Growing into the Job, Post 571: A Quiet House, p1

The Valkyrie XX Behemoth eased to a stop, the faint whir of its electric motors dying away into silence in the garage. For a moment, the only sound was the slow click of cooling metal and Melissa’s own breath - deep, measured, the way she’d trained herself to breathe when she needed to keep from breaking stuff: things, buildings, people. 

The three-bay garage of her mother’s house was cavernous - with just enough clearance to house her oversized SUV. It was also immaculate -  white epoxy floor, recessed strip lighting, the faint sterile scent of ozone and polish. It looked like a place meant to hold aircraft, not cars. Her mother’s luxury sedan sat in another bay, and would go unused until she once again returned from travels. Her sister’s car was here, too. 

The Behemoth gave a low chime as the AI announced, “Secondary vehicle has arrived.” In the rearview, Melissa could make out the smaller car, her old Beemer that had been repurposed into something for him, pulling obediently into the drive, parking itself at a neat angle. Melissa exhaled. “Good,” she murmured to the car, “tell it to Stay.”

The AI listened, and the smaller car’s lights extinguished. 

At her next command, the heavy garage door rumbled down behind her, the noise echoing off the walls until it sealed with a soft, final thunk. The sound felt symbolic somehow, like a…well, a door closing. Something sealing them in from the outside world. 

She sat there for a long few seconds, hands still on the wheel, trying to quell the agitation that trembled at the base of her skull. Her pulse had slowed from her earlier mania, the anger she felt with him on their drive, but a dark flicker - that hot, unpredictable ember that sometimes flamed up in her when she felt disobeyed - still glowed somewhere behind her ribs. She could feel it. If she let it, it would come roaring back to life.

So she breathed. In. Out. Again.

When she finally looked down, the sight made her chest tighten.

He was still there - small, warm, asleep. Head tucked into the swells of her massive cleavage, the rest of him cocooned and pinned against her by the tight stretch of her clothes. His hair was damp against her skin, his breathing soft and rhythmic.

He looked so calm like this. So harmless. The tenderness came first - a quick rush, sudden enough to sting her eyes. He’s so good when he’s sleeping, so well-behaved, she thought, her lips curving into something close to a smile. And his warm seed, which had dribbled to pool still wet on her thigh, felt good, smelled good. It reminded her of how much she loved him, brought that as a warm thought. Then, just as quickly, she forced it all away. This wasn’t over. He’d run from her. Lied, even if only by not telling her what he’d done. The sin of omission, inexcusable. 

She snuck a single finger in to brush a limp strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re home,” she said softly, but not allowing too much affection into her voice. “Wake up, Jay.”

He stirred at once, confusion giving way to a wary sort of awakeness. He had dozed the rest of the way home, exhausted after her scolding, and now his voice was rough when he tried to speak - to apologize for falling asleep or for everything else he’d done all day, maybe  - but she shook her head, silencing him before the words could form.

“Shhh.” She made her voice low but commanding, and threaded with a faint, superhuman resonance that made it impossible not to obey. “Let’s go upstairs so we can continue this discussion.” Maybe with my hairbrush on your bare bottom. 

She opened the SUV’s door and stepped out carefully, carrying him with her - still held close, half-hidden against her body, his farce just barely peeking out from between her breasts. She was aware how the chill of the garage air hit her skin, but it didn’t bother her. In fact, she barely noticed. Just as she’d barely noticed the onslaught of texts and call alerts she’d been getting on her drive. Some emergency at the office? For the moment, no matter. Her focus stayed on him, on the way he squirmed slightly, trying to look up at her, trying to talk again.

“Melissa - please, just listen to me-”

She cut him off with a sharper, firmer ‘shhh’, pulling him instinctively closer as the car door closed behind her. The echo of it filled the garage, and then there was only her voice again - quiet but implacable.

“Not now. Upstairs.”

She turned toward the door leading into the house, him attached to her, and kicked off her muddy sneakers in the mudroom. She nudged them aside with a quick, irritated motion. Her feet had been mostly silent on the cold floor of the garage, which she didn’t like. She wanted him to hear what her presence could do. So, the silence of her mother’s empty house disappeared when she let her now bare footfalls become heavy, putting thunder into them. She would show him how she could shake the house with her weight, a physical reminder that she was home and not a woman to be trifled with

<BOOM BOOM BOOM> were her footsteps, across the hardwood of the kitchen and past the stone counter island with its still-life perfection of fruit in a bowl that no one had touched for days. A cat, a long-haired tabby, shot her a baleful glance from atop the couch.

“Go away…Tiger,” she commanded.

<BOOM BOOM BOOM> The great room, on the other side of the island, opened around her: high ceilings, walls of glass facing the patio and gray forest beyond, the yard where they had once stargazed together. I was smaller then, she thought. The faint hum of the climate system came to life, adjusting to her arrival. She walked, her focus narrowed to the stairwell ahead. Each step she took was heavier than the last, not from fatigue but from choice - control, in a form she could feel. And made him feel, too.

At the base of the stairs, a tall mirror occupied nearly the full height of the wall. Melissa stopped before it. The reflection stared back: her hair tangled from the fog, skin damp with sweat and mist, her clothes clinging. Against her torso, a small shape pressed close, half hidden, still. She tilted her head, studying the image - how easily the two of them could be mistaken for one being, him inseparable from her, just a part of her body. She saw his face, just barely peeking out from her cleavage, wide-eyed and frightened - he was looking too - with thrill at the sight.

“I wonder what you’re thinking, Jay,” she murmured, voice low. Her eyes softened briefly, then sharpened. “Actually,” she added, “I don’t have to wonder.”

She let her mind slip outward, a shimmer of sensation that wasn’t quite sound. I’ve been getting better at this, she mused. For a heartbeat, she brushed against his inner self - the swirl of confusion, apprehension, the stunned disbelief and dark excitement at the sight of their mirrored form. It gave her a rush, this new power: not able to read his thoughts, exactly - at least not yet - more just see his feelings. It was just another step in her ascension above all the little people, and it warmed her in dark, secret ways that maybe someday she’d be able to do this to others, to everyone. . 

He, though, had stiffened instantly, a shiver running through him at the touch of her consciousness inside his. He knew she was inside his mind, and felt it as an intrusion.

Melissa smiled faintly, but there was little humor in it. “Your privacy,” she said, her tone calm but final, “is the least of your worries right now, hun.”

Then she drew a steadying breath, pushed his head in deeper with two forefingers, and started up the stairs.

The house answered her ascent: the banister gave a creak, the chandelier swayed ever so slightly, and somewhere in a den a picture frame tilted on its hook. Step by step, the rhythm of her movements filled the quiet. At the top, the upstairs hall balcony, which looked over the great room, spread out toward the bedrooms. The door of the room she used stood half-open, her ultra-sensitive sense of smell picking up the faint draft of the scents within: some of his old clothes, some of hers. She’d likely have to do laundry soon.

Melissa’s hand tightened briefly on the railing. She exhaled through her nose, collected herself, and turned toward the waiting bedroom. Upstairs, the house absorbed every vibration. Her footfalls landed heavy on the polished wood, the sound rolling ahead of her like distant thunder. She didn’t speak. She didn’t want to. Each step would be a statement - one he would feel, and think about, as much as hear.

As close as they were - he attached to her like a remora to a bull shark - a silence stretched between them, thin. She could sense him shifting, restless, mind buzzing with the questions he wasn’t daring to voice. She resisted the urge to look into him deeper, maybe figure out what these questions were. In the meantime, though, she savored the taste of his anxiety, which trembled faintly in the air like static before a storm. Good, she thought, he should be anxious.

When they reached her room, Melissa stopped at the threshold and drew a long, even breath through her nose. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of cedar and ozone - the scent of the purifier that ran constantly in her mother’s house -  and, yes, dirty laundry. She could ask some of the monkeys from the basement at work to come and do her dirty clothes. They’d probably love the chance, she mused, maybe a bit darkly, I might even let them take something for that altar they’ve started. The blinds were drawn against the scant daylight, casting the room and its inhabitants - white furniture, pictures frames, “Ted” her big plush teddy bear sitting on his shelf - in soft gray shadow.

She moved toward the bed and unceremoniously peeled him out of the fabric that had held him close to her: popping his head out from under the elastic of her bra, sliding his legs up from the cling of her leggings. She would miss the closeness of his body - she felt the absence immediately - but he needed his lesson. She tsk’d at him, a mess - mud streaks, sweat, the scent of fear and exhaustion and his climaxes rising off him in waves. She couldn’t say his smell was unpleasant - coming from him, quite the opposite - but her first instinct was to wash him, to clean him and calm him down. But she stopped herself. Not yet. That would be too soft, too forgiving.

Instead, she set him down on the edge of the bed, naked. Naked and dirty and - apparently, from his shivering - cold.

“Stay,” she said...

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of command. He obeyed, wordless, his eyes following her as she began to pace the room, doing her best to think through the storm of random neurons firing in her something-other-than-normal-human brain - a mind not built for complex problems like this. What to do with a disobedient male, when it was one that you loved? Back and forth, forth and back, the rhythm of her movements tightening the air until it felt like a cage and she the jungle cat within. For a moment, she turned to push aside the blinds and peer out the window, which looked over the front yard, to the street.

She felt his eyes on her behind.

“Are you seriously looking at my ass right now??”

Her majestic rear was literally right in front of him - big, meaty glutes, shaking and trembling as she walked, as she struggled with thought. And, yes, he was staring at it.

“It l-l-looks bIGGer?” he offered sheepishly, as if in some sort of explanation, “H-has it always bEEN this big?” 

They both noticed how his voice had cracked, adolescently.

“No of course not. Every day it gets bigger,” she said, with frank plainness, “And you get smaller. It might weigh more than you do now, you’re so small. Small everywhere except…that.”

She was gesturing, of course, to the enormous cock that was now rising up in a solid erection from his naked lap. 

“It’s like you acted out on purpose, running away today,” she said, going beyond a mere gesture to lean down and casually grab his erection, making him less-than-casually convulse. She watched his eyes roll back in his head and she felt a simmer of a smile tug at the corner of her lips, but her tone stayed measured. “Like you just wanted my - wanted Mommy’s - attention. She was gone for so long, hmm? And it was so difficult. So hard.” She squeezed his shaft. “Was that it? You just wanted attention?”

He was gasping, but he shook his head quickly, his words tumbling over one another. “N-no, no, M-Melissa, I-I know it was a mistake to run. But I was honestly - honestly - scared.” He tried to catch his breath. “Th-they were after me, or I thought they were - Gianna, Jewel, Katarina, Angie - they’ve all been watching me. I didn’t know, like, what to do, where to go...”

“Then why not go to someone you could trust?” she shot back, giving his cock a long hard squeeze that blurred his vision, crossed his eyes. “Randi? Lakshmi? Any of them would have helped you.”

He groaned, and he hesitated. His voice went quieter. “Because…” he began, as he tried to gather himself even as Melissa’s hand stroked, a slow up-and-down, “I-I can’t…I can’t seem to think straight around them anymore. Around any of you. It’s too much. Too many women. Too much…power. I feel - overwhelmed.”

Melissa’s lips curled in a humorless half-smile. This was what she wanted, right? This was what the Movement wanted. Things were, she figured, going as planned. “Well, little man,” she said, feeling a twinge of something that hurt, “you’d better get used to it.”

She let go of his cock. He whined. 

She began pacing again, slower this time, her steps thoughtful as he looked for breath. The storm inside her hadn’t passed; it had simply refocused into calculation. “I can’t have you running off again,” she said, “Not when you can get yourself hurt.”

Her eyes swept the room as if searching for a solution. “Maybe I should get something - something that’ll help keep you safe. Like a lock on your car, so it won’t even start without my permission. And something for work. Something AI. I could make the whole building lock up on you if you try to leave, or lock you in an office before you do something stupid...”

“Melissa, n-no, please…” he begged, still trying to recover, cock solid and twitching. 

“A tracker, maybe. An anklet, or a bracelet you can’t take off.” She paused, glancing back at him. Her tone dropped, speculative. “If I could implant it right in you, under your skin or in your head, I would.”

He watched as she turned the ideas over in her mind, muttering to herself, half-thinking, half-warning. Each option was a reflection of the same truth: she wasn’t going to let this happen again. He could only look on in chastened disbelief: how had his life ended up in the hands of this bubble-headed, bubble-butted but obviously super-powered twenty-something?

Her pacing stopped. She stood still, back half-turned toward him, breathing deep and even. The house seemed to wait with him in the long moment of silence that followed.

Maybe looking for a brief respite from her struggles, Melissa fished the phone from the small pocket at the side of her leggings - left thigh, the fabric stretching taut over the swell of her quadriceps. It had been silently buzzing her for more than an hour, near constantly, and she’d largely ignored it. She blinked at the screen. Threads and threads of messages lit up the display - Randi at the top, frantic texts from Josie, short updates from Lakshmi and Aubrey, and a string of missed calls. A riot of red bubbles that she thumbed through with the same blasé flick she might give a weather alert. The subject lines and little previews all blurred together until she read them properly: bomb scare, evacuation, WHERE ARE YOU. His shirt found in the stairwell, his phone in a bush, security video footage of his car leaving the lot. Randi begging her not to overreact. Josie and Lakshmi swearing they’d look harder. A hundred little human alarms.

“Bomb scare,” she muttered, the words flat, almost amused, finding some pleasure in it. “Gotta go be a manager. They need me, they want to listen and pay attention to me.”  With a blur of her fingers to the screen she gave them all a reply in one fell swoop: I’m on my way soon. 

“W-w have to go?” he asked. 

She pocketed the phone again and turned her full attention back to the small, shivering figure on the bed. Jay sat naked and streaked with mud, hands now wrapped around his own knees, casting eyes down with the particular dread of a child who knew a lecture - or something worse - was coming. Melissa’s gaze narrowed, calculating.

She wasn’t done with him. He needed his punishment. 

What to do with you?

The solution came to her. Despite the fact that she’d promised herself never to let him out of her sight again - the ambiguity actually made her teeth ache - she knew he could be safe here. The house felt like a good enough cage.

“I’m going to the office. You’re going into time-out.”

“T-time out??” he stammered, and then - after thinking of the implications, considering being without her again and the sickness it brought - blurted: “N-N-No!”

She knew he didn’t want to be alone, and it tugged at her heart thinking of leaving him. But sometimes the people in charge need to make the toughest decisions.

“I need to make you remember this.”

The ramifications, the consequences of his actions were still striking him, and she watched them run over his face. “M-Melissa, no-“

She silenced him with a look, but kept her thoughts to herself. I shouldn’t take you with me, you need to rest, she decided, justifying her decision to herself, and there’ll be so much going on at the office.

She just needed to make sure he wouldn’t try to leave, if she left him alone. She ran through some options in her head, and looked at her old dresser. Clothes she’d been using recently she’d put in the closet, but the dresser wasn’t empty. 

She crossed the room in two deliberate strides, the floorboards giving soft, protesting creaks beneath her weight. The tall piece of furniture waited like a shrine; she yanked open a middle drawer with a low <scrrrape> that rattled the perfume bottles on top. Inside, a pastel avalanche - cotton, lace, satin. 

“Wh-what’s in there?”

“This, sweetie, is my bra museum,” she announced, voice suddenly warm with pride as she put her hand onto the collected garments, running her touch over them wistfully. She grinned as she felt his interest, predictably, pique. “I’ve pretty much kept one every year since middle school.” 

“Oh, uh, hah…cool…” he stammered. 

“Cool, yeah,” she agreed. Maybe, when the time comes, I’ll let you sleep in here.

But for now she looked them over, her old bras, and her eyes glimmered in nostalgia. She felt the warmth rise in her chest, the weight of her womanly bosom making her smile proudly. In this drawer was every stage of her growth, preserved like pressed flowers. She’d almost forgotten she had them here. 

Choosing carefully, she collected three, pulling them one-by-one from the drawer front-to-back, like going back in time. Then, from the very back she lifted the oldest: to her now, it looked so little - a sweet, innocent thing. 

“This one’s from eighth grade,” she told him, turning back towards the bed and stepping to him as she placed the first three bras down on the nightstand, “I basically had the biggest boobs in the class.” She remembered - as the new girl, just having moved into town, halfway through the year from overseas - how stupid big they looked on her then-five-foot-four, adolescent-thin frame. How they drew the eyes of her new schoolmates when she appeared in class. 

She held it up between thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle like a trophy in front of his face. The bra was pink cotton printed with white polka dots, the underwire just beginning to assert itself, cups modestly rounded for her then more-than-just budding breasts. The straps were thin but sturdy, the clasp a simple three-hook affair, and a faint yellowed sweat-stain ghosted the band from long-ago gym-classes. “Look at this cutie,” she mused teasingly, watching his eyes become fixated. She showed him the tag, faded print still legible: ‘Victoria’s Secret PINK, 28D’. 

He gulped. 

Melissa stepped closer, and crouched down in front of him. They were nearly eye-to-eye. She made sure to brush her now enormous breasts against his knees, give him a chance to appreciate her current scale in the presence of this relic. 

“D-cups at thirteen…” she said, putting the bra aside her boyfriend on the mattress and reaching to the nightstand for the second bra, “...Double-E by junior year.” She saw how his eyes tracked the new bra as if it were a loaded gun as she brought it closer. 

This was a sleek black number she wore in high school, the fabric soft satin with a subtle sheen that caught the room’s light like midnight silk. The cups were molded for a smooth, rounded lift, now with full underwire sturdy enough to support her fast-growing swells, the band a firm elastic blend with four-hook closure for extra hold, straps wider and padded to ease the weight on her shoulders. A hint of lace trimmed the cup edges, delicate but durable. Melissa flipped it inside out to show the tag - again faded but clear -  Victoria’s Secret, 32EE - and dangled it close to Jay’s face, her breasts pushing at his knees as she leaned in, acting like she didn’t notice his eyes glazing over.

“So yeah this one’s from junior year. I think I’d hit double-E the summer before,” she said casually, voice warm with nostalgia as she traced a finger along the bit of lace, pretending to be oblivious to how his breath hitched, his fixation growing. “I remember I wore this one on purpose for a meeting with Mr. Hargrove, my American History teacher when I needed a better grade on a paper about, like, Benjamin Franklin.” She giggled lightly, like it was no big deal, flipping the bra around to cup it in her palm, the molded swells tiny compared to her current size. “I wore it under a tight blue sweater - it was chilly that day - and walked into his room after school. Poor little guy…”

“Wh-…what happened?” Dr. J asked, more-than-obviously engaged in this, the natural history of her bust size and its effects on the population of Middlesex High. 

Melissa let out a tsk. “It was, like, right when I was really learning how I could use my chest to get what I want. Not just with boys in my grade, but with, like, men, too. I just sat the right way and Mr. Hargrove couldn’t keep his eyes up. Stuttered through the whole talk, ended up bumping me to an A-minus. Guess he really liked the paper.” She teased the strap of the black bra against Jay’s cheek, acting all innocent as his face flushed, her own high cheekbones glowing with the memory, full lips curving in a playful smile while she “accidentally” brushed her current cleavage across his thighs, making him squirm.

“Double-E, but still…” She gave a short, husky laugh, putting the black bra aside. “Kid stuff.”

She picked up the third from the side table - a bombshell red push-up from her post-high school days, velvet-soft padding in the cups for maximum cleavage boost, the band a stretchy lace-trimmed elastic with five hooks for heavy-duty support, straps adjustable with gold sliders for that custom fit. The cups plunged low, wired for lift, material a silky nylon-spandex blend that would hug like a second skin. The whole thing reeked of hot-girl flair with its bold crimson hue and subtle gold-glitter thread. Melissa held it up by the straps, letting it swing gently until his eyes followed it like a hypnotist’s swinging timepiece.

“And this one? From like a year after graduation, when I was working at Hooters,” she mused, voice casual as she cupped the bra like a precious artifact, pretending to be oblivious to Jay’s wide-eyed fixation, or how his hands twitched like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare. “My boobs grew fast once I got that job, like my body knew: bigger boobs equals bigger tips. I was like a double-F in months - see?”

Melissa turned it to flash the tag to him: ‘Elomi, 34FF’ - bold letters on satin, marking her rapid growth spurt.

“I had to, like, upgrade my bra drawer a couple times during those years. Wore this under the uniform, push-up making them pop up to, omig-d, my throat. Crazy. Guys couldn’t tip fast enough - stared all night, stuttered orders. It was, like, empowering. I was making bank.” She dangled it closer, the spandex-blend brushing his nose, her enormous current breasts heaving in her sports bra as she leaned forward onto his bare lap, acting like she didn’t see his flush deepen, her sultry green-gold eyes twinkling with falsely innocent pride while her long dark hair fell forward, framing her face in a teasing curtain.

Next, Melissa set the red push-up aside with a soft thwip of spandex on the bed and reached back onto the nightstand, pulling the final card from a winning hand. The fourth bra was a starkly white, starkly utilitarian one that she held up with a laugh.

“Okay, Jay,” she announced, raising both eyebrows and dropping her voice into the warm, almost sleepy register she used when she was feeling particularly pleased with herself. “This one was my first ‘mom’ bra. Got it soon after I started behind the counter at the DMV. What do you think?”

The bra, by far the biggest of them so far, was of a thick, no-nonsense cotton-polyester blend so dense it felt almost canvas-like, quadruple-stitched seams running under each cup for industrial-grade lift, band a full four inches wide with six heavy-duty hooks marching up the back like tank treads. The straps were broad, padded, and reinforced with extra elastic layers. The cups themselves were full-coverage behemoths, deep and unforgiving, shaped to corral rather than caress. No lace, no bows, no apologies - just pure, unyielding support.

He didn’t say anything, she noticed. She tilted her head, just slightly. “What? You like this one?” she teased, “You’re into the mom bra?”

He stammered. “N-no, I mean - I just - it’s-“

She giggled. “Relax, Jay. It’s normal to be curious.” She turned it so the tag faced him square-on: ‘Playtex 18-Hour Ultimate Lift, 34GG’, the letters crisp and black against the white satin label, size stamped like a government warning. “I was still serving at Hooters on the weekends for cash, but weekdays at the DMV I needed something to, like, keep everything locked down. No bouncing, no distractions.” Just…containment. “For when I just didn’t feel like jiggling.”

“L-looks…very sturdy,” he managed.

It was adorable that he was trying to keep up conversation.

“MM-Hmm,” she chuckled, and gave the bra a little shake, letting the thick fabric speak for itself; the cups barely budged, rigid as armor. “Went through, like, three sizes at Hooters and then another at the Nordstrom perfume counter. Had to special-order this 34 Double-G.”

Jay’s eyes were saucers, fixed on the pragmatic, robust white fortress dangling inches from his nose. His cheeks went scarlet, breath catching in a tell-tale hitch. Melissa noticed - of course she did - and her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“Awww, look at you, all flustered over Mommy’s big practical bra.” She let the cups brush his face, casual as anything, watching him jerk back like he’d been shocked. “It’s okay, sweetie. I know lots of guys get all funny about these. Something about the thick straps and the no-nonsense white, huh?” She tilted her head, faux-thoughtful, tapping the tag against her lower lip. “Maybe it reminds them of sneaking peeks on laundry day…or thinking about the first time they realized their own mom had to wrestle herself into place every morning. Big, heavy, in charge. Comforting, right? Seeing a bra like this? Kinda like…home.”

For some reason, he seemed repentant. “I’m sorry…” he murmured.

She cocked her head again, looking at him, and let that hang in the air as the bra swayed gently between them. For a moment she simply studied his face - his knotted brow, how vulnerable and small he looked, how unquestioningly human and fixated on her bras. Then she added a soft tut-tut. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Jay-Jay. Mommy’s not mad that you like her bras.” 

Her smile sharpened just a fraction. 

“What she is mad about, though, is how you ran away from her and her friends today,” she said, with less tolerance. Then, without another word, she looped the left strap of the mom-bra around his right wrist - thick padding pressing into his skin at first like a promise - and knotted it tight.

Jay’s voice cracked into a panicked squeak. “Melissa - what…what are y-?”

“Shhh,”she quieted him. The right strap she stretched to the bedpost, looped it around, and pulled it taut until the sturdy cotton creaked and the carved wood groaned in protest to her strength.

The mom-bra was now a gleaming white tether, leashing him by the right arm to the bed. 

“M-Melissa?”

She heard him, she heard the first hint of fear. But she paid his complaint no mind. Instead, she picked up the red push-up next - ‘Elomi 34FF’, crimson with the gold-glitter thread. She gave it a lazy twirl so the five-hook band flashed like a warning. Then she grabbed his left ankle, spun him up fully onto the bed and came up onto it herself with one knee, next to him, letting the mattress dip hard under her weight. 

She started to speak to him, but not before admiring how comically fragile Jay’s ankle looked in her hand. Her palm alone swallowed it. She looped a padded strap around it twice, cinched it snug.

“H-hey - sTOp!” He continued to protest, a bit more emphatically. 

She hushed him again. “Since you’ve shown you can be a little troublemaker, I have decided I have to be stricter with you. I want to make sure you don’t go anywhere when I’m gone.”

“W-wHAt are you doing?” he squeaked, voice cracking again like a teenager’s.

“Making sure you stay put, baby,” she answered, calm as bedtime, “No running while Mommy’s at work. I can’t have you trying to get up and hurt yourself. We’ll keep you in my bed, let my bras hold you tight.”

“N-no!” he squealed. He jerked against the restraint, the bra strap holding fast. “Melissa - please - this is crazy! You can’t just tie me up like th-”

She stretched the other strap of the bra tied to his left ankle to the bottom-left post. One effortless tug and his leg shot outward, knee locking, hip joint creaking. The red satin snapped taut; his whole body slid some inches across the sheets toward her like a toy on a string; his leg was yanked outward until his thigh trembled.

“I’m going to be more assertive in, like, disciplining you when you show you need it,” she said, voice soft but final. 

“M-Melissa, oh my god, stop-”

“I told you before - watch your language. If you had any idea of the spanking you could be getting you would stop talking right now.”

Her sudden turn of tone chilled him - as did the threat of her hand. He became more contrite. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t-”

“Shhh. Apologies later.” She didn’t even glance at his face; she was busy admiring how the band of the bra now spanned the distance from his ankle to the post with room to spare. “Look how big even this old bra is compared to you. Cute.”

Next came the black demi from junior year - 32EE, Victoria’s Secret, satin. She’d come forward on all fours to reach for it on the right side of the bed. The bedframe itself had bowed under her weight, headboard knocking the wall, and her huge bosoms swung above him like twin moons, eclipsing the light, casting him in her shadow alone made him flinch. She snared his left wrist -  her fingers meeting around it with inches to spare - and knotted the lacey strap.

“No leaving the house or office or anywhere without asking Mommy first,” she announced, “Not to go shopping, not to do errands. Not the yard, not the mailbox, not even the front step. You ask and you wait until you get told ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

The strap bit into his skin as she pulled the other end of the bra to the top-left post, and hauled until his arm stretched overhead. His shoulder socket gave a tiny pop of protest. His entire torso lifted off the mattress for a heartbeat before coming back down, breath whooshing out of him.

“Melissa please you can’t be serio-OOOF!”

Already she was reaching across him to get the final bra and, indulgently, she let one massive breast mash down onto his face. She put a small amount of her weight onto it and let herself rest there for a moment. She let him consider, and she considered herself, how easy it would be to squash him.

“MMMmmpphh!!”

She smiled at the feel of his little head under her tit. But she finally sat up over him. 

“P-please, I get it! I’ll b-b-be good!” he immediately stammered, his voice cracking higher.“

“Good. Good boys don’t run away from their mommies,” she murmured, almost tenderly, patting his cheek with fingers that could crush walnuts. She glanced down at his throbbing erection, which came nearly to his chest, and the swollen sac below and considered showing him just how strong she was. “I just need to make sure.”

Last was the pink polka-dot bra she’d worn in eighth grade. She held it up like a between thumb and forefinger, the cups comically small against her palm.

“Last one,” she said, smiling down at him, splayed nearly totally spread-eagle, all but one limb tethered to a bed post. She looped a thin strap of the last bra around his right ankle, tied it off to the final post, and gave the knot one last tug. 

The bedframe creaked, and she sat up to admire her handiwork. Jay lay fully immobilized, chest heaving, cock traitorously rigid and waving in the air above his belly. 

“There,” she said, satisfied, standing up at the foot of the bed,  floorboards sighing under her weight, “All safe and sound.” 

Her hands went to her hips and she towered, surveying her work. The four bras - each a chapter of her own growth - and his naked, trembling body formed a perfect X across the bed. His arms were lifted up at an angle from his shoulders, his legs spread widely and also angled up. He was completely vulnerable like this, and she bit her lip to restrain herself from taking him again, just like this. 

He’d stopped, she noticed, even trying to argue or complain.

“Good boy,” she praised. She came around the mattress to his right, leaned down to brush a lock of hair from his damp forehead and give him another good look at her cleavage. She planted a soft kiss between his eyes - soft, maternal, final. “Now beg.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.  Beg for my forgiveness. Tell me that you’ll never do that again. Or I will sharpen my nails, right here, right now, and use them to slowly carve my name across your chest, so you never forget who you belong to. Because you. Belong. To me.”

And then it happened…

“I-I should´ve called..!”

Something creaked. 

“…or…or texted..!”

His eyes were wider, he was feeling it himself. The shame, the humiliation was doing it-

“P-please Melissa I’m sorry!!”

He was shrinking. 

“Look up at me, Jay,” she boomed, though still speaking softly. Her voice had now taken on an intense new kind of resonance to his diminished ears, “I want to look into your eyes as you get smaller.”

“N-no..!”

She looked again at how Jay’s body was stretched, watched him arch his spine, tug with all his might at his restraints. Nothing. He was helpless. He wasn’t going anywhere. Every limb was leashed by her bras, which now served as shackles for him, a man now barely half her height and getting smaller right before her eyes. 

She watched, but it was over as soon as it began. How much had he lost? An inch, maybe? I'll measure him later. He was nearly sobbing. 

“Mommy’s gotta go save the office now,” she finally said, looking him in the face, “You stay right here and think about what you did. When I get home, we’ll start your real punishment.”

“N-No you can’t leave me like this!!” he blurted, eyes wide, pleading, “I’ll…I’ll…” 

He was looking for the right words to say, she could see. Something that would please her, appease her. 

“I’ll miss you!!” he finally offered. 

She chuckled, and cooed. It did tug at her heart, how little and needy he looked. He was probably hungry, too, and he very likely would actually miss her. She paused, though, lips pursing in sudden thought.

“That is true, you really will miss me,” she said, remembering what he looked like at the base of the huge fir tree earlier, curled up and unconscious after having been away from her phera…her phurm…her perfumes for so long. “I can’t have you going into withdrawal again while Mommy’s gone,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Then, in one fluid motion she hooked her thumbs under the hem of her black sports bra - one she’d put on this morning at Evolution, one that had survived her run through the forest, the tree-shattering sex, and the drive home - and peeled it upward. The fabric rolled up over massive breasts, which spilled out heavy and free, swaying once before settling. Then up over her head with a soft <thwuk> , her thick dark hair tumbling into loose waves. She straightened, posed proudly for him, let him admire how her tits stood high and huge on her chest, skin still glistening with dried sweat and mist. The bra itself was soaked: warm, damp, carrying the full weight of her pheromones, scent likely thick enough to taste.

She leaned forward onto one arm, the mattress dipping again under her weight, and lowered the still-warm bra over his face like a sacred veil. The wide under-band settled across his forehead, while one cup - vast, stretched, fragrant - draped over his eyes, nose, and mouth, sealing him in a humid cave of her scent. One thick strap she tucked under his chin like a chin-strap, the other she looped loosely behind his head so the whole thing stayed snug. He can’t see, she thought, but without me here he won’t need to. All he needs to be able to do is breathe.

“Breathe deep, baby,” she cooed, patting the cup that now covered his entire face. “This’ll keep you nice and calm till I get home.”

Jay’s muffled inhale was immediate, desperate, a shudder running through his pinned body as the intense pheromones flooded his lungs. They would keep him alive, keep his systems running. They would also make him hungry, likely, and definitely horny. His cock - still traitorously rigid - gave a helpless, wracking spasm up over his belly. Yep, definitely horny.

Biting her lip once again to help herself resist relieving him one last time, Melissa leaned down into him. She plastered her bare breasts heavily over his naked neck, chest and torso, and planted a soft kiss on the crown of his head through the fabric.

“Time-out starts now, baby. Be good while Mommy’s at work.”

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