Post 274: It's Not My Birthday, p3

“Look at you, poor thing,” Melissa clucked, barely suppressing her near-constant giggles as she settled me onto her bare lap, the two of us sitting together behind her desk, door to her office locked, “you’re a total mess.”

I had just spent the last half-hour or so being fed and fondled, coddled and cajoled by my all-female staff. A Halloween/Not-My-Birthday party in our break room that had seen my exit after my orgasming into my thin spandex costume under the prodigious weight of my new Office Manager’s huge, perfect ass while the girls shoved a cake shaped like her giant right breast into my face. Nice way to spend a Thursday, right? The staff, for all I knew, was still in there partying; they probably would be all afternoon. I, on the other hand, had been taken away by Melissa, drawn like a little tugboat by the Queen Mary back to her office in an effort to preserve the small amount of dignity with which I’d been left. “I’ll get him cleaned up,” she’d told her parliament of owls as she led me out, the Hooters uniforms on each of them stretched thin over chests still heaving with excitement, “Can you guys save him some food? We might be back.”

She’d kicked off her white, eight-inch pumps before we sat at the desk, but the sight of her walking in them - me struggling along behind her down the empty halls, at times holding her hand - had stayed with me. She was seven feet tall in them, I’d been told, in these heels that accentuated a gait that was feminine to the extreme, and she swung that monumental rear of hers swiveling on hips nearly two-fold broader than me and shockingly not too far below my shrunken sight line. The tight, briefest-of-brief orange shorts of her uniform did little to conceal the massive, muscular voluptuousness of Melissa’s ass, and my eyes were constantly drawn to the symmetrical, rhythmic strut designed by millions of years of evolution to keep the male gaze. Boom-Boom-Boom went that ass as Clack-Clack-Clack thundered her heels as she led me to her office, knowing full well how huge and fertile she looked from behind, a grin on her glossy lips betraying her awareness of my eyes glued to her body. She felt tall and powerful while I felt even smaller than my current 5’2”, and when we arrived in her office and she finally lifted me into her lap behind her desk to <plop> me onto her thick, strong, tan thighs she made me feel smaller still.

“It was so nice of Evolution to sponsor that lunch for us…” Melissa said, starting with some small talk, looking down at me, inspecting my cake-smeared face. Even sitting on her big, gym-toned thighs I was shorter here than her.  “…and Hooters does a nice job catering.”  At that she raised her left hand, casually ran a finger down my cake-plastered cheek. The dollop of frosting and cream on her fingertip disappeared into her mouth. “Mmmmm…” she purred with satisfied delight..

“Th-thank you for the cake,” I said, the first words I’d spoken in some time after the shock-and-awe of my surprise Hooters party and massive boob-cake-to-the-face, “it was, uh…delicious.”

Melissa giggled at my joke; all I’d tasted of it had been what the girls had shoved into my face. “Thank you!” she sang, “I hope they save you a real slice. I’ve been trying to become a better chef haha.”

It actually had been - surprisingly, after what I’d tasted of her cooking at our picnic a couple weeks back - pretty tasty cake. Maybe the left half of it was still intact? “And, uh…” I continued, suddenly flushing in embarrassment but knowing I’d have to acknowledge it sometime, “thank you for not, uh, saying anything about, well…and sorry for the…” At that my voice trailed off, but she knew well what I meant; my gaze had dropped to my sodden lap, where I’d soiled myself. She’d obviously felt me pulsing underneath her, when I’d climaxed back there.

“Oh don’t worry sweetie,” she immediately chirped, bouncing me on her thighs indulgently, “it’s perfectly okay. I…I didn’t know you were coming so close so quickly. I hope you’re not mad that I spilled that beer into your lap. I just figured…”

It was humiliating, how I’d come in my pants, unbidden again right in front of her (and, this time, all the rest of the staff as well), just like at our picnic, just like on our first date. Melissa had been astute enough to dribble some of the beer I’d been poured down onto me to camouflage the dark stain on the thigh of my Mr. Fantastic costume. But she must have thought me a total whack, unable to control myself in the least. It was embarrassing, and I told her as much.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I’m not usually so, uh-”

“So what?” Melissa offered, an unmistakable smoulder appearing in her eyes as her finger came to my face again, sliding down my other cheek to draw away another line of macerated sweetness. She gave it to me to taste, let her finger linger, made me suckle. “So easily excited?”

It was sweet, and her perfume was incredible, so strong. “Um, y-yeah…” I managed, after she pulled her now-clean digit out, allowing me to answer and defend my dignity…though the rising erection that was besetting me holy shit once again, down my left thigh was already making a liar out of me. Hadn’t I just..??

“You did seem a little…on edge today,” she remarked, “did it get you all excited, or nervous, seeing us all in our costumes?”

It had been, I admit, shocking, to be surrounded like that, suddenly swimming in a sea of my staff showing off their young, curvy bodies so blatantly, so aggressively in tight tight shorts and even tighter little tank tops. “N-n-nervous? N-no…” I stammered, the adolescent cracks in my voice making my obviously fallacious answer even more laughable.

Indeed, Melissa again began to giggle.

“So, do you like my outfit? My old uniform? I had to buy new shorts but I can't believe the top still fits!" At that she sat up straight, and with a straightening of her shoulders and a thrust of her massive chest, she showed me plainly just how obvious it was that this top did indeed not fit. She was ready to tear out of it! Flesh, skin, and fat swelled and bloomed, inflating the white tank and its stretched-thin Hooters logo near to bursting with cleavage. My eyes goggled at her voluptuousness, agog at the dimensions of this woman. My god! Her breasts! She was huge!

“Do you like me dressed like this? Seeing me in my uniform? ” she purred, her voice lower, stricken a bit by how she’d just commanded my attention, “I could wear it more often, for you, if you’d like…” Being this woman’s boyfriend, or whatever it was, had its perks. If I could survive a week of it.

“I…I…” I tried, still speechless as she continued to pose, turning slowly back and forth, to show off her chest. I couldn’t believe how much of a lech I was being; I was aghast at myself but honestly could not look away. “I…”

“You're cute…” she giggled, wrinkling her nose at me, hand on my knee, squeezing. “And don’t worry. You can look at me as much as you want. I’m used to it. It's sorta what these uniforms are for.”

“B-but, Melissa…” I began, trying again to salvage something, some dignity. Defend the hapless male race.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she laughed, “But, tell me: how long have you been obsessed with boobs? What started your obsession with big breasts, Dr J?”

“wh-what..?” I stammered, shocked at her bluntness. I’d found the strength, in my surprise, to tear my eyes off her chest.

“No, I’m serious,” she pressed, “What is it? Did your mother breastfeed you too long? Not long enough?”

“M-Melissa! I-“

“Hey shush it’s okay,” she continued, as I felt her hand come behind my head, “lots of guys are the same way, especially these days.” Her voice dropped a bit, became more quiet. “Look, you’re a simple man, right? You like simple things?

“Uh…” It was true, I guess.

“It’s okay. Simple doesn’t mean bad. Sometimes things that are...not complicated, understandable...are the best,” she spoke, as the hand behind my head gently directed my gaze back down to her jaw-dropping tits. She was now almost whispering in the most sultry voice I could ever remember hearing. I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Sometimes the world is too loud, hm? Too confusing? It’s nice to have something soft, and simple. Something to look at, hm? Breasts are simple. You like big breasts? Hm?”

I…I tried to say something. My penis was now, incredibly, down my left thigh, stiff and throbbing almost painfully as I stared down into the cleavage of the biggest, most gorgeous woman I had ever seen.

“Shhh...it’s okay. It’s just us here; you can admit it,” she urged, “Look, I can give you simple…” At that, she inhaled slowly but deliberately, deeper and then even deeper, causing those already gigantic breasts to rise and swell impossibly huge. “See?” she asked, her lush lips parting as she smiled at me and thrust her tremendous breasts up even further, forcing me to lean back lest I get plastered into them. She was still inviting my gaze, holding it mercilessly, feeding my desire for her. I stared in awe at her giant breasts as they rose, and it was a thousand times more than I could handle. “Do they give you tingles..?”

Tingles? It was like 10,000 volts to the heart. Though we were in her office, at work, in the middle of the day, she was really seducing me now, teasing me relentlessly, knowing full well the effect she was having on me - and loving every second of it. Something had come over her; at times Melissa was playful, a walking sex bomb but still so much like a little girl. But then there were moments like this. She looked at me from beneath her dark, heavily mascara-d lashes and began to speak again.

“On our date you asked what bra size I wear?” she asked, smiling but twisting her pretty little knife a bit deeper, “Do you remember asking that?”

I flushed, recalling that moment in the darkness of my room, in the thunderstorm, as she’d been talking about her weight gain, in her hips, in her legs….and everywhere else. “Y-y-yes…” I admitted.

“You still want to know?” she teased, her breaths coming slow but deliberate now, keeping my attention on how they swelled her chest, inflating and deflating, up and down, in and out of her overmatched top.

“Y-y-yes…” I confessed.

“I figured you did. Well, last time I was measured,” she began to explain, “I was a Double-J. Hear that? A Double…Jay.”

“...” uh…uh…holy shit…

“Double…Jay…” she repeated, watching the weight of it settle into me and letting it sink in. ”How much do you weigh…Jay?” she asked me, having pointedly used my first name for the first time.

“U-u-uhhh…like…” I stammered, as I struggled to remember, “103?” It sounded so unreal.

”And I weigh 210. You know what that is?” she asked.

”Wh-what?” I peeped, my heart already racing.

”Double…more than double. Twice as much as you weigh,” she heaved, the excitement building in her own voice as she began to lay out the comparison, she versus myself, “I weigh more than double you, as much as two of you. Double…Jay. Even my cup size is twice you…Double-Jay.”

“Oh my god, Melissa,” I moaned from behind fluttering eyes, obviously turned on beyond belief by what she was saying, how she was lording her greater size over me. She knew, she knew how much power that had, me being made to realize the ever-growing difference in our sizes.

“Is that why you asked me to start calling you by your first name? Hm?” she asked, “So you could imagine being half my cup size? Well, it’s too late. You saw how small that bra was on me. I really outgrew my old ones last week. I’m bigger than that now.”

“Wh-what…?” I began, stammering, struggling to ask, to ask it again. What size are you now?!?

“Haha are you imagining what comes next? After ‘Double-Jay’?“ she laughed, transfixing waves jiggling across her cleavage, “What’s next? For my bra? For everything? Triple-Jay? Quadruple-Jay? Is that what size you want me to be? The way I see you staring into my chest I’m guessing you want me even bigger…<giggle!>”

I was, I was aghast at how little strength I was showing, how my eyes were still plastered to her enormous tits despite the shame and indignity of it. She was only playing with me, teasing me, but I still felt like each moment that passed I sank lower and lower, like I could feel my backbone disappearing. “I’m s-sorry Melissa,” I apologized, “I…I can’t help it…” It was true. It was like there were magnets in her body, and I was drawn to their poles. I wanted to latch onto her and watch her grow.

“You don’t have to be sorry, and you don’t have to try to help it,” she said, softly, a new tremble to her own voice acknowledging how excited she was herself. My fixation on her growing chest and size was kindling for her fire, my submissiveness stoking her flames.

I was panting as I took a deep breath to try and gain my composure, which I didn't. “My god Melissa, I can’t believe this is happening…” I choked out, not denying anything, but at the same time doing my best to ignore the now-insistent throb of iron, massive down my left thigh and stretching my still-moist, baggy blue spandex.

“I…I can’t either,” she admitted, the incredulous disbelief of how acute our feelings for one another were becoming now apparent in her voice, “I’m…I’m falling for you so fast. You’re so cute, you’re so perfect. And…I’m  sorry but ever since you saw me in my new bra, a couple days ago, I’ve been really worked up. Nothing’s helped. There’s been something I need to do…the only thing that’ll fix me…”

“W-w-what’s th-that..?”

She gasped another deep breath, bringing her tits to swell up once again right in front of my face. She reached down towards my lap with her left hand. “Can I hold it?” she asked.

I didn’t, I couldn’t. I couldn’t say a word. All I could do was groan and with that she had her answer. Her hand went to my cock, through my thin costume pants wet with beer and my own slime. I gasped when she took me, an electric punch to my gut nearly making me double over right there in her lap. I was five-foot two but nine-plus inches of erection, my cock as thick and bullish as the rest of me was thin and weak. Her grasping me in her hand, even through the spandex of my costume, dominated all my senses, centered my entire existence on this electric moment between our bodies.

“Oh my god…” she groaned, watching me react, how I bucked and heaved under her simple touch.

I found the strength to look up at her, and there was a new, glorious triumph in her adoring eyes. She had what she wanted, she’d found what she needed. She slowly began to squish me, she began to squeeze me. She stroked me, wetly, the spandex sliding around my shaft like a lubricated skin. She gazed into me and saw how I had crumbled, how powerless I was now that I was in her hand. She began to speak to me, with a new force of will, a serenity of strength.

“Awww, you poor little thing, Jay,” she cooed, “are you having a hard time talking?”

“y-y-y-yuh…” I tried, my whole chest seized in pleasure, “…yuh.” It was more a grunt than an answer. And then I whined.

“Oh, yes, I like that…” she purred, squeezing me wetly, “I like the little noises, the moans. Do that more…”

I complied, grunting again for her as I fought to keep my thin hips from bucking. I’d come so close, already, to erupting again in my pants. I wanted to hold on, and she sensed it.

"God, I’ve been dying for so long to meet someone like you,” she said, casually squishing my cock in her hand in the slowest, most aching of rhythms, just enough to keep me paralyzed but my orgasm at bay, “I mean I just can’t believe how perfect you are.”

“r-r-really..?” I managed, incredulous even in this moment. I mean, look at us, look at her. Possibly the world’s most perfectly-built woman, sitting here with me. Interested in me. Shrunken-up, failure at work and life me. “…m-me?”

“Yes you,” she giggled, petting the back of my head with her right hand while squeezing my shaft anew firmly with her left, ”someone I can sit on my lap, like this…” She watched as I spasmed under her grip, my whole body, and watched me recover.

”s-so you’ve wanted to date…” I spoke, somehow finding it in myself to joke, as her squishy ministrations continued, “…a-a midget?”

Melissa snorted.  “hahaha no no no that’s not it!” she laughed, again sending joggles through her bosom that made my eyes goggle, “Not just someone…not tall. Someone smart. Someone that makes me laugh.” She bit her lower lip, regarded me. “Someone…naturally submissive.”

I groaned again, still incredulous, obviously overcome.

“I’m serious,” she continued, “I’m just realizing it now, these past weeks. I’ve wanted to meet someone like you for a long, long time…” <squish, squish, squish> She continued to massage me, through the thin, slick spandex.  “…and now that I’ve got you, I’m never going to let you get away.”

urk. I was totally speechless, and she knew it.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk. I’ll do all the talking,” she told me, gently, still stroking. “I like you so much, but I’m doing my best to take this slow, so we don’t screw this up,” she continued, “I don’t want to move too fast, make this just about…you know…”

“uh-huh…” I grunted, dumbly, ready to agree to just about anything she said.

“…but sometimes I get these feelings, these urges, and I can’t help it. They’re really strong…” she pushed on, watching my face as I fought still to control myself. It was thrilling to her, seeing me so helpless, paralyzed by her touch. “Can I put my hand in there?” she next asked, “Down your pants?”

oh my god “y-yesss…”

She sighed, and slowly dragged her fingers up my slickly-sheathed shaft, curling them down under the loose elastic of my waistband and - lowering it as she did - slid her left hand into my pants. Her fingers found my hardness, and what was encircled around it…

“What’s this?” she asked, brows knitting as she lowered my pants some more, sliding them a bit off my hips to investigate. She exposed it, my oversized cock, purple and throbbing, lashed to my left thigh by an encircling strip of surgical tape.

I’d already flushed in embarrassment. “I-I taped it down,” I began, “so y-you all couldn’t see as easy if I…”

“Oh, Jay…” she cooed, the syrup of pity thick as she realized my plight, eyes scanning me and my burden, straining against the white tape like a leashed beast.

“If I…If…”

She lowered my pants some more, now fully revealing my situation, taking them down past my knees. “If you got hard..?” she asked.

“Yeah…” I managed, incredulous myself at how huge I looked, my erection massive and strong strapped to my meager-looking thigh. It didn’t quite match my femur in length, or girth, but it wasn’t too hard to imagine what could come if…if…

“You poor thing,” she cooed again, hand now tenuously hovering near my twitching manhood.

“I’ve been doing it at work f-for a while now…nnngh!” I explained, grunting as her fingers traced my length, from base to where the tape began. My balls, also swollen monstrosities, throbbed below.

“At work, hm? Under your Dockers?” she mused, fingers casually playing with the strap of tape, plucking at it with her painted nails, “Trying to hide your boners from us?”

“nnngh…y-yes…” I answered, barely able to form words as her nail ran further down my erection, to lightly tease the head.

“Why?” she asked, stroking my glans now with one tender fingertip, watching me shudder, my shaft strain up against the tape, “Does examining all the old ladies, seeing Mr. Kowalski turn you on?” Her smile had turned mischievous; she was teasing me.

“n-n-no that’s not it…” I answered.

“Is it the women in the study?” she continued, a bit more serious now and pinching my swollen head gently between two fingers. It was like a small plum. “The younger ones? The pretty ones?” she asked, making me recall Mary-Jane, Rachel, the other subjects, “Or the other girls maybe? My friends?”

I grunted. “well yes b-but no but-”

“Is it me?”

“yesssss…” I moaned, as she gripped my throbbing cock again.

“Is it seeing me in my right tops? My sweaters? My low-cut blouses?”

“yessss…” I moaned again. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it felt so good to admit it. I was a fucking slave to her tits.

“Good boy…” she said, plainly, “I like that I make you hard.”

“oh my god…oh Melissa…you h-have no idea…” I was barely able to speak, but if I could find it in myself for these, these adulations, I had to try, “y-you’re so beautiful…”

She giggled, amused but also obviously struck by the compliment. She continued giving me instructions. ”Now, I don't want you to tape any more,” she said, “I want to know when I make you hard. The girls will want to see too, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you understand?”

“y-yes,” I replied, without hesitation. What sort of fucked-up world was I living in? At the moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted that hand on my dick.

“Good boy,” she repeated, watching my face as I shuddered again in pleasure under her praise. She liked that, how her approval meant so much to me. “I can tell you’re eager, and that tape’s got to be uncomfortable. Let’s get you out of it…” she gripped the tape, where the end of its loop began across my upper thigh, and prepared to rip it off with her fingers.  “May I?”

“y-yes…please…”

Swiftly, but with care, she tore the tape from me. From my medical supplies, it was designed not to pull hair but still I winced. And then my cock - nine inches of stiff erection, pulsing veins and turgid skin - sprang skyward, jumping from my lap.

“OOOooooo well hello..!” she cooed, obviously delighted as she watched it,“ there we are..!” She giggled, watching it bob and wave in the air, at an acute angle up past my belly. It was an amazing sight, really, and looked even more dramatically outsized compared to the thin, small body from which it grew.

She didn’t immediately take hold of it, but rather took a moment to gather some cake - batter, frosting and cream - from where some of it had smeared her top, her chest. She took the gooey sweet mess, a small handful into her fingers, and then she grabbed me, fully around the shaft.

“Nnnngh…!” I groaned again, as mushed-up cake squished around me, smeared between her hand and my hardness, lubricating me as she slowly began to stroke.

“Therrrrrrrre you go,” she purred, gently moving her hand up and down my length, from base to shaft, both our eyes fixed and intent on the spectacle of her big, female hand encircling my needy manhood and the cake she baked all around me, cream and frosting squeezing sloppily between her fingers. “Does that feel good, hm?” she asked, as she began to jerk me off, “Does it feel good being in my hand?”

“oh my god yes, Melissa, yes,” I moaned, amazed at how hard and ready I was, having come already just a short while ago. Was it something to do with her perfume?

“Is it okay if I stroke you now?” she asked, though she’d already taken matters to task, “I want to make you feel good.” She was now watching my face, looking at me gaze down in wild wonder at how she was holding me, pleasuring me, stroking me. Soft skin on skin. The mess of the cake squished noisily around me, and I could feel my second orgasm starting to swell.

“Melissa y-you already…“ I began, “made me…me…”

“Made you burst? Under my butt?” she giggled, recalling the moment I’d lost control under her, as she sat heavily in my lap at the party, “haha yeah…but I want to look in your eyes this time,” she said, “when you do it.”

Instinctively, out of both shame and the last of my pride, my eyes fluttered closed.

“No no no don’t hide, don’t hide,” she insisted with an indulgent coo, her left hand suddenly dropping my cock to cup my chin, tilt my head up to look her in the eyes. Her big, beautiful eyes - greens and browns and golds -  gazed down into mine. Her smile was beatific, her cheekbones perfect. Huge dark hair framed her face luxuriously. My god she was gorgeous, and she smiled at my dumbfounded reaction. “Show me your face,” she entreated me, as her hand left my chin to return to my needful cock,  “I want to see it when I finally do this.” Her right hand still held my head from behind, supporting me.

“o-o-okay…” I acceded, my eyes watery as I struggled to hold out, just a while longer. Just the look of her face, of her captivating, tender visage gazing down into mine was near enough to make me burst right there. She was seeing how I struggled, and couldn’t help a smile from curling at her painted lips.

“Mmm, you like it when I cup your head like this, telling you to look me in the eyes when I stroke you? You do, don’t you?” she purred, the ministrations of her hand now entirely rhythmic, jerking me off in her lap, “Now I can see all those cute expressions you make. The way you roll your eyes when you moan. So cute…”

I was moaning, I was groaning. I couldn’t help it but my eyes would sometimes break from hers as they’d roll up into my head. But I did my best, I did my best to keep eye contact. If she wanted to watch this happen, if she wanted to see it in my face when I died my little death at her hand, I was willing to let her see.

“That’s right, look at me, look in my eyes,” she urged, feeling my body start to prepare itself, tensing, readying for the wracking spasm that would shudder my bones. Her own excitement, I could tell, was cresting. Her eyes burned, shone, searched. She wanted this just as badly as I did; maybe more. “Look at me, Jay, look. Who makes you come??“

“y-you do,“ I answered, immediately, as my body began to shake, quiver, though my gaze held itself steady, up into hers.

“That's right. Good boy. Who makes you come??” she repeated, stroking me firmly now and her eyes boring deeply into mine.

“Y-you do..!” I grunted, as I felt it, my loins clenching. Her hand worked me harder, now, and there was no stopping it. I was about to-

“Look in my eyes. Who makes you come??” she demanded, the stern turn in her voice finally doing it to me, pulling me over the edge. I began to climax, there in her lap, there in her hand, there in her eyes. “Say my name..!” she commanded.

“Melisssssa..!” I groaned, as I erupted in her grip, watching her eyes light up in triumph as I came, so hard, for her. “Melissa Melissa Melissa..!” I barked, her name now flowing freely now as my jism shot up into the air, “Melissa Melissa it’s you..!”

Her mouth had gaped open, now, and was formed into a huge, wide smile. She watched my face, she watched my eyes as I came for her, as I adulated her. Her hand pumped me, milking me, wracking my bony, shaking torso with crippling pleasure and she began to laugh. She was amazed, she was glorious, she was fulfilling some deep-seated instinct and it was as enrapturing to her as it was to me. She laughed, and I was both intoxicated and transported by it, by her joy. But it was like I could feel others laughing with her, as well, celebrating, enthralled also by the moment though they were not here. As I came, as I came in her hand women everywhere around me were laughing and growing and being ravished by an ecstasy we all somehow shared. Holy shit what was happening?!?

“Come for me, come for me Jay, come!” she laughed, as her strong hand still yanked at me, the two of them - her hand, my cock - like one unit, built for each other to birth pleasure. I still erupted, spasming throughout my whole body for her as my eyes though now began to roll. She let my gaze leave hers as my orgasm consumed me, shuddering deep and shaking my soul as the laughter of the women in the other room caught me, began to lay me back into itself. My seed now flowed over her hand, mixing with the battered goo of the cake into a froth of ooze. I felt Melissa’s hand behind my head pulling me towards her, and as I began to fade, my climax rolling away, I allowed myself to be pulled into her, her strong arm around me cradling me to her chest. My thin body heaved with wracking breaths, now, and I inhaled her in.

“There we go…” she said, as she began to find control of her own voice again, “Lay into me, Jay, lay into me just like that…”

“o-o-okay…” I muttered.

“You can rest now, sweetie…” she purred, “Melissa’s got you…”

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