On a warm, sunny, August day, a late teen girl was reclining on a park bench, licking an ice cream cone with repeated, long, smooth strokes. This young woman was wearing a yellow tank-top, short hot pants, and tightly-wound shoes, and she was in utter bliss. Her reddish hair hung in curly bunches around her head, the product of many hours at the salon recently. Her name was Johanna, and she looked like she was having the utter time of her life.

Her arm was sprawled around another woman who was noticeably older, though no less attractive. This woman was Johanna’s mother. It was clear her daughter received her auburn hair from her, though no the older woman’s striking amber eyes. Perhaps unexpectedly, this mature lady was the more flippantly-garbed of the two; the woman was wearing merely a bra, a skirt, and high heels. And she was visibly, extremely uncomfortable. She too held an ice cream cone, but she did not feel the urge to eat any of it. Or eat anything at all. Her name was Susan.

Passers by glared at the pair strangely. It was no strange sight to see a mother and daughter enjoying a day out in the city sharing some ice cream together, but the image did raise a few eyebrows. Chief amongst them was the presumed mother’s risqué choice of outerwear. The second oddity was Susan’s jumpiness.

As a joke, Johanna decided to lightly, ever so lightly, drag her fingertips across the nape of her mother’s neck.

“Gasp!” The woman twitched, a dollop of ice cream falling on her bare belly as she realized her daughter had simply scratched the back of her neck.

Johanna snickered, side-eyeing her mother who chagrined, taking a bit of time to lean tentatively back into the bench and her daughter’s arm.

The heat was bearing down like a red-hot hammer, and sweat sheened off both women’s backs. The mother curled up, hoisting her feet to the edge of the bench, wrapping her arms around her knees. It was a hot pose to be in, but Susan’s discomfort at this exposure was almost palpable. This pose was familiar to her, and most importantly, it felt safe. There were few pedestrians to take notice, but those who did eyes Johanna with such a detached strangeness, bordering on suspicion.

“Hm? What is it?”

Her daughter spoke. Susan jumped again, feeling the warm, gentle touch of her daughter drag along the back of her neck, petting her like a stray cat. Susan shook her head, refusing to say anything that was more than a muttered mumble.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Another light pet from Johanna. It gave Susan chills, goosebumps that were exacerbated as Johanna nuzzled closer, her ear practically planted against Susan’s mouth, cheek inches away from her collarbone.

“N… nothing…” Susan relented.

“That’s right…” Johanna continued to pet her mother’s neck, grabbing a sprig of hair and twisting it between her fingers. She planted a kiss on her mother’s nose, playfully biting the tip. “You’re mine, aren’t you? You don’t have anything to complain about.”

Johanna’s fingers traveled down her mother’s back, finding themselves beneath the strap holding her mother’s bra together. Her fingers fiddled with the clasp as Susan’s breath quickened.

“J-Johanna, please…” she whispered through grit teeth, side-eyeing the family of walkers that was about to pass. “Not now… please.”

“Relax… I’m not going to do anything… yet.”

Susan closed her eyes, tears flooding them as the reminder of her own powerlessness came through her teenage daughter’s bratty lips.

Then, the bra came off. Johanna’s fiddling succeeded.

“Oops…!” Johanna whispered and winked before jumping off her seat, screeching, “OMG, MOM?! How indecent!”

Her performance could’ve won a Golden Globe, her yells caught the attention of those arriving and those who had already passed by as they all feasted their eyes on Susan’s mightily developed chest, spilling out as her bra cups fell into her lap. The woman yelped herself, lunging for the bra before it was caught by an especially strong and errant breeze. Already, the pedestrians were gasping, murmuring, gossiping, as Susan was forced to hold her own breasts by her hands, covering them up in the face of public humiliation.

“How obscene!”

“No, don’t look at her, Ronald. Shield your eyes!”

“I fear for this country if this is the example mothers set for their daughters these days.”

Susan looked around as the strangers sneered, judging her, and she became almost as red as her own hair. Susan wanted to open her mouth, say anything, but one glare from her daughter put her in her place, forcing the adult woman’s mouth shut. Susan’s inner burning and mortification made her want to run, to hide, to do anything, even as she waited for Johanna to potentially grab her bra, caught in a bundle of bushes. But she simply stood back, smiling as several of these strangers angrily announced they would grab a police officer to arrest her for public indecency.

Eventually, Susan’s unintentional flaunting had driven off all the common folk. This left just Johanna, peering from just out of the public consciousness at her mother, lonely on the bench.

She took a few steps toward the Susan, sitting down next to her and wrapping her arms around her once again.

“Not so fun, is it?” asked Johanna.

Then… Susan disappeared.

Johanna glanced furtively, ensuring that no prying eyes were watching. Out in the public park, the chances nobody saw were nil. But at the very least, there was nobody within her line of sight, and anybody paying good enough attention to see the disappearance of the older woman was far away enough for the visage to have seemed like a mirage, an addled hallucination.

But it was no hallucination. Johanna uncupped her hands. She took note of the tiny figure inside, gasping for air, on her knees within the massive logs that were Johanna’s fingers.

“Awwww… I can never get over get over how cute you look like this...~”

“J-Johanna!” screamed Susan. “You, what are you, why are you --”

Johanna heard voices. Law enforcement voices.

“Whoops!” Johanna cheered, plopping her mother straight down into the divide between her breasts.

The trip was quick, her plentiful boobs slicked by midday sweat. However when Susan reached the terminal point of her trip into her daughter’s tits, all she could even think about was trying to get another breath of clean air into her lungs. But that was impossible. Above her was flesh. Below her was flesh, tight enough she could not fall deeper, lest she wanted to truly suffocate between her daughter’s enormous mounds. Johanna’s deodorized scent had been all but completely counteracted by the midday heat, and as Susan tried in vain to establish some sense of stability, some sense of orientation, she was continuously, endlessly rammed with a steady stream of replenishing and replenishing sweat, barreling into her mouth that she was forced to either spit out or swallow.

“Goodness, you’re making quite the ruckus in there…!” Johanna whispered before suddenly standing up, turning to face a pair of individuals who had just sauntered up to the park bench. One was an indignant woman in a pixie cut, and she had in tow a man in a navy blue police uniform. “Good afternoon, officer! Anything I can do for you this fine day?”

The woman in front put her hands on her hips. “You know quite well what you can do! Tell us where that hag you were sitting with, flaunting her breasts so belligerently! I cannot believe what it is some adults feel is right to teach the children! Why in fact --”

The policeman held up a hand, silencing the pixie woman. He sighed, bored. “I was informed there was a public disturbance here? And it seems you may know where to find the source?”

“Hmm… a disturbance?” Johanna put one hand to her chest, kneading it, framing it as a nervous tic, sure she was sending her mother through hell. “I can’t say I rightly know what it is you could be talking about.”

“Of course you do, she was right next to you! I don’t know your relationship but I think I know damn well that you would’ve at least seen where she went!” The woman huffed.

“A… a relationship?” Johanna put her free finger to her mouth, looking whimsically to the sky as if in thought. “I wonder… could we be in a relationship? Do you think if I find that woman… we can be in a relationship… together?”

The police officer curled his expression. “So I’m to assume you don’t know where this woman went?”

Johanna shrugged, letting her breasts flop from their slight elevation, jiggling.

The woman rolled her eyes. The officer shook his head, and he said, “Well, if either of you see any disturbances, I’m here every day. No matter how much I don’t want to be.” And he turned around, returning from whence he came. Both Johanna and the woman watched him go before the woman turned again to Johanna, giving her a superior, snide glare, and she departed herself.

Johanna rolled her own eyes, mimicking the woman’s look and sticking her tongue out. Then she crossed her arms, tensing up her breasts as she stared down at them. “See? I told you I knew what I was doing! Now… as for growing you back… that’d be a bit too conspicuous.”

Susan could only barely hear the muffled ruminations of her daughter, masked by her pounding heartbeat, the rushing blood in her veins, the sweat that was clogging every pore in Susan’s body including her ears.

“Which means it looks like you won’t have to be doing any walking at all! I can carry you all the way home! All four miles! No need to thank me,” said Johanna smugly as she flipped her hair and began the long trek back to the house.

Each step brought a new cycle of discomfort to Susan, being forced upward, brought down, bounced, and settling into a stable position before Johanna took yet another step, and it continued on and on and on. Between the imposing boob-flesh, the constant trickle of perspiration, the discomfort and being jostled around like a pill in a bottle, Susan was forced to do anything, occupy her mind with anything at all possible to keep herself from losing it. Think of things. Think of the times before her relationship between her and her daughter had become this utterly demented, tarnished, occult facsimile of anything even approaching a healthy relationship. And to think… it only began scarcely two months ago.

Susan began to whimper, each sob and tear-streaked sniffle disappearing in the grunting and shrieks and slides and BA-bumps of this alien environment that had grown to encompass her entire life.