rationality reassured, since he had come all this way without knowing why. Roger wasn’t sure what he was looking for. That said, he wasn’t sure why he was here, or what this place even was.
He supposed the answer to all of those questions would come from finding whoever worked here… if anybody actually did. Looking around, the place felt like it had been abandoned for decades; the air smelled old, a mix of paper, dried herbs and incense… with something deeper beneath it all. A harsher scent, almost sulfurous and earthy. A sweet, cloying musk.
At least it was warm, and dry, he mused as he ran a finger over the dusty shelving. If nothing else he could wait here until the rain died down before heading home, if he couldn’t find anything here.
Yet the eerie emptiness of this place, jumping at shadows, was starting to make him hope he didn’t.
A wooden creak from somewhere nearby caught his attention. He hid behind a wooden beam only to remember anybody would be able to see him through the shelving.
He peeked around the corner to see if he had at last found someone, but instead found a stepladder only a few steps away, protesting under immense weight as an impossibly wide object descended towards him with slow, deliberate steps. It took a moment to realise in the dim lighting that he was in fact staring directly into the ample derriere of a massive woman, each cheek and subsequently massive thigh straining the confines of skintight black stockings which seemed practically painted on, all spilling forth from beneath a scandalously short black skirt. One which he only now registered he was staring directly under.
In the time it took him to process that, the sheer abundance of her backside had eclipsed the stepladder in his view entirely, pausing mid-step with one foot just above the floor, her plush calf twisting slightly as if to savour how the air itself seemed to bow around her voluptuous form. Then, with a sigh that seemed to fill the tight space between the aging shelves with far too much pressure, she stepped to the ground.
Roger wanted to announce his presence, but she startled him before he could, turning to face him directly.
“I was wondering when you would get here.”
Her face was round and soft as the rest of her, with thick lips coated in jet black lipstick curled in amusement. Her breasts came forth like a landslide as his eyes trailed downwards, spilling over the tight bodice of her dress in gravity-flouting dismissal, her canyonous cleavage barely contained within the silky confines of her clothing. Her skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat. She was easily the second largest woman he had ever seen. In fact, she was remarkably similar to Layla. Her massive breasts, like Layla’s, were just as mind boggling in size. Each like an overripe watermelon, easily wider than his shoulders.
She was the only other woman Roger had ever seen who even came close to Layla in size. Roger realised only now, so close to this woman, that the overpowering scent he’d been smelling was coming from her. Yet only when he had recovered from that stunning revelation did he realise she had said his name. How did she know his name?
“How…” He began, but couldn’t get his mind to the right question when a dozen others popped into his head at once.
“I see you got my message.” She said softly, not waiting for him to speak. She stood perfectly still only inches from him, almost unnaturally so. Her visage seemed tranquil and yet… oddly sad.
“Your… message?” He mouthed out before coming to. “Yeah. The text. I got it.”
She grinned.
“I’m Deah. Purveyor of elixirs, concoctions, salves, pumices, potions and cures… all guaranteed and assured to work as advertised.” She said simply, before trailed her tongue across her black lips, coating them in a wet shine. “In fact, they all do exactly as promised.”
“Potions?” Roger mouthed, momentarily confused.
Yet he didn’t have long to think about it, as she simply turned and gestured for him to follow her.
Potions. Magic. She had to mean something else, right? Not to mention that Deah didn’t sound like a real name. In fact, he told himself as she began to disappear around a corner, it sounded quite decidedly like the fake name you would give someone before luring them into a trap.
Where he had been skeptical before, every instinct in him was now telling him to run. Red lights and klaxons were firing as the word ‘DANGER’ flashed on every screen in the control room of his mind.
Thus, naturally, the hormonal young man swiftly fixated upon the delicious sway of her massive ass cheeks and promptly followed her like a lost puppy deeper into the archaic building.
It didn’t take her long to reach her destination, particularly as her stature gave her such a long stride. It was still a considerable distance for him, though. By the time he caught up with her she was sat an opulent business desk. The desk was burnished and trimmed in dark green leather, a symbol of excess one might expect to find in the most out-of-touch, centuries-old law offices.
Her chair was by contrast so ornate it was closer to a throne. It was a luxurious monstrosity of blackened, twisted wood that looked carved from a tree grown in hell itself. The blood red velvet cushions groaned under her weight as she settled into it with a sigh of contented pleasure, as if sitting upon a throne were utterly natural to her. Her prodigious thighs spread wide, yet were so thick that they simply filled the space between them as she reclined. He could see her immense body settling in beneath her desk, and couldn’t look away.
The sight made Roger’s mouth go dry, suddenly much less concerned about being human trafficked and far more curious about who on Earth this woman really was.
She draped one arm lazily over the armrest, fingers idly tracing the contours of the wood, as she rested her cheek on the palm of the other.
“Come closer.” She purred, voice thick with amusement.
He somehow got the feeling from her tone that she already knew precisely why he’d come, though of course, that would have been impossible.
Then again, perhaps their brief text exchange had sufficiently elucidated the situation for her.
As she gestured opposite of her massive desk a comparatively tiny wooden stool he hadn’t noticed before appeared. He was fairly sure he just hadn’t noticed it, it couldn’t just have appeared out of thin air after all. No, he must have just been distracted…
Well, this was it. His moment of choice. Would he sit and listen to this in all likelihood either insane woman or scam artist?
For agonizing seconds his mind reeled, the previously loud warning siren now practically blaring.
Yet he simply couldn’t convince himself to leave. At least, he couldn’t think of a reason not to hear her out. If there was even the slightest chance that Layla would love him the way he loved her…
Roger approached and - with great effort - took a seat, not out of reluctance but the sheer size of it. The stool had looked tiny in comparison to her, yet that had been something of an illusion, as his feet dangled a good two feet from the floor once he had climbed atop it. It was hard not to feel like an errant child having been sent to the office at school. Even perched up so high he was still left staring up and over her desk at the gargantuan woman who - just as Layla always had - made him feel so small.
A nameplate, emblazoned in shining brass, was perched proudly at the end of her desk.
“Mrs. Ville.”
Really? He asked himself, now even more dubious. Deah-
“So, sweetie.” She interrupted his thought, her drawl dripping with much the same condescension that had irked him so with Layla. Yet as she leaned forward, her colossal breasts spilling across the counter top, he was suddenly giving her his absolute attention. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Uh… well, I got your message.” He began, before nodding gently. “Right, sorry, I should explain, of course you don’t know-”
“I already know quite a bit more about you than you might think. There’s a woman you love, and you don’t feel like she loves you back, am I right?”
Roger was shocked for a moment, but nodded slowly and warily, his eyes firmly on hers, and definitely not sneaking furtive peeks at her chest. Was he that transparent? Maybe it was obvious. Maybe she had heard this story before.
“Let me guess: she’s beautiful, she’s perfect, you struggle to tell her how you feel about her.” As she spoke, she gently snuck a stockinged foot out from under her desk, trailing it along the floor. It began to creep across the ancient wooden planks towards him like a hunting python.
“Y-yes.” He stammered, eyes glancing down in a panic at the slowly advancing appendage before forcing his gaze back up as he sat, trapped, on a stool far too high for him, exposed and on display.
“Does she make you feel… small?” She quipped politely, lips pursed, as her foot slowly but inevitably closed the distance.
“Y-hu-yes.” Roger managed, forcing the word out, and trying desperately to appear anything other than terrified. Not just because of the rapidly approaching statuesque, dusky limb, but as she seemed to pluck every one of his deepest insecurities from his heart like candy from a bowl. “How did you-”
“And of course she doesn’t see you the way you want her to, does she? No… well, maybe she doesn’t see you as a man, because to her… you’re just a weak little boy who needs a Mommy?” She sighed as she pulled an aging, dusty tome on her desk open and began reading it as though he wasn’t there.
Despite her feigned disinterest, and much to his shock, her toes made contact with his shin and nearly sent him tumbling from the stool. Grabbing hold to steady himself he realised just how far he had to fall, the floor seeming even further down than it had before. He clung to the seat with his fingers, leaving him rooted to the spot.
The heat of her skin bled through his damp jeans, and her smile broadened ever so slightly at his reaction.
“Let me guess… Does she pat your head? Call you sweet little names?” She said smirking as she looked back down, turning a page in the massive tome. “And you let her do that? Hmmm… maybe she’s right to treat you like a little boy…”
Roger clenched his jaw and shook his head. It felt like she was parroting back all his worst fears - maybe some darkly, deeply held desires - back at him. It was simply too much for him to accept.
“She… She thinks I’m…” Roger whined, trying not to sound like the petulant child she painted him as.
“Aww, sweetie. Don’t worry. It's as clear as can be to me to see.” Deah giggled at her own alliteration as she at last turned her full attention back to him, softening her mocking expression to a sympathetic pout… just as her foot began to climb, following the inner seam of his jeans up to his knee, where he clenched his legs together in a rather pathetic attempt to protect himself.
“You’re not a little boy, are you? No, of course not. Brave little Roger, storming out into the night… braving the cold, the wind, and the rain…” She almost whispered, the digits of her toes advancing in spite of his best efforts to keep them out. Yet every time he let go of the stool to try and reach down he would lose his balance and had to grasp it once more, leaving himself utterly open and vulnerable to her advances.
His heart skipped a beat. When had he told her his name?
“Um, but, um.” Was all he croaked out as her immense appendage forced his legs apart with sheer unstoppable momentum.
“It’s alright, you can tell me exactly what it is you want.” She soothed, letting her attention drift back to her book. “Without needing words.
Just as he tried to stammer out a last minute objection her foot moved in for the kill, flattening over his rock hard cock and smothering it in silky smooth sole.
Every thought in his head vanished and he choked as if her toes were wrapped around his neck instead of his cock. She simply let her sole envelop the aching bulge in his crotch, pressing just firmly enough to make his hips jerk involuntarily.
Much to his alarm, and with an unnatural dexterity he felt the button, then the zip, swiftly pulled aside. What few defences had remained to him were torn asunder in moments as she merely interlaced her fingers and rested her chin atop them, staring in bemusement at the young lad perched before her.
For a moment he tried to move his hand to protect himself, but the second he did he began to lose his balance and had to grasp the stool once more, leaving himself so very open to her advances.
“It’s all perfectly clear to me, Roger. I can read you like an open book.”
She peeled down his shorts and freed his utterly tenacious cock from its confinement with just her toes alone. It sprung to attention with as much vigor as it ever had in his life. Truth be told he had scarcely ever felt serious sexual attraction to anybody but Layla, but his passing flings thus far paled in comparison to the utter lascivious assault she was putting him under. Her sheer size, her confidence, it was pushing all of the right buttons in his head.
As she slowly traced the outline of his cock with her sole, teasing him with feather-light strokes sending sparks up his spine, he could only bite his lip and try to stifle the pathetic, ashamed whimper that escaped him.
“You want her to love you back.” She cooed, eyes darting up to eye him without lifting her head, lidded with a knowing intensity. “To love you the way you want her to love you.”
“Yes…” He breathed, almost afraid to give voice to his desire.
“You want her… to be obsessed with you. As much as you are with her?”
“Yes!” He moaned.
“Even more so? So much so that obsession isn’t even a strong enough term for the terrifying intensity of her love?” Her eyes gleamed, frighteningly so. “You want her to love you unconditionally. Totally. With absolute devotion. You want to be her whole world, her devotion and her obsession…”
“F-fffuck.” Roger groaned, eagerly moving his hips now, rocking the stool in place as he ground his cock into the soft, silken appendage teasing it. “Yes…”
“Done.” Deah grinned evilly, withdrawing her foot entirely and leaving the boy humping the air fruitlessly.
Without a moment’s pause she slid an ancient looking piece of parchment across the desk and provided him with an ornate feather in an inkpot. It took him a few moments, shame and embarrassment heating his collar, as he realised just how easily she had been arousing and manipulating him. He came to his senses and forced his legs together as her foot withdrew.
“Sign this, and I’ll give
“Sign this, and I guarantee you’ll get what you want. What you truly want.” She sighed, sounding bored, returning her attention back to her book. She pulled her quill from its holder and made a small note. “You know it’s always the same with you people… like that Mr. Cooper. He wanted something to help him disappear… they always say they want love until they get it…”
Another sigh. Almost disappointed this time, as she dipped her quill again.
Slowly, awkwardly, Roger got to his feet, ignoring how his bare cock was open to the air and dripping as he grasped the rim of the stool for balance. He braced his calves against the stool’s spokes - only to realise he couldn’t reach the desk from where he was. Indeed, he was so shaky on his feet after how she had just manhandled him he didn’t trust his own strength.
“Would you like a hand?” She smirked. “Afraid I can’t help you with one of those, although…”
Suddenly the tip of her toe was pressing up against his cock once more, stroking lightly and insistently. With a gasp he retreated back, only to feel himself wobble. The stool began shaking precariously under his imbalance.
Grinning like a cat, Deah curled her toe like a beckoning finger, teasing just under the head of his cock before pulling back, forcing him to lean further and further forwards, chasing that fleeting stimulation to his needy cock.
Only when he was perched as far as he could, body shivering with effort to keep his balance, did she give his cockhead a flick with her toes - the sudden jolt making him thrust his cock forwards… and his body fell with it.
Instantly her sole shot out to catch him, and his scream was cut off before it began. He was laid flat, suspended atop her wide sole which held him aloft with ease. His cock ground into it as she caught his momentum and, with his thighs trembling, she slowly lowered him towards the desk. His hands caught the wood uncertainly, but he realised with her massive, thick leg holding him upright he was quite stable. Stretched in mid air from his feet on the stool rung to his hands on the desk, he shivered uncertainly, his entire bodyweight propped atop her sole.
Only then did she guide him further and further down with gentle pressure until his chest pressed to the desk’s edge, and with an innocent smile she left him there, precariously balanced cock first. The wooden stool creaked, leaving him hanging ass up and suspended only by the tension in her leg.
“Careful now,” she murmured, smiling softly, gently tweaking his cockhead between her toes and being rewarded with a choked moan as his hips twitched.
“W-wait-” He whispered. “Just let me down.”
With a delicate clink an inkpot slid to a rest next to him as she pushed it with a fingernail, the quill within gently writhing in the air like a boat’s sail upon the breeze. She lifted it free and held it in front of his splayed fingers, the ticklish frills teasing his hand.
“A signature here, and you will have exactly what you asked for.” She murmured, tapping the dotted line at the bottom of the parchment with a single finger. “
She gave him no chance to think it over, as maddeningly, she resumed her slow massaging of his cock in circles with her foot - keeping him always ever so slightly off balance and feeling as if one false move would send him crashing to the cobbled floor.
It was never enough to push him over, though, in either sense.
“One little signature and everything you could ever need, and much more than that little mind of yours could possibly imagine, will be yours.” She mused, before lowering to a whisper. “Unless you’d rather go back home empty handed. Well, I’m sure you’d find something to do with your hands…”
Her grin broadened at that, but Roger could only whimper. As ridiculous as this all was, he wasn’t thinking straight, but one thing was very clear: he knew he couldn’t go back to the life he’d had before.
Amorously, he felt his body betraying him. He began thrusting needily into the sole of her stockinged foot - the curve of his cock playing across her broad arch - as he took the quill in his hand.
“Thaaaat’s it…” she encouraged softly, “go on…”
Shakily, his hand moved as his hips twitched and rutted of their own accord, scratching one chicken-scrawled line after another.
“So close now…” she whispered, pressing her foot up firmly and using his bodyweight against him, pressing his cock against his stomach until the tension was almost painful.
The quill nearly fell from his hand at that, but he kept writing as if his life depended on it.
“Don’t mind me,” she giggled tersely, and he choked out a gasp as he felt her other foot join the first. For a moment there was a shift as his weight went lopsided, but in moments she had the pair wrapping around his cock as he lay atop both of her immensely broad legs for support.
Thrusting like a horny animal into the embrace of her feet he let his lips part in an endless groan and, with one last flick, the quill fell from his hand.
“The deal is done.” She grinned, and began to bounce the poor lad atop her feet, milking his cock mercilessly in the process. “Well… almost.”
Roger groaned in desperation, hips bucking uncontrollably as her silken soles forced him closer and closer to submission. His cock twitched violently in her grasp as the flap of flesh against foot echoed through the shop, and she merely sighed in contentment as she toyed with him. When he tried to lift himself up she would simply squeeze tighter, forcing deeper and more longing moans from him.
“Just one last signature needed, of a different sort.” She tittered.
She pulled out a second contract and slid it down her thighs, until the almost inch thick shelf of paperwork was propped up atop them and just in front of his cock as it poked through her soles.
“A nice, thick signature should do.” The salacious woman mewled from behind a forked tongue.
With practiced motions her toes curled around him, pressing firmly, until he could hold back no longer. With a breathless croak a jet of white hot cum erupted between her feet, painting the floor beneath, followed swiftly by another, and then a third.
As the poor lad shook with the intensity of it, she kept her legs rigid as her feet diligently moved in unison, their silken touch coaxing his pleasure to its limit.
Her legs held him aloft until she felt the last twitches and vestiges of his orgasm subside. Only when the lad was utterly spent, hanging limply atop her legs, did she deposit him back atop the stool with the same dexterity with which she had lifted him from it - all without lifting a finger. She withdrew her shapely, tree-trunk thick legs beneath her ornate desk once more and that was that.
“Well, a deal is a deal.” She quipped quite simply, and stood without another word. “That’ll be one dollar please.
She climbed a nearby step ladder with swift steps and retrieved a practically tiny glass vial, before setting it on the desk in front of his eyes.
Slowly recovering his senses Roger’s sight adjusted. He wanted to protest now he had his wits about him, to decry the way she had just abused him; to disagree, to tell her she was wrong about everything she had said… but the shining, bright pink liquid within the bottle caught his eye before he could.
Wasn’t this what he had come all this way for?
“Wait… a dollar?” He asked aloud, confusion overriding his warring thoughts as he was stunned by her sudden nonchalance.
“Honestly it's just to make sure that I don't lose on the bottle.” She said softly. “I must warn you, as per the terms of our agreement, that the effects of these potions are very strong. A single drop and you will become the man she has always wanted… and just one drop for her, and she will be utterly obsessed with you. You will be her sun and moon. Her North Star. She will see you as a treasure beyond compare, an object of limitless affection.”
“Honestly it's just to make sure that I don't lose on the bottle.” She said softly. “I must warn you, as per the terms of our agreement, that the effects of these potions are very strong. Once you swallow even a single drop you will become the man she has always wanted… and for her, just one drop and she will be utterly obsessed with you. You will be her sun and moon. Her North Star. She will see you as a treasure beyond compare, an object of limitless affection.”
The foreboding words she spoke summoned the images she had painted shortly before, though these swiftly came to and then left his mind. Instead the thought of Layla finally seeing him for the man he was blossomed.
He stood, reclothing himself swiftly as his face reddened, handed her a crumpled note from his wallet and took the vial in his hand.
With that Deah ushered him to the door and out into the night which, thankfully, had cleared somewhat. The rain was gone and the cold was at least no longer exacerbated by the wind.
“All sales are final, results guaranteed.” She muttered, a tiny curl on her lips. “However, should you change your mind, return here and I will be happy to explore solutions with you.”
As she closed the door, she gave him a sad smile.
“I’ll be seeing you soon. You know what they say… Be careful what you wish for.”
*****
As she closed the door she smiled to herself, caressing the top of her bosom within the tight dress. She sighed, loosening her dress just enough for her massive breasts to part slightly. As she did so a delicate tuft of black hair was revealed, just the barest hint of what lay trapped within her chest, or rather whom.
“First comes the stimulant.” She said softly, reaching down to caress the top of his head through the bare gap in the cleavage of her prodigious bosom, and with her other hand pressed gently but firmly against his lower back, which was almost entirely disguised against the soft swell of her stomach beneath her dress. He bucked his hips into her chest robotically, but his rutting took on an almost feverish pitch at her delicate touch, her fingers encouragingly stroking his back. “Then comes the chaser…”