Illustrations by Capp

Asuka's Note: Excellent illustrations and a big thank you to capp for sending htem to me.

Comments (appreciated) to greapos@Hotmail.com

Disclaimer – This is a piece of erotic fiction. Some would find it very
naughty. Please do not read it if either you or I would be fined, thrown in
jail or generally yelled at if caught doing so. It is not intended for
minors or the illiterate. Otherwise, enjoy.

I.

John had shown no movement for six days. He had made no sound. He was only
recently released to his present hospital room from the strictly
quarantined, Infectious Disease Intensive Care Ward. He hovered in a state
of half-consciousness as his wife Julia, finally allowed at his side, held
his hand as she listened to the man in the white jacket at bedside. "Well,
at least we know whatever bug he’s got is no longer contagious," said the
doctor, one of the country’s leading specialists in tropical diseases, "but
this thing still has a nasty hold on him. He’s not unconscious – in fact,
he may be somewhat aware of what’s going on in the room – but he is very
weak and completely unresponsive. You’re lucky, Mrs. Blake, that the virus
seemed pretty uninterested in you."

John Blake had decided to bring his wife to a remote island off of Africa’s
west coast in celebration of their fourth wedding anniversary as well as
his new position as Chief of Plastic Surgery at the medical center. Soon
after their arrival at the small, exclusive resort, both had contracted
vague, flu-like symptoms: slight fever, stiff joints and mild headache.
While Julia recovered quickly, it soon became apparent that John would not.
He became progressively weaker, could take no food and finally slipped into
the semi-consciousness in which he now lay. Immediately rushed back to the
States and into the care of top physicians, John showed no improvement and
baffled all the experts.

"His vitals are fine. Better, in fact, since you’ve been in the room with
him. He must have missed you." Julia Blake looked with loving concern down
at her husband. She was a beautiful woman. If she was perhaps a bit
secretly vain, it was not undeserved. Her 5’7", lightly muscled frame and
perfect curves had served her for several years before her marriage as a
slightly successful figure model. While John, a rising young physician on
the university’s plastics staff and five years her senior, considered her
at first a "trophy wife" of sorts, their relationship had developed well.
He was proud to have, in natural form, what many of his colleagues in the
department created through their science and surgery: a wife of perfect,
classic features and flowing, blond hair, with a flawless, light tan
complexion and long, lean, muscular legs. And then there were her breasts.
He loved her breasts, and he knew it would take a miracle, even with all
his skills, to approach creating anything as beautiful as Julia’s naturally
full, round, 34D bosom. Their lovemaking routinely centered around her
breasts; she was always eager to please Jack and would hold him to herself
and pamper him in ways that he loved.

A bride at 24, Julia absolutely adored her husband. Her modeling career,
such as it was, ended with her marriage as she took to homemaking
full-time. She was content just to make John happy. Cleaning and decorating
their spacious new home. Developing her already fine skills as a cook.
Keeping herself in fabulous shape through hours of workouts. She took great
pride in her appearance and her body, and it thrilled her to know that John
found her so sexy. Always there for him when he needed her, always more
beautiful. Eventually, he promised, when it was right for his career, they
would have children. But until then, she would be more than happy just to
take care of him.

"And he needs you more than ever now," the doctor continued, "he’s been
getting weaker and slowly losing weight as his body continues to reject any
nourishment we try to give him. We’ve attempted feeding tubes, IV’s,
everything….it all just runs right through his system. If your presence
here gives him any strength, you’re welcome to stay all throughout visiting
hours." John had seemed to brighten a bit as she first approached his
bedside some minutes before, and even made a small sigh as she stroked his
face in greeting. It was the first sound he had made since his admission to
the hospital. Julia Blake, though not a woman of outstanding intellect, was
a wife with great resolve. She would stay by her husband’s side and do
anything in her power to make him feel better, to get him back home with
her.

Looking around the room, she was reminded as to just how little she liked
hospitals. Before he got sick, it was always his responsibilities in the
hospitals that kept John away from her during the day – and many nights.
But now, she had other reasons. Monitors hummed and chirped noisily, oxygen
hissed and bubbled as it flowed into the tube running below his nose. She
felt its warm mist as she approached him closer. It all felt so alien, but
she knew this was where she should be.

"Maybe you’d like some time alone with him," The doctor said as he ushered
several technicians from the room, "we’ll be right outside." With a small
frown on her full lips and a brow furrowed in concern, she brought her hand
once again to her husband’s face. It seemed to settle his breathing. She
passed the back of her hand across his cheeks, which brought a series of
small sighs from him. He did seem to respond to her touch, while previously
he showed few signs of life. "Oh John," whispered Julia as she began to
stroke his face, "my poor baby." She began to realize that it was she who
would have to take care of him now, while she was so used to the opposite.
Her long, delicate fingers passed gently over him, near his mouth. His lips
parted and quivered in response. Slightly heartened, she began to caress
his lips slowly, brushing them with her long fingernails. His lips began to
purse and release slightly, searching for her fingers, as if for a kiss.
Gently, hesitantly, she placed the tip of her index finger between his lips
and he received it with a pucker, trying to draw it inwards with his
breath. She paused, thoughtfully. Julia then slowly slid her finger deeper
past his lips as he began to feebly suck. "Oh, John," was all she whispered
again as she gazed down into his face, now seemingly content and
miraculously moving as his mouth suckled her finger like an infant his
bottle.

She felt a fluttering, a stirring in her chest. Oh, how she wanted to hold
him! He looked so helpless. She could scarcely believe that the confident,
strong-willed man she married was lying on this hospital bed, sucking on
her finger for strength. It was then that she noticed an additional change
in John’s condition: his hospital gown had risen between his legs with an
erection beneath. She eyed it questioningly, and gave it pause. "Oh my,"
she said, returning her bright blue eyes once again to her husband’s
peaceful face enraptured with her finger, "what are we going to do?"

As the doctor, flanked by several students, returned to the room, she
quickly pulled her finger away. "I think he needs his rest now, Mrs. Blake.
We’ll see you tomorrow morning." Julia stood abruptly, gathered herself,
thanked the doctor, and left the room quickly. Her drive home was full of
excited thoughts. Maybe there were ways that she could help him where the
doctors could not.

II

John’s night was fitful and full of confusing dreams. Dreams of smothering.
Of warmth. Images of Julia. Her face. The curve of her hips. Her parting
lips. Her breasts. Eventually the night passed and he faded back in to
half-consciousness aware of his hand in Julia’s. Her hand seemed so warm
and alive. He was always a proud man and took the dominant role in their
relationship from the start. But now his feelings for her disturbed him, as
ill as he was. His need for her touch was consuming, almost instinctual –
and his libido had increased to the point where the very thought of her set
him afire. And, though it bothered him, he could do nothing to fight it. He
knew that if he had the use of his limbs he would not be able to stop
himself from masturbating constantly. Focused solely on the soft comfort of
her grip, he felt as if all his energy came from her. He became aware of
her voice mingled with others in the room, though he could not process the
speech. The day went on as he drifted further in and out of reality.

After many hours, the room became quiet as the others left. Her hand left
his. He heard her footsteps across the room and a latch click on the door.
Though he had not the energy to open his eyes, he could hear her approach
back to his bedside, almost smell her grow nearer, sense her weight settle
into the chair to the left of him. "I’m here for you now," she whispered as
she removed the oxygen tube from his upper lip and brought a manicured nail
to his lips, "we’re all alone." She watched as he wrestled weakly with his
instincts for a moment, but the feel of her soft touch was too much for
him. His will collapsed in the face of overpowering oral fixation; she
smiled warmly as he took in her finger and again began to suck.

"There we go," she whispered. She felt the same stirring in her chest as
yesterday, though today she recognized it…not as something sexual, but
rather almost…maternal? "Julia’s going to take good care of you." With that
she raised his gown, eyes still transfixed on his face, and cupped his
waiting erection in her left hand. Her smile broadened with the change in
his expression; he almost withered with pleasure. "Does this feel good?
Hmmm?" she cooed as she started her gentle caresses, just as he liked it
back at home. So happy to make her husband feel good. Her soft palm
encircled his shaft at its base. So happy to take care of him. Her silky
hand began a slow rhythm. Her eyes widened as his left hand began to move
slowly, coming to rest on her wrist as it lay on his hip.

"That’s good, honey," she said as her eyes returned to his face, "that’s so
good." Her rhythm continued. "You moved for me," she whispered to him,
still suckling him with her fingertip, "now relax." She began to slide her
finger through his lips at the same rhythm her left hand passed over his
swollen member. "Relax." Small moans escaped the back of his throat as his
face drew taut. "Relax." His erection stiffened as she cupped him in her
palm, sensing the climax. "Relax." He came with a shudder that rocked his
body, flowing onto his belly and chest. Her left hand cradled him until he
was spent, slowly massaging the last of his juices from him. Finally, with
a kleenex from the nightstand she wiped his skin clean. It was then that
she noticed something strange, how warm and electric his fluid felt through
the tissue. She lifted several drops from him with her fingertip and
watched as it curiously was absorbed into her skin, leaving only a tingling
sensation behind and her skin dry.

She looked again to his face as his sucking weakened and his mouth went
slack. He faded off into sleep, looking more peaceful than she remembered
seeing him since his illness struck. She was convinced she was doing him
good. More than all the medicine in the world. She rose and unlocked the
door, several nurses casting her a quizzical look as they passed her in the
doorway. On her walk to the car she noticed her pumps were uncomfortable,
and removed them for her drive home. In fact, her slacks felt confining.
Maybe I’m retaining water? She thought. Maybe I’m not exercising enough?

When she weighed herself back at home after a light dinner she was aghast
that she had put five pounds onto her 110-pound frame. She quickly shed her
remaining clothes and stood in front of her full-length mirror. Where did
she put on the weight? Did she look fatter? No, in fact, she looked great,
she admitted, especially considering the stress of the past week. You’re
still built like a racehorse, she thought, sleek and muscular. And, oh my,
quite busty...Her breasts, she noted with interest, were noticeably bigger.
Perhaps not enough to account for five pounds, but certainly a full cup
size. That’s not a bad change, she thought. She smiled secretly to herself
as she looked at herself again in profile, and then half-turned and slowly
pressed back her shoulders. Not bad at all. The rest of her though, looked
as lean and firm as ever – if not more so. Nonetheless, she hit the
stairmaster and weights for an extra hour that night, possessed with a
boundless energy.

III.

The next day she rose early, anxious to get back by her husband’s side. Her
previous distaste for the hospital was fading somewhat as she began to feel
more a part of his healing process. She had a job to do and, for the time
being, the hospital was the best place for it. Her head shook in quiet
disbelief as she squeezed into a pair of frayed denim shorts, an old pair
of her loosest white tennis sneakers, her largest bra and a small white tee
shirt that now clung to her swollen breasts. She paused for a moment to
pull her hair back in the hallway mirror on her way out to the car. She
looked radiant Back at the hospital, the room was full of medical students
as she entered. Their gazes lingered over her body as the doctor reassessed
John’s situation for her, "His vital signs have remained great and he’s
been slightly more responsive to deep stimuli since leaving quarantine.
We’ve taken him off the oxygen, which he’s tolerating well. His nights,
though, are fitful and he’s still not taking any nourishment and slowly
losing weight."

She spent the day holding his hand and watching the ebb and flow of
caregivers from the room, eager for the chance to be alone again. She could
sense he was anxious, also. When finally the doctor promised her some
moments in private, she again locked the door. She seated herself on the
bed with him and raised his head up into her lap. He responded with a sigh,
luxuriating in the warm, smooth flesh of her golden thighs. "There we are.
Isn’t that nice?" she asked as she playfully passed the fingers of her
right hand, one by one, through his lips, settling finally with her index
finger. He began to suck. As she raised his gown, he moaned in
anticipation. She propped him up higher on her lap, putting a pillow below
her knees and took him in her hand. He squirmed and turned his head towards
her, brushing his cheek against the shirt over her breast. What is he
doing? She began to stroke him with a feathery touch, her eyes wide and
alive, reading his face. He moaned again, turning more, the corner of his
mouth now up against a swell of breast, his nose sniffing at her.

Her thoughts raced as she caressed him further. It’s not this that he
wants. She slowly removed her finger from his mouth and used it to tilt his
face closer to her, cradling his head in her arm. His lips began kissing
her breasts weakly through her shirt and bra, searchingly. I know what it
is. She moved his head slightly, and turned her shoulders a bit, presenting
the swelling nub of her nipple below her clothes to his mouth. A noiseless
gasp passed through her as he attempted to take her into his mouth beyond
the fabric. He wants my breast. Her instincts sang as she could feel his
lips working her flesh and gazed down lovingly into her husband’s face. A
tender moment passed while a deep warmth grew in her chest. She felt so
full of love for him at that moment that she was near bursting. Holding him
like this made her feel complete, like she was fulfilling her life’s
purpose. Is it wrong for me to feel this good, she thought, when he feels
so bad?

Any faint twinges of guilt were suddenly replaced by an eager fascination
as she felt a wetness gather around her nipple. Was that moisture building
near his mouth on her shirt? His saliva…or could it possibly be…? His weak
suckling became more fervent as he sensed something change. She hadn’t
noticed it before, but now she saw that his hand has come to rest atop hers
as it stroked his member. He needs me, she told herself, he’s like a little
baby. I can nurse him back to life. He continued to mouth her through her
shirt as his hips began to twitch in spasm. "Oh, darling, come for me," she
whispered. His orgasm burst from her hand and drained onto him.

Exhausted, he drifted quickly off to sleep. Spending some time to relish
the moment, she looked reflectively down at his fluid spattered across his
skin. Hesitatingly, she brought her hand to it and wiped part of it from
him. It felt good as it dissolved into the flesh of her palm. She gathered
more and rubbed it into her hands and wrists, onto her arms and legs.
Again, it was absorbed with a pleasing warmth that seemed to travel
throughout her body. What could it mean? Julia placed her husband’s head
back on a pillow and rearranged his bedclothes with care. When he was all
tucked in again, she kissed him gently on the forehead and turned to leave
the room for the evening, covering the wet areas on her chest with a
sweater thrown over her shoulder. In the doorway she paused, turned to blow
him a kiss, and breathed "dream about me tonight, honey."

Feeling uncomfortable in her sneakers, which seemed to fit better that
morning, and noticing the rips that were beginning to creep up the sides of
her shorts, Julia made up her mind to go shopping before heading home. If
she was gaining weight or retaining water or whatever it was, she deserved
a spending spree to pick up some new clothes that fit. Getting in her car
and pulling the seat back a few inches for comfort, she headed off to the
mall.

Having decided halfway through her ride that her tennis shoes were just far
too tight to wear, she walked through the mall and into the shoe store
barefoot. She noticed that the boy who measured her – somehow her feet had
grown from a size 6 to a nearly a 7 - could not keep his eyes from her
long, bare legs. Finally deciding on a pair of sandals, some open-toed
flats and a new set of cross-trainers, Julia gave in to temptation and
walked out in a pair of four-inch black pumps. My legs look fabulous in
these, she thought, a fact which her salesboy’s lingering gaze confirmed
for her as she exited. The thrill of her next purchases at several high-end
clothing stores – a few tops, a couple of swim suits, some skirts, shorts
and pants – almost distracted her from the discomfort of her bra, which was
now pressing into her flesh uncomfortably.

Her stop at Victoria’s Secret brought a giddy feeling of surprise when she
discovered that she had grown beyond the 34DD that she had assumed she’d
need. Her breasts were bigger, she realized, as she stood before the
fitting room mirror, even bigger than last night. Rather than alarming her,
the extra mass felt good, seemed to ground her more solidly in her body.
She drew a sense of newfound power from her larger bosom. If she was going
to nurture John, she might as well look the part, she figured wryly. Her
purchases did not end with the numerous pieces of lingerie, however. As she
was heading back to the mall exit, the sign for a maternity supply store
caught her eye. She entered that shop with thoughts of John, a mischievous
curiosity and a plan taking shape in her mind.



IV

John dreamt again that night. As he seemed to be having more awareness of
reality during waking hours, so did his dreams seem more complete, less
disparate in imagery than previously. In his dream, John lay awake in
semi-darkness, in what seemed to be a long, oversized bed many feet off the
floor. The ceiling soared a great distance above him. There were wooden
supports, or bars of some type, rising from all sides, blocking any exit.
He was surrounded by huge, soft pillows and cotton blankets. His anxiety
began to grow as he realized it was not a bed he was in, but rather a giant
crib, lying naked on the sheets. He could barely move; to his best efforts
all he could manage was to flail his limbs about impotently. His attention
was drawn to a huge, brightly-lit doorway past the foot of his crib as a
silhouetted figure slowly filled its space. It was a gigantic form of
voluptuous curves, clothed in an apron, and it began to advance into the
room toward him. Now at the end of his crib, the impressive swells of her
body caught the light and drew his eyes. She began to bend forward towards
him. Her full, matronly cleavage beckoned him from her low-cut blouse as
she leaned into the crib. He could not avert his gaze from the shadowed
valley of her enormous bosom, the soft expanses of flesh approaching him.
He was filled with equal parts dread and awe-struck wonder as light fell
across a smiling face, revealing his wife Julia, grown to massive
proportions. She was so beautiful; her face held no malice, but he was
frightened nonetheless. Her arms reached out for his body, the size of a
newborn in comparison, as her smile beamed and she casually announced,
"feeding time."

He was awoken by the sound of a nurse in conversation with his wife. The
voices seemed muddled, but he was able to hear most of what was being said.
"He’s ejaculated again during the night. His semen – and other secretions -
still contains a high viral load, though it remains a dormant,
non-infective form. So, as before, he’s not contagious. The doctors aren’t
sure if any of this is significant, but we thought you should know. By the
way, did you ever get down to the lab for the additional blood work the
doctors wanted on you?" His wife responded in the negative. The nurse left
the room as several physicians entered. Again, he missed much of the talk,
mostly about nourishment and fluids, electrolyte levels and weight loss.
All he knew was that he was hungry and weak and filled with sexual tension,
but could not summon the energy to open his eyes, let alone speak or move.

The presence of his wife next to him during the day calmed him somewhat; he
could understand her voice more easily than those of the others. She spent
the day talking to him of trivialities. The wonderful weather, her shopping
spree, her workout last night. "I’ve been spending sooo much time in the
gym without you around. Stairmaster. Treadmill. Aerobics. Weights. I want
you to come home. I need my training partner back." She smiled and eyed him
mischievously, "I’ve been getting stronger, you know," a giggle, "you
should see how much I can leg press now." She looked at her leg with pride,
which had become so firm and muscular. She then passed her hand over his
thigh, noticing how already it had begun to atrophy. She hesitated in a
moment of guilt, but could not help but playfully gloat, "I can do as much
weight as you used to be able to do." She felt her protective urges for
this man well up in her chest, and thought – but did not speak - more of
last night. Of the additional nine pounds of weight since yesterday. Of her
breasts. And of the nearly three inches she’d grown. How that had occurred,
she wasn’t yet entirely sure. But the tape measure did not lie: she had
sprouted to almost 5’10". She was growing larger and stronger even as her
husband dwindled and became weaker. Her emotions were conflicted, but she
had always wanted to be taller, especially during her modeling years, and
this was a dream come true. Would she get any bigger? How much? She could
only hope…or maybe, just maybe, she could do more than hope.

The maternal feelings burgeoning in her were being joined by others more
sensual, more selfish. She brought back thoughts of how even the doctors
today looked at her. They noticed the tightness of her t-top, the shortness
of her skirt. Maybe she could give them all more. She moved her hand slowly
up her husband’s thigh, pulling his robe away. His erection was already
there to meet her. Leaning over, she pulled something from her handbag, and
whispered in his ear, "Now, tell me, what have you been dreaming about when
I’m not here?" She brushed her fingernails up from the base of his member,
"Something naughty, hmm? Well, I hope you saved some for me." Her fingers
danced along him. He sighed a long, rattling breath. "I brought something I
think you may like." She began to stroke him with her familiar caresses and
brought the object from her purse to his face. He felt something rubbery
press gently against his lips as she spoke. "The doctors tell me you don’t
want anything they feed you. Now, I want you to try this." A drop of liquid
appeared on the surface of the rubber nipple and ran into his mouth. The
taste of it nearly shocked him. It was like nothing else he remembered and
seemed to fill his throat with warmth. A cavernous hunger immediately
overtook him and his need for nourishment controlled his actions. His lips
took in the end of the bottle and began to suck, drawing fluid through the
nipple. A milky liquid, seemingly imbued with a natural energy, filled his
mouth with its sweetness. He swallowed and felt it run down his throat into
his stomach, quickly permeating into every cell.

"Good. That’s good," she whispered as his sucking became regular, "drink it
all down." Perhaps this is what he needs, she thought, to keep him alive.
She smiled at the concept. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to get stronger
too quickly; she rather enjoyed their new roles for the time being. She
could scarcely believe that she, the little country girl from down south,
born and raised in poverty, had come to this point. She had fled her
family’s trailer home while still in her teens, made a modeling career for
herself and, with the help of a little speech training, dropped her heavy
twang for a trace hint of a pleasant drawl. With her coltish beauty and
etiquette-school charm she had won a rich doctor for a husband, a man bred
for success in his affluent, WASP family. He had her enthralled with his
aplomb, his wealth and his patrician charm. And now she had him right where
she wanted him.

Her hand continued its gentle ministrations along his shaft as he was
gradually finishing the contents of the bottle. Soon, however, she stopped
her rhythm. She took his hand, which had come to rest on his hip near hers,
and placed it gently on his own erection. She could sense the trepidation
creep across him, but his libido was all consuming, and he did not pull
away. His lips continued their work at the bottle. Slowly, with a glint of
anticipation in her eye and a thin half-smile on her lips, she began to rub
his palm up and down the length of his stiff member. She closed his grip
around it, and continued to guide his motions, building again to a slow
rhythm. With hesitation, she removed her hand; his movement continued. Her
smile grew in victory. She had brought movement back to him. She looked
down tenderly. He was jerking himself off as he finished the milk from her
bottle. When it was sucked dry and John’s strokes continued to quicken, she
unscrewed the nipple from the glass bottle. "That’s right, John. Doesn’t
that feel good?" A fingertip caressed his face. "Are you all full up?" She
brought the glass bottle down toward his quivering manhood. "Well, there’s
more where that came from, I promise," she took his chin in her other hand
and peered into his face, reading every hint of expression. His eyes were
clamped shut while hers were wide and alive. "Do you know what that was,
honey? In the bottle?" His every muscle stiffened. "I think you do. You
just don’t want to admit it to yourself." He teetered on the brink of
orgasm. "Why, it was my milk, of course." Her words pushed him over the
edge. His release came in a torrent; she moved immediately to gather him in
the bottle, placing the glass over the head of his shaft as it spasmed.
"Mmmm..now this is what I wanted." She waited patiently as he squeezed the
last drop from himself, into her waiting container. His hand fell away, his
body went limp. Sleep tight, baby. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle
and returned it to her purse and said "Now, that’s for later." Her hand ran
through his hair as he sank into a deep sleep. She kissed him again on the
forehead and rose to leave.

V

Back at the house she was bubbling with excitement to try her experiment.
She had weighed and measured herself in preparation: One-hundred and
twenty-four pounds, five foot nine and two-thirds inches. She stood clothed
in front of the full-length mirror, bottle of her husband’s semen in her
hand. Unscrewing the cap, she sniffed its contents. Along with its briny,
musky odor there lingered a scent of electricity. She tipped the bottle
back and drank it down. Like swallowing molten lava, it nearly lit her
throat afire. She gasped in ecstasy and shut her eyes as its energy flowed
into her, carried like a current into every nerve ending. As it faded to a
gentle warmth that filled her body, she opened her eyes and watched herself
grow. Ever so gradually, she could see the reflection in the mirror
expanding. Though the change was subtle, the hem of her t-top crept slowly
away from the waist of her silk skirt, which was drifting
millimeter-by-millimeter up her thighs. Her legs grew longer, more solid.
Her calves cut impressively beneath her skin. She kicked off her pumps as
they began to bite uncomfortably into her feet, and unclasped her
constricting bra through the back of her shirt. She glowed with pride as
her chest pushed the bra from her, filling the front of her top with its
lushness. Her breath slowed, became even as the growth tapered. Stepping
eagerly to the measuring tape on the wall and the scale alongside, she
nearly burst into cheer with the results. One hundred and thirty-eight
pounds. Six feet tall. And never, she knew, had she ever looked so
beautiful. If only they could see me back in Louisiana now, she thought, My
father would probably have a heart attack. Sick fuck.

Gazing, enraptured with her own image, into the mirror, she tossed the long
waves of her golden hair about her head and let it fall over her breasts.
Oh god, her breasts. How they filled her with authority. John won’t be able
to resist this, she thought, running her hands over her curves and thinking
of their time together earlier today, I’ll hold him like a little baby. She
felt a bit somber for a moment, knowing that her growth was a direct result
of his sickness. But, if some good could come of the situation, let it. It
was meant to be, she decided to herself, there must be a purpose. I’m
getting bigger for him. Her need for his body against her was palpable at
that instant.

She drifted to the couch where the breast-pump lay from last night. Sitting
down and removing her shirt and bra with great ceremony, she looked down
upon her majestic bosom. So full of life for him. She picked up the pump
from beside her and, bringing it to her chest, paused reflectively. Though
almost craving its suction, she resisted, and mused over the possibilities.
With a knowing smile she dropped the pump and rose, heading for the gym and
anticipating with excitement what the next day would bring.

VI

"Well, John, there’s good news and bad news." The doctor addressed him
though he still lay motionless, his eyes shut, among his sheets. Though a
confident, well-respected tropical disease specialist, he was clearly
unnerved by Julia’s presence. He hadn’t remembered her being so…statuesque.
Must be wearing some big heels, he thought. "The good news is that we’re
all heartened by your alertness," he turned to face Julia where she hovered
behind him, "he’s been responding slightly to vocal stimuli and pinpricks
overnight. We’re quite sure he can hear us." He passed a gaze down Julia’s
body as she turned her eyes back to her husband. She was wearing flats.
But, Lord, look at those legs. "His electrolyte levels have become good,
blood sugar’s normal. In many respects he seems better." She turned to him,
batted her eyelashes and flashed a smile which made his heart stop as she
asked, "What’s the bad news?" He stammered, and continued, "W-well, he’s
started to lose weight at a much faster pace. We’re not really sure why.
He’s gone from one hundred and sixty five pounds before the illness to one
thirty-two today. Twelve of that he lost just last night." One thirty-two,
hmm?

Julia Blake turned away from the doctor and back to John. Tumultuous
thoughts and eager hopes raced through her head, yet she remained calm. "Is
that bad?" she asked. "Well, yes, of course it’s bad, Mrs. Blake. If he
continues to drop weight like this, he can’t last long. He’ll waste away to
nothing in no time." She pondered the doctor’s words as she regarded her
husband. He looked small and frail, maybe because she had become so big,
but not thin enough to account for more than thirty pounds of lost weight.
"We’re doing all we can to make him comfortable," he concluded, hands
outstretched as he backed from the room, "but if he doesn’t turn around
quick, we may lose him. Sorry."

The door clicked shut quietly. His heart quickened as he felt the weight of
her lean with her elbows onto the bed besides him. She was quiet, but she
dominated his senses. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was
something ominous about her powerful presence. He almost had a taste of
fear. "John, I have a lot I want you to know," she began quietly. "I’ve
always loved you more than you can imagine. Seeing you get sick almost
killed me. I felt so helpless. But I think what’s happened can bring us
closer." He could feel her smile faintly and caress his cheek. "You used to
take care of me, but that can’t happen anymore. So, I’ve started to change.
I’ve had to get stronger. I can take care of you now." She brought the back
of her hand down his neck, and rubbed his thin shoulder. "I think you know
that you’ve started to change, too, but you need to change more. You have
to let go of your pride and accept the fact that you need me to keep you
safe. To keep you warm." Some kind of amorous, maternal aura was emanating
from her, settling over him like a cloud. "To feed you." What was she
saying? What did she mean? Her tone frightened him more. "Do you remember
my milk last night? Yes, you do." She drew closer. "You need my milk to
survive. I can make all you’ll ever need." His mind raced behind his closed
lids. If anything, the milk had made him lose more weight. She must be
insane. Driven mad by the stress.

"I’ve changed in other ways, too, darling. And you did it to me. Open your
eyes and look at me." She turned his head slightly on the pillow to face
her, his eyes still closed. "Your love has made me bigger. And stronger.
And more beautiful. So I can take care of you." She pulled down his sheets,
and smiled at the erection that already divulged his arousal beneath his
gown. Shame welled in his throat. "John, look at my breasts. See how big
they’ve become. They’re full of milk for you. Just like last night." She
moved even closer, intentionally brushing the softness of her breasts
against his face. "I know how much you like big breasts. You always did.
You used to cuddle up against mine. Like a little baby boy. Well, mine are
huge now, and all for you." His breathing had become erratic, and his hand
lay near his swollen member below his gown. She pulled his clothing up to
his chest, allowing him access. "There there. Think about that. Think about
how good it could feel. Think about my big breasts pressing into your face.
Think about how good it all would feel. How good it would feel to let me
take care of everything for you." He began to whine softly. She backed away
a fraction. "Open your eyes, John," she undid the top button of her blouse,
"I want this to be the first thing that you see." He struggled mightily
within himself, not knowing whether he should keep his lids shut or open
his eyes to what was in front of him. He feared he would lose himself in
her if he looked.

He couldn’t help himself. His eyes fluttered open and began to focus. She
was leaning on the bed next to him, on her elbows. Things became more
clear. She was wearing a light denim shirt, which swelled out towards him,
and she was slowly unfastening the buttons. "Welcome back, baby. You’re
going to like what Julia has for you." She undid the last several buttons
with taunting care and began to slowly peel the shirt away. Her smile was
beatific as she watched her husband’s eyes grow wide. Holy God, he thought,
Sweet Mother of Mercy. Her Breasts. What’s happened to her breasts? He
could see their milky grandeur shadowed braless behind the fabric. She
passed her left hand below the mass of her right breast and, her right hand
drawing her shirt away, hefted it towards him, round and massive and firm.

He gazed, hypnotized, at his wife’s enormous white breast. His every cell
yearned unnaturally for it. He fought himself, but the deepest parts of his
soul cried for him to go to her, to cling to her for dear life. "Look at
me, baby," she purred as she drew the shirt from her other breast, "look at
how big I am." It was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on.
She raised herself up on her hands and let her overly full breasts hover
only inches from his face. He closed his eyes. He summoned every last ounce
of strength in his frail body for a last defense and, when he opened his
lids again, he stared straight into her huge, dazzling blue eyes. She saw
right into him. She saw his weakness. She smiled a knowing, unpleasant
smile. He crumbled. She reveled in her strength as it increased tenfold.

Get used to this, little man, she thought, as she stared him into
submission, I’m all you’ve got.

He looked away. To her hair. How blond she was. So soft, so beautiful.
"It’s ok, baby, you can look at me all you want. I won’t bite." His eyes
slid down the golden locks to her graceful neck, to the front of her
blouse. "My breasts are big, aren’t they? You can hardly keep your eyes off
them," she said almost playfully, "do you like them big like this? Hmm? I’m
such a big girl now." She laughed and leaned into him, dragging the
heaviness of her soft teats across his face as she dropped to her elbows.
"I’m bigger than you, now. Do you know that?" she drew his face deep into
the valley of her cleavage. A moment of silence. The balance of power
perceptibly shifted a bit more. He began to kiss the flesh of her bosom
feebly, almost as if in fealty. She looked down at him, holding the top of
his head in place, and began to whisper gently, "And I can get even bigger.
You just need to show me how much you love me." She eyed his quivering
hand, so close to his erection. She dragged her great breast across his
face, and drew away from him the slightest bit.

He lay there, staring up at the nipple only inches from his mouth, and the
woman who held his life in her control beyond it. Hunger like none he’d
ever known bored through him. His member pained, aching for release. To
give in now would mean a life of utter dependency, she would start to
overshadow him completely. To refuse would likely mean the end of his
existence. He didn’t think he could refuse if he tried, he was so
spellbound by her. "Do it, John, show me I’m the only one for you." His
hand trembled more and began to move. Her nipple began to swell before his
eyes. "I’m so big for you. So full. Give in, John. Just touch yourself, and
it can all be yours." His fingers shook and hung over his stiffening
erection, the last of his dignity fighting valiantly. A glistening drop of
white formed on Julia’s nipple as she let down her milk. Oh god, he needed
her like nothing else. "So warm. So sweet. Remember how it tasted so good?"
The shame welled within him. He could not believe what he was about to do.
"Let me breastfeed you."

She watched this incredible sight with wild fascination. Her husband took
himself into his own hand and began to masturbate below her magnificent
bosom, which she lowered to his waiting lips as he closed his eyes. She
could sense his pride withering away. Triumphant, she began to nurse him
there, on his sickbed, her copious milk flowing into his mouth. She grabbed
the back of his head firmly and pulled him into her smotheringly. Suddenly
all was right with the world. His mind became a blank, filled only with the
sensation of her massive, motherly breast against his face and her milk
filling his body. His skin began to tingle, and every muscle seemed to
twitch. Yes, he would give himself to her completely, he thought, and his
hand began to move more vigorously over his shaft with excitement. "That’s
right, baby," she cooed as she massaged her breast gently against his face,
"give it all to Julia. Doesn’t that feel good? Isn’t this what you’ve
always wanted?" They both realized this was so, a thought that empowered
her and further shamed him. His stroking continued to escalate. "You’ve
always fantasized about this moment, haven’t you, from the time you were a
little boy, all through our marriage. Well, here you are, suckling on your
wife’s big breast, beating off." He began to whimper, and pump faster. "And
she’s going to get bigger for you. Much bigger." She squeezed him closer;
her milk ran in rivulets down his cheeks. His hand reached a crescendo.
"So." His sucking abruptly stopped and his mouth opened in a silent wail.
"Much." Her eyes sparkled. "Bigger."

He lost all sense of himself as he came like a geyser within his own hand.
He sprayed up onto her breasts, anointing her with his semen. As it
continued to flow onto her, she massaged it into her soft flesh with
relish, allowing some of it to dribble to his cheeks. She smiled as she did
this, and rubbed more of the fluid across her breasts and onto his face.
Again, it quickly absorbed into her skin, yet remained pooled and sticky on
his. Funny, his head looked a bit smaller than earlier, though she knew she
had only just started to grow. As his strength to continue sucking began to
wane, she removed her nipple from his mouth and rubbed her breasts against
his face, drawing up the remaining liquid. She luxuriated in a warm bath of
growth that ran over every inch of her body. Can he feel me growing? Can he
feel me getting bigger? What could he be thinking? His eyes rolled and
locked with hers for an instant. She met him with a warm smile.
Everything’s going to be all right from now on.

VII

He was able finally to look around his room early the next morning. He had
been raised to a half-seated position and could occasionally summon the
strength to open his eyes. Though he had to admit he felt better
physically, thinking back to the events of yesterday left him emotionally
and mentally crushed. To what depths had he sunk? What kind of future could
possibly lie ahead of him, if he were to live? Depending on the care of a
woman who had obviously begun to lose her grip on reality? One so drunk
with some unholy sense of power over him? The possibilities were both
terrifying and – at the same time – inexplicably arousing. He could no
longer fathom the idea of resisting her will. Her smothering, maternal hold
over him was oppressive, fueled by his own irrepressible libido, physical
weakness and driving hunger for her milk and warm embrace. At least he had
the comfort in knowing he was safe in the care of the hospital staff,
though they obviously had no idea of these developments in the situation.
He was still unable to speak, though his strength was slowly returning and
someday soon might allow him to voice his alarm.

His eyes grew wide as she entered the room and stood in the doorway. He had
not seen her standing erect since he first opened his eyes the day
previous, and the sight chilled him. She smiled wickedly at his expression
and approached his bed silently, growing taller, it seemed, with every
step. She was certainly dressed for his benefit: a long, tight navy blue
skirt, slit high up the thigh, outlining endless legs and full, strong
hips. A matching, high-necked sweater of thin cashmere clung tightly to her
impossible curves. Her makeup was done flawlessly, her lips painted in
shimmering mocha brown. Hair pulled back, strands falling elegantly onto
her long neck. At his side, she straightened to her full height and peered
down at him. "You like?" she asked, arching an eyebrow coyly, "I’ve been
taking my vitamins." His fear welled in him again as he realized they were
alone, and his shame redoubled as he recognized that he was secretly
thrilled. "You look well. Sitting up. Eyes open – mostly," already his lids
had begun to feel heavy from exertion, "was it something you ate?" He
flushed visibly and a shiver ran through him as images of their last
encounter surfaced. "Well, it certainly agreed with you," she laid a hand
on his head and straightened his hair.

"I liked our little talk yesterday, but I don’t think we had the chance to
discuss my wardrobe. I’m going to need to…expand it a little bit." With
that she slowly inhaled, and said with a pout, "I just don’t seem to fit
into any of my old clothes anymore." He felt his heart stop as she slowly
thrust out her chest, nearly obscuring her face from view. He goggled
momentarily at her bosomy display, and then gave in to exhaustion and shut
his eyes. "I’ve just been getting bigger and bigger," she said with mock
concern, "Do you know how tall I am now? Six foot one and a quarter. Though
my waist has only gone up two inches to twenty-four, my hips are almost
thirty-eight inches. But it’s all solid muscle." She turned her rear to him
and bent ever so slightly at the waist. His eyes flicked open for a brief
instant and he moaned at the sight. She smiled. "And my bust measurement is
going off the charts. Do you remember how big they were yesterday? They’re
even bigger now." Numbers and bra sizes, usually so important to him both
in his profession and his fantasies, sped through his brain. How big could
she be? He needed to know. "I’ve had to go to specialty lingerie shops.
Very expensive." As she paused to let all this information sink in, he
shuddered at himself as he became more and more aroused. "So you won’t
mind, of course, if I open a few new credit accounts? You do want your
little wife to look her best for all your doctor friends, right?"

As if on cue, the attending physician swept into the room and halted, dead
in his tracks, at the sight of her. "Oh, M-Mrs. Blake, you’re here early."
By God, she is tall. She towered over him, though he took some uneasy
comfort in the fact that, today, she had on a vicious pair of heels. Her
lips parted invitingly as a haughty spark of mischief lit her eyes. She
paused. Let him look at me for a moment. He’ll think of this when he’s in
bed with his old, fat wife. "Well, someone has to take care of my poor
baby," She clasped her hands behind her and arched her back, looking down
at John and then sideways at the doctor, "don’t you think I’m up to the
job?"

"A-as I s-said, I assure y-you we’re doing a-all we can." The poor little
man, she thought, he can barely speak. "But that b-brings up our
conversation on the phone last night." The doctor started to gather himself
as she relaxed her posture, releasing his gaze mercifully. He concentrated
with all his efforts towards his patient. "Yes, he has had another dramatic
weight loss. Nearly ten pounds since yesterday. And, something else is
puzzling. How tall was your husband before he fell ill? We have him listed
at five eleven. Is that correct?" Excited thoughts ran through her. Could
it be true? "Yes, doctor, that sounds right." What was he going to say to
her? Hopes and prayers danced.

"Well, your husband is shrinking. He’s obviously demonstrating generalized
loss of long bone tissue, which explains in part his weight loss. His
vitals are, somehow, still excellent, which baffles me. He should be
showing high calcium levels, difficulty breathing, pain, many things. But
he keeps plugging along – and is even a little more alert today."

The doctor put his hand on John’s shoulder. What is he saying? I’m
shrinking? John’s thoughts became confused. How can that be? And then it
all fell together. The virus. It wasn’t just in him, it was still in her,
too. The viral bodies in his fluids were causing her growth, and those in
her milk must be making him shrink. And no doubt it was affecting their
personalities and drives, also. It was building her into the penultimate
viral reservoir, and turning him slowly into a parasite, unable to derive
nourishment from anything but her. The realizations filled him with silent
horror, but an alien, inner voice slowly soothed him. She’s here to comfort
me.

"So, doctor," she tried to remain composed, hiding a smile despite the
elation she felt, "how tall is he now?"

"Five six. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s lost about five inches."
Her heart leapt. It was better than she dreamed! "Which brings me back to
my point," he continued, "since there’s obviously no more we can do for him
here at this institution, he has no need for any further medication or
treatment, and seems to be without pain, I think we can go ahead with your
request of last night."

"You mean…" she looked to the doctor expectantly.

"Yes." The doctor almost regretted his words as he looked to her face,
which held an obviously false expression of remorse and subtly disturbed
him. But it was too late. "He’ll be more comfortable. You can take him
home."

VIII

Oh God. John’s thoughts became newly frantic. Oh no. He recoiled at the
doctor’s words. The possibilities, the inevitabilities, made him cringe.
They can’t be serious. They can’t send me home with her. I’ll disappear.
His eyes shot open and an arm raised into the air, searching to catch the
doctor’s attention. But he was already nearly out the door, with his back
turned. "I’ll get the staff to get John dressed, gather his things and make
sure a transport van is ready," were his parting words.

"Thank you, doctor," Julia called after him. A smile returned to her face
as she brought her gaze back down to her husband. "Now won’t that be
better? Back in your own house. In your own bed. With your wife there to
take care of you." Disturbing images flashed through his mind. What were
her plans for him? She was obviously beside herself with satisfaction.
"We’re going to have so much fun together, all alone. No one to disturb
us." She ran her hand up his leg and began to slowly massage his member,
already semi-aroused, through his robe. He stiffened painfully. "Think of
what we can accomplish." Her eyes met his. She grasped on more firmly to
him, sheathed in cotton, and gently began to pass her hand up and down his
length. "Imagine what we could be together." She smiled thinly. His eyes
closed as he began to lose himself in her touch and her hypnotic words.
"That’s right. Picture it. Picture you and me." He saw them in bed, he
locked in her embrace. He saw her standing over him, her head soaring
towards the cathedral ceilings of their home, he curled at her feet. A
swell of hunger rolled through him. "It can all come true. I can fulfill
all your fantasies for you." Her hand felt so good. It held him so
confidently, squeezing and stroking him in perfect rhythm. She’s right.
She’s all I ever dreamed about. Electric tremors began to run through him.
"Everything you ever wanted in your deepest, most secret desires. I can do
it all for you. We can do it together." Christ. He was going to come. There
was no stopping it now. He hated himself for it. For his weakness. "Soon,
John. Soon I’ll have you home. So very soon." He decided fighting was
useless and let himself go.

"Woops!" she exclaimed softly as she abruptly dropped his member and
straightened his gown. His eyes were suddenly wide. What happened? Why did
she stop? A nurse had entered the room and was looking straight at him, her
eyes and mouth agape in shock. His every muscle was coiled, his hospital
gown tented and quivering. "He must be excited to see you," Julia said
wryly to the nurse while sitting demurely by his side. He tried to stop but
could not. It was too late. He clamped his eyes in shame and came into his
robe. The nurse gasped, sputtered something nervously, and spun from the
room. His orgasm was fading as Julia placed her hand back on him and rubbed
his wetness into his skin as she whispered into his ear, "That was a
freebie. But the rest, love, are for me." She rose. He turned to watch her
leave the room, her hips swaying lasciviously, firm flesh undulating
beneath her skirt.

In the doorway, without as much as a glance, Julia passed the nurse as she
returned with an armload of John’s clothing and clean bedding. "Well, Dr.
Blake," the nurse intoned as she began to remove his robe with obvious
distaste, "I guess you’re going home." He soon dropped into a deep sleep.

IX

"Welcome home, baby!" He woke with a start. He was seated in a wheelchair
and being pulled from the back of a van. Julia smiled exuberantly with arms
outstretched in greeting as she watched the pair of EMTs lower her husband
to the ground. She bent at the waist and hugged him tightly to her, kissing
the top of his head. "Was your ride ok? Are you still alright sitting up?"
He squinted at the setting sun, which burned at his retinas, and noticed
his dull aches of hunger. It was early evening. He couldn’t remember a
thing since that morning at the hospital. Julia was snapping orders at the
men wheeling him towards the front door, obviously displeased that his
discharge took so long. They were leering obviously at her body, which at
one time would have made her uncomfortable. But she was done with being
intimidated or overly impressed by the attention of men. Her husband. Her
father. Her realization of the power she had over them was growing by the
day. "Follow me this way. We’ll set him up in the bedroom." She could feel
the silent heat of the men’s stares as she strode ahead of them; they gazed
at her lustfully. Like dogs.

Through the great room and into the master wing, the trip brought back
memories to John of a life long past. Wine by candlelight. Hanging canvases
over the mantle. Extravagantly prepared breakfasts hurriedly consumed en
route to early morning surgery. Ancient history. That life was over. He was
wheeled into the spacious bedroom suite. From this point onward, all that
mattered lay right in front of him: his tall, beautiful wife who stood with
hands clasped in front of her, and an enormous bed.

Shrinking or not, he thought, that bed is huge. What happened? "I didn’t
think our king-size was going to be quite big enough anymore," she offered,
interpreting his bafflement, "I had this one custom made. Industrial size.
Industrial strength." That thing, he thought, is big enough for a…giant. He
swallowed nervously. The EMTs looked to each other and shrugged as they
moved to lift John from his chair.

"No, stop," she commanded, stopping them in their tracks, "I can do this."
The men stepped back with apprehension as Julia approached her husband.
With a confident smile and her eyes locked on his, she bent slowly. John
cringed. Oh no, he thought, she wouldn’t. Her arms slipped around him, one
behind his back and one below his thighs, and she hoisted him into the air.
Holding him in her arms, she gazed deep into his soul and watched his pride
melt away even further. He’s mine, now. All mine. She walked the several
steps to the bed, eyes still fixed on his, and lowered him gently into his
huge, warm nest. He felt lost on the mattress’ wide expanse.

She turned her back to him and waved the others out of the room. As they
left with the wheelchair, she propped him up with some pillows and
whispered playfully to him, "I’ll be right back. Now don’t you go
anywhere." She followed after the pair to show them out, affording him
several moments alone to surmise his situation. The bedroom was, aside from
the arrival of this gargantuan bed, much the same as it had been left
before their vacation. The ceilings soared past twenty feet, as they did
throughout much of the house. Decoration was sparse but elegant. Large
skylights allowed for an open, airy atmosphere. Across the room – to him it
may as well have been a thousand miles – the bedroom door hung open. As all
the doors in their home, it was a huge, dramatic portal of heavy oak
hanging on iron hinges. Would he ever pass through it again? His emotions
lay in a tangled mess of sadness, fear and, he had to admit, anxious
excitement and anticipation.

"Are you still ok in there?" he heard her call from the adjacent changing
room, "They’re gone now. You can relax." His mind did ease a bit as he
listened to her voice, which sounded – for a change - quite sober and
levelheaded. Maybe things have changed. He grasped at a leg of hope. Maybe
I have my wife back. "You know, I gave my old agent a call yesterday. I
thought I might get a photo shoot arranged. To see how the ‘new me’ looks
on camera." Why would she want to do that? he thought, we certainly don’t
need the money. His disability - and life, if it came to that - insurance
was more than adequate to keep her living in the style to which she was
accustomed. "I told him I looked a little different. He was reluctant, but
said he’d meet with me at his office tomorrow. This could be the start of
something big for me." His thoughts began to get a bit more confused. Where
was she going with this? The image of her posing in front of a camera swept
several emotions through him – jealousy and apprehension, but most of all
arousal. She knew she was slowly changing into a veritable sex goddess. And
now, it seemed, she wanted the world to know about it. "I thought you might
like to help me choose out something to wear."

All hopes that she had returned to her senses were dashed when she
reappeared in the doorway wearing little more than an evil grin across her
face. In truth, she was wearing what, on anyone else, would be called a
striped blue tube top and a pair of tiny white bikini briefs. On her, it
could hardly be called clothing. He could not stop himself from ogling her
from head to toe. There was so much of her, and in such proportions. She
looked so soft, yet so strong. He physically felt his jaw drop. "I know
it’s a little small," she teased, delighted with his reaction, "it was even
a little small on me before I started to grow. But I think you always liked
it." She approached his bed, sashaying her tan, muscular hips to and fro.
She knelt by his side and pulled the sheets from him, noticing the bulge
swelling in his sweatpants and affording him a fine view of her cleavage.
"And it looks like you still do." She stood, inhaled deeply and
straightened her back, thrusting her breasts forward. The sharp sound of
fabric ripping brought a gleeful "Ooo!" from her as she quickly threw up
her hands in a vain attempt to cover the wide expanse of her breasts, her
top falling to the floor. She seemed delighted. Though her hands obscured
her nipples, the rest of her heavy, firm, round flesh hung exposed for his
eyes. "That was fun! But, I guess I won’t be wearing that tomorrow!" She
turned her fine rear to him and tossed a look over her shoulder, hands
still at her chest, "any suggestions?" He met her with a mute stare, but
quickly averted his eyes. Does she know what she’s doing to me? His member
throbbed. His heart raced. Yes, he thought, of course she does.

As she left the room again for another change of clothes, beads of sweat
began to form on his brow. He was alarmed that, as he had begun to feel
healthier over the past days, his libido had strengthened as well. It set
on him like a fever, pulling his hand down between his legs. He rubbed
himself through his clothes, aching for release. He was wary for her
return; he did not want her to see him like this. "Are you ready?" she
called, and he quickly brought his hands back to his chest, "here I come."

X

Oh Christ. His breathing quickened. Look at her. Chris Christ Christ. She
sauntered in again, still in her white panties but covering her chest with
a small t-top, the word "Lush" stitched in black and stretched across her
full bosom. "Oh darling," she cooed as she leaned over the foot of his bed,
"you’re sweating." She bent further forward, squeezing her breasts together
with her elbows, a seductive cheesecake pose for his benefit. His jaw went
slack as he began to pant. She put one knee up onto the edge of the giant
bed, then the other. Her eyes were carnivorous. Soon she was on all fours,
crawling like a beast of prey up the bed towards him. "You need to cool
down, baby," she said wantonly as she reached him, "I don’t want you
overheating too early." She straddled his shrunken legs with hers and
proceeded to unbutton his blue flannel shirt. He could not, for the life of
him, take his eyes from her chest. Heavy masses of flesh beckoned him from
below their confines. His hunger surged. His sex howled. Her eyes watched
his.

As she finished with the last of his buttons, she leaned forward to pull
the shirt from his shoulders. Her breasts were tantalizingly close to his
face, he could smell her flesh. His mouth began to water. "Oh yes. It would
taste so good right now, wouldn’t it?" She brushed her clothed teat up his
chin and over his lips as she yanked the shirt from him and tossed it
aside. She hung her breasts in front of his face for an agonizing display.
"So warm and soft. So lush." He whined feebly and worked his jaw. She sat
back onto her haunches, hands on her knees. "Don’t you worry, I’ll feed you
later. I want you nice and hungry." She began to play with the elastic of
his sweatpants. "Do you like my little fashion show?" she asked, pulling on
his waistband, slowly lowering it down his hips, "Do you like looking at my
body?" She inched further down towards his feet as she continued to pull
his pants from him. His manhood stood, quivering, as her answer. She had
his pants around his knees; she leaned forward and – eyes still locked on
his - brought her smiling face inches from his erection. She whispered, "I
want you to show me how much."

With that she rose from the bed and drifted again from the room. His eyes
followed her walk as she disappeared from sight. He could take no more; his
hand went to his member and began to stroke slowly, rubbing with a
half-open hand. Guilt and shame welled within him, but he was at the mercy
of his intense sexual drive and the images of her womanly form. He craned
his neck backward on his pillow and clamped his eyes shut as the
pleasurable sensations of his self-stimulation overtook him. Mental
pictures of Julia streamed through his mind. The way the cotton of her
t-top had strained over her cleavage as it hovered so close to his mouth.
How her flesh blossomed magnificently in mountainous swells from her
collarbone. The flare of those great hips from her taut, narrow waist. If
he could come now, he thought, he might find brief respite from her torture
when she returned.

"Now, now. Aren’t we the eager little one? You’re not going to get off that
easy." He was startled back to reality by her voice. His modesty and
dignity pleaded with him to pull his hand quickly away, but as his eyes
darted across the room to her, he knew he would not be able to muster the
willpower. She stood posing below a spotlight just beyond the end of his
bed in a tiny two-piece swimsuit. "Tonight I’m going to make you ache." She
knew his weakness for her body in bathing suits, even before her
transformation. He kept in his wallet a snapshot of her from an old photo
shoot for a swimwear catalog; she must have looked like a scrawny
schoolgirl then, she thought, compared to the statuesque vision before him
now. "Show me what you think of this." She ran her hands over her body as
she tossed her blonde mane over her shoulder with a dramatic sweep of her
long neck and inspected herself in the full-length mirror. Are you ready
for a real woman, little man?

She nearly glowed as she flexed her thighs and watched the thick, lean
muscles as they worked below her golden skin. Pride flushed through her at
the sight of her round, muscular buttocks and flat abdomen. "I worked out
in this last night, you know. Wouldn’t you like to have seen that?" As her
strong arms drifted behind her head and her shoulders pressed back, she
riveted him with her haughty gaze in the mirror, watching him as he
masturbated to this fantastic sight. She felt so powerful.

Though he had so little strength in his body, he had no choice but to use
it all in his worship of her. He continued to rub himself into his belly
with his hand as his eyes explored her every curve. He felt beyond shame
and beyond all sense of control over his actions. She turned and approached
him. "Do you see how strong I’m getting?" He felt his heart catch in his
throat. "I’d like to see him try to push me around now." She was speaking
of her father, but he hardly heard her. He was losing himself. She sat
alongside him in bed and looked at him aloofly, watching his eyes avoiding
hers in their long passes over her bountiful figure. Her proximity incited
his desire even more; he took himself full into his own hand and began
long, smooth strokes. The bright, floral print bikini pressed into her
softness and stretched like a second skin in its inadequate attempts at
covering her ripe flesh.

He had been reduced so far, but she continued to chip away at him. She
leaned closer into him, bringing her breasts near his face. His eyes glazed
over and his tongue lolled as he gawked at the valley of her cleavage. Look
at the way he’s staring at me. I’m too much for him, she thought with smug
satisfaction, he can’t control himself. She peered at him with silent
derision as she watched him in his vigorous efforts at achieving climax. Do
all men dream of a woman with a body like mine? Are they all this weak? I
suppose so.

"I bet you’d like to play with your wife’s big breasts," she purred as she
pushed a few loose strands of hair over her shoulder. "I bet you’d like me
to rub them right into your face, hmm?" She saw his other hand tremble as
he raised it towards her chest. "No no no, sweetie," she gently stopped his
hand, placing her fingertips against his, as it moved closer to her,
"tonight there’s no touching. Just looking." She inhaled deeply, "But you
can look all you want," her breasts strained against the fabric. "I just
have one thing you need to do for me," she produced a small jar from the
nightstand and placed it in his hand, "save yourself in this."

His mind was lost in delirium and barely registered her command, focused
intently on her flesh. She turned a bit away and brought her legs up
underneath her at his side, putting her massive thighs and magnificent,
heart-shaped bottom directly in front of him. "How’s this for a change of
scenery?" The fabric of her bikini, cut high up her hip, accentuated her
curves and nearly disappeared into their shadowed roundure as she turned
more of her back towards him and leaned over, presenting herself wantonly
to him. He gasped audibly and continued his uninhibited flagellations.
"It’s so tight, John. So firm." Her hair fell down her back, she gazed up
at the ceiling as she spoke, "Look at it. Look how big and strong it is."
She arched her lower back more, bringing him so very close to climax. His
eyes strained, unblinking, at the sight of her. She was so big. So
beautiful. He began to whine as his orgasm overtook him.

She threw her head over her shoulder to watch him come. Her proud smile
quickly disappeared into anger as she saw the bottle lying by his side, his
member spraying spasmodically onto his chest and bed linens. "What are you
doing!?" she nearly screamed, "I told you I wanted this saved! Didn’t you
hear me?!" She spun quickly and grabbed the bottle, catching his remaining
load and gathering what she could from his skin and sheets. He watched her
dumbly, as lethargy began to creep through his bones. "I don’t want you to
do that EVER again!" Consumed with rage, she raised an open hand and pulled
her arm back, preparing to strike him a mighty blow across the face. At
that moment, she wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp. That would teach him
to defy her. His eyes grew wide with shock as he was suddenly snapped back
to reality. She could see the fear in his eyes. He recoiled and clamped his
lids shut, steeling himself for the pain.

She looked down at his quivering face, so close to tears. How pathetic. He
was shaking with fear, but otherwise motionless. Too weak for any defense.
She saw he was ready to take whatever punishment she had for him. Memories
of the beatings she took as a child flooded into her. She could hurt him so
bad. She could have her revenge.

But, no, she thought as she forced herself to relax. Her compassion and a
cool logic gradually eclipsed her violent impulses. She drew a long, slow
breath and lowered her hand. As she gathered herself and rose from the bed,
bottle in hand, John reopened his eyes. "Just go to sleep," she said as she
left the room, "you need your rest." It was many minutes before the frantic
pounding in his chest quieted and allowed him peace.

XI

His night’s rest was fitful. His hunger gnawed at him tirelessly and the
recurring image of Julia’s enraged visage, her eyes afire with anger and
violence, haunted him like a specter. When he did pass into sleep, he was
belabored with dreams which grew harder and harder to distinguish from
reality.

You pathetic little worm! Her voice boomed as she rose on her knees above
him on the bed, Do you know how easily I could break you to pieces?! He
cowered below her, quivering in abject fear. She had somehow become
gigantic, rippling from head to toe in powerful muscles. Exploding with
unearthly power. And, visibly, she was still growing. You feeble, miserable
little man! Look at me! Look at the size of me! I’m gigantic! She was like
a huge marble statue towering threateningly, chiseled and smooth. Somehow
her clothes still contained her, but they were being shred from her
expanding form like tissue paper. I could pop your head like a grape! I
could grind your bones into dust! Can you imagine that? How would it feel?!
Tell me! Frightened gibbering was his only response. She fell onto her
hands and brought her huge face close to his. Her hair fell all around him,
like a soft, golden curtain blocking out the rest of the world. Her smell
was everywhere, sweet and pervasive. A white-hot fire beamed from her eyes
into him, glowing with supernatural beauty, blue and indigo and silver. He
looked at her gleaming, cruel smile, her perfect lips. So moist. She was so
beautiful. You would like it, wouldn’t you? She knew instantly of his
arousal; she could read his thoughts. He could hide nothing from her. I
should crush you, she whispered, I should crush you like the insignificant
bug that you are. He could feel her growing all around him, her mass so
close to blotting out his own. She smiled wider, reveling in his submission
to her awesome, enveloping physical power. She grew more, and more, and
more, and then drew back again to her haunches, laughing to shake the
heavens. She was titanic. Absolutely colossal. And he was so small. She
looked down at him with dancing eyes and brought her mighty arms above her
head, hands balled into fists. The thunder in his heart was deafening.
Wrath was gathered about her like storm clouds. Her lids narrowed and her
mouth widened into a vicious, unholy snarl as she screamed with
earth-shattering force and brought all of her awesome strength down onto
him.

He woke suddenly in a cold sweat. "Shhh..hush…it was only a dream.
Everything’s okay now." She was in bed with him, holding him to her. He was
terrified; his eyes flew in a frenzy about the room, looking for escape.
His mind, so fresh from its terrifying dream, struggled irrationally with
reality. She’s here to kill me. Feeble attempts to bolt upright, to break
from her embrace, were quieted by her strong arms. She was seated up in bed
and had him propped up against her, head against her shoulder. "Sounds like
you were having a nightmare. Not about me, I hope?" She trapped his gaze
and smiled benevolently down at him. His wide eyes drank in the sight as he
struggled to make sense of his surroundings, to bring himself back from his
nightmare. The room was nearly dark, but she seemed bathed in an angelic
glow. "I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let anything hurt you."
Her soft words, like a lilting melody to his ears, began to calm him. The
familiar maternal aura radiated from her, wrapping itself around him and
filling the room, stronger and more pervasive than ever. She seemed so
gentle, such contrast from the woman in his dream.

No sooner did his fear begin to fade than his hunger woke with a vengeance.
It tore at his every tissue, immobilizing him in a grip of hot coals. The
perfumed aroma of her flesh fed its fire; her breasts, laden with milk,
were so close. He was aghast at his driving need for her. His eyes drifted
down to her chest, seeking comfort. His nerves settled some more as his
vision roamed the expanse of her cleavage. Her breasts were covered in the
pale blue satin of her short lingerie, which fell just past her broad hips.
"That’s right," she said, "I’m here now. You’re safe with me." She shifted
her shoulders, affording him a better view. He was slowly being soothed,
almost hypnotized, by her great swells of flesh and the deep valley running
between them, disappearing into darkness.

"I’m here to protect you," she cooed, "to keep you safe. To keep you warm.
To make you feel nice. To love you, to feed you." Her voice was like a
lullaby as she stroked his hair. He rubbed his cheek against the soft skin
of her shoulder, so comforting, and began to cover it slowly with light
kisses. "That’s a good boy. Nice and calm." She let him rest there in her
arms, enjoying the tranquil warmth of her body. His kisses faded into a
light, steady suction on her skin as he began to feel drowsy, despite his
great hunger.

Before he could doze, however, she pulled him away from her a bit into the
crook of her arm, speaking to him again in sweet whispers. His eyes
fluttered to meet hers. "John, I love you so much, and I know you love me
too. And I realize how hard these past days have been for you. You’ve seen
yourself change from a strong, confident man who had everything, who
depended on nobody but himself, to what you are now. You’re so very weak.
You can barely move. My milk, the only food you can take to keep you alive,
is making you smaller. You depend on me. You depend on me for everything.
Like a little infant."

His eyes drifted in shame from her face down her elegant throat to her
chest. He was so hungry. She pulled the loose hair from her shoulder over
the back of her neck. "I realize it must be difficult, but you have to stop
thinking as my husband. You need to stop thinking of me just as your wife.
You see how big I’m getting? It’s all for you. So I can provide for you."
As he watched her bosom heave and fall with her breath, she slowly lowered
the strap of her lingerie halfway off her shoulder. It began to drift
slowly down her arm, the heft of her breast keeping the satin from falling
from her. "Wives don’t do these things for their husbands. You need to
start thinking like a baby. For nourishment. For warmth. For comfort."

Both their heartbeats were beginning to quicken as they felt their
relationship shifting to a new level. She was reveling in his acquiescence
and in her own maternal power. He felt a sibilant thrill in giving more of
himself to her, surrendering additionally his wilted pride. "I’m your wife,
but I can be so much more. So much more for you, John." She reached to the
nightstand, and from the corner of his eye he saw her bring something to
her lips. She let out a soft, cooing sigh as she bathed him in the balmy
warmth that began to emanate from her body. She rocked him to and fro
tenderly, "I can be everything for you. You can be my little baby." His
breathing shallowed and his loins clenched with yearning as he saw her
start to expand. The soft flesh of her breasts was slowly creeping up past
the boundary of her nightclothes, making him more ravenous. He could feel
her arm growing below his head, his own body drifting gradually up from the
mattress. "I can hold you and rock you and feed you. It can be so nice." He
began to moan softly, as if in agreement. As her breasts continued in their
growth, the shimmering fabric fell further from her, only her large nipple
keeping it aloft. "It can be so warm and soft for you. You can have all you
ever wanted, all you’ll ever need. Warmth, Comfort," she shifted her
shoulder a bit and inhaled, "Milk." With that her breast emerged, the cloth
falling towards her hips. He moaned again quietly as he stared now into her
soft milky flesh, expanding seemingly before his eyes, beckoning him.

"How does that make you feel, hmm? That I’m going to have you as my little
baby? That every day I’m going to breastfeed you, making you smaller and
smaller." She knew his hunger. She knew what she was doing to him. Her hand
brought the remaining strap off her other shoulder, fully exposing her
bosom. Though she had already stripped him of his dignity, she wanted more
from him. He began to form feeble sounds as he gazed longingly at her,
trying to call her to him. "You can nurse from me all you want. Day in and
day out. Drinking my warm milk. Feeling my soft, full breasts up against
your face, up against all of you as they get bigger and bigger." The noises
from between his closed lips took greater shape, almost as if in search of
a word. "That’s right, baby. I can be so much more than your wife. So much
more." His attention was focused solely now on her great nipple, which
slowly swelled in anticipation of his waiting lips. But she kept it from
him, inches away. His sounds became more repetitive, "Mmm…mmm…mmm…" It was
as if he was a child attempting speech for the first time.

Her eyes sparkled. "Yes. Yes. I know you want it. I know you want it so
bad. But you need to say it. You need to say my name. Do that for me and it
can all be yours." Her lips curled to a half-smile as a drop of milk
appeared on her, beckoning. "Mm…mmma…mm…mma…" She had him, and she knew it.
"Say it for me." She let her milk down in a rush, causing more to gather at
her nipple and a thin rivulet to run under the curve of her breast.

"Mmma..mma…m-ma…mama. Ma-ma. Ma-ma." His words fell weakly over his lips,
half in a whine, but to her they were music. Her heart rose triumphantly
even as something inside him wilted. It was done. He had accepted her
completely as his mother, himself as her infant. He could debase himself no
further; his submission to her was total. "That’s right, baby," she
whispered, "come to mama." She took his face into her hand and brought it
towards her breast, leaning into him. A strange sense of peace passed into
him as he took her nipple between his lips; he felt relief in knowing that
he was too far past any sense of normalcy to resist her will or his own
desires. He could take all the milk he could from her, he could shrink
further and further without fear. No dignity was left to pain him. All hope
of returning to his past life had disappeared like a wisp of smoke. His
once great pride had faded to a flicker and was then snuffed out. He would
resist nothing. He would bask in her beauty and power, feeding off her when
he could, worshipping her always. As her milk began to flow into his eager
mouth, he nestled into her. Her soft flesh rolled around his lips and
pressed into his face, all but smothering him. He could feel his weight
shifting in her arms again, though this time not on account of her growth.
He was becoming smaller. Good, he thought. He became aroused, the sensation
of shrinking in her arms excited him like nothing before. Engulfed in her
warm bosom, his mind blurred to a blank. He began to gurgle and moan, eyes
clamped shut as he sucked furiously upon her great teat.

She felt it, too. "Good boy. Good, good boy," the flow of her milk through
her nipple into his mouth was nearly electric, "drink it all up. There’s so
much for you." She watched as her husband dwindled in her arms, taking her
milk like a nursling. His head was dwarfed by her enormous breast. He
became lighter and lighter as he took her in great swallows, and soon she
had him full on her lap like a child. She was amazed, thrilled, at how
small he was becoming, fully illustrating for her eyes what she knew
already deep in her chest: her power over him was complete. His hand had
already fallen between his legs and had begun to inch him along his way
towards climax. She brought her free hand down, cupping his scrotum and
massaging him tenderly. "Mmmm..doesn’t that feel nice? Do you like it when
I touch you there?" She squeezed him gently, causing his stomach to tighten
in pleasurable convulsions. "Aren’t mommy’s breasts big? Hmm? Big, big
breasts for her little boy." Moments passed as they both enjoyed the
feelings of one another’s body.

She pressed his face more firmly into her bosom when his suckling began to
slow, but soon realized he was becoming full. His stomach had bloated
noticeably and milk was beginning to run down his face. She paused in
reflection for a bit, her smile widening. She pulled his mouth from her
nipple let his head fall slowly towards the mattress. With one strong hand
below his hips she raised his engorged member up to meet her lips as she
bent forward to receive him. "Now, mama’s going to make you feel nice." His
eyes shot open and he groaned loudly as she took him into her mouth. Her
big, moist lips ran slowly over his taut skin; his entire shaft disappeared
into her wide mouth, only to slide back out again. Her soft hair fell all
around him. She gradually spun him around on the bed, propping him up on
pillows so she could settle herself between his shrunken legs. Never did he
leave her mouth. He was wracked from head to toe in luxurious pleasure,
watching as her big head passed up and down his erection.

She paused in mid-stroke, and brought her lips down his shaft to its base.
She was filled with a giddy sense of power. There was so much room left in
her mouth. Dare she try? She did. She opened her mouth wider and moved
forward, slowly taking his entire sac into her mouth. Her grin broadened as
she brought him in deeper yet, all his manhood beyond her teeth. Her tongue
played back and forth under him as she reveled in her thoughts. She could
do it right there. She could emasculate him completely. Almost playfully
she closed her jaw a fraction, watching intently as he tossed his head back
and forth in a mix of pain and ecstasy. She sucked firmly on him several
times, and could feel the pre-cum dripping into her throat, like fiery
dollops of molten steel.

Again she began to grow. He could feel her mouth growing around him. He was
filling less and less of her mouth by the instant. The all-consuming lust
pushing him to burst forth into her was tempered by the anxiety of facing
total castration in her mouth. Feeling the fear shiver through his skin,
she gnawed gently on him. Despite his precarious position, his hips pushed
forward rhythmically up towards her, seeking to push himself deeper. He was
absolutely at her mercy; her tongue played roughly against him. She could
take all his manhood from him. There will come a day, she thought with a
smile, where more of you will fit in me.

His thoughts were similar as he began to come. His orgasm exploded in her
mouth like a fireball, bringing more power to her. His fluid brought more
intense heat to her than ever before, nearly sizzling as she ran it around
her mouth and relished every swallow. She sucked and sucked, drawing all of
him down into her, coating her throat. Its energy pervaded her body and
fueled her growth. His member in her mouth became less and less
significant. When he was all but dry, she sat back and allowed him to watch
her expansion. His lids were already heavy, but the sight nonetheless
captivated his attention. His eyes lolled in his head as she swelled to new
proportions, beyond those of any woman he had ever seen. Her great
shoulders broadened, her muscular legs thickened. The wild mane atop her
head lengthened.

He was near unconsciousness. "Oh, Johnny. Mommy’s getting so big. So, so
big." With that she leaned over and, arms astride him, watched as his
eyelids drooped shut. Bringing her face to his, she enveloped his lips in
hers and kissed him wetly. "Goodnight, baby," she whispered as he fell to
slumber and she curled in the bed around him, her mass so great next to his
own.

XII

Julia woke to the sounds of sparrows. Sunlight filled the room with an
early glow and the air smelled sweet as she drew a huge breath into her
lungs. She sat up halfway and looked down at her husband’s senseless form
curled in a fetal ball next to her. He was so small, certainly less than
five feet now. Her milk, she thought, must be having greater and greater
effects on him. And then she looked down at herself. She stretched, and
watched her great limbs flexing. How large could she be now?

She remembered the meeting she had planned at the modeling office. Looking
at the bedside clock, she knew she had ample time to put herself together.
Rising slowly for the shower, a hint of anxiety crept into her. Her agent
hadn’t sounded convinced yesterday on the phone. Her best days were behind
her, he said. This is a job for younger girls, he said. Even if you are a
little taller, he warned, if your tits are bigger, all I’ll be able to get
you is some porno work. And you don’t want to do topless, still? Good luck.
His words still made her skin crawl under the shower’s warm spray.

She would show him. She would show them all. Her thoughts were becoming
heated as she stepped, still dripping, to the measuring tape on the wall.
Would this be enough to prove what she could do? Or is a – by her new
measurements - six-foot six amazon not anything special? She gazed into the
full-length mirror with a faint smile and a flutter of trepidation. With a
body like Venus? Wouldn’t she be an instant sex symbol? Perhaps she was
overly full, as he had said. Too much. But could the world resist a woman
who could grow right in front of their eyes? Every day bigger and more
beautiful? Her husband worshipped her, wouldn’t every man?

What she needed to do was demonstrate unequivocally her potential. She
needed to go to her meeting ready to grow, to prove she could be like no
woman before her. Then they would have no doubt. Then nothing could stop
her.

She drifted back to the bed wrapped tightly in her bath towel and with a
plot in mind. She looked to her husband’s immobile body; he had rolled onto
his back but appeared still deep in sleep. As small and feeble as he was,
he remained the wellspring of her growth. His juices held in them the power
to build her into what she knew she could be: a celebrity, a star, a
goddess of unequalled beauty, desired by every man on the planet.

She removed a glass jar from the bedside table and climbed onto the bed,
perched high on her knees at his feet. Her eyes fixed on his expressionless
face, she dropped the towel from her body, exposing her giant breasts and
smooth curves. Even unconscious, his body responded to hers; perhaps it was
the smell of her naked flesh, but his erection rose from the bed. She
slowly lowered herself towards him, bringing her bosom inches from his
member. Supporting herself with one hand, she used the other to guide him
to the flesh of her heavy, hanging breast. She rubbed the head of his shaft
up against her silky skin, back and forth upon her nipple. He hardened
more, though his even breathing and peaceful face assured her he was still
asleep.

Lowering herself further onto him, she placed him in her deep cleavage. He
disappeared into, was completely absorbed by, the mountains of her flesh
around him. Gently she began to run her breasts up and down along him,
pressing her softness into him rhythmically. She could feel him grow harder
still, though he continued to show no movement. He was sleeping through one
of the most majestic tit-fucks the world had possibly ever seen. Her big,
smooth globes passed in great waves over him, and he showed little more
than a slight quiver in his lips.

Soon, droplets of moisture appeared on him as the head of his erection
would peek for an instant from her cleavage. Subtle tremors ran through his
body. Jar on the ready, Julia smiled and quickened her pace, pressing him
more firmly into her lush valley. This is too easy, she thought. His member
had turned dark shades of red and purple, swollen and ready. She sensed his
impending climax, and moved the bottle over him. One final pass of her full
bosom brought him over the edge; he began to spit his warm, creamy fluid
into her awaiting jar. She raised up a bit and brought her hand to his
shaft, squeezing and urging him onward, milking him for every last drop.

She shook her head in amazement as she peered up the bed at him; somehow he
was still asleep. Equally amazing was the amount of seed she was able to
get from him. It had only been several hours from their nighttime session,
but he had just filled her bottle above and beyond what she’d expect from
any man. If she could gather this much from him on a regular basis with so
little effort, the possibilities were endless. How much more could she
grow? Could she reach seven feet? Or more? So far, she felt better than she
ever had in her life, but how much could her body take? Was she willing to
test its limits?

She capped the bottle in her hand as she rose from the bed and began to
dress. I need something I can grow into, she thought, but tight is still
nice. She settled on a shimmering black nylon and lycra long sleeve shirt
and its matching, short skirt; her cleavage was covered but her remarkable
assets were outlined nicely. She knew that, if it came to a photo shoot,
none of the clothes they had on hand at the studio would fit. In
preparation, she threw a number of her new outfits into a duffel bag: some
bathing suits, a couple of minidresses, and some lingerie. When she had
herself organized, she thought again of John. What to do with him today
when she was out? Maybe he’d like a little change of scenery.

XIII

John woke in Julia’s arms. He was being carried from his bed into the great
room, towards the couches. As he gathered his senses, he looked around and
then up into his wife’s beautiful face. "Whuuu…." was all he could muster
in query. "Good morning, sunshine. How was your night? You look exhausted.
Well, I have to leave for a little while, so we’re going to set you up in
front of the TV" She lowered him gently onto their deep, plush sofa. She
had removed some pillows and propped him into a seated position against the
couch’s back. His legs came just barely to the edge of the cushion. She had
dressed him, he noticed, in an old pair of her black cotton workout shorts;
even these were loose about his waist.

She flipped on the power to the television. "I’ll leave you the remote, but
I don’t want you watching any naughty movies, now," she smiled playfully
down at him, "I do have some pictures here you might like, in case you get
lonely." He looked to the endtable beside him, where several framed
pictures of her were turned towards him. Obviously new photos, on account
of her appearance in them, and obviously not professional. She likely took
these herself using the timer on their automatic camera.

His eyes lingered over the pictures for a moment but were drawn to Julia’s
hands as she placed several empty drinking glasses on the table, within his
reach. "These are for you. In case you start thinking of me," she kissed
him on the forehead as she turned to leave, "you know what to do." He
sighed languidly as he watched her exit the house and thought to himself
that he felt odd, he was only moderately aroused by the sight of her;
usually her mere presence had him in a state near fits. It was almost as if
he had just recently spent himself in orgasm….but it had been many hours
ago, the middle of the night, when he had woken from his dream and nursed
from her, right?

Well, it won’t last long, he thought. He gazed again at the photos at his
bedside. She certainly had taken them and placed them here for the sole
purpose of exciting him. A picture of her on her knees in a familiar
bikini, chest and shoulders to the ground, glorious rear high in the air. A
close-up cleavage shot, full frontal in a party dress, leaning forwards
towards the camera – half of her face was obscured beyond the frame of the
shot, but her wide, pearly grin beckoned the viewer. And last, a
crystal-clear headshot of her enthralling, smiling face, aglow in its halo
of bright blond tresses. He was almost hypnotized by her bright, blue eyes
in the last photo, and lay staring at them for minutes on end. He knew it
was crazy, but even her two-dimensional image seemed able to watch him.

What would she be thinking, what would she say, he wondered, if she were
looking at me? He could imagine her voice, soft and lilting, comforting
him. Oh baby, I love you so much. Her voice was music. Do you love me, too?
Yes, he did, he did. He looked deeper into the sapphire wells of her eyes.
Aren’t I beautiful? Aren’t I the most breathtaking woman you’ve ever seen?
Oh god, here it comes again. His lust began to bubble and seethe once more
as it dragged his hand down between his thighs. I am. I am the most
beautiful woman in the world. And I get more beautiful every day. Her eyes
seemed to dance and sparkle even in the picture, mocking his weakness. How
much more can you take, little man? How much more of me can you handle?
Because I’m getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Before he realized it, he
had his shorts nearly down to his knees and a solid erection firmly in his
grip. He was in the full throes of masturbating to a picture of his wife’s
face, and had neither the will nor the desire to fully face what he had
become, the depths to which he had sunk.

That’s right. Think about that. Look at me. I can get you hot with a shift
of my hips, a breath, a glance, a thought. I can turn you on so much that
it hurts. I can make you ache all over. His breath came in shallow pants
and his eyes were wide and glassy as he continued to stare at her beautiful
visage. I’m so much bigger than you. I dwarf you. You are so tiny to me.
And I’m going to make you smaller. And smaller. He grabbed at a glass from
the endtable in preparation. And smaller. And some day, a weak cry escaped
his throat into the empty house, I’m going to eat you.

Instinctually he followed her commands and dumped his fluid into the
drinking glass. This will make her happy, he thought. Gifts for the queen.
He squeezed all he could from his flesh and fell exhausted to his pillows.
He realized, as he lay there, that the boundaries separating his fantasies,
his fears and his reality were beginning to blur. What was he hoping for?
Escape? No. He couldn’t bear the thought of being without her and didn’t
know if he could survive anyway. A miraculous return to normalcy? No. He
was no longer above admitting to himself that he was now living a version
of the deepest fantasy he had carried with him all his life. Further
diminution at her hands, shrinking to the point of non-existence? The
thought held a dark appeal, but filled him with dread. He felt sure, in
this rare moment of lucidity, that he was on the brink of insanity, if not
already deep in its clutches.

In an attempt to exorcise his somber thoughts, John struggled to follow the
shows on television. Sights and sounds flew by him in a confused rush; his
ability to process the information was just barely adequate for the task.
And he found it disquieting that he was literally revolted by the images of
women on the programs. Soap opera actresses. News anchors. Game show
hostesses. Though certainly considered attractive women, he couldn’t bear
to look at them. Was her hold over him that strong? Or was the virus
expressing itself in another mindlessly nefarious manner? He struggled with
the physical task of reaching for the remote and clicking off the power.

He was alone with his own thoughts for several minutes before his gaze fell
again to the photos. Although it had been less than twenty minutes since
his last orgasm, the images stirred him once again. His vision roamed over
the full swells of her flesh, her firm buttocks, the deep crevice between
her breasts. And he became erect again. But always he returned to the
picture of her face. It called to him in his final moments of climax. And
it did so again, and again, and again throughout the day. He drifted
occasionally into merciful periods of sleep, but spent all his waking hours
in rapt, lustful worship of her. And the glasses beside the bed began to
fill.

By late morning, his hunger had begun to wake. By midafternoon, it had
cramped his stomach into painful knots. By early evening, it was in an
absolute howl. His only escape from its vicious grip were the brief moments
he spent in climax time and time again. Where is she? By this point he had
dropped to a state of irrational panic. She said she’d be back soon. It’s
been too long. Maybe she’s left me. Maybe she’s not coming back.

Suddenly a phone rang. The first all day. Though he, of course, had no
chance in answering it as the receiver lay yards across the room from him,
his heart leapt. Maybe she was calling to say she was on her way back. To
feed him. The answering machine picked up the call with a recorded message
of his voice: the strong, clear bass of earlier days. He could barely
recognize it, scarcely believe it was his. Rather than sadness, John felt
only the faint pang of nostalgia.

The caller identified himself as the physician attending his care at the
hospital. He sounded quite concerned. "Mrs. Blake, I just got your message
at my office. Thank you for returning my call, but I have to advise you to
rethink your decision and allow us to send a visiting nurse to see John.
Perhaps there is nothing further we can do to heal him, but we need to
monitor his viral load for reinfectivity and transmission. I’m sending a
courier over with a blood kit which will allow you to take a sample
yourself. You just need to send the sample back to us. But, please, I beg
you, let us come and see him. You have our number. Goodbye." The phone
clicked dead.

Several orgasms later the doorbell rang. And then a series of knocks to the
front door. The courier, but John had not the strength to call out to him,
let alone rise and answer. What would be the point anyway? Silence filled
the house as the knocking paused, and then the bell rang again. All was
quiet after that until the faint sound of a car engine in the driveway
sprang to life and then faded away. He was fraught with the physical pains
of hunger, like a hot blade to his gut and a vise to his temples. One last
ejaculation numbed him again into hunger-wracked slumber.

XIV

She was jubilant. Returning home late into the evening and tossing the
package from the front step aside, she found her husband unconscious on the
couch, drenched in his own sweat, a pair of shorts down at his knees. His
breath rattled in shallow gasps, his skin was pale and clammy. She stood
over him and surveyed the pitiful scene. A dull ache set upon her breasts
as she could sense his hunger, almost see it writhing within his flesh. At
any other time, she would likely be overcome with compassion and concern,
but tonight was a time of celebration. She was drunk with power. Her
meeting with her agent had exploded into an event beyond even her wildest
imaginations, and her ego and sense of self-satisfied conceit had blossomed
to match, if not exceed, the scope of her new body.

She was nearly taken aback with surprise as she noticed the drinking
glasses beside the couch, which were each nearly full with John’s fluid.
Her glances drifted over the photos she had left at his side as she
pictured what his activities during the day must have entailed. Then her
mind registered the implications. He made that himself, all in one day. For
me. There was so much of it. She smiled as the possibilities formed in her
head.

"You’ve been a busy little boy, haven’t you?" He was roused from his sleep
by her voice. His eyes flittered and slowly focused on her shape standing
before him. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision; gradually
her image sharpened. Oh lord, she’s bigger than ever. "I’m so sorry I was
gone so long, honey-baby," her voice was high and indulgent, and had
affected a touch of the slow southern drawl she had spent so long in speech
training to drop, "You must be famished." She was dressed in the same
form-fitting outfit in which she left; the form it was designed to fit,
however, had changed once again. She stood even taller now, and her heavy
breasts strained greatly against the elastic fabric of her shirt. Her skirt
gave new meaning to the term "micro-mini", covering mere inches of the
stately redwoods that were her legs.

"Well, my day went well," she teased flirtatiously as she tousled her hair
with both hands, "how was yours?" John fell into a deep blush, his gaze
downward. "Did you miss me? It looks like you did." She watched as his eyes
drifted over to the endtable and looked in near disbelief at the fruit of
his own labors. "You’ve been a very good boy, and mommy has a treat for
you. But first I have to get comfortable." She began to remove her heels,
"It’s been such a long day. So many people. So many cameras. Well, I showed
up at the studio and he – my agent - was just beside himself. I mean,
really, he’s sees pretty girls all day, am I that special?"

Her thin, sarcastic smile passed unnoticed by her husband, who was rapt in
attention as she had started to undo her skirt. "But he could hardly put
two words together, he was so excited. I’ve never seen him look at me – or
anyone – that way before. I don’t know if it was the dollar signs lighting
up in his eyes or just that he was wondering what it’d be like in bed with
me, but he was literally speechless for a long time." John’s mouth dropped
as she shimmied out of her skirt, pulling it down her long, tan legs to the
floor. "And then I couldn’t shut him up. Talking a mile a minute about
publicity and photo shoots and press conferences. Big time, he said, big
money, if we play our cards right. He said I was the most beautiful woman
the world had ever seen." She flushed with pride and felt the heat of
John’s gaze upon her full hips, tiny black panties stretched tightly across
them.

"When I told him I was still growing, he nearly lost it," she giggled, "and
when I said I could grow anytime I wanted, I think he almost wet his
pants." She had placed her hands upon her hips and had slowly begun to roll
them to and fro sensuously. "I don’t know if he believed me, so I showed
him a little growth with a couple of your drops. He seemed to like that, a
lot." John’s eyes flew to meet hers in alarm. "Don’t worry, our secret is
safe…I told him it was my ‘special formula’. He doesn’t know about you."
She drew his eyes back to her hips with a half-turn and a slight bend at
the knees.

"But, before I knew it, he was on the phone to all these big shots, getting
together a publicity team. Soon the place was full of photographers,
publicists, magazine and TV executives, clothing designers. And they all
wanted me. Me!" She turned a bit more, her back now to her husband, and
slowly rocked her hips back and forth in a slow dance. Her marvelous,
muscular rear and bare legs filled his vision. "So I showed them what I can
do, how I can grow, and they loved it! They loved me! It seems, they said,
that ‘I’ve stumbled into the secret fantasies of every living male.’ They
said they couldn’t believe their eyes, but that the cameras never lie. So
many pictures!"

She was obviously on a high induced by the attention of what sounded to be
a number of very powerful people in the media. "I mean, I feel a little bad
for my agent. I’m sure he’ll get a little bit of the action, but it all
seemed to spiral out of his control. I guess he’s getting railroaded, but I
don’t think I need him anymore, anyway. He’s small fry; I’ve got bigger
people taking care of things." At one time, his wife’s words would have
concerned him. He’d be afraid she was setting herself up for a big
disappointment. But now he greeted them with mute acceptance; he realized
she could do whatever she wished, get whatever she wanted, with her new
body. "I’m going to be on magazine covers. On television. Everywhere."
Though she was turned away from him, he could feel the triumph in her
voice. "Right now I’ve got people making clothes for me, setting up
publicity events, web sites. To get me what I want. To make the world
mine."

Julia knew she was a voluptuous masterpiece, a goddess in the making, from
head to toe. Under her husband’s worshipful gaze, she felt more beautiful,
more powerful than ever before. Not until this time was she fully aware of
the scope of her newfound sexuality. And, suddenly, she was in the mood to
do something about it, to test her sexual powers. "Tell me, are you ready
for this, little boy?" She spun around to face her husband. Raising her
arms above her head and swiveling her hips, she displayed her generous
endowments to him like some wasp-waisted starlet. Her flesh undulated. He
craned his neck backward to look up at her. "Do you like it? Do you like
your wife’s big body?" She bent slightly at the knee and dropped down at
the waist to look him in the face. He nodded and swallowed nervously. She
closed her eyes and puckered her lips, blowing him a kiss.

Her eyes shot open again and looked deep into his fragile soul, testing his
shattered will. "I’m going to make so much money. More than you ever made.
More than you can even imagine." She watched his eyes. "I’m going to be so
huge." His desire and shame were betrayed by his half-lidded, enthralled
expression. She smiled and, with a toss of her hair, said "I’m going to be
able to support you in every way." He put up no attempt at resistance. She
realized her dominion over him, how absolute it had become. She was almost
in awe of her own power and how it had reduced him so far. She realized how
her domination over him was becoming a sort of foreplay for them, how his
shame heightened his passion. Some part of him, she knew, actually enjoyed
the fear her huge body instilled in his shriveled one. As she grew larger,
and he smaller, he fell further and further under her spell. His continuing
submission to her was a strong aphrodisiac for them both. The bigger she
became, the more he worshipped her, the more he lost himself in her. And
she knew she could do it to all the others, she was sure they were just as
weak.

Her sense of power was making her randy. She slithered out of her panties
and climbed onto the couch, straddling her husband between her massive
legs. Her mass brought complaints from the sofa’s springs and – as she
lowered from her knees to her haunches – groans from her husband. She
placed a good deal of weight on his thighs, and she relished the strained
look on his face as he struggled to accept it. She was, however, aware of
his hardness against her. "How does that feel, hmm, baby? Am I too heavy?
Is your big wife too much for you?" He shut his eyes and winced as she
settled more of herself onto him. "Shh…Shhh..I know, I know. She’s so big.
So heavy. But this will make it all better."

She reached down and grabbed hold of his swollen manhood, so hot between
her fingers. Tilting her head back to afford him a view of the taut sinews
of her beautiful throat, she tucked his stiff member into her. Eyes closed,
she pulled his erection up, tightly surrounding him and grasping him in a
firm hold. The awareness of him inside her brought deep pleasure, her flesh
yearned for his seed. But she made no further move. And any attempt on his
part to thrust upwards into her were futile; she was far too heavy too
allow him any significant movement. She could sense his impotent attempts
and merely smiled to herself.

She pulled one of the glasses full of his juices from the endtable. His
eyes followed it and then went to her face. Wracked with the pain he was
already withstanding, her mass atop his, he attempted to protest,
"Nnn…nnnu…" She brought a single fingertip to his lips to quiet him.
"Shhh…I would never hurt my little baby." She pushed him back gently with
her finger until he laid his head back in passive resignation and watched
her. "Are you ready for the show?"

With that she brought the glass to her lips and took a great swallow, and
then another, finishing nearly half its contents. She placed the remains
back on the table and began to bask in the fascinating sensations
overtaking her being. The heat raging throughout her body was severe; she
could feel herself heating the air in the room with her expanding body.
Muscles strengthened and filled with vitality as the skin above them
shivered in rapture and stretched over her new girth. The pressing growth
of her breasts and torso were showing their effect on her already
overworked top, now like a second skin, shimmering and black, near to
bursting. She could feel her toes approach, and pass, the edge of the couch
cushion as her legs sought greater lengths. She had taken so much this
time, and knew she was growing more than ever before. It was a feeling she
never wanted to let end. Oh, to grow bigger and bigger, towards the
ceiling, through the roof. Like a giantess she could look down upon the
world, inciting fear and worship in the puny masses around her. Her smile
grew as she felt her body rise and advance above his, the feeling of his
frailty beneath her growing strength filled her with newfound ecstasy,
stronger than orgasm. She nearly yelled with pleasure, "Oh baby, Mommy’s
here. Mommy’s here for you." The thought and feeling of him inside her
tempted her to draw more and more from him, suck him up into her. She
wanted nothing more than to grow without limits and blot out the sun,
bathing the world in the light and warmth of her own awesome beauty and
power. All in time, she thought.

She felt her growth slowing, her breath becoming more even, and returned
her gaze to her husband, now so small underneath her. His head, lolled on
the couch’s back, were below the undersides of her great breasts, still
sheathed in quivering fabric. His eyes boggled up at her growing,
burgeoning body. She leaned back slightly so she could watch his face as
she began to slowly inhale a deep lungfull of air and flex the muscles of
her arms, shoulders, chest and back. Her shirt had seen its last. Rips
quickly ran all throughout it and soon it disintegrated into tatters around
her. She pulled the remaining threads from her with a lustful glint in her
eye and looked down over the swells of her grandiose bosom, still within a
straining bra of black satin, at her trembling husband. She could feel him
so hard within her, beginning to ooze his precious fluid already and urging
her again slowly to greater heights. Her milky flesh overflowed the edges
of her cups, and threatened to spill forward in their continued growth.

"Oh, baby. She’s so big for you. So much bigger than before." She must be
past seven feet tall, she thought. And her breasts were like entities unto
themselves, rolling off her chest in vast expanses of soft flesh. "And she
wants to share it all with you." She brought her hands to her chest.
"Mommy’s going to show you her big breasts now." Undoing the front clasp of
her taut brassiere, she pulled its fabric from her. In great, rolling waves
they fell forward, firm and massive.

John’s choked, gurgled response delighted her. She knew his intense hunger
and reveled in his homage to her lavish bosom, abundant with life. He
focused solely on them as they swayed and swelled above his face. He knew
they would reduce him further and further, but he craved their milk, their
soft heft against his face. He moaned and worked his lips, pursing them as
if to call her forward onto him. He didn’t dare move his head, however,
approaching her unbidden. Like an infant, he was helpless below her.

She peered down at him with scorn. He was enslaved completely, a servant to
her every whim, enfeebled by his need for her. And she wanted to make sure
he knew it. "Yes, I’m going to breastfeed you. I’m going to put my nipple
to your mouth and let you suck from me until you’re full. You can suckle
like a baby, and shrink smaller and smaller underneath me." Her voice,
though unpleasant in tone, filled his brain and soothed him like a warm
shroud. "But you’re going to have to beg me for it."

Down she looked at him as he struggled to make sense of his situation
through the fog of his hunger and the fire in his sex, still lodged deep
within her. "Without me, you’d starve tonight, shriveled and wasted. You
need my milk. Beg me, John, beg me." Her breasts shifted languidly before
his eyes as she dipped and raised her shoulders in slow rhythm. Firm flesh
beckoned him with undulations. He struggled to form the words that would
ease his suffering. "Pppuh..Puhhh.."

"That’s right, baby, beg me. Beg your mommy to feed you." She wanted him in
abject fealty now, bowing down in prayer at the shrine of her beauty. Like
a great mother-goddess, full of life for the pious. "Puhhl…Please…please…"
his words sputtered from his lips, his face strained in the agonies of
hunger, physical struggle and emotional anguish. "Please what, baby? Beg
me. Beg me." Her hand came up behind his neck and cradled his head.

"Please. Please mommy. Please feed me." His voice was weak and beaten, but
brought her onto him. Leaning forward atop his body and drawing his head to
her, she received him into her huge, smothering chest. Her nipple filled
his mouth and released her plentiful milk into his eager throat. She
pressed him deep into her flesh and ground her hips once into his, a
reminder to him that she was his whole world, all that mattered.

Immediately he began to dwindle, and she could sense his heightened
passion. She could tell he was enraptured with the feeling of her body
slowly eclipsing his, dwarfing it, enveloping it. As his head became
smaller and smaller at her breast, she began to talk softly to him. ‘You’re
becoming so small. Can you feel it? Can you feel me so much bigger against
you, surrounding you. Your head is so tiny, so small against your wife’s
big breast." Flesh encompassed him, her breasts about his head, her
womanhood around his shaft. Her thundering heartbeat filled his ears,
numbing his thoughts blissfully.

Her hips slid up and down him several times, but abruptly stopped and
clenched him tightly as she sensed him near climax. "That’s right. Mommy is
everywhere. She’s all over you." He luxuriated in her huge body atop his.
If only, he thought, if only he could lose himself absolutely, to just
become an actual part of her. Skin with her skin, blood with her blood. He
wanted more and more milk. He wanted to be smaller. He wanted to make her
grow, so he could disappear completely into her. Then he could have real
peace.

She slid over him once again. "Yes, baby. You’re inside me. Back inside
mommy. Back where you belong." She knew his thoughts. And she wanted him
the same way. She wanted to draw him up into her completely, make him
utterly and wholly hers. To finally absorb him in full, the ultimate
triumph.

His orgasm hit just as her breast fell from his mouth, as he shrunk beyond
its reach. Wave after wave of delight flooded over him as he jetted his
strength deep into her. Her body sucked and pulled all it could from him as
she towered higher and higher above him, growing full force once again. He
could no longer see her face above her stupendous, expanding bosom and
rather watched as her thighs lengthened and thickened alongside him. Her
hips swelled, widened, and called to him to enter her further. He was no
more than half her size now, and he felt safe and warm in her hands as she
wrapped them about his head and drew him to her firm, taut belly as she
rose to her knees. He fell to slumber against her as she caressed him so
near her loins and thought of future days.

She looked at her body in amazement. She was now far beyond the proportions
of a normal human woman, and the world could ignore her no further. She
grinned as she thought of the scene that she would cause when she next left
the house, knowing the reaction she’d get. Hers was a body that would bring
grown men to tears. Let them all weep, she thought, all like little babies.





XV

Suddenly I can walk again. I am back to my full size. But something is
still very wrong. I am in our house, looking far across the room to my
wife. She is in her wedding dress, a brilliant white, and has her arms
outstretched, beckoning me to her for an embrace. "Where are you going?"
her voice calls to me and echos dully in my ears. I am terrified of the
look in her eyes. As if in slow motion, I turn from her and am quickly out
the front door. All seems clear again in the cool nighttime air; my sanity
has returned. I stop running at the end of the driveway and am struck by
the silence. Nothing moves, the neighborhood is deserted, the eerie glow of
the streetlamps cast twisted shadows of trees across the pavement. My long,
slow breaths are the only thing I hear until the ominous sounds of creaking
timbers spin me to face the house.

From my vantage point nearly a hundred yards away, the structure appears
peaceful. Yet, once again, unearthly groans of splitting wood emanate from
within, louder and more insistent this time. I take a single step backwards
as shingles from the roof begin to buckle, slide and fall to the ground.
The roof, at the highest point of its slope, begins to split, being pushed
upwards from inside the house. Thick beams of dark wood emerge at irregular
angles like fractured bones from a wound.

And then her hand appears. It is enormous. Long fingers push the rubble
aside to make room for her other hand, which aids her in clearing a larger
opening for a huge mass of golden hair. She snaps her neck up quickly,
tossing debris in all directions as her gigantic head shakes back and forth
to free itself of wood and plaster. She has a look of extreme satisfaction
on her face, and seems to be lost in the ecstasy of her metamorphosis.
Though the roof is nearly thirty feet from the ground, she must be crouched
on her knees inside the house to allow for the size of her head. Her eyes
open slowly as she draws the outside world into focus. She is as beautiful
as I have ever seen her, even made more so by her incredible, expanded
scale.

Still on her knees, she straightens her back, ripping through the roof with
her shoulders. She smiles in amazement at her own size as she looks at the
house around her, still containing her like the fragile shell of an egg.
And then she sees me, across the driveway and yard, and fixes me with an
unblinking glare. Her grin widens as my face must betray my wonder-struck
fear. Slowly, as if for painful effect, she begins to stand, eyes never
leaving mine. More of the house crumbles. She exalts in her own awesome
power and its effect on me as she rises to her full height, tilts her chin
upwards, and peers down at me haughtily. Unbelievably, her wedding dress is
intact, an elegant satin gown now covering a body easily more than sixty
feet tall. It is then that I notice that I am dressed in the same black
tuxedo I wore to our wedding.

The sides of the house reaches barely to the level of her hips. She moves
forward, towards me, a single pace, shattering the roof additionally and
bringing her to the edge of the structure. Without a glance she pushes
forward with her hips and hands, and the wall crashes to the ground,
crumbling to dust and splinters. I take another step backwards as she moves
into the yard, closing the distance between the two of us. She stands
there, with her gown flowing about her, bathed in moonlight. Though without
a veil, she is gloved in white in and wears the dress in the same style –
off the shoulder and long of train – as the day we were married. She is
truly a divine sight, towering above me like a holy colossus. I stand
there, in rapt adoration, as she bathes in my terror and worshipful stare
from her lofty vantage.

She begins to drop to her knees and lean slowly forward towards me. I step
backwards, now onto the street, to allow her room. She is sprawled out
across the yard, supporting her torso with her elbows,, and faces me. Her
cleavage rises higher than my head from where her breasts meet and buckle
the lawn and pavement. She smiles at me, displaying teeth huge and
brilliant as she asks,"How is my little one? Does he like his giant wife?
Or does he want her bigger?" She closes her eyes for a moment and moans
luxuriously. I retreat a step further as she seems to be moving towards me,
her breasts pushing trenches into the road as they slide forward. My god,
she’s growing again! She reads my incredulous expression with bemusement
and speaks, as if to a young child, "Oh baby, I don’t need you anymore. I
can grow anytime I want now, John. As big as I want. I can be enormous. I
can be a goddess." I take several more steps backward as she continues to
advance, overtaking me. I watch with amazement as her face grows larger,
now directly above me, her hair now falling over her shoulders and
surrounding me, blocking out the outside world. All that is left is her.

This time, her gown does not keep pace with her growth. It tears and falls
into rags about her. With that she brings herself up from her elbows to her
hands, her breasts rising from the street and falling from her dress. With
a loving smile and a deep lungful of breath, she presents her massive
breasts to me. They hover in the air above me, full and round and heavy as
they slowly approach, looming. I am absolutely awestruck, my mouth agape,
struck nearly dead by the sight. My stomach is in knots, too tight to
vomit. What remaining strength I have in my legs gives way, and I crumple
to my knees before her, and begin to weep. I realize I am once again naked.

"Shhh…" I hear her whisper seductively, "don’t be afraid. Relax. I’ll be so
gentle." Her voice and eyes are beatific. "Let me grow all over you." As
she continues to expand, I lose sight of her angelic face gazing down at me
as her titanic bosom slowly fills my field of vision and lowers towards me.
I fall backwards and begin to whimper as the warmth of her great nipple
reaches me, followed by the pressing weight of her flesh. "Lie back, enjoy
this," she coos, "I’m all around you. Feel me, John, I’m everywhere." I am
surrounded by her softness, lost in it as it threatens to crush me – but
does not. "I’m everything to you. Let yourself go, give up, give it all to
me.

"I moan and push up against her, coming in a torrent against her breast,
bucking feebly into her flesh. For a moment she pauses. I could smell her
sense of triumph with my surrender. Slowly, she begins to grow again and I
accept her full weight as she lowers herself down and grinds me into the
pavement.









XVI

John stirred from his dream-filled slumber in the early afternoon as Julia
entered the bedroom. Just returning from another media event, her hair and
makeup were professionally done. Her lightly bronzed skin glowed where it
was not covered by a tight white minidress scooped low down her chest. It
was an outfit obviously tailor-made for her; one does not pick up clothes
for a woman nearing eight feet tall at the local mall. "Hi there, baby,"
she drawled as she approached him, "how do you like my new things?" She
spun in display for him, and leaned over towards the bed, allowing him a
fine view of her deep cleavage as he propped himself up on a pillow.

"V-very nice," his voice had returned to a strained whisper, "you l-look
beautiful." She beamed with pride both at the compliment and her take on
his current state of health: she had nursed him back from near death, and
now he was able to speak again, sit up by himself. "Why, thank you honey,
you are too kind." Her accent had crept further back into her speech, and
lent it a seductive lilt. She stood and arched her back, smiling at the
obvious reaction she drew from him as he moaned and squirmed. She had grown
again this morning at the video shoot, and her finely muscled frame had
blossomed further. Her impressive, hourglass figure was tightly packed with
silky flesh at the same time both strong and soft.

"I’ve got all sorts of pretty new outfits," she sat on the bed besides him
and started tracing circles on his thin chest with her fingertip. "Some of
them they made sooo big," she looked askance at his eyes, which were
roaming over her long legs, "but I’ll grow into them." She dropped her gaze
from his face to his chest, his legs. My, he looked so small. True,
everyone looked small to her now, but her husband was absolutely tiny. He
was less than four feet tall, and so thin - not much broader than one of
her firm thighs. She caressed the smooth skin of his face. How long had it
been since he’s been shaved, she wondered, he’s got no beard to speak of.

"Would you like to see the video I shot with my publicity team today?" She
did not wait for his reply, and moved to open the television cabinet past
the end of the bed. "It’s gone out to all the major networks and syndicated
TV tabloid shows, along with all the photos to the newspapers and
magazines. I’ll be famous by tomorrow, they say. My websites are already on
fire. " She slipped a tape into the player. "This starts off with some guy
interviewing me. Watch."

She returned to the bed and sat alongside her husband as the screen sprang
to life. Though his eyes watched the forming images, he could not help but
be acutely aware of her large breasts behind his head and up against his
shoulder as she put her arm around him.

Onscreen, she was seated, demurely with legs crossed, in a dark room.
Across from her was a man with his back turned to the camera, sitting in
shadows. She was wearing the same white minidress she had on now - though
it did not hug her quite as tightly - and was bathed in flattering light.
And she looked enormous. Seated on a high stool, she dwarfed a small table
and pitcher of water set next to her for effect. The camera shot from a low
angle, accentuating her size. Her innocent expression and quiet demeanor
stood in sharp contrast to her revealing clothes and impossibly voluptuous
figure. "Thank you, Ms. Blake, for agreeing to this interview. Now, tell me
what you had said earlier, why you contacted me and wanted to tell your
story."

The camera drew in slightly to her as she smiled with false modestly.
"Well, I didn’t think I could keep my secret much longer. I’ve been getting
a lot of attention because, well, I’ve been getting bigger."

"What do you mean, exactly, Ms. Blake? Explain it for our audience." The
interviewer’s voice was disembodied, now offscreen.

"You see, I’ve been growing. Taller and taller. Very quickly. Just a few
weeks ago I was the same size as everyone else, and now look at me." She
smiled brilliantly as she straightened her back. John was struck again,
seeing his wife on the television, as to just how huge her breasts were.

"Can we see the picture of Ms. Blake before?" asked the interviewer. An
older photo of Julia appeared on screen, from her modeling days. She looked
beautiful, but so much smaller. "Wow. Quite a change. But how can a woman
of your age – you are twenty-eight, correct? – just begin to grow again?
And so fast?"

"I’m not really sure, it just started to happen one day. I started shooting
up, and out." The camera began a slow pan down from her face as she slowly
threw back her shoulders, drifting in close-up over her elegant neck,
lingering on her chest before falling further and further down her torso to
her endless, muscular legs, white pumps dangling from her toes. Though the
piece was produced like a journalistic report, its filming bordered on the
lascivious. "Before I knew it, I didn’t fit into any of my old clothes,
into my car, my bed. I was a little afraid at first, but now I really like
it. I’m becoming a giant." The camera had returned to a tight shot of her
face, catching her delighted, crooked grin.

"If you don’t mind me asking, H-how tall are you now, exactly?" Though
obviously a plant, the unseen interviewer actually seemed to be growing a
bit anxious, as the crack in his voice betrayed.

She met his query with a wry smile. "Last time I checked? Oh, about seven
feet, seven and a half inches tall. And no signs of stopping."

Though entranced with the video, John noticed his wife’s big hand pull down
at his shorts and encircle his erection in its grip, wrapping it easily and
completely in her fingers.

"Seven-seven and a half? That means…"

"Yes, that I’m the world’s tallest living woman," she concluded his
sentence teasingly, "And, if you’re lucky, today I’ll outgrow that guy from
North Korea and be the tallest living human."

"What do you mean, today? You mean here, now?"

"Why, sure, honey. Why wait? I can grow anytime I want. Don’t you want to
see it? Don’t you want to watch?"

To quell any disbelief, Julia stood with much drama and looked down on her
interrogator as the camera panned back. He gazed up at her from his seat
and rose slowly from the shadows into her light, back still to the camera.
He looked like a child, the top of his head barely reaching her jutting
bosom. He and the camera followed her long, sweeping strides and swaying
hips as they took her to another set where pieces of furniture had been
obviously placed to give a sense of perspective. While he was no doubt at
their scale, she towered over it all.

"So, let me get this straight, Ms. Blake." He sounded incredulous. "You can
grow at any time, on command?" He stood in profile, at her side.

"Why, yes," she said with condescension, "let me show you." Upon the wall
were height markers. She stood against it, and topped Seven foot seven. She
tugged at him, almost excitedly, to stand beside her: five eleven. With
that the camera pulled down to their feet, his much smaller beside her.

Julia’s voice, next to John in bed, interrupted to add, "Now, this is where
I drank some fluid off camera. But we don’t tell the audience that, of
course." He looked to his wife’s face; she was beaming and giddy, intent on
the television screen. Her long fingers continued to stroke him
affectionately along his length, causing his stomach to clench in pleasure.

Slowly, the feet in the white high heels begin to expand. She slipped one
of them from her as the other began to split. The camera crept up her body,
making sure to keep the interviewer in the frame. She was obviously
growing, looking down at the man aside her. Her body swelled to fill her
dress, as it dragged up her thigh and stretched across her breasts. She
struck several flirtatious poses for the camera as the shot pulled back and
allowed for a full view of her body as it completed its ascent. She faced
the camera straight on and, bending to look her audience in the eye, asked
"How was that?" Her cleavage beckoned wantonly, "Do you want more?"

She stood to her full height, eyes not leaving the camera as it came to a
close up of her face and the marker which read her new height. Seven feet
ten inches. She was silent in her triumph, and smiled with a sweep of her
hair as the interviewer announced, "That does it! You are now the world’s
tallest person, man or woman." He was clearly in a slight state of shock.
"That was incredible! Simply amazing! How, if I may ask, does that make you
feel?" The interviewer had disappeared once again off camera.

She answered thoughtfully, "Well, it makes me feel different things.
Important. Beautiful. Powerful. Ever since I started growing, I’ve felt
wonderful, really, better than I have in my whole life. Stronger. More
confident. I love the way people look at me now. Women want to be me. Men
wish they could have me."

"But, aren’t men a little…intimidated by you? You’re so big. And so
beautiful. It must be a little disconcerti-."

"They should be intimidated," she added forcefully, "I’m the most beautiful
thing they’ll ever lay eyes on, and I’m bigger and stronger than them all.
They all feel nervous around me, but I know they like it." Her eyes were
sparkling as her haughty smile widened.

"W-what exactly do you mean?"

"Oh, we don’t have to play games anymore. Let’s just admit it. Every man’s
secret fantasy is a woman like me. With a body like this. A big, big girl.
One who can do what she wants with him. One who can pick him up like a
child and hold him and coddle him and keep him warm and safe. And the
thought that I can get even bigger is even more exciting. Don’t you think
so?"

The interviewer swallowed audibly. "With what you’re telling me, you seem
to be building yourself into some sort of, well, sexually-charged
mother-goddess. Your body seems to be developing into the ultimate object
of both desire and nurturing, motherly love. Is that the role you want to
play? Is that how you want to be seen?"

"I think the two are really one in the same, when you look deep down into
most men. And isn’t that, when you really think about it, what every
American male wants? A mother-goddess? To worship and adore." She was
absolutely glowing with pride and self-satisfaction, and was becoming more
radiant by the moment. "Don’t you think that our society’s obsession with
breasts is just a thinly disguised desire for a mother’s embrace? An urge
to be back at mommy’s bosom? A hunger for her warmth and her soft flesh?"
She leaned ever so slightly towards the camera and pressed her breasts
together with her elbows. "I think so. I think all every man secretly wants
is to be back nursing at his mother’s breast." The camera was pulling in
closer to her, framing her chest and face.

She was looking directly down into the lens now, addressing all those who
would soon see her in her glory. "And I can be there for you all. You don’t
have to have any secrets from me. I have everything you want. You can look
at me and think what it would be like." She approached the camera now,
slowly, her face gradually disappearing off the top border of the screen.
"What it would be like if I were holding you, so small, so little, so close
to me." Her nipples were apparent through her dress as her breasts filled
the frame completely. And still she drew nearer. "Let me do it. Come to
me." The entirety of the view was filled with the image of one of her huge,
heavy breasts, sheathed partially in tight white fabric and topped by a
swollen nipple.

"That’s right, America," she cooed the camera lens met her breast like an
infant, "come to mommy." Lovingly she rubbed her nipple across the lens, up
and down, until she pressed her breast fully against it, bringing the
screen to black.

It was then that he came, gasping in surprise, into her hand. She had
massaged him to orgasm as he watched her seduce a nation. His fluid sprayed
into puddles on his bedclothes; she urged more and more from him with her
firm grip until he was spent.

XVII

She clapped her hands several times in the bed next to him and giggled like
a schoolgirl. "Ta da! Don’t you just love it? What do you think the world
will think about me tomorrow?" She clicked off the power with the remote,
stopping the tape, and turned to face him on the bed. "I can’t wait to be
famous. And then, baby, then the money comes rolling in." A part of her
wanted him to be excited with her, but she saw the resignation in his face.
And the desire the tape had stirred in him, now spilled out and gathered in
small milky pools on the sheets. She was content with that, also. She knew,
observing him, how others would react. They would be unable to resist
looking at her, thinking about her. And that is exactly what she wanted.

"Tell me how you’re feeling, baby, tell me what that made you think about,"
she said with motherly concern, "I want to know." She looked deep into his
evasive eyes, searching for his soul. She wanted to draw the shame from
him, bring him further into her fold. Leaning over towards him, she tried
futilely to catch his gaze with hers, but was satisfied as his eyes settled
on her enormous bosom, swelling from her dress.

"It w-was fine. And I f-feel fine, I g-guess," his words belied his
hypnotized stare, "maybe a l-little tired." She inched closer to him and
pushed her chest nearer with a deep breath. She knew his thoughts. He was a
beaten man, and had resigned himself to her domination. He had little, if
any, concerns about the outside world. She knew he wanted nothing more than
to live the rest of his days in her warm comfort, enveloped in her flesh
like a baby in the womb. That he had no will left was plain to see, his
dependence on her was total. And she was more than willing to take him into
her, eclipsing him into insignificance as she grew and grew

"Oh, John. I know you don’t feel fine. You feel weak, ashamed. You can’t
believe you’ve sunk so low, so helpless. But at the same time, you want to
sink lower, to cling to your wife for dear life. But that’s all right,
baby. I know what you want. Cling to me. I can do it, I can do it all. You
can become just a tiny little part of me."

A tear crept down his cheek as he was beginning to weep gently. He had no
secrets from her anymore. "That’s what you want, baby, isn’t it? To be so
little? Hmm?" She put her finger under his chin, tilting it upward to look
him in the face, "Hmm? So little?"

"Y-yes," he sputtered.

"So you can be a part of me." She brought his face down so he once again
was staring into her bosom, and slipped her other fingers partially into
her cleavage. "So you can fit right in here, where it’s so warm and soft."
Both her swollen breasts and her throbbing loins ached. Her womb yearned.
"Mmm… Wouldn’t that be nice? Surrounded by me, my heartbeat all around you.
Do you want that?"

"Y-yes, yes." Her nipples were swollen and seemed to call him silently. Her
breasts surged, engorged with milk. He wanted to press himself into her,
but could not. He must wait for her to take him, to bring his face to her
great teat.

She pulled her hand from between her breasts and brought it to the bed
linens, where his fresh juices lay. Scooping and gathering them into her
hand, she shuddered inwardly as her palm began to tingle. Before she began
to absorb it, she spread the fluid, John’s seed, onto her husband’s face.
Smearing it across his cheeks, over his closed eyelids, into his lips, it
mingled with the slow stream of his tears. The taste of salt crept into his
mouth.

"I can do it for you. I can get so big, so big that you can lose yourself
in me, so that you never need to find your way out." She took his head in
her two hands and brought him closer to her chest, until her bosom
completely filled his field of view. She looked at the top of his small
head, dwarfed by her enormous breasts, and, in a cool tone, asked, "Do you
want me to do that? Do you want me to get that big? So you can fit right in
there?"

"Y-yes, oh yes." He continued to weep, "So b-big. So big."

"Yes, honey, so big. And you can be so small." She inched him closer to
her. "I can make you so little. So little that you’ll slide right into me.
Like nothing." She drew his face, dripping with his own semen, closer and
slipped it into her cleavage. She was surprised at how easily it was
enveloped by her firm, rolling flesh, which began to drink in his juices.
"You can be like nothing to me."

He drew breaths from her with great, wracking sobs, savoring her skin
against his and her motherly aroma alongside the briny scent of his fluid.
All his sensations, his entire being, was centered on the feel of her
breasts around his head. She pressed and squeezed them into him, pulling
him in ever deeper as she began to grow around him.. Forcefully,
rhythmically, she continued to enfold him, until his head was utterly lost
in her cleavage. He nestled into her as she pulled down at her dress, the
neckline lower, the straps off her arms, allowing him fuller access.

Soon her swelling breasts were fully exposed, her dress gathered about her
waist, as she now kneaded them with nearly crushing force into him. "There
we are, how does that feel?" He had no chance of responding, his head
buried between her massive breasts. His thoughts were of nothing but her
body, all around him, growing ever bigger. He imagined it was all of him,
not just his head, trapped within her bosom. The beat of her heart echoed
in his ears, while his own felt faint in comparison, though kept with hers
in perfect time. In exact synchrony. Hers growing ever stronger, his
seeming to dwindle with each pulse. It was as if they were gradually
becoming part of a single body: hers. He felt delirious with pleasure but
newly terrified at the same time. She was slowly trying to absorb him.

"Oh, baby, so soon. So soon you can be in me. All of you. And you can be so
happy." He whimpered helplessly as she began to drag her breasts across his
face, out from her cleavage and towards her large nipple. "You’re going to
be smaller." She brought his mouth to her and watched as he began to suck,
"So much smaller." Her milk flowed freely into him, and they each felt his
body respond, beginning to shrink. "Smaller. Smaller." He took her in
swallow after swallow, absolutely heedless of his sense of self, relishing
his diminution at her breast. "Smaller." Her words were hypnotic,
mesmerizing him alongside her heart, which still beat in strong, perfect
rhythm over his own. He enjoyed this tender, rapturous lullaby until his
feeding concluded and he was taken by sleep.


Eclipse XVIII

Something was wrong. The sickness had grown suddenly worse. He was consumed by a fever that wracked his body and pulled him mercilessly
from sleep countless times throughout the night. The lust in his belly had grown anew, and frightened him as it twisted and snarled like a vicious
beast. Dreams, desire and reality commingled and fused into one living nightmare that swam about his bed and invaded his every thought. His
feeble body was near its breaking point, shaking uncontrollably in fits and spasms as his skin crawled. Where was she? He needed her near him for
comfort, to take away the pain. He called out in agony repeatedly in vain attempts to bring her to his side, but the hours passed in the darkness
and the torture of his crippled soul continued.

He was roused near dawn from a state of unconsciousness by the heavy weight of her warm, silky flesh against his face. Still in darkness, he saw
nothing of her but the round, smooth shape of her huge breast suspended above him. Her face was lost in shadows, but the mass of her giant teat
rubbed against his cheek, onto his lips, and into his mouth. Though he was still lost in a world hovering between sanity and delirium, he knew her
breast meant comfort, solace and release. He took her nipple into his mouth and began to draw milk from her.

All was silent; she did not speak to him in her usual way, but pushed her flesh more firmly into his face without a word. The familiar maternal aura
surrounding her had a different vibration, stronger and more powerful – almost unearthly, inhuman. It consumed him and dominated him, seeping
into his every pore. He was not sure whether or not he was dreaming, only that her milk served to relieve his suffering.

Her strong hand cupped his head to draw him closer, raising him from his pillow. He was struck with a sense of vertigo, a dizziness not unlike the
sensation of plummeting through the air. But he was not falling; he was changing. His body was shrinking at an alarming rate, faster than ever
before. Further and further he dwindled as her nipple filled more and more of his mouth, her breast growing before him. His mind reeled in confusion
and instinctual fear even as the pain and fever he felt previously were replaced by rapturous pleasure. Shrinking now brought wonderful physical
joy to him, his flesh tingled and throbbed. What was different, what had changed?

He felt her arm pass below his legs, under his bottom. He could feel himself growing smaller in her hands, her palm and fingers now nearly as wide
as his hips. Gently she raised him off the bed, lifting him like a baby to her breast. Holding him silently, she gathered his body to her bare bosom
and sat back. She cradled her husband in her arms like an infant, watching him nurse. While his mouth worked her nipple, his hips pressed into her
other breast. He was now no bigger than a small baby, and luxuriated in the warmth of her motherly embrace. Her hands, her arms, her breasts
were on all sides of him. Though tempered by a sliver of fear, he had never known peace this complete before in his life.

While John’s emotions raged, Julia remained unnaturally stoic. She regarded her tiny husband in her arms with detachment. He was hers, totally –
mind, body and soul. She would care for him as he grew weaker and weaker, using him to build herself further towards divinity.

For now she knew that was her destiny. When she woke hours earlier, she was in a transcendental state. Never before had the world seemed so
clear, its mysteries plainly apparent. She could feel herself changing inwardly, evolving to a new state of being. The future, her potential, formed
itself tangibly in her mind. She could be so much more than a celebrity. She could be a goddess. That is when she had gone to him, lying in his
bed, writhing in sweat-drenched agony.

Holding him to her, she smiled faintly as he rutted against her breast with his hips and orgasmed. Though he fell to sleep, sated, he grew smaller
still in her arms. Or, rather, she had begun to grow again around him as his fluid passed into her breast and filled her with power. She closed her
eyes and allowed herself to ascend. It was only a matter of time.


Eclipse XIX

"Mrs. Blake, I have the results of the blood sample you sent us this morning." The doctor’s voice on the answering machine awoke John. "I need
you to call me right away. The results are troubling and certainly very curious." He was once again on the couch, dwarfed now by the surrounding
pillows and blankets and wrapped in swaddling clothes. "The virus has mutated again and become reinfective. We need to get back under
quarantine. The viral load is up exponentially, this thing is out of control and raging through his bloodstream." John shuddered and felt the chill of
fever and impending doom creep over him. He looked about the room as the message continued. He was living now in a world of giants, as he was
no bigger than a toddler. The room, the furniture, everything was enormous in scale. And Julia was nowhere to be seen.

"Another thing. Though I’m sure it’s some type of lab error, the blood typing listed on this sample doesn’t match John’s. I’m going to have the lab
run that again. Nonetheless, we need to get him back into the hospital under quarantine," the doctor’s voice concluded, "call me when you get this
message."

That explained his recent change in health: the virus had surged again within him. It was shrinking him more quickly and poising itself for
transmission to other hosts. Though he held little hope for his own recovery, he was comforted in small part by the fact that the virus would have
little chance of spreading to others. He knew that Julia would never let him leave the house, let alone bring him back to the medical center.

The cramps in his hands were paining him; as he inspected his fingers, he drew back in shock. They had become shorter, more fleshy, and had
begun to lose their nails. The hair had fallen from his knuckles, his hands, indeed his entire arm! And was that an early webbing beginning to form
between his digits? My god, he thought, what’s happening to me? The mindless evil of this virus was changing his body in newly devious ways.

It was then that he noticed the reading material she had left by his side, obviously for his perusal. Several advance copies of major fashion,
entertainment, and men’s interest magazines lay in a small pile, her image gracing the cover of each and every one. She beckoned the reader with
a seductive pose and come-hither smile, drawing them in to open the pages and discover more about this phenomenon, this burgeoning giantess of
unearthly beauty. She was about to ride the wave of a total media blitz.

Inside the magazines were articles, interviews and pictorials, all crafted in rapt worship of her. Similar in tone and content to the video interview,
she came across as the unwitting recipient of the fabulous ability to grow seemingly at will. Glossy layouts, all clothed, highlighted her immense
size, generous curves and flawless beauty in photos both glamorous and artistic. The media, it seemed, had already crowned her the
goddess-queen of all living sex symbols, foreseeing her success as an actress, model, whatever she wished. And they seemed all too willing to feed
the public more and more. She realized, the articles read, that her growth was shaping her into what many would describe as the ideal object of
lust. Her breasts were described, by various reporters, as "breathtaking", "monumental" and "legendary". She also knew the attraction to her body
sprang deep from the male psyche, from the hidden desire to be back in the warmth of a mother’s bosom. She was being portrayed as a highly
sexual, maternal force with unknown potential, a role she embraced and wished to fortify.

What worried John most, leafing through the magazines, was not her new fame. Rather, in all the articles, she hints at revealing the secret behind
her growth at some time soon. Surely she wouldn’t expose him to the public, would she?

While he was growing more apprehensive by the moment, he also found himself staring at her photos in the magazines. She looked so perfect, so
strong and voluptuous. She dwarfed the male models with whom she was paired, to demonstrate scale, in a few of the images. She straddled their
small bodies, or held them to her breasts. They clung to her feet and gazed longingly up at her.

He began to feel lightheaded, as if his brain was not receiving enough blood, and felt a growing pressure against his belly as he became more
aroused. Something was not right, something felt different, throughout his loins. He was growing more dizzy. He unwrapped himself from his
blankets, pulling them off his chest and from his hips, and reeled at the sight of himself. His member sprang skywards, released from confinement.
It had grown huge, or rather he had shrunk around it. It had reached to his sternum while pressed against him, but now pointed upward to stare
him in the face. What was becoming of him? His erection seemed to be an entity unto itself, less and less like his own body. It was like a huge,
throbbing beast, stiff and menacing. He fainted dead away at the sight.

Eclipse XX

By greapos@hotmail.com

She interrupted him in the midst of a session of masturbation when she entered the house again, hours later. His mouth gaped as he concentrated
on the cover of a fashion magazine adorned with her image, holding himself full in both hands and working his outsized member with all his strength.
The cool look on her face brought his flagellations to a slow stroke. She was dressed in a tight white midriff sweater and tiny white denim shorts.
Now at more than eight and a half feet tall, she towered over the surrounding furnishings. A detached air of indifference surrounded her as she
approached him slowly with long, easy strides. The smooth golden skin of her endless legs rippled over the powerful muscles of her thighs and
calves. Her flat stomach and narrow, wasp-like waist were taut and dark with tan.

He made no effort to remove his grasp from his giant erection, and continued to slide both his hands up and down its length as he saw her come
nearer, seeming to grow taller and taller with every step. He watched her heavy breasts bounce and quiver, filling the textured cotton of her
sweater with their plushness. Her broad shoulders supported a swanlike neck, its tendons outlined elegantly against her throat. His eyes goggled at
her body, while his mind and soul roiled in fear, lust and hunger.

Her glossy lips, painted and moist, parted as she lowered her weight to sit aside him. The springs and frame of the sofa groaned in complaint.
Behind her heavy lids, eyes that glowed a silvery blue were shimmering wells, liquid windows to an alien place. Her countenance was cold and
austere; she appeared to be in a nearly trancelike state, aware of another world as well as our own.

Her pearly teeth sparkled from behind her lips as a languid smile spread across her face. She ran one huge hand over him, petting and stroking him
as one would a small animal. Using a single finger to push his hands away from his member, her hand settled across his midsection, more than
covering its entire width. She passed her palm several times over his stiff flesh, pressing its length into his belly and chest. Feeble moans and
whimpers came from his throat as deep sensations, almost electric in their intensity, shook through him.

She leaned over to allow him to see her beautiful face beyond her gigantic chest. She wanted him to be able to look into the eyes of his giant
wife, his enormous mother, his mighty queen as she dwarfed him. Her cold, unforgiving gaze seduced him with an unholy ease, flowing and
undulating like quicksilver in a molten dance. He was hypnotized quickly, drawn into the deep pools of her eyes. She knew his thoughts as if they
were her own. He was terrified of her, but in utter dependence and absolute worship.

Almost in test of her power over him, she began to press down upon his body. His entire trunk was nearly covered by the expanse of her hand.
Eyes still entrapped by hers, he felt his huge member press painfully into his gut, his back deep into the cushion below. Slowly, she applied more
pressure, watching his face with interest as his lids widened in fear. More and more she pressed. She could feel the quickening of his tiny
heartbeat, deep below his fragile ribs. He was struggling to breathe now, tears brimming around his eyes. She cocked her head in curiosity as she
wondered how much it would take to crush him; with no effort at all she had him nearly asphyxiated. She was fascinated with the look of abject
terror on his face. She pushed down a bit further, letting him taste the pain she could bring. Her once dominant husband, now entirely at her
mercy.

Accepting the submission in his eyes and their silent pleas for release, she withdrew her hand. He gasped and sputtered for breath as his color
returned to normal, though his gaze was still locked under her control. As he fell deeper into the infinite depths of her eyes, he felt more and more
a part of her, as if she was drawing him inside to her darkest core and erasing him bit by bit.

Her two hands slipped beneath him, lifting his body easily and placing him across her lap. He was not much taller than the thickness of her two
thighs, and was supported fully. His gaze fell from hers as she drew back to pull off her sweater. Unbound and unhampered by a bra, her bountiful
breasts heaved and flowed forwards, hanging above him majestically.

He heard her voice in his head as much as in his ears. It had taken on new quality, deep and resonant while at the same time clear and musical.
"Your body is so tiny." As if in emphasis, almost in comparison, she lowered her breasts towards him. Each was now more massive than his entire
body. What was happening? John blinked several times in disbelief, but he could actually see her breasts pulsating slowly, calling him to her as their
nipples swelled. Again, her voice in his head. "Can you see? Can you see how small you are next to me?" What had she become? She was
superhuman, almost supernatural.

With one hand she raised him slightly from her lap; with the other she lovingly lifted a monumental breast and placed it upon him. He struggled to
accept its heavy weight as she steadied him, bringing him further into her. Despite the crushing, smothering force of her bosom, like a blind,
nursing pup his mouth vainly sought out her nipple. He heard her thoughts aloud "You are so close to death here, John, so close to being crushed.
But you don’t fight for escape, you don’t scream for help. You look for my milk. You look for my love. Why? When I could squash you in an
instant, Why?"

She drew him in nearer, raising him higher, now holding him like an infant and pressing his head deep into her softness. "Look at yourself, John. You
are a parasite. Like an insect, a leech, sucking and sucking on me for dear life. You feed off of me for milk, for love, for everything. You would die
without me. You are nothing without me." She moved his face closer to her nipple and drew him back so he could look at its giant, engorged tip.
"Take my milk now. Latch onto me and feed. I will fill you."

Shifting her breast towards him, she slid her nipple between his waiting lips. It nearly filled his mouth now, and dumped great flows of milk down his
throat as he suckled. Whatever anxiety he had was soon covered by the warm blanket of her motherly comfort. He forgot his fear and allowed
himself to be soothed by her soft flesh, her warm milk and maternal voice. He nestled into her. "Good baby. Goooood baby. Drink it all down." He
soon felt himself shrinking at her bosom, in her hands, as the milk worked its way into him. "Doesn’t that feel nice? Doesn’t it feel so good to drift
away? Getting smaller and smaller up against my breast." He could feel his body dwindling in comparison to the heft of her flesh pressed to him,
sense himself occupying less and less of her embrace.

Her milk tasted like the sweetest, most precious nectar, warm and creamy and alive. As if to demonstrate to him how quickly he was diminishing,
she shifted him in her arms, now using a single hand to hold him to her breast. The other hand caressed him, stroked the hair on his tiny head.
"Can you feel that, baby? I’m holding you with one hand now," she squeezed and pushed her flesh into him, massaging him into her and rubbing
wide expanses of her skin across his. And still he shrank, though slower now that his hunger was dying. "You can fit in one of my hands. One of
my hands." She gently removed him from her nipple to look at him. With him lying on his back, she cradled him fully with her fingers, palm and wrist
of a single hand. The outsized erection that rose to his chest was stiff and quivering.

His little eyes were open and gazed pleadingly, in mute adoration, at her huge face above him. She was surrounded by a visible aura of brilliant
splendor, like a radiant deity. His naked body squirmed in her hand as she beamed down a motherly, beatific smile. It lit his world like sunshine. "My,
you are such a little, little man." He could feel her rise from the couch and begin to walk across the floor, carrying him with no effort. She cooed
soft, sweet nothings to him along the way, "My darling little husband. My teeny baby."

"And mommy loves you. She loves her little baby," she had stopped in her travels at the end of the giant bed, which was a dizzying drop below
him, "oh yes she does." Grasping him tenderly with one hand, she brought him up close to her gorgeous face, which to him was nearly the size of a
billboard. Her fingers wrapped almost totally around his chest; his legs dangled. He was looking straight ahead at her huge, luscious lips,
mesmerized by their titillating gleam, their voluptuous dance. "She wants to cover him with kisses," her giant pearly teeth bedazzled him with a
toothsome grin as she brought him closer, "she wants to see how sweet he tastes." Her hot, flowery breath wafted around him. Nearer. She pursed
her lips and he watched her form enormous, luxurious kisses before him. She blew them towards him. Closer. Gleaming, shimmering, moist flesh filled
his vision and undulated sensuously. She displayed her opulent lips to him, wanted him to absorb their immense scale, to acknowledge the brute,
wanton power of her mouth. Closer. She whispered to him. "Come here, baby."

His face was showered by a series of light, plush kisses. Big, ethereal brushes of gossamer. Her pillowy lips began to cover him in creamy lipstick as
her attentions became more eager. Soon he was painted, coated in smears of red. The moist, profuse caresses of her lips enveloped his mouth, his
chin, his cheeks. They blanketed his eyes. She sucked gently on his face, taking delight in running her wet, velvet lips over him indulgently. His
head was held by their firm grasp. She passed the rough tip of her tongue playfully across his face. Her soft, maternal sighs echoed around him as
she pressed her lips into him, beginning to envelop him more and more.

There, with his head surrounded by her lips, he could hear her thoughts once again. Mmmm…so nice. So nice and warm in there. She sucked more
firmly on him, licking his face further. My kisses are so big. My mouth is so huge. She parted her lips slightly, allowing him to look into her
tremendous orifice, shining and wet. Her white teeth sparkled ominously. She drew in a great breath. You taste so good. Her exhale washed over
him. So sweet, my little husband. She kissed him again, wetly, grabbing his head with her lips. My little John.

Her lush mouth opened wider and took him in. His face slid smoothly through her lips as she sucked him into her. His entire head. To his neck he
was enveloped by her hot, wet flesh. Her tongue lolled and rolled over his face in the darkness, coating him with her warm saliva. She growled with
pleasure, filling his ears with thunder, as her teeth came to rest on either side of his neck. Feel that, baby? She pressed gently down on his throat.
Feel what I can do? She sucked on his head, massaging it roughly with her tongue. She opened her mouth wider, pushing her tongue below him,
across his chest. It rubbed up against his engorged shaft, electrifying his senses further. He grappled feebly with her plush lips, her muscular
tongue as they toyed with him. Even as he struggled, he pushed his member against her tongue’s coarse wetness, seeking release. Though filled
with unbridled fear, his lust drove him onwards, pushing him to drive further into her.

Feeling that, she exalted in her own power. You want it? You want to feel more? Her tongue and lips danced over him as she slowly drew him from
her mouth, his head dripping and moist. She brought him up so he could look deeply into her wide, sparkling eyes. Her grin was triumphant. You
want to feel me all around you? Her lips did not move; no sound passed her throat. She made him hear her thoughts. His vacuous eyes rolled in
delirium while hers regarded him with unblinking, demonic fascination. Her gaze was steely and unbending, forcing her mind into his as it
encompassed him. To feel yourself slide deeper and deeper in. My lips around you. To feel me swallow you. Whole.

Still holding him near her face, she crawled onto the bed, sliding forwards on all fours. Her smile was mischievous, fiendish. She placed him gently
on the mattress, his erection risen like thick pole, a banner to her rule and dominion. As she drew back, he was awestruck by her monumental form.
Titanic breasts, gargantuan knees, mammoth thighs. Round, bare, tremendous hips. She had removed her shorts and tore her panties away. She
was a colossus, bathing in his reverence and fear.

I want you inside me. She looked down on him from afar. I want all of you inside me. She brought her hands down, encasing his member with one
and pressing down on his chest with the other. In a panic of self-preservation, he tried to pull himself away. He was unable to get free. She had
him pinned to the bed beneath.

Get ready for me, John. She rose and moved her hips toward him. Get ready for all of me. Her face became obscured by her towering body. I’m
going to rape you.

Eclipse XXI

by greapos

She had him. She had him in every way. And now she was going to show him just what she could do to him. The full extent of her domination,
taking him totally. He had shrunk to the size of a plaything to her, and was an abject slave gagged and bound by his own lust. She was a titanic
force against which he had no defense. Her authority bulged in her chest as she lifted him off the mattress and positioned him. She sat on her
muscled haunches, spread slightly, as she angled his member towards her. His body hung limply in surrender from its base, his eyes swam in the
bewildered disbelief of a deep horror. Though huge and out-of-scale on his body, his manhood was small and humble between her legs. Pitiful.

"Look at me, John." She supported his head with two fingers as it lolled back and gazed up at her with its small eyes. "Look at your wife above
you, so huge. So incredibly huge." She loved the look on his face, the terror in his eyes. Her feelings of power burgeoned and swelled by the
instant. "You can’t believe it, can you? Your tiny mind can’t comprehend her. Can’t understand how gigantic she is." He seemed to diminish, shrink
in significance before her eyes as she spoke to him. "And you’re afraid, baby. Deathly afraid of her. Afraid of what she can do to you." She drew
him in closer to her loins and tilted his head forward on its neck. "Look at me." He was confronted by her firm lower belly and, below that, her
awaiting womanhood. She dripped in anticipation. The imposing muscles of her abdomen and thighs flexed and rippled powerfully.

"I could break you, John. I could eat you. I could kill you in so many ways," her grip tightened as he writhed in impotent fear, "but instead, I’m
going to fuck you. Hard. I’m going to fuck your puny little body to a ragged pulp. I’m going to rape you, baby, rape you of everything you ever
were, make you mine." She was on a high, and soaring higher. "Now, baby, come to mommy."

With that she slid him in, cupping his body in her hands and driving it forward forcefully into the flesh of her stomach. His member sank easily to its
base, filling so little of her. Yet they were both immediately consumed with ecstasy. Suddenly they were closer than ever to their ultimate end.
Joined together like this, the world fell into place. Like part of a single body, intimately tied in unfathomable joy. He thought of nothing but his love
for her. She was transcendent.

And then he felt it. She began to tighten around him. Her muscular walls contracted about his dwarfed manhood until they hugged him firmly. He
rubbed his face against her smooth belly and luxuriated in her warmth, gathering her aroma. She grasped his hips in her hand and drew them back,
sliding him moistly through her velvet channel. His tip remained inside. And then he felt it again. Her vagina clasped and slowly pulled him back in
again, massaging him along the way sensuously. Back to his base he was drawn. And still she tugged on him, as if she wanted more of him, as if
she wanted him deeper. At that point, he would have liked nothing more. The feel of her wetness around him, her hands covering his body, his face
against her skin. Never before had he been so completely surrounded by her warm comfort. And something inside her called for him. Wanted him
within her. He was at the gateway, so close to heaven.

She pulled his shaft outwards again, holding his body in her hands. As her womanhood sought him once more, yanking him forwards, her hands
helped to push him in. Though he was lost in pleasure, he was aware that her affections were becoming slowly more physical. In and out he slid,
over and over. She began to talk softly to him, cooing with condescension. "How do you like this, little one? Am I good? Am I good in bed, still?"
Holding him to her with one hand, she rose on her knees and dropped onto her other elbow. He was now horizontal, still pressed to her belly. She
gradually began to lower her hips to the mattress. "Isn’t this nice? Isn’t this so good?" Her thrusting continued.

"Do you remember the last time we did this in this room? So long ago? You were much bigger then, but you liked it the same way. You always
liked me on top, so you could watch me. So you could look at my body. So you could tell me how beautiful I was. So I could rub my big breasts in
your face. Oh, how you liked that. Do you remember? Hmm? I do. I remember you lying back, letting me make you feel good. Letting me take
care of you. Looking at me. Feeling me slide all over you, on top of you. Well, John, look at me now. Feel me now."

Her hips bore massively down on him. Still in her grasp, he had been brought the mattress. She held him there, under her, as she slid up and down
his shaft. Her body blotted out all light. He was in darkness as she pumped and ground her way through him. More and more vigorous her motions
became, as she pressed him heavily into the cushion below. Voluptuous softness was all around him, but threatened to crush him with each
passing second.

"Is this good, little one? Is this the way you always wanted it? Hmm? Yes. I know it is. Can you feel me all around you? I’m so big. So tight. So
wet." He moaned and sighed each time she thrust down on him. He was beginning to lose himself, his grasp of his body. All his sensations were
gradually centering themselves around his erection. It was becoming the core of his being. His vision faded, the outside world collapsed to a dull
hum in his ears. With each stroke, he felt like more and more of his entire self was being drawn into her, sliding through her warm, wet embrace. Up
and into her tunnel. It was blissful beyond belief, he was quivering with delight.

Does baby feel good? Her silent words washed over him, from her close, hot flesh into his mind. Does mommy feel nice all around him? Come
deeper, little man. Come farther into me. Come back into mommy. She read his thoughts. They were so simple, so plain. He wanted it, too. He
was giving himself to her. Oh, so soon, baby, so soon we can be together forever. I’ll have you for good. She just needed a little more from him.
And he was so close now.

With one last stroke, she ceased humping his tiny body into the mattress. She lay on top of him silently, his shaft driven to its base into her, her
mass all around him. He was aware of nothing beyond his penis. For the moment his consciousness had become totally, utterly entrenched in his
erection. She sensed him in there. The rest of his body was nothing but a husk. Her husband was now entirely just an organ. And he was encased,
entombed by her firm, wet, velvety vagina. Buried within her. So close, he was, to climax, that she could feel his fluid churning, his every fiber
stiffening.

She wanted to finish him this way. Slowly, consciously, she worked the muscles along her inner wall. She pressed on him. She massaged him. More
and more firmly she labored, bringing herself in powerful waves over him. Rhythmically she began at his base and drew her flesh up his shaft. She
felt him begin to shudder and quake. Redoubling her efforts, she squeezed him, harder and harder. Until he burst.

He gushed and belched streams of hot fluid into her. He felt as if he had exploded, opening up completely and pouring his very essence into her.
His innards, his blood, his soul. Take it, he thought, take it all.

That’s right, baby. Give it to me. Help me grow. For you, for us. Suddenly, she was electrified. Unlike ever before, his juices shot directly to her
core and gripped her in orgasmic rapture. The heavens shook as she raised herself on her arms and tossed her head back in a scream. His
consciousness was slowly ebbing back into his body, his vision returning to allow him to observe this earth-moving spectacle.

His head was just barely clear of the point where her waist rose from the mattress. Lying on his back below her, he craned his neck back to catch
a glimpse of her further ascension. It was like a celestial event. Energy crackled and hummed over her skin like fine bolts of white lightning. Her hair
swept upwards in an ethereal breeze. Her jaw dropped a moment before a great, hedonic smile spread across her face. Her teeth gleamed. Her
eyes shot open and shone like supernovas.

And she began to grow. Up and up above him she swelled. While his view of her was mostly obscured by her trunk, he watched her breasts. The
expanding, heaving mountains of soft flesh pushed to greater and greater limits. He began to feel smaller than ever before. Her hips around him
were widening, her legs lengthening. Her shoulders became more powerful and the mane of golden hair about them thicker and more radiant.

Her first breath was a gasp. And then a laugh. A short, incredulous titter, followed by a moment of silence. And then it began again. A long, rolling
stream of drunken celebration. Laughter to fill the room, to fill the skies. She was ecstatic. She sat back on her knees, drawing herself from his
spent member, and laughed, her eyes heavenward. Hands on her thighs, she shook with rejoice.

Once more, he was terrified. What had she become this time? Her evolution had continued, the virus had brought her again to greater heights.
Less and less human, more and more divine. She was now more than ten feet tall, while he, spread-eagle on bed before her, was now measured in
inches.

Her roaring mirth, rising at times to great shrieks, began to sound like that of some mad god. What threads were left of her sanity had snapped. He
cracked under his fright and began to shake.

Suddenly she stopped. She smelled his fear, recalling his presence, and shot her gaze down to him. Her smile was gone. The irises of her eyes were
lustrous, iridescent pools of swimming platinum, their whites pure and luminous. She cocked her head in curiosity, examining his puny form. He
twitched and squirmed in spasm. Paralyzed by fear. He felt like a tiny, feeble mouse under the eye of a huge, deadly beast of prey. Unpredictable
and capable of instantaneous, brutal violence.

Her lips curled to a smirk. Her eyes glimmered. A carnivorous grin sprang to life. Wide and insane. And then the laughing resumed. Low chuckles at
first, but quickly building to a full, wicked crescendo. She was possessed, depraved and malign.

She took her palms from her knees, and reached forwards to him. Her hands were enormous as they approached. She paused, for a moment, in her
laughter to speak to him. "Come here, little one," her tone was unpleasant, "we have so much more to do."