Roger stared at his smart phone, an obsidian brick weighing down into the cheap wood of his easy-to-assemble flat-packed desk. Were he to pick it up, and with each passing moment the temptation grew stronger, he imagined he would see the outline of its rounded cuboid shape in the tabletop.
He wanted to call her.
Again.
The young college student’s eyes drifted up from his laptop to look out of his bedroom window across the fence that divided their yard from hers. Her windows were blacked out. She was probably asleep. Just 60 feet away or so there she was, the object of his desire, the subject of his every dream and obsession of his every waking moment. Layla.
Roger had met her for the first time as a young man. She had been laughing and chatting with his mother in the kitchen when the pair had been introduced as she had just bought the massive home next to theirs.
From the first moment he saw her, Roger had been smitten. Layla was nearly seven feet tall. She had been clad in a deep purple silken summer dress that had done embarrassingly little to conceal her ample curves. Her legs, bared to an incredible degree in her revealing dress, stretched on and on, thickening and widening to colossal scale as his gaze travelled upwards. Her whole body was soft and forgiving, prodigious in every sense of the word. Svelte and lithe, but curvy in every place that mattered, she was simply massive. Indeed, she barely fit into the comparitively tiny kitchen chair beside his mother.
Of course, that wasn’t what had gripped his young mind most irresistibly. Her breasts were simply enormous, large enough that it was all Roger could do not to stare openly at them, his every adolescent instinct insisting upon him to do just that. Each was easily larger than his head, and together would have smothered him completely - a thought which he would fantasize about often from there on.
He had forced his eyes to meet hers, and there he had had his fate sealed. Behind a kindly smile was a truly terrifying, primal heat. The boy had been like prey cornered by an inescapable, dominating predator. In that moment it had felt as if she could see right through him, her gaze penetrating to his very soul, as if she knew exactly how she made the young boy feel. The tiny smirk she had shown wasn’t lost on him, but its meaning had kept him guessing for months.
Her gaze had pinned him in place moreso than her sheer physical presence already had, and the poor boy had stammered out a jumbled polite introduction, knees weak with the certainty she knew exactly what he was thinking. Roger swallowed thickly at the memory, shifting in his second hand office chair as his cock twitched against his thigh. From that moment on he had spent every night since fantasizing about the massive woman who lived just next door.
He had imagined her looming over him, pressing him into the mattress with just the weight of her body, her thick thighs wrapping around him so easily, being utterly smothered by those colossal breasts…
The thought alone had his fingers trembling as they hovered over his phone.
Roger had begun to phone and message the woman often. Far more so than could be explained as that of a simple polite neighbourly conversation, or even casual friendship. She indulged him, never quite rebuffing his obvious over-enthusiasm, yet always dancing just out of reach.
It was perhaps an understatement to say Roger was infatuated with his massive next door neighbour. What had begun as a teenage crush had developed into an aching obsession with her. She couldn’t be blamed, of course, it wasn’t her fault she was so utterly beautiful, her body so impossibly alluring. It wasn’t as though she’d done anything to encourage his desires after all.
A year away from home studying had slowly begun to dull his adolescent fixations, of course. Surrounded by young women all day, though, he had struggled to adapt. Somehow they never held the same appeal to him as Layla had. As his new friends, young guys, had one by one hooked up with other girls their age he’d been unsuccessful. Or perhaps… reluctant.
Hell, he still remembered the day he had left for college, and very well remembered the overly affectionate hug she had given him. The one that had dragged on just a bit too long as the lad had been practically smothered in her chest and she had seemed reluctant to let him go, just as he had been reluctant to end it.
Maternal feelings no doubt, he reasoned. Layla had never had children of her own, and had often said she thought of him more as a son.
When summer came he’d been expecting to work a part time job, and perhaps having some time to visit home. On some level that was more a desire to see Layla again.
He was just about to pick up his phone, to send his much more mature female neighbour a polite “hey how’s it going” at 1am on a thursday, when he saw movement at her window. His breath froze just as he did. As a young man he had long since learned that he could see into Layla’s bedroom and had - to his burgeoning adolescent shame - come to admire her very intimately as he did so. By now, though, he had become certain the same was not true for her and - perhaps due to the reflection of the light - she couldn’t see him in turn. As such his voyeuristic pursuits were utterly unknown… however morally dubious.
As he stared, dim moonlight filling her room, it hardly seems it would have mattered if his own was lit or not as she didn’t even spare a glance her way. The same could not be said for Roger.
In nothing but a silky nightgown, Roger was utterly transfixed as Layla entered her bedroom. She was casually rearranging a few things as she moved around.
In spite of himself, Roger couldn’t help but feel his cock throbbing against the underside of his work table, tenting the shorts he often wore at home.
She stretched, arms raised, pulling her silken nightgown upwards with her as her and revealing just a little more supple flesh to his voyeuristic gaze. Then in a subtle shrug of her shoulders the fabric slid away, dragging slowly over her heavy breasts and catching momentarily on the budded peaks of her equally massive nipples… before it fell away completely.
Roger’s mouth went dry.
Moolight painted her impossible curves in silver - the impossible swell of her waist, the rolling expanse of her waist, the thick dimpled thighs that could crush him effortlessly. She turned slightly, and Roger could only whimper under his breath as the slight movement brought the sheer jiggling weight of her breasts fully into view. They gently shuddered with each delicate step she took towards the window, until she was basking in the light of the moon. That same little smile she always seemed to have lit up under the stellar glow.
She reached to one side after a few moments, grabbing a blanket-sized towel from her bed, and beginning to wrap it around her immense waist.
Sensing the opportunity of a lifetime slipping away, Roger snatched his phone from the desk with such ferocity he almost lost his grip and sent it careening into the wall. He hurriedly typed in his password, 5318008, and mashed the call button until it redialed the last number phoned.
To little surprise that number was hers.
A few seconds passed as Layla turned for her bathroom and the awaiting shower, which would be so cruelly disguised behind frosted glass, she paused mid-step as the call went through. That same smile played over her lips once again, not that Roger could have seen it.
She casually strolled over, letting the towel slip just slightly down her back as she held it in one hand and reached for her smartphone.
“Hello, Layla Rose.” She intoned, her voice relaxed.
“HiLayla-” Roger blurted out, far too fast. “It’s… Roger.”
“Oh Roger, shouldn’t you be asleep? A young man like you should be in bed, you need to focus on your studies.”
“I uh… c-couldn’t sleep.”
Layla turned back to the window, and slowly made her way over to it once more.
“Is that so? What’s got that cute little head of yours all worked up, hmmm?” She asked, and Roger winced at that ever-so-slightly patronizing tone she always took - not that he exactly disliked it.
“I just um… I was wondering if… uh…”
As he spoke, Layla had stepped close to the window, her massive bosom on full display as she gently ran a fingertip up and down across the slick surface of the glass. Suddenly it became very difficult for him to repeat the carefully practiced sentences he’d spent the last hour coming up with instead of studying, not having been prepared to deliver them on such short notice and especially not when face to face with the idol of his every sexual fantasy.
“Wondering what sweetie?” She mused, pausing to twirl her finger in her hair before she readjusted the towel around her waist, causing her immense breasts to sway hypnotically as she did so.
“Ah… aaahhh…” He sighed, doubling over slightly as his cock throbbed demandingly.
“A…?” She asked, allowing just a hint of carefully measured impatience into her voice.
“A-are you… free on friday? M-my mom was wondering i-if you wanted to meet for coffee.” He forced the words out, hand wringing his shirt as he fought the urge to grab his cock just from the sheer sensual sound of her voice, let alone the cosmic beauty just a window away.
“My now, Roger, it’s past midnight!” She admonished him softly, “I could have been in bed at this time. You really ought to think before calling someone at this hour.”
“You’re right… I’m…” he began, but lost track of what he was saying as she let go of the towel entirely, revealing her full nude form in all its glory. “... sorry…”
She grinned, placing a hand on the window and stared as if she were looking directly at him. For a moment his heart froze. She couldn’t see him… right? Of course not, he reminded himself, she would surely have said something by now if she could have.
“That’s quite alright, sweetie. You get your cute little butt to bed and I’ll call your mother in the morning.” She cooed smoothly. “Night night sweetie.”
With that she hung up before he could say another word, and sauntered out of sight. The light in her room went dark, and she was gone. For a while he stared at the empty black square of her window, longingly, hopefully. Eventually he simply stared down at his smartphone, as if hoping her voice would come back somehow. It stayed lit for a few seconds longer, his background image taken from Layla’s social media account smiling up at him, until the screen went black. Her face was replaced by his own in the reflective surface. Hopeless, staring at himself in what little of the moonlight could reach him.
He crawled into bed, dejected, and stared at the ceiling until the ache between his legs became too strong to ignore.
With a resigned acceptance and slow caution, Roger let his hand glide down his stomach until his knuckles brushed the damp spot in his shorts where precum had long since soaked through them. He sighed, imagining Layla’s heavy thighs soaked in the spray of her shower, water cascading down the supple curves of her body, droplets clinging to the swell of her sex as the steam rose.
Roger groaned at the thought of her massive body, slick and soapy, pressing him against the shower wall and smothering him. Her thick lips curled into a knowing smile as she stared down at him, trapped between her massive breasts. He pictured her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts, slicking down the slopes of her full body. Sweat beaded his head as he imagined her parting her legs under the stream, her moaning as her fingers dipped into her folds while steam curled around her colossally thick, glistening thighs.
He bit his lip to stifle a moan, as if worried Layla would hear from next door. His hand worked furiously as he envisioned her own rising climax, those massive tits bouncing, her stomach tightening and her thighs trembling as she came. His own moment was no less titanic, shivering as he gasped Layla’s name into the dark.
*****
Not too far away, dear reader, Layla stood by her window, staring directly into Roger’s bedroom. With the lights in her own room off she was well aware she was invisible. Roger didn’t know was that this wasn’t the case for his own bedroom. Before he had returned she had paid for his mother, her neighbour, to have all the windows in her home replaced as a gift for her long and valued friendship. Roger’s bedroom had of course recieved one which, at the push of a button, adopted a non reflective nature - and became totally transparent even under harsh reflection.
There were in fact quite a few things Roger didn’t know. For example, he was just as unaware that the audio from his bedroom was easily picked up by the innocuous teddy bear Layla had gifted him years ago. Although he was already a bit too old for cuddly toys when she had given it to him Layla knew full well that, as it was a gift from her, he would never get rid of it.
His massive neighbour couldn’t help but let a tiny smile play over her massively thick lips as she watched his bedsheets rustling in the same repetitive way they usually did after she had said or done something to tease the poor boy senseless. This, of course, might have been somewhat of an overdose for his hormonal little brain - but nonetheless she was delighted with the results. Watching him thrust so eagerly into his hand, rutting himself so desperately, touched on some very deeply rooted desires within herself. As she looked on with a primally intense fascination, Roger was none the wiser.
Layla had been worried when Roger had left home. Worried that some young girl might catch his eye; however unlikely it was that the boy would ever be able to get his adolescence-long fantasies of her out of his mind. Yet that was a risk she just couldn’t take. She had decided that it simply wasn’t in the boy’s best interests for some young thing to inevitably break his heart, and had done what any caring neighbour would do. The boy would be disappointed, but she knew just how to take a young man’s troubles away.
Her grin broadened as she heard the boy croak out her name weakly through the teddy’s microphone, his movements becoming much more vigorous. It was hardly the first time she’d been the central figure of his autoerotic fantasies, though tonight it was even less surprising given the show she’d put on.
With a glint in her eye, she lifted her smartphone and tapped a button on the child-care app the smart teddy came with. She had no intention of letting him go again.
A faint noise began to emanate from the teddy bear, almost inaudible to the casual listener and especially one heavily distracted with fucking their hand. Slowly, smoothly, a recording of Layla’s voice began to relentlessly burrow its way into Roger’s libido-blinded subconscious, which was so perilously vulnerable whilst his mind was on the brink of a stomach-clenching orgasm.
Not that Roger could have possibly known of course, but Layla was well aware every time the poor boy jerked off thanks to the spy in his midst, and made sure to flavour his every masturbatory session with a heavy dose of her suggestions.
Roger couldn’t have known why jerking off in his bedroom simply felt so much better, so natural; as the product of years of constant subliminal influence he would never think to question why. The teddy’s voices dimmed as she watched the boy reach for his handy clean up kit in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, the one she’d been watching him use for years.
She merely waited, watching patiently, hungrily, as the boy scrolled through his phone briefly before settling into sleep. A breathing pattern analyzer, something the baby care app so helpfully provided, let her know precisely when he was entering REM sleep. Her fingers traced delicately down the cool, smooth glass that separated him from her like a beast clawing at its cage.
Layla waited a few moments after the image of a baby sleeping soundly appeared on her phone and pressed the same button on the baby care app, resuming the merciless bombardment of his sleeping mind with her voice. As he slept, a blanket of her words spread over him, slowly but inexorably embedding suggestions of submitting to her, worshiping her, and seeing her as something more than human - almost divine.
It was originally intended to let mothers record sweet, loving messages for their babies. With an evil smirk, she realised she was essentially using it as intended.
As she slid into her massive, custom built bed - the prospect of a shower having been entirely a ruse at Roger’s expense as she had already bathed - she went to her contacts and dialled ‘LF’. It was at last time to set things in motion.
There were quite a few things Roger didn’t know, dear reader, and his inability to see the forest for the trees before it was too late would spell his undoing.
Groggily, Roger wiped the sleep from his eyes as the morning bled through his bedroom window to shine directly onto his face in a most irritating way. Somehow he felt like he had after listening to a four hour lecture, droning endless facts into his mind… and yet also so perfectly content and rested.
Before the bleary haze of wakefulness could fade his bedroom door swung open, his mother’s face appearing around the frame. She knocked again, the sound echoing in his mind and making him realise the first knock had been what woke him.
“Roger?” She spoke sweetly to him, “I got a call from Mike Hawke.”
Suddenly he was wide awake.
“Am I late for work?” He started, gripping the sheets around his chest in preparation. “I thought he wanted me to start tomorrow?”
His mother walked in and sat on the bed carefully, and didn’t look directly at him at first. That was when he knew something was wrong. He loosened his grip and sat upright.
“He uh… well, he said he won’t be needing you over the summer after all.”
It took a few seconds for the heat rush behind his ears to settle as he took in her words, and a block of ice landed in the pit of Roger’s stomach.
“Oh.” Was all he could manage, nodding slowly.
“I know that’s not the news you wanted to hear.” She sighed, reaching out to rub his shoulder.
“Yeah, no, not really.” He scratched the back of his head as heat prickled there, suddenly trying to figure out what he was going to do for money.
“It’s okay, though. Layla was here this morning.”
Suddenly she had his undivided attention.
“Oh. That’s cool. How is she?” He affected an entirely innocent tone as he spoke, suddenly remembering the events of the previous night all too vividly.
“Good, although she did want to talk about you.”
His mother smiled at him and his heart raced a mile a minute. She spoke before he could ask any more.
“I told her you lost your job- I mean… well, I told her you weren’t going to be working for Mr Hawke this summer after all. She felt so sorry for you, you know how much she cares about you Roger.”
He nodded, pursing his lips and trying not to reveal the tumult of emotions behind them.
“Yeah she’s um… she’s such a good friend. To us.”
“Well, she said, I mean she offered - she asked if you would be willing to help her out around her house this summer!” Her smile brightened immeasurably, and she squeezed his thigh. “So I was going to as-”
“Yes!” He answered, before quickly lowering his voice. “I’d love to help out.”
His mother didn’t seem to notice.
“Well that’s lovely, I’ll let her know you’ll be over soon.”
“S-soon?”
“Well you have slept in pretty late, and she is doing us a big favour. You don’t want to keep her waiting until tomorrow do you?”
“No, right, of course not.” He stammered, painting a smile as he eagerly nodded in agreement. “You’re so right.”
In the span of a single minute his world had gone from being so irrecoverable to a dream come true. Part of him wasn’t sure he wasn’t still sleeping, and about to wake up to his first of many boring day shifts stacking heavy boxes. Now, though, he’d be all alone with Layla for… well, the whole summer it sounded like!
“Did she mention what she needed help with?” He asked, getting up excitedly as his mother swept out of his old bedroom.
“Oh yeah, she did mention some heavy boxes she needed help with.” Came her voice from the stairway.
*****
As he opened the door to the bathroom and spied his own, he once again could see those blissful images of Layla in the shower from the night before. Reaching for the faucet he wiped his eyes. Staying up so late was killing his sleep schedule, but he couldn’t help it.
He didn’t pause to wonder why Layla had asked for him to come over after admonishing him so the night before; rather he was merely content to let his young mind’s fantasies run wild.
He hopped into the shower and vigorously scrubbed away the lingering scent of his nightly escapades, half fearing Layla would somehow smell it on him. Athough he was quite sure she was entirely oblivious to his newfound maturity, let alone his feelings for her, his illicit desires for her were matched only by his timidity. He was all at once locked in an endless cycle of desperately wanting to express his hidden feelings for her and the certainty that he would simply cease to exist - curl into a ball shame and embarrassment and evaporate from this mortal coil - should they ever come to light.
However as memories of the night before resurfaced he felt his cock throbbing back to resurgence, suddenly demanding attention once more. After warring with himself, debating the merits of being late when he’d already slept in to preen himself and take care of his present situation versus getting there as soon as possible, he decided on the latter.
Hurriedly running a towel through his hair and trusting in his clothes to do the brunt of the drying he rushed into his room. He found a loose white t shirt and a fairly tight pair of baby blue gym shorts, suddenly aware of just how naked they would make him feel around her, not to mention how juvenile they would make him look. Yet he didn’t have time to debate the outfit his mother had chosen for him, and he struggled in his mind to find a way to word a case for why he needed to look more mature for his busty neighbour.
Throwing the garb on he rushed downstairs while trying not to seem like he was in a hurry.
“Oh take that cup with you Roger.” His mother said from the kitchen, and he saw a cup on the small table by the front door. “She said she needed some sugar.”
Taking it delicately, terrified of dropping it and disappointing his amazonian neighbour, Roger carefully backed his way out of the door with his eyes fixed upon it and set off next door.
Layla’s home was massive. Fitting, he supposed, given her own size she probably needed a big place just to feel comfortable, but even so it was vast. The stately home stood out for its brick and stonework in a neighbourhood dominated by modern construction, and it towered over him as he approached the door, the marble steps leading to it still feeling as massive as they had when he was growing up.
He debated knocking versus ringing the door before shouting at himself internally that he had to stop overthinking things. His hand hovered over the doorbell, then formed a fist to knock… before finally ringing the doorbell.
Roger realised after a few seconds he hadn’t been breathing, and gasped as quietly as he could, sucking in much needed air.
Almost silent footsteps, slow and plodding and only audible due to her sheer mass from the other side of the door, came to a halt. Roger forced himself to breathe manually, hoping he didn’t look as incredibly nervous as he felt.
As the door creaked open it revealed Layla in all her glory. The late morning sun haloed her mountainous silhouette in golden light as she casually leaned against the massive door frame, suited to her size. One hand rested on the prodigious, swollen curve of her hip as the other held a large, steaming mug of coffee. Her low-cut blouse, a deep blood-red burgundy, clung obscenely to her curves and stretched taut over the impossible swell of her breasts. Roger could see every breath she took through the thin fabric, every movement making the deep valley between her tits shift hypnotically in their confinement. Hell, her blouse dipped so low he could practically see the dusky pink of her massive areolas peeking out atop the strained fabric of her neckline.
Of course Layla never wore a bra, after all where would you get one that big? The prominent outline of her nipples was obvious. He swallowed thickly, his fingers tightening around the plastic cup of sugar in his hands as he did everything in his power not to stare directly at her massive rack - although given he had to stare directly past it to meet her eyes made that incredibly difficult.
“Well, aren’t you a punctual young man?” Layla purred, her crimson lips curling into that ever familiar knowing smirk as she took a sip from her coffee mug.
The scent of her body washed over him as the door crept open, the air in her home saturated with her musk and the fragrances she wore. Cinammons, citruses and vanilla warred with the deeper, more primal scent of herself.
The steam from the cup fogged her glasses - when had she started wearing glasses? Roger’s throat tightened at how effortlessly sophisticated she looked with them perched on the bridge of her nose, lenses glinting in the sunlight.
Her free hand reached out as she gasped in delight, fingers brushing his just a moment longer than was necessary, before she plucked the cup from his grip.
“Oh wonderful! I did ask your mother to send something sweet over…” She giggled, letting her eyes roam across his body for a moment.
“N-no problem.” He stammered, and winced when he realised she hadn’t exactly thanked him.
“Better late than never sweetie.” She smiled wryly, and gestured for him to enter her home. “Have you been asleep all morning?”
“Uh-y-yes.” He mumbled non-committally, not wanting to admit it, but similarly feeling utterly unable to lie to her. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head, his neck prickling with sweat, as if she could read his every thought.
It wasn’t just her size, though that did little to help, but he always felt like an errant child in her presence.
“I thought so. You really ought not to stay up so late, like I told you last night.” She smirked, licking her lips when he wasn’t looking. “You’re going to need your stamina for what I have planned for such a strapping young lad like yourself…”
Roger swallowed as heat enveloped his neck, his whole body throbbing with his own pulse as he turned to see her gently licking the tip of her finger, tongue swirling around it. He barely managed to stop himself from shuddering at the sight, body rigid as he watched with rapt attention.
She dipped her fingertip into the sugar, coated it completely, and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, plunged the length of her finger into the depths of her mouth - pressing into her thick, plush lips. Roger felt his mouth drop open in awe as he watched, it taking a few seconds before he realised he should shut it.
“Mmmm, perfect.” Layla sighed, pulling her slick finger from her lips with a pop, a trail of saliva connecting the digit to her mouth. “Now as for you…”
Roger wilted under her shadow as she suddenly loomed over him, her steps bringing her closer and closer.
*****
A bead of sweat dripped down Roger’s face, itching the bridge of his nose with no way for him to scratch it, as he lifted yet another box full of unknown but inevitably heavy items. One by one he moved the stack of boxes and placed it onto another a short distance away. For the first ten minutes he hadn’t questioned the reason for this, but now he was beginning to feel the burn from his exertion he was beginning to wonder exactly why she needed these heavy boxes moved from one wall to another.
When he had finally lifted the last one into place, straining to get something so heavy up so high, it occurred to him that the original pile had been made by someone easily two feet taller than him - no wonder he was struggling so much!
Panting with moderate exhaustion, 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. She was obviously a strong woman, she’d moved all these boxes originally. Why did she need him to do this? He wondered to himself, gently reclining his back to stretch it. Was she taking advantage of him? Did she somehow know how he felt about her, and this was all just a game? His irritation built as he considered, not for the first time, that maybe she wasn’t as ignorant about his adolescent crush as she feigned to be. Was she leading him on just to get free favours from his mother? Why would she call him over here if she could easily do this all by herself?
He reclined against the wall, 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 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 and this was her castle. She had laughed, 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. “Great! I was hoping you could do some cleaning for me.”
Roger stared up into her dark eyes and for a moment considered questioning why the boxes hadn’t been fine where they had been, why she couldn’t have done the work herself when she was so very obviously more physically capable than him.
Yet as so often happened with her the second she beamed him a smile, those piercing eyes digging into his soul as she did so, he simply couldn’t help but 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.
Just an hour later and Roger was ruefully dusting each and every extremely heavy tome on her towering bookshelf, meticulously wiping them down one at a time, wondering how he had wound up as little more than a servant to his neighbour. 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 lounged on a plush chair behind him in her study, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping 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 heat. 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.
“Don’t forget the top shelf,” she added nonchalantly, relaxing in her luxurious chair as her honeyed voice caressed him 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.
*****
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. Everything had gone precisely as she had wanted.
*****
Some time later Roger 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.
When she at last seemed satisfied, applauding his effort after who knew how long, she opened her massive old red diner-style refridgerator and pulled out a platter sealed in plastic wrap.
“Take a seat sweetie!” She chirped, nodding to the enormous bar stools that even for a guy like himself seemed just a bit too tall.
Clambering up he managed to swing one leg over, taking great care as he did so as his toes barely touched the footrest below.
As she unwrapped the feast in front of him on the marble counter she leaned in just a little closer than she needed to. Being so hungry his eyes were fixated upon the food within - the first time since he’d arrived that he hadn’t been focused on stealing glances at her every chance he got.
Then to his horror he felt something soft and warm against his skin. Slowly, she rested 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.
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 the bar stool, having had to push back with all his might just to stay upright under its weight. 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, but then heard the creak of the stairs above and realised she had left him alone once more in her massive home. The air pulsed and thrummed around him as if the air pressure had been turned up, but he knew it was just his nerves. Between his legs his cock was screaming for attention.
It took a while but, eventually, he was able to calm himself down enough to eat. It was delicious, she was an amazing cook. In fact it tasted so good it was almost enough to distract him from the pulsing in his neck as he recalled the feeling of her body smothering his, that slowly but surely faded away - though the memory of it likely never would. There was a reason he had always been a little too eager to recieve a hug from his neighbour over the years, and she had always been more than happy to indulge.
Yet it rankled with him. 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. She didn’t love him.
Roger couldn’t help feeling guilty. Layla had been probably 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.
It sank in as he chewed, focused on his hunger. He was a college guy, and her a much older woman; no wonder she still thought of him as the little boy who lived next door, especially when he was still living with his mother after all.
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 his second 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 she and Roger would find a way to pay her back... hell, half the things in their home were gifts from Layla, he realised.
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.
Chewing on his thoughts, he simmered.
He loved Layla. He was as sure of that now as he had been since… well, as long as he could remember. Hell, he thought about her constantly. In fact, his ears burned a little as they always did when he acknowledged he as a little obsessed with her.
If she knew how he felt… God, his head hit his palms in frustration. On the 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, and she didn’t know how he truly felt. Maybe she was suspicious of a mild crush, or even just an adolescent fascination with her body, but nothing more than that he reassured himself.
It was already anxiety inducing enough just to be in her home. 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 in her house house, which wasn’t helped by the sheer scale of everything being just large enough to make him feel small.
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 while sitting perched at her kitchen island.
His face burned hot. Roger 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 the 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.
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. As her hips swayed hypnotically, however, the hem of her dress 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 fixated upon his food with an intensity that could have burned through steel.
“Oh Roger… I found something amazing in one of those boxes you helped me with, sweetie.” 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.
Cradled in her arms was a massive leather bound tome which she held beneath her breasts as if presenting them on a serving platter - though he supposed with a chest so massive she must be used to having to carry things at an awkward angle. Appearing at his side she placed it on the marble countertop next to him and gave him a reprieve by encouraging him to look at something other than herself. The cover was embossed with 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.
“This is 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.
Roger’s lips twitched in utter disbelief. If anything this photo was even more erotic than her nude escapades the night before. His thighs spasmed slightly as she once again leaned over him, allowing her monumental breast to utterly devour his upper body through its sheer unstoppable mass. It was a both futile and unnecessary effort to disguise his utterly turgid member as it reached out as if begging to touch her.
“This was a trip to Monaco I made back in my 30’s.” She explained dryly, the rote recollection doing nothing to distract from the thought-melting image searing its way permanently into Roger’s mind.
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, his fingers digging into his thighs as he fought the primal urges within himself. With a dark chuckle, which Roger understandbly interpreted as totally innocent reminiscing on her part, she turned the page.
Yet the next page had his entire body positively rigid, rather than just one part in particular. An image of Layla in her mid twenties showed her sat upon a throne which in proportion to her body, even at that age, 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. Dressed in a way that seemed more akin to a pornstar’s parodic take on royal attire, her body was 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, 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 bit his tongue at the remark, trying to stifle his obvious disappointment at her sweet yet condescending view of him.
“It’s a small royal kingdom where the line of succession is entirely female, and they have some… let’s just say, 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 - memories of her past. 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 at home.
“This was taken at a spa 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 them to him.
As each page turned, and each image grew if anything more scandalous than the last, the world felt like it was closing in around Roger more and more. 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. That and, of course, the absolute humming erection between his thighs which was doing its utmost to tunnel through his loose fitting shorts through sheer power of will alone.
In reality that feeling may have had more to do with her massive breasts slowly swallowing him whole as she leaned in closer, and that in a way the world really was closing in around him. Her bosom had begun to cloud out his peripheral vision, reducing his field of view quite literally to only that which her collosal breasts would allow. Layla’s monstrous tits began to subsume his upper body into its depthless cleavage as she leaned in further, and leaned upon him more heavily with each turn of the page. With each beat of his heart he grew more and more nervous, torn between having to put into words how he felt about what she was doing and praying she would never stop.
The weight became almost 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, and underpinned by something far darker, muskier. His vision soon swam with the sheer overwhelming presence of her as his hands trembled on his lap, inches from his cock which throbbed with an ache he had never felt before in his life. They seemed torn between the twin urges to either 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. As it was 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 warring 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!? 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 on the seat below as she forced him to look at one photo after another, each more intoxicatingly provocative than the last.
Roger’s hips twitched and shook as his hands shivered with the barely restrained desire to stroke his cock, and 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 to memories of his past.
That however proved no refuse, as he was merely forced to relive every single instance, each carefully chronicled by his horny adolescent mind for future use during his late night masturbation marathons, where he had been able to touch those effortly soft yet utterly incomprehensibly vast breasts which now so utterly consumed him. Indeed, many a time Layla’s massive tits had been pressed against him before. They were simply so large that it was an unavoidable fact of life after spending any amount of time together; either as she moved past him and accidentally brushed against his body, or those occasions where he had - perhaps a little too enthusiastically - rushed to her for a hug. Now though it 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 almost 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 very much wished to 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.
For Roger the sheer intensity of it all was just too much. The image of her in such wanton repose was burning itself into his mind as the sheer eroticism of the situation pressed it as deeply into his memory as it could go. The scent of her body, the musk of her skin and her sweat, her 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, a stark contrast to the poor boy beneath her whos heart was beating faster now than it ever had in his entire life.
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 with her lips curled in self-satisfied and smug satisfaction. Her breasts were mountainous atop her chest even in recline, and the teasing hint of shadow where her robe barely disguised 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, he found that he could no longer breathe in as breast flesh subsumed his neck and enclosed around his face, sticky hot skin pressing oppressively against his cheeks as he fought to inhale with only his desperately flaring eyes still exposed - which were left with nothing but the image of her body so cruelly posed as such that he quite literally could not look away. His fingers dug into his knees as 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 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 faux-concerned smile blurred into a watercolour. His throat tightened around a sob he couldn’t release, the sudden ache of guilt 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 in vain.
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 wrist with effortless dominance. When she tugged, his body obeyed on his own, his hand lifted aside like that of a kitten as his trembling fist unclenched like a flower yielding to sunlight. As she slowly but gently moved his arm aside, he knew, each inch it travelled spelled his doom.
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 followed which 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 ripped his feelings for her apart with the same energy one admired a four year old’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 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.
“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, cum-slickened thighs clinging together.
********************
Roger buried his face beneath his pillow, staring up into nothing as the muffling mass smothered his cheeks just as Layla’s body had just hours before.
He could still feel her body against him in his mind; that suffocating succour. Any minute now he expected to hear his mother pick up the phone from downstairs and have a hushed conversation but, true to her word thus far, Layla hadn’t spoken a single one to his mother.
Not that that was his main concern, of course. His secret infatuation with Layla, hidden for all of these years had just been revealed in the most humiliating way possible. Worse, his feelings for her had been utterly crushed by the devastating simplicity with which they had been dismissed. The utter lack of reciprocation, that cooing voice and sickeningly sweet maternal smile… the worst part was he knew she had meant it so endearingly.
It was clear now that she saw him as nothing more than a silly young boy with a hopeless crush, and he was sure she would never see him as anything else. He felt his stomach groan as it knotted and tightened once more at the memory of her pitying him with the same patronising kindness one would show an upset child.
His phone buzzed in the dark of his room, harsh artificial light pressing in at the periphery of his vision and making him wince. He hadn’t said a word to Layla since he’d left her house the day before - by now she might be wondering why she hadn’t gotten a single hormone-induced awkward text.
Roger couldn’t look, his throat tightened as a sudden lump appeared there. He wouldn’t look. He simply couldn’t take it.
The message it transpired, as he read it, was not from Layla at all. A shuddering sigh of relief escaped him as he realised he hadn’t been breathing.
“Hello! Are you struggling to find love? Is there someone in this world who is special to you but doesn’t feel the same way? Text YES to 698008 for more.”
It was a scam. Of course it was a scam. It would link him to a porn site or a dating site that was just one big phishing scam. If he clicked the link he’d be signed up to a dozen mailing lists and his personal data would be shared with a hundred different unlicensed brokers.
Therefore it should demonstrate just how low he felt that he replied to it.
For a while nothing happened. Maybe their automated system was just inundated by gullible lonely guys like him. He huffed, at least he knew it was a scam.
“66 Gardenhose Lane.” The text read simply. “Knock twice.”
He promoted it in his mind from obvious scam to obvious criminal enterprise and tossed his phone aside, pressing his face into his hands. His chest felt hollow and his fingers numb. He’d spent the day curling into himself, rewinding the previous days events over and over in his mind, trying to see past his own role in it but merely feeling the shame and guilt twist deeper with each replay.
Layla’s delightfully amused and belittling coos reverberated through his skull, his self loathing burning hotter than his cheeks and his ears. As he did so, not too far away, the glassy eyes of the teddy bear she’d gifted him reflected every movement and caught every ragged breath.
He stared at that teddy bear now. Roger would only ever be the young boy next door in her eyes, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
As the lights turned on, illuminating the gap between his home and hers, he hid behind his pillow once more, not wanting to be taunted with the image of her beauty at that moment.
Yet that was a hopeless task. He couldn’t help but stare with longing, especially as he now knew it would never be sated.
His fingers gripped the pillow tighter as she came into view, her form silhouetted against the warm glow of the light through the night air, making her seem almost unreal. She stretched luxuriously, unaware of his gaze as ever.
Slowly, painfully so, as she sat on her bed in a perfectly transparent sheer pink negligee… she began to massage her massive breasts in her hands.
Roger could have wept. At least, a part of him immediately did.
Clinging to his pillow for comfort he watched in utter despair as the most beautiful woman in the world to him demonstrated with utter clarity the very heavenly delights he would never get to partake of.
Trapped between agony and ecstasy he felt his heart hardening. Her nipples rolled between her fingers as she leaned back, lips parting insilent pleasure. As soon as her fingers began to trail in a tellale way down her abundant stomach, though, he threw his head to the side. He couldn’t watch any more, couldn’t let the universe tease him with something he would never have.
Grabbing his phone, he threw on some clothes and stormed out into the night, letting the cool air bite his shoulders as he hunched them against the woes of the world.
*****
Layla waited, watching until she was sure he had left. She didn’t stop, after all she hadn’t put on the show entirely for his benefit. Indeed, having planted the seed she was if anything more amorous than ever to see her plan slowly budding to fruition. Biting her lip she could only watch with glee as the shuffling form of young Roger slinked off into the night.
She reclined luxuriously on her massive bed, allowing her fingers to curl delightfully within herself as she allowed herself to imagine just what delights she had in store for him. Everything was going according to plan. She’d start slow, as any good Mother would. She’d teach him, and Roger would be her good little boy…
*****
The wind bit at his cheeks, and fairly quickly he regretted the choice not to take at least a windbreaker. It was just cold enough to make his nose run and sting his ears as he trudged on, always at a slight angle bent into the wind. He shoved his hands into his pockets despondently, shoulders thrust up as high as they could go as he shifted through small islands of streetlight in an ocean of darkness. Each gust carried damp grass, wet pavement and the slight burn of the cold in his nose - loneliness distilled down into a sensory bouquet.
Each step scuffed the sidewalk, making tiny sprays as droplets flicked from his soles ahead of him, each heavier than the last. The weight of his world sat on his shoulders and clung to his ankles like chains.
He kicked a soda can that had slowly begun to accumulate rainwater, and the satisfying heft of it sailed into the gutter with hollow satisfaction.
“Auntie Layla will make it all better”.
That patronizing coo haunted him, twisting in his gut. It wasn’t just shame, it was hotter than that. Frustration.
Frustration at her for dismissing him so out of hand, with himself for still wanting her and not being able to accept reality. He clenched his jaw until his teeth ached and didn’t stop even then.
He wanted her to see him not as some shy boy with a childhood crush, but for the man he was. He wanted her to see someone who would worship the ground she walked on and memorize every curve of her body like scripture.
As he waxed his thoughts through the mechanical steps he took into the night, his frustration boiled away into resolve. If he was going to prove himself to her, to himself, to the universe at large that he wasn’t just a blushing virgin to be coddled, then he had to do something about it.
It hadn’t been his intention, at least not overtly, when he left the house to follow the instructions he had recieved. Yet as he’d walked his subconscious had hitched a ride on the feelings bubbling from his stomach, and with each step he’d grown more determined. While not intentional at first, his path had grown more and more manifestly deliberate.
An old, white painted metal street sign with black lettering hung from a nearby brick wall. It was rusted, but ledgible still.
“Gardenhose Lane.”
He stared up at it for some time. The irony wasn’t lost on him - that in wanting to prove himself a man he was responding to some spam text like a gullible horny teenager clicking on a pop-up ad. Roger hesistated at first, meditating on things. On some level he had just wanted to prove to himself he could walk here if he wanted to, and now he had. No need to take things any further.
As he made his way along the pavement, following the brick wall on his left, he couldn’t see much of anything. There was no break in the brickwork, no number 97 or 99, or anything else for that matter. The opposite side of the street had industrial units and offices, but they were all even numbered.
Maybe it was just one big prank. He half expected someone to rush out at him with a smart phone’s flashlight obnoxiously pointed into his face as some latest viral trend was carried out with him as the victim. “This guy came to the middle of nowhere looking for true love!” He could practically see the shocked, open faced content creator on the thumbnail, and him sullenly and dejectedly looking back at the camera with all hope having long since faded.
He turned back, ready to go home. What was he really trying to accomplish here? What did he expect to prove? To gain?
Yet staring back along the street he’d just walked down, he froze. Dim green lights peered through sputtering rain.
“You know that road. You know exactly where it ends.” He thought to himself. “Right back where you started.”
He didn’t notice until he turned back that he was standing next to an old, green oak door with a wine-bottle stained glass panelled window, emerging from the seamless brickwork. Ornate, wrought iron numbering emblazoned “66”.
The rain lashed at him now. He was very decidedly wet by this point and if he lingered much longer that would progress to him being soaked. Had he really walked all this way not to find out what was inside?
His fingers hovered, trembling mid air between himself and the black iron door handle. Trembling not from the cold but the warring voices within him. One warned him this was rock bottom - responding to some spam text and walking through the rain for what? To wind up standing in the street outside some mysterious door looking like a fool, at best about to learn this was some elaborate prank and at worst… well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
But what if? The other voice growled that he had nothing left to lose. Maybe fate had led him here for a reason. Maybe there was something more to this all than just his adolescent fantasies.
Rain dripped from his hair now and down to his collar, icy rivulets making their way down into his clothes and tracing cool fingers along his spine… as if urging him inside.
He reached for the door, and it opened before he could touch the handle. A blast of warm air from within hit him with such force that it momentarily blinded him. The interior was dim, but not dark. With one last dejected look back into the rain he stepped inside, and let the door close behind him.
Old cobblework walls were lined with aging, dusty shelves whose wood had long since begun to rot. Each one sparsely featured oddly shaped glass bottles, of every shape and size one could imagine. Some were filled with swirling liquids, and others thick oils, and yet others churned with slimes that seemed moved by unseen forces. 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, and she in turn winked with a lascivious expression. As his hand crept into view he stared at it, having caught himself reaching for the bottle without even thinking, before shaking his head and continuing down through the shelves ahead of him.
Roger wasn’t sure what he was looking for, after all he wasn’t even sure why he was here, or what this place even was. He supposed the answer to all of those questions would come from whoever worked here, if anybody actually did. It didn’t seem like the place had been occupied in decades; the air smelled old, a mix of paper, dried herbs and incense… with something deeper beneath it all. A harsher scent, almost sulfurous, musky and earthy.
At least it was warm and dry, he mused. A wooden creak from somewhere nearby caught his attention, though, and as he rounded the corner to see if he had at last found someone, he instead found a stepladder protesting under immense weight as an impossibly wide object descended towards him with slow, deliberate steps. It took a moment to realise he was in fact staring directly into the ample derriere of a massive woman, each cheek and subsequently massive thigh straining the confines of her skintight black stockings that seemed practically painted on, all spilling forth from beneath a scandalously short black skirt.
In moments 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 and turned to him.
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.
Roger realised only now, so close to this woman, that the overpowering scent was coming from her.
“Hello sweetie.” She said softly, standing perfectly still only inches from him, almost unnaturally so. Her visage seemed tranquil and yet… oddly sad. “I see you got my message.”
“Your… message?” He mouthed out, before coming to. “Yeah. The text. I got it.”
“Good. Very good.” She grinned. “You must be Roger.”
Stunned, he took half a step back without thinking.
“How…” He began, but couldn’t get his mind to word the question when a dozen popped into his head at once.
“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.
Deah didn’t sound like a real name, he thought, as she began to disappear around a corner. It sounded quite decidedly like the fake name one would give before luring someone into a trap. Every instinct in him was telling him to run. Red lights and klaxons were firing as the word ‘DANGER’ flashed on every screen. Thus, naturally, the hormonal young man swiftly fixated upon and followed the delicious sway of her massive ass cheeks like a lost puppy, deeper into the archaic store.
A few short strides for her, and a considerable distance away for him, sat an ornate desk and a chair 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 custions 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. The desk by contrast was burnished and trimmed in dark green velvet, a symbol of excess one might expect to find in the most out-of-touch, centuries-old law offices.
The sight made Roger’s mouth go dry, suddenly much less concerned about being human trafficked and far more concerned 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. “Tell me why you’re here.”
As she gestured to the opposite side of the massive desk, a comparitively tiny wooden stool he hadn’t noticed before appeared. At least he was fairly sure he just hadn’t noticed it. It couldn’t have just have appeared out of thin air, after all.
He couldn’t convince himself to leave, and couldn’t think of a reason not to at least hear her out, so he approached and - with extreme effort - took a seat. The stool looked tiny in comparison to her, and yet his feet dangled a good three feet from the floor. It was hard not to feel like a child sent to the office in trouble at school. Even perched so high he was still left staring up and over her desk at the gargantuan woman who - much like Layla had - made him feel so small.
Sat emblazoned in shining brass at the edge of the desk was a nameplate proudly jutting.
“Mrs. Ville.”
Really? He thought to himself. You made up an obviously fake name and that’s the best you could come up with?
“So, sweetie.” She began, her drawl dripping with much the same condescencion that had irked him so with Layla. Yet as she leaned forward, her colossal breasts spilling across the counter top, he was significantly distracted.
“I 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 nodded slowly and warily, his eyes firmly on hers, and definitely not sneaking furtive peeks at her chest.
“Thought so. Let me guess, she’s beautiful, she’s perfect, and 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 as 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.
“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.
“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.
Yet despite her seeming disinterest, and much to his shock, her toes made contact with his shin and nearly made him fall from the stool in shock. Staring down he realised just how far he had to fall, the floor seeming even further down than it had before somehow. Not wanting to fall he managed to cling 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.
“Does she pat your head? Call you sweet little names? Hmmm… maybe she’s right to treat you like a little boy…” She said smirking as she looked back down, turning a page in the massive tome.
Roger clenched his jaw and shook his head. It felt like she was parroting back all his worst fears, and perhaps, some darkly, deeply held desires, back at him. It was simply too much for him to accept.
“She… She think’s I’m…” Roger whined, trying not to sound like the petulant child she painted him as.
“Aww, sweetie. Don’t worry. It’s clear as can be to me to see.” Deah giggled at her own alliteration as she at last turned her full attention 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.
“So, you’re not a little boy? 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?
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you want.” She soothed, letting her attention drift back to her book.
Just as he tried to stammer out a word, 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, with 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.
“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, which sprung to attention with as much vigor as it ever had in his life. 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.
“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.
“Or… 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 you what you want. Or at least… what you think you want.” She sighed, sounding disappointed, almost bored, returning her attention back to her book. “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.
He slowly, awkwardly got to his feet - bracing his calves against the stool’s spokes - only to realise he couldn’t reach the desk from where he was.
“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 precariously. The stool began shaking 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, ever 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 his entire body thrust forwards, and leaving him falling forwards.
Instantly her sole, laid flat, pressed against him and caught his momentum. With his thighs trembling she slowly lowered him towards the desk until he laid there stretched out between desk and stool, just barely able to reach it with her foot holding his entire body weight propped atop it. She guided 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 atop her sole. The wooden stool creaked at an unnatural angle, leaving his ass hovering midair, 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.
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 just ever so slightly off balance and precariously close to falling. It was never enough to push him over, though, in either sense.
“One little signature and everything you could want, 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, and Roger could only whimper. He couldn’t go back to the life he’d had before. Amorously, he felt his body betraying him, 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 murmured 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, 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, the pair wrapping around his cock now as he lay atop both of her 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.
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.
“That’s it. Just one last signature, of a different sort.” She tittered.
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? What he had always wanted?
“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 is all you need her to drink 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, as well as the alarming and cloying motherly images she had painted shortly before, swiftly came to and then left his mind. Instead the promise 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. All 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. 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…”
*****
Roger traced the rim of the vial with his thumb, the slick glass feeling almost unnatural, as if constantly condensated and wet. It was warm too against his skin; as if whatever was contained within had a pulse, a heartbeat of its own.
He’d spent the last hour turning it over and over in his hands after the nervousness of even touching it to begin with had worn off. The stopper was very secure. Even so, he couldn’t help imagining some accidental drop escaping. His mind raced at the thought of Layla’s towering frame pinning him to the bed, her massive thighs straddling his waist as she gazed down at him in terrifying, all-consuming devotion.
That thought alone was enough to have his cock painfully twitching against the sodden material of his boxers, having long since discarded his soaking clothes upon arriving home. Was it fear… or anticipation? He wasn’t sure himself anymore.
Then he laughed. A sharp, disbelieving sound that startled him as he heard it from his own mouth. What the hell was he doing?
He pressed his palms to his eyes, holding the delicate glass vial between his fingers. Some weird woman in an even weirder shop had molested him with her feet and seduced him with her body as she rambled about magic potions. He’d given her a dollar, and for what? A vial of what was probably fancy dishsoap.
Roger groaned, dragging his hands down his face, the cool pads of his fingers massaging his tired eyes. Deah, if that was even her real name - which he sincerely doubted, was probably laughing her ass off right now with an equally sketchy friend.
He could hear her mocking laughter. “Then the kid actually signed it!”
The small vial disappeared into his beside drawer, although he didn’t toss it recklessly, not quite yet perhaps convinced of its counterfeitness. Instead he let it come to rest amidst the other keepsakes he’d left in there over the years before leaving for college, eyeing it one last time before sliding the drawer shut.
Sighing and rolling onto his stomach he buried his face in his pillow, unable to help pretending it was Layla’s body instead, yet hoping to suffocate his lingering fantasies of her along with himself. He’d resigned himself to it; this summer would be a monotonous and excruciating slog. Layla would pat his head while he fixed her computer, moved furniture, or whatever else it was she wanted of him. He’d choke down his pathetic whimpers whenever her beautiful body got close to point out a mistake or deliver heavily over-reciprocated affection. The scent of her perfume would cling to him for hours and taunt him like a phantom caress, and he’d likely set some kind of record for jerking off.
His eyelids grew heavier as he traced patterns on the thin sheets over his body, imagining them as Layla’s moving lazily and affectionately over his skin. The humid air clung to him like her imagined embrace, pressing him into the mattress. Moonlight pooled around his bed through the open window casting elongated shadows that stretched in towards him.
As his breathing grew steadier, softer, Layla was watching and listening from the opposite window. Fingers drummed pensively on the windowsill below her, before she smiled wickedly, a delivish idea having occurred.
***
Roger groaned in defiance of the sunlight forcing its way into his eyes, his mouth dry and his head pounding like he’d spend the night drinking instead of fantasizing. The sheets clung to his damp skin, tangled around him like restraints. Blinking blearily at the ceiling he tried to piece together just how he’d gotten into this situation. He felt both wrung out and electrified all at once. As memories of the night before resurfaced, however, his pulse kicked like a spooked horse.
The shower spray did wonders to wash away the lingering sweat, but did little for the shame or restless energy humming beneath his skin. He scrubbed mechanically, trying in earnest to wash away his thoughts, all the while deliberately avoiding eye contact with his traitorous half-hard cock twitching beside his thigh. It was already reacting to thoughts of Layla’s hands replacing his own, soapy and soft as they glided across his body.
Roger could only force himself out of the shower before he succumbed to the urges of youth, towelling off and catching his own reflection in the fogged mirror. Slight shadows beneath his eyes, lips cracked from biting, he looked a wreck. Layla would no doubt notice, no doubt comment on how important sleep was when she was the reason he couldn’t rest.
His phone buzzed violently against the sink, ringing deep into the hollow porcelain as he fumbled with still wet fingers trying to unlock it, smearing droplets across the image of Layla on his lock screen. Her name flashed up in bold as he opened it and his stomach twisted into knots.
“Good morning sweetie!” Her message read, followed by a row of emojis - a sun, lawnmower and sweating face. “Today I was hoping your project could be my yard. The grass looks desperate and the roses could really use a man’s touch!”
His pulse spiked at the casual implication, fingers tightening around his smartphone.
“Wear something you don’t mind sweating in… or ruining!” She added, her smirk practically dripping through the screen.
Roger exhaled long and deeply through his nose, fingers twitching over the reply button. For a moment his gaze lingered on his bedside drawer. He could imagine that the vial still rested inside - he had checked nervously three times to be sure since - its pink liquid sloshing against the glass thickly, clinging to its inner surface.
Sliding the drawer open it appeared, ominiously glinting in the late morning light.
He hesitated, fingers hovering midway between himself and the delicate trinket. The rational part of his brain scoffed, magic wasn’t real. Deah was just some kinky con artist with a foot fetish. Yet his fingers twitched anyway.
What if it did work?
The thought of Layla’s heavy-lidded gaze, finally seeing him as more than a bumbling kid, sent a bolt of heat straight to his cock. He swallowed hard, torn between the shame of wanting her to want him, and the gnawing hunger that same thought inspired.
Yet he had no way to know if it was safe. Hell, what if that Deah woman really was as crazy as she seemed? This could be poison for all he knew.
Then his phone buzzed again. When he unlocked it the photo he saw made his throat constrict as if someone had a hand around it. She was lazing by the edge of the pool, with only a pair of obscenely tiny triangles of fabric connected by tiny straps covering her otherwise monumental breasts. With one knee raised, the strings of her bikini were digging in to the soft swell of her prodigious hips and the supple plateaus of the sheer mass of her tits.
The bikini was more of a formality really than any kind of actual attempt at modesty. It seemed entirely superfluous, and completely inadequate, at trying to contain what no outfit ever truly could even if it were trying to. Her pubic mound, thick and swollen as ever, was practically swallowing her bikini bottom alive in its puffy, fleshy expanse, the fabric vanishing into the creases where her thighs met the swollen, pillowy mound of her belly.
What was worse was the translucent, practically sheer material did almost nothing to hide the darker swell of her aerolas beneath, and her thumb-sized nipples were tenting the already thinly stretched material.
As he stared down at his phone - eyes drinking in the feast of flesh before them - his heart skipped one beat, then another, before he finally breathed in. Heart hammering in his chest he pulled the vial out of the drawer and stared at it before moving to his bedroom window.
Sure enough, over the garden fence, he could see her almost entirely nude body - in all its soft and undulating glory. In moments he was practically hyperventilating.
Staring at the vial he knew what he had to do.
“I can’t live like this.” He whispered to himself. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt her either.”
Roger winced at the faint *pop* as he opened the vial, the stopper coming free with some effort. The liquid shimmered with an unnatural viscosity - like syrup laced with thick cream. He hesitated one last time before smearing the smallest drop on the tip of his pinky finger, leaving behind a glistening film.
His hand shook a little as he brought it to his lips… and before he realised it, he’d licked it. It tasted sweet, like strawberry.
For a while he lay on his bed, certain he would die, that he had just ingested some awful substance. Yet there was no way he could have taken the chance it could hurt Layla, no matter how condescending or infantilising she was to him.
After half an hour he stared at the vial, restoppered once more, as it shimmered almost mockingly. Nothing.
He’d felt foolish before now, but had never felt so utterly the fool.
Another text. “Are you on your way sweetie? The early bird catches the worm!”
A worm emoji followed by kissing lips made him double take, and he ruefully glared at the vial.
“What a waste of a night… and a dollar.” He sighed, groaning into the back of his fist as he stood. He shoved the vial into his pocket as he left to start what promised to be a day of provocative and erotic suffering.
***
As he carted the lawnmower across Layla’s sprawling estate he tried not to gawk too openly at Layla by the pool. She hadn’t moved. Indeed as he approached she still didn’t, except to twirl her fingers at him in greeting and smile from behind her broad sunglasses. The pale expanse of her body was spread atop her pool bed, stretched out like a goddess awaiting tribute. The strings of her bikini strained so mightily he could swear one deep breath would snap them.
Roger fumbled clumsily with the lawnmower’s handle, struggling to get it started. He cursed himself. Now he was here all he wanted was to be out of her sight. Somehow he just knew that behind those sunglasses her eyes were boring into him.
The machine roared to life, almost jumping from his hands as he tugged a bit too roughly on the catch and he set off at a little too swift a pace.
At first he was determined not to look at her, to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead and focus on keeping neat, straight lines. That lasted all of one lap across her lawn, and with each subsequent pass as he was forced to walk towards her he simply couldn’t help letting his gaze drift naturally to her incomprehensible body. His pace slowed each time unconsciously as his eyes drank her in; the way her vast bosom spilled sideways across the lounger, how her thighs spread so indulgently beneath the flimsy excuse of a bikini bottom she scantily wore. The fabric of both was soaked through, and he wonderef if she had been in the pool or if it was simply from the pearling, beading bullets of sweat that coated her skin and ran in rivulets as her immense form soaked up the sun.
Her bikini clung to every soft fold and dip of her pillowy thighs, her tented nipples, and her plush mound. By the fifth pass he was practically crawling while facing her direction, lawnmower stuttering as it lingered too long in one spot, the poor boy transfixed. He would lean back further and further until the mower was practically vertical, keeping her in his sight as long as he could. She seemed none the wiser, behind her massive aviator glasses he assumed her eyes were closed, as she gave no sign of his adolescent ogling. Even so, as he walked away from her, some instinctual part of his mind swore she was staring after him hungrily, like a holdover from caveman days warning him of a predator nearby.
***
As the tannic scent of freshly cut grass mingled with her coconut sunscreen Layla was just as eagerly feasting her eyes on the boy before her, trying to show no sign of her obvious arousal as he nearly fell backwards in his obeisance to her body. It was even harder not to chuckle each time he was forced to move onwards, the sullen look on his face as he was forced to turn away and maintain his charade of dutiful housework.
She bit her lower lip expectantly, delighted at the loose shirt and tight shorts he had chosen which left so little to the imagination - although still quite a fair bit more than her own scandalous outfit of course.
Content to let the boy’s hunger grow, she bided her time until she would give him the opportunity to slake his thirst.
***
Roger’s erection was well beyond hiding by now, tenting his shorts obscenely as he gripped the mower’s handle white-knuckled, sweat dripping from his brow onto the hot metal and freshly chopped grass. He could only pray she hadn’t noticed, and as she languidly stretched - her breasts lifting and straining the fabric - he hoped against hope she wasnt looking as he once again nervously hitched his shorts up around his waist, trying to somehow disguise it. The burning heat in his cheeks had little to do with the midday sun.
His heart hammered in his chest with realisation as, turning back on himself, he had but one last strip of untouched grass dwindling before him. The slow realisation struck like a hammer blow as he slowed his steps, trying to ignore how the rhythmic vibration of the mower travelled through his body and somehow seemed concentrated purely on the head of his now overly sensitive cock. Every lead-heavy step he took seemed to resonate, shuddering his hips just enough to grind the tip of his cock into the seam of his shorts.
Roger grit his teeth, trying to force his mind blank, focusing on anything he could that might dim his now raging libido, every awful and embarrassing thing that had happened in his life. He tried not to think of Layla’s massive breasts swaying, heaving, her turgid nipples poking so prominently into those tiny scraps of fabric. He tried not to imagine how the plush lips of her sex practically devoured the skimpy bikini that barely covered them. He tried not to imagine sweat pooling in her cleavage, droplets sliding down the soft valley. He tried not to picture her tree-trunk thick thighs pillowing widely under their own weight, spreading effortlessly beneath her, or how the sun glinted off the sheen of moisture clinging to her every curve.
His efforts weren’t very successful. As his eyes refocused once more on the task at hand, the mower spluttered and churned as it had no more grass to consume. His hands trembled as sweat pooled between them and the handle, and with every second his excuses to stand there dwindled, knowing he had to face her now. His cock throbbed violently in his shorts, betraying him as his pulse hammered in his ears. The panic only made things worse as his cock bobbed within its elastic prison to the beat of his heart, dampness soaking the fabric and clinging to the head with every twitch.
“Oh Roger sweetie!” She cooed, her voice cutting through the drone of the ticking mower, and her words honeyed and far too smooth. “Would you come here for a second?”
His stomach lurched as the reality which he had know would soon encroach upon his panicked fantasies suddenly arrived. His throat clicked dryly as he swallowed, knees rigidly locked as his body simply physically refused to move. The primal fear of being devoured warred with his desperate and almost overwhelming urge to obey her beautiful voice.
Layla rolled to her side, breasts bulging within their micro-constraints and utterly inadequate cups, smiling as she watched the boy freeze like a deer in headlights. Her lazy smirk only widened as she let her sunglasses dip, her predatory eyes dark and knowing as they tracked the bob of his adam’s apple.
Turning with slow and meandering dread, Roger was mortified to see her curling her beckoning him over, finger moving in slow, hypnotic curls.
With a wince and a whimper he forced one foot forward after another, swaying as he moved closer. His shorts clung so tightly to him now that they were practically skintight, a layer painted over his cock. He crossed his hands over his crotch like an embarrassed child called to the front of the class.
“My my, your cheeks are awfully red.” She commented as he grew closer. “Are you too warm? We wouldn’t want you to burn sweet boy…”
Layla waited just long enough to give the boy hope, eyes fixating on his hands all the while without letting on.
“Oh sweetie, your hands… are you alright?” Her voice dripped with false concern, heat tilted to one side. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Roger couldn’t bring himself to speak, his throat as tight as if he was being choked. Uncaring, she reached out to gleefully encircle his wrist with her manicured nails all while maintaining an affection of concern, before gently yet firmly pulling his hands aside.
“Oh my!” She gasped in faux shock, eyes flicking downwards to drink in the sight of his cock before flicking back up to his now deep red face, bordering on purple. “Roger, sweetie…” She trailed off with theatrical hesitation, fingers lingering on his wrist teasingly just a little too long.
She sighed, exaggeratedly. “I feel like such a fool. You poor little boy! After what happened yesterday, here I am half naked, and expecting any different. I’m so sorry sweetie…”
With a gentle tug she pulled him closer and forced him to sit, hovering on the edge of what little room remained on her pool bed as her colossal form practically occupied the entire surface.
“I suppose you must feel so awfully confused.” She cooed, hand tracing the back of his neck oh-so reassuringly, and yet playing merry havoc with his already turbulent emotions. “It’s only natural for you to feel this way.”
She leaned close, all at once comforting and yet in the same stroke pressing her massive breasts against his body, as her breath tickled his ear with every work.
“Roger, sweetie, has your mother ever sat you down and taught you about your body? Your penis? Erections?”
“W-what?” He breathed out, his already hyper-embarrassment being sent into total overload.
“Honey, you’re confused about your body, I understand…” She smirked broadly as he stared dead at the ground, unable to meet her gaze.
“I-I’m… I’m twenty-two Miss Honey!” He squeaked, failing miserably to project the confidence and maturity he sought to.
“Oh of course sweetie. You’re such a big boy.” She sighed again, disappointedly. “Your mother really ought to have explained this to you by now!”
He choked out a sob. This was beyond any humiliation a boy like him could have hoped to endure. Tears streaked down his cheeks, unintentionally confirming to Layla everything she had just said, which only made the situation worse.
“Awww, poor boy, don’t cry… It’s alright…”
“I’m n-not a b-boy!” He whimpered, shrinking both physically and metaphorically beneath her. “I’m a m-man!”
“Of course you are!” She drooled delightedly, drinking in his misery like a fine wine. “Such a big grown boy…”
She kissed the side of his head.
“You sit right here. I’m going to get us some fresh lemonade, then I’m going to explain everything your mother should have told you long ago. Don’t you worry, your Auntie Layla will be more than happy to help her special little boy....”
With that she stood, the sheer movement of so much mass almost sending him sprawling, but he managed to scurry back a little onto the pool bed as more of it became available just in time.
“Just wait here, I’ll be right back.” She soothed, kissing his forehead before she sashayed away.
For the first time he could remember, he felt no urge to look at her. He was simply too ashamed, staring into the grass and wondering how he had somehow wound up in precisely the same situation as before, albeit this time with the promise of the most excruciating and condescending lecture of his entire life to look forward to.
Layla reappeared and placed a tray next to him on a small wrought iron table, and he didn’t look up, even as she lifted the pitcher - ice cubes rattling inside.
“Let me pour you a nice tall glass... Now, where was I… oh! I almost forgot!”
Begrudgingly he let his gaze drift up over her still-half-nude form, yet she wasn’t looking at him, but rather the lemonade.
“The sugar!” She tutted, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “I’ll be right back. Such a sweet boy deserves a sweet lemonade to cheer him up after all!”
The lemonade.
He stared as she put the glass down. Long, cylindrical, dripping with condensation. Beads ran down its sides and pooled onto the tray beneath.
The lemonade…
Roger didn’t really think about what he did next. He simply did it. With slow, mechanical movements he withdrew the tiny glass vial from his pocket and cradled it in his fingertips.
He stared at the vial, the pitcher behind it out of focus, only for his eyes to readjust to the pale yellow liquid still shivering behind it.
His heart was racing so hard now his chest hurt. His throat was sore with the tension in it. A million and one doubts raced through his mind.
Layla would be back soon. He had to do it now. Should he? Could he? The hammering in his ears was deafening. He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t take it.
The liquid dripped from the vial into the lemonade and he tossed the vial as hard as he could, the glass disappearing into the sunlight as it arced through the sky. His breathing deepened as he stood there, hand hanging by his side now bereft of its package; the magnitude of his actions settling in.
“Everything okay, sweetie?” Layla asked from just behind him, and he practically jumped out of his skin.
She was inches from him. How long had she been there? How long had he been staring? Had she seen him? No, she couldn’t have…
“Fine!” He forced through gritted teeth.
Layla stared at him, eyes lidded, smile broad, yet both tinted with something he couldn’t place. Her expression was inscrutable, and he merely stared up into her eyes. Had anybody asked he wouldn’t have been able to tell them how long the moment lasted, merely that his heart didn’t beat the entire time.
“Good.” She grinned, before she began to sprinkle the sugar into the mix, the same sugar he had brough over just the day before. “Not too much. We wouldn’t want it to go to your head after all.”
She poured herself a glass, handed him his, and sat down next to him.
The tidal wave of plush flesh that was her thigh soon collided with him, threatening to spill over his meagre form.
“Now, I know this will be a little awkward to talk about, but you are a growing boy.” She said softly, and Roger could only watch with a mix of fascination and horror, as she lifted her glass to her mouth and swallowed almost the entire dose in one.
Layla gasped, wiped her lips and sighed in satisfaction, only to look down at him and notice the way he was staring, eyes alight.
“Everything okay, sweetie?”
“Y-yuh.”
“That’s good. Very good.” She quipped, placing her glass back down. “My good boy…”
He stared, looking for something, anything. What was he supposed to be looking for? What sign would there be?
“I’m so glad you’re feeling alright. It must have been so awful for you. My big, soft body… your hormonal little brain is probably just so overwhelmed.”
Nothing. Nothing had happened. He felt his heart crack under the ache. Of course it hadn’t. What was he expecting? A magic potion? The dark arts made manifest and a crack of lightning in darkening skies?
“You know… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” She whispered into his ear.
He winced, looking up through eyes just starting to blur with fresh tears.
“You really are growing up quite fast.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“The reason I wanted you to help me, the real reason… well, it’s because you’re not just the little boy I used to know anymore. You’re starting your life, and I would hate to see you leave again.”
In spite of everything, he couldn’t help but smile. Could this really be happening?
Her hand snaked its way around his side, pulling him just a little tighter to her body as a finger cleared his tears. He felt a swell within him. She’d never spoken to him like this before.
“You’re going away, and I’m going to miss you a lot. Because… I’d say you’ve become quite the young man.”
Every moment of his life felt like it had been leading up to this. He could almost feel himself tipping over the edge of a better future. That this was where things would change for him.
“Mrs Rose… L-layla. That’s… You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that.” He said softly. Somehow the words he’d practiced in his head a thousand times just wouldn’t come, and that was all he could manage.
Layla just smiled. Her eyes glassy, placid.
She felt him quiver, could almost feel the cracks already forming in his mind. The poor lad’s psyche was now so fragile, so weak, that she knew he would melt from even the slightest nudge. Yet that simply wouldn’t do. She needed him to surrender willingly, needed him to understand that he was hers. She would crush any dreams of agency or independence he had once harbored. Mercilessly. She would erase any remnants of the man he was, and mold him into her perfect little boy.
Her grip on him tightened ever so slightly.
After all, no one else could satisfy what she had prepared him for. He was hers, body and soul. A contract had been signed and the price had been payed. She would be the woman he needed, and he would be what she wanted.
She smiled as she pulled him into her bosom, gently rocking him back and forth. He would be her precious boy… she just needed him to understand that.
But all in good time. She didn’t have much longer to wait.
“Run along home, Roger. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said at last.
This was incredible. She wasn’t just being her normal flirty self, this was… much more. He stared up in delight at her gleaming smile, her rose red lips glinted, her tongue dragging across them hungrily.
Begrudgingly he parted from her hug and, trying not to run with excitement, headed home.
Layla merely smiled.
After he was gone, she wandered over to the corner of her yard and picked up a small, glinting object from the freshly cut grass. She gently ran the glass vial through her fingers, admiring it.
She sighed.
“Not a little boy anymore.” Her lips curled, eyes narrowing. “That is something I intend to fix.”
*****
Roger’s eyelids cracked open to the golden morning light filtering through his window. He couldn’t remember why at first he was so happy. This was the first time in years he hadn’t woken up aching with unspoken desire, just a low, syrupy warmth in his stomach, like honey melting over hot toast.
Then he remembered, and couldn’t help beaming like an idiot into his pillow. He stretched lazily, the sheets sliding off of him. Layla had seen him, really seen him for who he was. Not a nuisance, not an awkward neighbour’s son, but as a man. That smile of hers… it only made his own smug grin more inane.
His feet hit the floor with uncharacteristic decisiveness, already beginning to mentally parse through his closet for something that didn’t scream childishness. Black button down? Too try hard. Navy polo? Too much like a school uniform…
He settled on a soft gray t-shirt that clung across his shoulders and jeans, trying to make the most of out of his slight build. Splashing some cold water on his face he finger-combed his hair before pausing at his own reflection. There was a young man staring back at him; hopeful and hungry.
Was this all because of the potion? Had it really worked? Had it turned her into what he’d always wanted? Always hoped for?
In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but hear the last words Deah the potion seller had told him. “Be careful what you wish for.” Yet he couldn’t help gleefully grinning past the memory of her warning - he was getting everything he could have wanted and more.
He took the steps two at a time as he made his way downstairs, muscle memory being well baked in from childhood. Roger could and had gone downstairs in total darkness before.
As such it was only the monumental surprise he felt, upon reaching the bottom, that caused him to promptly slide down the last three steps with a staccato of ankle on carpet.
Layla and his mother were sitting amicably at the dinner table, sipping coffee.
“Good morning, sweetie.” Layla purred over her cup, hiding a predatory grin.
“G-good morning!” He chirped, taken aback at seeing her so soon, the wind robbed from his sails and stumbling back to his feet.
“Are you okay Roger?” His mother asked, concerned.
“Fphine.” He groaned through gritted teeth, ignoring the ache in his ankle, straightening himself in front of the object of his desire and trying to look as casual as he could about it.
“Well, you see, this is precisely what I was talking about.” Layla announced matter of factly. “What if nobody had been here?”
“You’re so right, Layla, as usual. I’d never forgive myself.”
Roger looked between his mother and Layla, eyes flitting in confusion.
“What if he’d broken something…” His mother fussed.
“Or worse.” Layla muttered dully, eyes fixed on him.
Roger just blinked.
“What, uh… what’s going on?”
“Well I’m going away for a week.” His mother informed him, holding up an envelope.
“Away, for a… whole week?” Roger asked, mildly shocked.
“Yeah, it’s thanks to Layla. I’m going to a Spa retreat!” She smiled excitedly.
“I was going to go, but it turns out they don’t have facilities that would cater to my… height.” Layla grinned, licking her teeth ever so slightly.
“Well she offered to let me go in her stead, isn’t that nice of her?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s wonderful.” Roger smiled, not quite sure where this was heading.
“Your mother wants to go, but she’s worried about you Roger.” Layla lidded her eyes. “So was I.”
“I’d feel a lot better about leaving if you weren’t here on your own.” She nodded, turning to smile at Layla. “So Layla offered to take care of you while I was gone!”
Roger’s grin flickered for a moment. Take care of him? Like a child? He forced his smile back.
“Oh, that’s uh… that’s great.” He chewed the words out, trying to carefully manage his reaction. “But our home is kind of… small too, right? I don’t think that would work.”
He looked around, trying not to stare too openly at Layla as her prodigious body spilled over the edges of even the large chair they kept for her visits.
“Well of course not, Roger. I don’t even have a spare key. I was looking for it and well, I just can’t find it for the life of me.”
Layla smiled innocently.
“You’ll be staying at my home, honey. With me.”
Every word dripped from her lips like venomous honey, as if just speaking them was giving her orgasmic pleasure.
“W-with you?” Roger winced, trying to wrap his head around things.
He could take care of himself, he didn’t need someone to take care of him but… a whole week living with Layla…
“That’s so nice of you. Thanks so much.” He uttered with measured tones, trying not to sound like the giddy child they had evidently seen him as.
“I better get going soon, I need to be there by tonight so-”
“Tonight? You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah, so grab whatever you need for a week and let me get this place locked up.”
Without a word he headed back upstairs, lost in a dream. It didn’t feel real. Seven days with Layla, seven nights under her roof. His hands trembled a little as he shoved clothes into a duffel bag. It was too good to be true. He had to still be sleeping.
Okay, so perhaps the circumstances weren’t ideal. She was taking care of him like a child who couldn’t be left on his own, but… he could only grin, suddenly imagining just what possibilities awaited.
Layla’s low chuckle carried up the steps as he descended them once more, his mother fretting over last minute things.
“He’ll be just fine with me, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of our boy…” She murmured, words dripping with promise. His stomach tightened, her eyes catching his as he stood idly by the door. That tone wasn’t meant for his mother’s ears, it was for him.
His mother gave him a hug and drove off, and with that. He was alone with Layla.
“Let’s go, sweetie.” She smiled, eyes on him as always.
Stepping out into the baking heat of the sun he stretched his arms wide, soaking in the air that was thick with the scent of fresh cut grass. Layla’s house loomed just to his left beyond the hedges, and the wraparound porch was bathed in sunlight, yet all the curtains had been drawn tight against the glare.
He eagerly walked over, kicking piles of grass he’d cut just just the day before as he went.
“We’re going to have so much fun together, my sweet boy.” She said offhandly, making his heart skip a beat and his foot miss the ground.
Recovering quickly, lest the love of his life spy his fumble, he made his way to her door. His eyes travelled up, and up, and up. The door was massive, of course, but it had never felt quite so large in his eyes as he did now.
She fussed with her cream sundress, the one that was just sheer enough that you could see how it clung to her every beautiful curve, and he tried not to look - but that was hopeless. With utter burning embarassment, he realised she was fishing around within her own colossally deep cleavage, and fixed his eyes back on the door with laser focus.
Taking perhaps just a little more time than was needed to do so, she fished a key from between her gorgeous, monumental breasts - tiny next to her body - and unlocked the door.
Layla dominated the doorway and leered down at him with unabashed desire, a knowing grin on her lips.
“Come on in, sweetie.” She murmured, voice syrup-thick as she stepped aside to let him in. Her scent wrapped around him like a blanket as he passed, and the heat from her body was enough that even on such a warm day he felt like he’d passed a radiator. “Let’s get you nice and comfortable.”
Her fingers grazed the small of his back as she ushered him inside, and lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary, before she began to close the door. He took one last look back at the sunlight as she closed the door securely behind him.
*****
“Now Roger,” Layla turned to him and sighed with delight, “we have a whole week together, and I promise, we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
She let that thought hang in the air before she continued, leaning over the kitchen island to look at him with a predatory glint. Her massive breasts began to spill forth atop the cool marble, and Roger suddenly found it extremely difficult to keep looking her in the eye.
“However, under my roof, you will follow my rules and do as you’re told. I don’t want to hear any childish whining, understood?”
Her features were almost gaunt, quite serious as she spoke. Yet Roger barely noticed. As she spoke, the sheer mass of her breasts began to cover much of the tabletop, devouring it all like a tidal wave.
“Uh-huh.” Roger mouthed and nodded, gripping the handle of his duffel bag tightly.
“Good… very good.” Layla smiled at last, eyes lingering on him as she walked over, enjoying the way he had to crane his neck to look up at her. “Let me show you your room.”
With that she effortlessly took his bag from his hand, leaving his fingers twitching in mid air at the handle’s absence before he could even object.
“Uh, I c-can take that…” He muttered, stumbling after her as she made her way to the staircase.
“Nonsense, my sweet boy. You’re my… guest.” She grinned to herself, turning to head upstairs.
She strode up the steps with ease, but they were designed for her comfort and not that of a normal person. He struggled with each step, two feet tall, holding on to the railing for support.
“Are you alright, sweetie?” She cooed innocently from the top of the stairs. “Would you like me to take your hand? Or I could carry you if it’s easier.”
“Uh n-no, it’s fine, no, thanks.” He puffed, forcing himself up the remaining steps, all the while her lidded stare burned into the top his head as he leaned into his efforts.
When at last he joined her on the upper floor she held out a hand, gesturing down the hall.
“I’ve made this room ready for you. It’s right next to mine, so if anything happens you can just call for me.” She stood by the doorway, the ancient dark wood of the structure soaking in the light, and pushed the door open for him.
Compared to the archaic woodwork of the rest of her home, Roger simply wasn’t prepared for the sudden assault on his senses that came from the dizzying array of pastel blues and powdery pinks within. The bed was quite small, with padded railings at either side - almost like a crib, or a bed for someone not long removed from one.
“This was the bedroom the young boy of the former owners stayed in. I thought it would be just perfect for my sweet little Roger.”
Roger could only gawk at the soft, shag carpeting, plush armchair, stuffed toys and glow-in-the-dark stars on the roof. At long last his gaze turned to her, who beamed down with unabashed delight.
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
He just blinked in disbelief. Never in his wildest dreams could he have expected this.
“Isn’t… isn’t there another bedroom?” He asked, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out.
“Oh my, I’m afraid not Roger,” she said slowly and patiently, like explaining something simple to a child. “This is the only other bedroom, at least the only one that’s clean. I went to a lot of effort to get this room ready for you.”
He cursed himself, wincing at the hurt tone in her voice.
“I just… it’s very… childish.”
“Mmmm, it is, isn’t it.” Layla practically slurred, her tongue dancing around the idea. “But what did I say about childish whining? You’re a growing boy, you ought to be more mature about this kind of thing. Of course, there is a young girl’s room across the hall, if you’d prefer…”
Suddenly bolting upright, Roger forced a smile.
“Oh no, this is fine. Great. Really.”
Her teeth glinted as her smile widened.
“I thought it would be.” She sighed dreamily, and immediately wrapped her arms around him, smothering the poor lad in her breasts before he could even object. Their sheer mass was almost enough to force him to his knees as he buckled under their weight. “Such a good boy.”
When she finally relented and pulled back his face was burning red, and not just from the heat of her close, sweaty embrace.
“Now, you take a seat while I get this all put away.”
“Um, but…” He began, but a single glance from Layla, and that beautiful smile, was all it took to silence him as he blushed.
“Not to worry sweetie, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything while you’re here.”
He sat up on the bed obediently as Layla set his duffel bag beside him and began unpacking it for him. His jeans and shirts were folded, as he had failed to do, with a silent tut and shake of the head - although her smile never faded. Roger just sat there awkwardly, unsure what to do and with nothing to say, feeling as much like a child in her presence as ever, much to his chagrin.
Inevitably he wound up watching her, drinking in her every curve as every move she made was poetry of motion. Her massive ass, like a giant shapely peach, swayed so heavenly in his view as she took such a seemingly deliberate amount of time fussing about what should go where in her closet. Every time she turned back, he had to snap his view to somewhere else in the room, but her blood-red lips curled so knowingly each time he was sure she had noticed.
“You’re being such a good boy, so very patient.” She praised him, and he couldn’t help but smile at her adoration. It felt so infantile, embarassing even but… he loved it.
“Oh my, these jeans are so gruff. How long have you had them?” She remarked with mock dismay, turning them in her hands.
Of course, his eyes drifted to her colossal cleavage, which jiggled and swayed ever so as she fussed over his now quite worn attire.
When she was finally done putting his clothes away, after what had felt like an hour, she gently grasped his shoulder and roused him from his blissful daze.
“Here, let’s get you changed into something more comfy, hmmm?”
She held out a soft cotton tee and some lounge shorts, and for a moment he blinked. He didn’t remember packing those at all. As he stared, though, she merely leaned into his silence.
“Do you need help changing?” Her cheshire grin burned into his cheeks.
“No uh, hah, it’s fine. Thanks.”
She held onto his clothes for a few moments longer, as if she were considering forcing the issue, but handed them to him.
“I’ll be right outside.”
He threw his clothes on and, to his dismay, realised just how childish he looked in them. Perhaps he could change into something else… but Layla had put his clothes away and he hadn’t been paying attention to where she put what. Besides, she had already picked these out for him.
“Now I’ll show you the upstairs bathroom, for when you’ll be bathing.”
He followed behind her
“You mean, uh, showering right?”
“Oh no, sweetie, I don’t have a shower.” She said matter of factly, pushing open another massive door to reveal the immaculate, pearly white and opulent bathroom within.
Every inch of it was tiled in creamy white marble, and prominent in the middle was an archaic looking and utterly gargantuan porcelain bathtub. The ridge on either side had to be over three feet from the ground, and of course to accomodate Layla’s unfathomable body, it was practically a small swimming pool to Roger.
“I’ll draw a bath for you later, in the mean time I have a chore for you to do.” She quipped brightly, before smiling down at him.
It took a moment for him to draw his gaze away from the gargantuan bath to realise what she’d said.
“Oh, right. Yeah.” He nodded, eager to have something to do.
“After all, my sweet boy has to earn his keep.” She tittered before gently running her fingernails through his hair.
Looking down on him with an aura of love surrounding his confused face; she felt the pull of his attraction deep in her core. She had spent so long growing into this body, and had wondered for so long why she had developed such a luscious form. Many painful nights had been spent dreaming of her perfect little one to compliment her massive size, an unfulfilled need that had only grown as she had. She smiled to herself more than Roger as she felt the air around her tingle with possibility.
Layla deeply remembered the longing, the need, the desire she had known for so long and focused them now. This was her best opportunity to fill the hole in her heart once and for all, and she had no intention of letting him slip away from her again. With delight she noted just how difficult it was for Roger to look away from her voluptuous form, only becoming ever more enticing as she set the snare for her ultimate wish to be manifested. She had him close, and she needed to keep him close, so now was the time to set the first bars of his cage.
With that she led him back downstairs to the entryway, and he fortified himself for the work to come. Rodger couldn’t help himself but stare with growing fascination as her ass seemed to jiggle and dance more and more with every step. He tried to keep himself from falling into the easy rhythm of her body, but found he was swiftly falling under its spell, every massful movement of those curves made his body’s compass spin.
“Now, I thought today we would go over a few ground rules while you’re staying with me sweetie,” she smiled as she turned around to find Rodger - much to her delight if not much to her surprise - mesmerized by her colossal breasts. “Rule number one,” she intoned softly, as his eyes refused to leave her breasts. “No shoes in the house.”
Roger nodded, a tiny bead of sweat collecting on his brow as he forced his eyes back up to hers.
“Rule two, bed time is at 8 o’clock sharp, so you should be bathed and have your things put away before then.”
He nodded again as her rosy cheeks grew closer, teeth gleaming through parted lips.
“And rule three, under my roof, you do as I say and follow my rules. While you live with me, I am your mother. No arguing, no fussing. I know you’re a growing boy now, but if you can’t follow these simple rules, I might have to question that. Understood?”
Swallowing, and only half listening, Roger choked out an agreement which had he been more clear of mind he might have thought to question.
“Y-yeah.” He nodded eagerly.
“Delightful.” Smooth as caramel, she gently stroked his cheek, her eyes alight with intent. “Let’s get to work.”
*****
He changed into a loose vest and shorts at her instruction and returned to the front door, at which point she handed him a small, plastic child’s watering can. It was small in his hands, but had been practically tiny in hers as she held the handle with merely a forefinger and thumb.
“You’ve been working so hard I wanted to give you something less stressful for your first day.” She said warmly, gently running her fingers over his head in an altogether all too familiar way.
“Uh, yeah sure.” Roger said, eager to please but a little disappointed by the infantilising task. “Are you sure you just want me to water the plants? ”
“Rule three sweetie. No arguing, no fussing.”
He winced a little at how readily she quoted her rules. He hadn’t been arguing with her…
“Since you’re such a growing boy, I’m sure a kid’s chore should be easy for you.”
Not wanting to give her any further cause to question that, he nodded and turned to the nearby plant, a leafy monstrosity that clung to the aging window frame like grasping vines. Unsure how much to water such a large plant he kept going until the soil on the surface was retaining its moisture, only to immediately have Layla touching his shoulder.
The constant physical touch from her thus far was already beginning to have an effect, and he already regretted his choice of tight gym shorts, trying not to turn face on to Layla as his tumescence grew.
“Wonderful, good job sweetie.” She said softly, stroking his arm reassuringly as if speaking to a young boy - much to his irritation.
His shoulders sank under her affection. It felt so ridiculous to be congradulated for doing something so simple. At least now she would leave him to it, though. Perhaps if he could get done sooner than she expected he might gain a modicum of recognition.
As he made his way across the hall, however, he discovered to his dismay that was not the case - as she made no signs of leaving at all.
“There we go sweetie. Water the next one.”
He looked back at her with a grimace, her utterly humiliating and overbearing attitude was weighing down on him almost as much as her body had.
Resigned to his task, though, he watered the next plant, a complex, twisted mass of blooming pink blossoms. Again upon completion he recieved utterly patronising praise. Beginning to see this was how he would be spending the rest of his day, his heart sank.
“Layla, uh-”
“What’s wrong sweetie? Is this too much for you? I can find something easier to do if you like…”
“No, it’s just, you um… you don’t have to keep following me. I can do this by myself.”
“Oh, I know you can sweetie. You’re such a big boy after all.” Her eyes lowered at him with a bemused look. “Don’t worry, I trust you.”
With that she showed no inclination of leaving. Sighing under his breath, but not wanting to appear fussy and give her any further excuse to treat him like a child, he returned to his assigned task.
The third plant was what apperared to be a large, purple lipped venus fly trap, albeit much different to any he had ever seen before. Desperate to avoid seeming petulant, he went out of his way to appear as calm as he could as he watered it.
As he tipped it in, the first issue to arise occurred to him. This small watering can would be very quickly empty. Indeed, within a couple of seconds his tiny tool had been drained dry.
“What’s wrong sweetie?”
“It, uh… it’s too small. I’m out of water.”
Smugly inserting herself into his personal space, she squatted down to bring her nose inches from his, pressing her hands to his sides.
“Awwww, it’s okay sweetie. Don’t be upset!” She coo’d, acting as though he was on the verge of tears.
“I’m not- I’m-” He began, but she pressed a finger to his lips with alarming speed.
“Uh uh, no fussing.”
With that, she took his hand and led him to the kitchen, until they were stood before the sink. It loomed over him, his eyes barely at the level of the counter top. A block of ice dropped into his stomach as the sheer magnitude of the task ahead of him became clear.
Rising to his tiptoes, he tried to angle the plastic red watering can in such a way that he could dip it into the sink, but he couldn’t even reach that far over the lip of it.
“Everything okay, darling?” She asked, as innocently as could be.
“I can’t… I can’t reach it.” He fell back to his heels defeatedly, cursing the sheer scale of everything in her home.
No wonder she thought of him as a child, he rued, when for all intents in her house he may as well have been one.
“Oh no, poor thing. Here, let me help you.”
He didn’t make eye contact with her, ashamedly holding up the watering can for her to take, only to feel her warm hands ensnaring him. In moments he was in vertigo, his world moving too fast as she lifted him like prey plucked from the jungle floor, her arms around his waist like the coils of a massive snake.
“There we go, my sweet boy.” She grinned.
Beside himself with embarrassment, he tried to fill the watering can as quickly as he could, fumbling with the taps - but his hands were slick with condensation from the can itself and skidded over the smooth metal.
“Awww, let me help you…” Came her voice in his ear as she leaned forwards.
With that, her body pressed against his, her colossal breasts encircling his head and subsuming his existence as he was pinned between the kitchen counter and her utterly mountainous body, buried under soft forgiving flesh.
Unable to see with the bosomy flesh of her soft sweater fully enveloping his head, he could only feel as cool water ran over his wrist, her other arm holding him firmly pinned to her stomach, with her hand ever so gently holding his stomach and her fingertips resting just low enough on his body to leave the boy’s head spinning.
“Oops, let me help you sweetie!” She quipped lightly, guiding his hand with the watering can loosely held within under the trickling stream.
Given its small size it took only seconds to fill, but he had no way to know that. She was happy to let the water spill over and hold him there far longer than necessary. When she was at last satisfied, she released his sweating, panting face from her bosomy embrace and set him back down on the kitchen floor.
“There we go sweetie!” She offered, petting his head condescendingly.
Steadying himself as the physics of the real world reasserted itself, having been adrift in a fleshy, cottony abyss, he held his tiny watering can in front of his chest protectively. He couldn’t afford to spill it now just to be lifted up and trapped like that once more, not if he wanted to do anything to dissuade her in her childlike view of him.
She was all too happy to escort him back to where he had been, watching him adoringly all the while, leaving him to his ‘work’. One by one he poured into her plants, having forgotten just how many she seemed to have,
Yet with cloying inevitability he felt the weight of the can getting lighter and lighter. He tried to be frugal, only to recieve a babyish reprimand. “It needs more water sweetie, don’t worry, we can always get more.”
At last he could delay it no longer, and his can ran dry.
“Let’s get some more sweetie.” She whispered, her fingers easily encircling his wrist as she marched him back to the sink for another bosomy embrace.
This time she turned him by the shoulder to face her before lecherously grasping his ass in one firm hand, lifting him up to her stomach and pressing him deep, face first, into the mass of her body.
“Upsie daisy.” She offered innocently, before thoroughly embedding his head into her titanic breasts, the heat and moisture caking his face even through her cotton blouse.
This time was even more excruciating, Roger utterly lost in blissful ignorance, buried in tits as she took her sweet and leisurely time to run the tap - not filling the can at all.
“I’m so looking forward to us finally getting to spend some quality time together Roger.” She sighed, nuzzling the top of his head where it was just barely visible between breasts almost as large as he was.
Eventually she did release him, by now his face deep red from both embarrassment and pearls of sweat, and was happy to hand him back his watering can.
“Back to work cutie!” She tittered, patting his butt encouragingly, nearly causing Roger to spill his watering can.
“Layla, uh…” he panted, almost overwhelmed by the mix of embarrassment and arousal, but not sure he could handle being treated so patronisingly much longer. “Isn’t there, um, a bigger watering can?”
“A bigger one?” Her grin turned practically demonic for a moment, and Roger wilted. She looked as though she’d been waiting for just this moment. “Of course sweetie, why didn’t you ask?”
Scowling, but trying not to let her see him do so, he followed behind her as she approached a cupboard. Not for the first time, she reached deep between her cleavage - winking encouragingly to him as she caught him staring longingly at the way her hand dove into it before he could turn away embarrassed. Withdrawing the key on her necklace she unlocked the door, and bent over double.
Presenting him with the largest, ripest possible peach in her tight, form fitting leggings, Roger was trapped staring on with utter adoration and lust at her ass and thighs swaying ever so gently before him. They swelled and beckoned as, one by one, she withdrew one item after another and set them aside - bent over all the while for his viewing pleasure.
“Now, where on earth did I put it…?” She queried no one in particular, raising her ass ever higher.
Roger couldn’t help himself. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and every inch of his neck itched and prickled with heat as he felt her body beckoning to him. His cock was, if possible, harder than ever before.
Shakily he nudged himself a little closer, then closer, then closer still, unable to resist the magnetic draw of her gently rolling and utterly incomprehensible curves.
“There we go, I think we’re getting closer…” Layla murmured, eyeing Roger over her shoulder, him being far too invested in the heart-shaped swell of her body as tall as his to notice.
Tentatively, he reached out, arms spreading as wide as they would go. Even so, he didn’t have a hope of embracing her ass. His cheeks were prickling with the heat coming from her sex as he grew closer. as if her core were a raging furnace.
He couldn’t help it. For Roger just being in her home was already a bed of temptation, but this was simply more than his hormonal mind was ever designed to process. Every alarm in his mind telling him not to touch was overriden by the unrestrained force of his libido.
Finally, he could hold back no more. He sank his face directly into the smooth material that thinly coated her lips. The soft swell of her cheeks and the plush, swollen mons enveloped his face, and he let out a guttural groan as he drowned in sheer erotic choler.
“There we go…” She soothed, gently leaning back and planting her ass squarely on his face, ensuring to mark him as thoroughly as she could before she stood straight up.
Roger blinked as he lost his balance, landing square on his rear as Layla rose to her full impressive height, and turned to find him sitting.
“Oh my Roger, I’m so sorry!” She gasped softly, “Please do be careful, I’m quite a large girl remember.”
She kneeled down next to him with his prize, an old metal watering can. In fact, the kind that was designed for outdoor yard work. It was utterly massive.
“Would you like me to fill this for you sweetie?” She asked, without waiting for an answer, and began to run the tap.
Roger could only look on in growing dismay as she filled the massive metal can further and further, taking nearly three full minutes until it was right to the brim.
“Here we are sweetie!” She announced with glee, and bent down to his level to hand it to him.
She held it out to him with a single hand, the aged wooden handle looking so small in her hands, and yet when he reached out it he immediately felt its weight. He reached out with a second hand just in time before she let it go.
With a resounding metallic clunk it hit the floor as he crumpled under the weight of it, legs splaying to either side as his knees hit the tiles.
“Oh no… is it too heavy for you dear?” She asked, sounding as sincere as she could while trying to disguise her utter delight. “Oh I should have known, that watering can is far too big for a sweet little boy like you…”
Gleefully, she held the tiny plastic one pinched by her fingers and offered it to him.
“I think you should stick with this one sweetie. We can’t have you hurting yourself trying to use a grown up’s watering can.”
Despondent at his situation, he made to retort, but saw the hungry look in her eyes as if she was just looking for any excuse to treat him like the child he suspected she had always seen him as. He bit his tongue, just knowing the moment he complained it would be twisted into him whining and complaining. After all what could he have said?
Roger could only take the proferred toy watering can with a sorrowful nod, once again having failed in his attempt to impress Layla and only further proving his childishness in her eyes. Yet he had no intention to give her any further ammunition.
With as much remaining pride as he could muster he returned to his work, ever under her watchful eye. It didn’t make sense why she wanted to watch him, couldn’t she do this herself? Was it something to do with the potion? She was supposed to be obsessed.
When they were finally done with the hallway and the kitchen they made their way to the sitting room. Thankfully, though, Layla brought the much larger watering can with her - yet it was just to allow him to fill from it. Again he asked himself what was the point? She could obviously do this herself. What was she getting out of watching him do this?
His ever furtive glances back at her, always meeting her lustful gaze dead set upon him, eventually did seem to provoke a reaction however.
“Well, sweetie, I’ll be right back. Do be careful okay?”
With a kiss to his forehead that left him blushing, she sauntered from the room with a gentle wave.
He released a truly shattering shudder of tension. Having her so close, watching him constantly, pressing him against her body… he was losing his mind. It was obvious now that she really had changed, in fact so much about her had changed. So much, but in every way that mattered, she was still treating him like a child. More in fact than she ever had before!
Exasperated, he set down his toy plastic watering can and tried to think - made difficult by the raging hard-on demanding his attention. Somehow no matter how infantile her treatment of him he was helpless to resist how arousing she was. He didn’t want to appear like a petulant child, but he couldn’t continue without objecting to her condescending, maternal behaviour at all. He had to show her he wasn’t a child, even if everything in this home seemed designed to convince them both that he was.
With a sigh he readjusted his shorts, feeling his cock throb anew as it was released from its confines. He had a fleeting wild thought to touch it but nothing could have been more mortifying than for her to catch him like that again.
Lifting his toy watering can with a grimace he set back to his task. Yet only now did he realise the issue he was left with - every plant in the sitting room was elevated. They were all either hanging from the roof or on a high shelf.
For a moment he turned back to the doorway, considering calling for help… but the mere thought of that sent a shudder of embarrassment through him. He could just imagine the gushing way she’d praise him for admitting his inadequacy before doing it for him. Or maybe she’d lift him up… and he’d get to be pressed so nice and close to her soft body again…
Shaking his head, Roger banished such traitorous thoughts as his cock surged. He needed to prove to her he wasn’t a helpless boy.
He moved a massive wooden chair across the carpet he grinned, the outsized furniture at last working in his favour, and clambering atop it. Now it should have been easy to reach the hanging tressles and baskets. As he reached up, though, the true magnitude of the task made itself clear. It was hard to tell from the floor just how truly cavernous the roof was, how high up these plants were, and he could only just barely reach the basket hanging above.
A moment later he heard Layla returning, and decided to make the point of his maturity. Steadying himself against the backrest he tried again, rising onto the pads of his feet, only to hear a snap, a crackle, and finally a pop.
The chair gave way and he was in free fall. Yet as soon as the vertigo had time to set in it was arrested by a plush embrace.
“Oh my gosh Roger!” Layla shouted, pulling him tightly to her chest.
Roger’s cry of alarm was cut off by the all encompassing envelopment of her breasts as he was instantly smothered in their softness.
“Roger my sweet boy are you okay?” She gasped, holding him tightly.
The young lad was too stunned to respond, just breathing as heavily as the confines of his entrapment would allow. After a few moments his brain caught up to his body as he realised Layla had caught him.
She wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Blushing furiously as his face was buried to the nose in the flesh of her cleavage, with only her bra separating them, but she seemed entirely nonplussed by the fact.
“Roger you silly boy! You could have gotten hurt!” She admonished, squeezing him tighter, and like quicksand he felt her breasts begin to swallow his head until it was becoming difficult to get any air at all.
“I’m fine!” Roger tried to whimper as he tried to push himself above the morass of breast flesh steadily engulfing him, however what came out was “Mmmmmffhhhhphhh!”
“Oh sweetie, this is why I was so worried about you, see? You can’t be on your own, you need someone to take care of you…”
Layla gently stroked his hair, all at once pressing him ever further deeper into her chest. Roger couldn’t help but shiver as her utterly erotic body refused to let him go.
When she eventually put him down he was yet again panting, sweating and streaked with embarassment. He tugged at his shorts in desperation to hide his immense arousal.
“It’s obvious I shouldn’t have trusted such a big task to you. Well, that’s my fault, and I blame myself for you almost getting hurt.” She soothed, rubbing his shoulders as she knelt down to his level - although she still had to look down to see him eye to eye. “I’ll take care of the rest of this later, let’s go get you something to eat.
*****
It wasn’t fair. It was like everything he did to try to prove himself to her backfired. In fact it was driving him to the brink of paranoia - she had to be doing this on purpose, right? She had to have orchestrated all of this to make him feel small, helpless, childish.
But why would she do that? His logical, reasonable side questioned. His uncertainty left him squirming in his tight shorts atop the column-tall diner seating in her kitchen.
“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.
He grimaced at the once again childish presentation, 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. “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.”
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 before adding: “You’ll have plenty of time to make it up to me after all.”
Roger hung on her words for a moment, wondering quite what she had meant. Well, they had a week 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…”
“Little 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, gently tracing her fingertip across his lips for just a moment before she took his plate.
Roger felt his cheeks burn a little. This was more of what he had fantasized about. 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. 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 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.
“Uh huh…” Roger replied, utterly lost in the jiggling dance of her derriere as she rinsed the last remnants of lunch away.
When she was done she turned to see him, head resting in his hands and elbows on the counter top, dazing dreamily at her.
“Oh sweetie, I just knew you’d feel right at home here.” Her voice was as sweet as honey, and just as thick.
*****
Snapping from his daze, Roger tried to appear less obvious 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 in confusion. “Let’s settle in for the evening. Go upstairs and change 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 and therefore agreeing to her diminutive summation, or arguing with her and seeming petulant, he elected to do as she wished and headed upstairs.
“I left out something cozy for you to wear.” She said as he took the first step, leaving him to pause for a moment as his hand stretched up to the towering banister. Why was she choosing his clothing all of a sudden?
Gently prising open the door to his room, as if afraid what he might find, he laid eyes on the silky tee and soft pyjamas she had neatly folded atop his impeccable bedsheets. Lifting the shirt he wondered where she’d found it, as it wasn’t one of his. It was a size too small and decidedly childish.
For a moment he glanced at the cupboard. He didn’t know where she had put his clothes… and besides, did it really matter if she chose what he wore? Even if what she chose for him was a little callow.
The tee was - as he guessed - a bit too small. It felt quite revealing, but the silky smooth material also felt very comfy. He wondered where she’d even gotten it. The pyjama bottoms similarly were a little tight, hugging every inch of his body.
A glance in the mirror that stretched up more than ten feet did its job with its height - he really looked like a child.
“Oh Roger! Come down sweetie!” She called up the stairs.
His shoulders slumped as he was, once again, resigned to his fate. 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, but coming to a very sudden stop in the archway. She was wearing a very tight fitting sweater with neckline that plunged outrageously low. If he had been meeting her for the first time he would have assumed she had her legs tucked into it and the canyonous cleavage on display was 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 other chair was covered in a stack of heavy books, ones that looked suspiciously like those he had spent so much time and effort moving just a few days ago.
Roger tried, 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, and trying to look everywhere but at her colossal body. It had been a hell of a first day living with Layla and he was frankly exhausted, emotionally if not so much so physically.
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.
“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 he saw words like “close”, “intimate”, “romance”.
He winced, hoping her idea of a fun evening wasn’t an 87 minute romantic comedy.
“Here we are.” She said softly. “One of my favourite films.”
It was a film he hadn’t seen, something German from the looks of it. Great - some boring art house drama. From the start of the film he already had his misgivings, but if it was one of her favourites he didn’t to insult her. Quietly he nestled back into the sofa to watch. At least it wasn’t a foreign language film…
Barely four minutes in, and Layla was 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. When a woman came to help the young lad Layla gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment, and she gasped again a few minutes later when it was pronounced the boy was ill, resigned to his bed.
“Poor thing.” She soothed, rubbing his shoulder.
It felt almost like she was petting cat idly, but it felt so nice he couldn’t help enjoying it.
His suspicions became aroused - and to some degree so did he - when, after his recovery, the boy went to seek out the woman who had helped him get home. There was an undeniable tension between the older woman in the film and the younger man…
Roger glanced to his side, and saw the bountiful swell of Layla’s immense breasts pressing out and encompassing part of his peripheral vision. They were just 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.
As the woman changed, half naked, the boy was caught spying on her. The young lad blushed and ran as he was caught.
The fingers traced imperceptible circles on his scalp as Layla smiled down at Roger, who glanced up nervously.
“He’s just like my Roger, so shy… but such a sweet boy.”
Soon the woman was drawing him a bath and asking him to change. It all seemed so innocent, and yet… soon 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, yet 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. So exposed… and yet she’s so gentle with him. 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 shirt he wore.
Soon after, when the woman was helping the boy out and into a towel it was almost like a mother with her son…
“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.”
She reached to the side opposite Roger and pulled out a faux-fur throw blanket. It was, like so much of what she owned, quite soft and comfortable as she settled it over the pair of them.
Yet, 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 - and the fact his face was being ever so slightly pressed into them. 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? It was embarassing, but thrilling all the same.
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 now, not helped by her sensual, soft touch across such soft and silky material clinging to his skin and the fact her hand was mere inches away from his raging erection.
He 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 erection 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. He realised after it hadn’t been a hallucination, and that had actually been what he’d seen.
It happened again a few moments later. Had she edited the film to include pornography!? he asked himself in amazement, sitting upright and rigid in more ways than one.
No, it seemed to be part of the film. The young lad sat, looking as awkward as he did, as visions of his hot and sweaty congress burned through his mind.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Roger?” Layla cooed softly. “They love each other so much…”
Roger mumbled something, realising he hadn’t spoken since the movie began, not sure what it was 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.
Layla’s soft chuckle was 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 panic attack at those words. She couldn’t really mean what he thought she did, right? No. He forced his breathing to slow, his heart racing a mile a minute. Maybe she just meant love in the… emotional sense.
The film soon took a dramatic swerve, though. The woman was recruited into the military and accused of crimes, put on trial.
“That poor woman.” Layla breathed, grasping Roger tightly to her.
Now there was no question about it. The sheer mass of her breast utterly enveloped the left side of his head, and the other half was barely above the surface.
The rest of the film was a half-hidden, 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. She was just hugging him close, her emotions running away from her because of the film, right?
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 into the space between them.
Biting his lip, it took all of his self control to remain still, 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 even 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.
That said he did catch some things. She was apparently on trial for something and soon after 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, and he could hear her heartbeat echoing through the sheer 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 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 bed time Roger.” Layla insisted, before slowly lifting the blanket from them both.
Roger was too preoccupied in standing upright and turning away from her to disguise his raging erection to argue, there being absolutely no way to disguise his tumescence in the tight clothes he had… well, not been forced to wear exactly...
“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 tired, and more pertinently, was quite eager to get some alone time.
“I’ll be right up to tuck you in.”
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 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. 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 - that and of course he had
“Come on, into bed honey.” She said smoothly, before realising his issue. “Oh… Roger, I didn’t realise. You’re too short to get up! I’m sorry sweetie this is the smallest bed in the house. Don’t worry sweetie, I’m here now…”
Her cool hands encircled his waist, slid under his arms and across his chest with lecherous familiarity and it was all Roger could do to hold in a shout of alarm as she easily lifted him off the ground for not the first time that day - although he felt even more exposed this time.
Hurriedly he tugged the bed covers over himself, and Layla just grinned at his bashfulness.
“Such a sweet boy. I’m so lucky to have you here with me… all to myself.”
She turned her back for a moment before lifting something up 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 back 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 speak though, she leaned over him. At first he was stunned into silence, unsure what was happening, her body swiftly encompassing 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 they 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 with the sheer totality of her essence. 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, as fear of being buried alive flooded through him on some level, he realised that even just her breasts alone could engulf his entire body. His cock twitched painfully beneath the blankets, a futile gesture utterly lost in 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. She panted softly, gently stroking 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. 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, and 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 it. 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 eye captured every twitch of his desperate hips, every choked gasp muffled into his own wrist. She chewed her lower lip and couldn’t help tensing her thighs a little as she watched his fingers - her fingers in his mind - pumping his cock with the same rhythm she’d conditioned into him over years of whispered suggestions.
Now, of course, the room he was in was practically infested with hidden cameras and speakers, but using the teddy bear felt more… nostalgic. She lingered on that camera view a little longer, tracing the outline of his head across the screen. It felt like lying right next to him. She tilted her head to the side a little to complete the feeling.
She could have walked back in at any moment, or even waited to swing the door open just as she spilled all over himself, but she was patient. She would let him marinate in his desperation a little longer, let his imagination run wild with all the things she could do to him before she chose one. 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?
At this point he was practically drowning in an ocean of her scent, subliminal audios tapping in to triggers she’d been planting for years. Setting 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.
Her nail delicately tapped a steady staccato rhythm. 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 stepped 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.
“Miss Hon- Uh, Layla. I-”
“Young boys do not have permission to touch themselves in this house.”
She murmured 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, but forced his mind through the fog, trying to salvage some semblance of his dignity.
“I - I’m not - Not a-”
Yet she merely placed her other hand on his cheek, feeling 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.”
She smiled, eyes roaring, as she descended onto him inch by inch with deliberate slowness, as if to emphasize the inevitability. 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, still trapped beneath the blanket, and pulled it free. With no effort at all she delicately but firmly lifted his hands over his head before pinching both wrists in one of hers.
He could only gasp as, his body so sensitive from the throes of his pleasure, her warm flesh molded around him like batter, and she lay by his side, propped on one elbow, her massive body stretching the entire length of the monstrously large mattress which had made him feel so childishly small in comparison.
“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 into the side 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 breast, drowning in a mix of shame and hormonal lust as his 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 enclose her grip around his cock, 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 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 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, 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, 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, which she very well may have.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this, Roger.” She whispered directly into her ear, huskier than an antarctic dog sled. “My sweet 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 the background music to her 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.
“L-Layla I - I -” 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 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 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 and down involuntarily, but her body weight easily kept him pinned, and his frantic thrusting barely resulted in any movement at all, his choked moans 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 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 she didn’t listen, 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.”
Yet as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, a burning heat in his cock rising and rising, her touch 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 close to release, his every nerve was alight like a live wire, but 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 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, just enough 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. Her 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.
*****