At last, she’d shed those business suits and skirts which defined her office life. Ms. Hoshoku had transformed herself into a shimmering, geometric anomaly of unrelenting hourglass beauty in a velvet-satin and sequin dress which ran the length from her shoulders to her knees and sculpted every curve, line, and sensuous angle on the way down. Violently angular high heels adorned her boat-sized feet. Her breasts rebelled against the low-neck cut, threatening to spill like watermelons from the tensile fabric; her ass cheeks blossomed from behind, shaping the transition of her back to her bum into a contoured shelf.
It was a party dress, unlike any Ben had witnessed before. It was truly something tailored to a goddess. Tall as the other women around him had become, Ben knew no other amazon could wear such an ensemble quite like Hoshoku. No one had the courage, nor the right.
“Benjamin,” Ms. Hoshoku said as usual. Her tone didn’t suggest anything was different tonight, though obviously, by her lack of calling him to her office, and now her presentation to him in the most stunningly sexy outfit he’d yet laid eyes upon, she had to know this was special. She smiled in that dark, scheming persuasion which made Ben’s skin crawl, yet he’d learned to crave it, require it every day, even, just to feel cozy enough to sleep.
“M-Ms. Hoshoku…” he uttered in awe.
“You look terribly foolish in those rags. But I suppose that’s why I’ve acquired you a replacement,” she said. She drew a tiny dry-cleaner bag from her purse, something that could’ve easily fit onto an infant, and draped its contents into Ben’s hands far below. “You’ll change in the limo. Come, now. We have some business affairs to attend to.”
“B-Business?”
“Not all business is conducted in the office, Ben. As small as you’ve become, I trust you’ve grown to understand that now.”
“Yes, Ms. Hoshoku.”
“Good. Now follow me. We’re going clubbing.”
And clubbing they did go. The limo arrived, complete with champagne and glass flutes, and roared off to the upper crust of the city’s party arena with pop music booming from the walls of the vehicle.
Ben’s outfit turned out to be a rather smart navy-blue suit, obviously ordered and crafted specifically for his use, as it wasn’t a mere burlap doll costume. An authentic custom set of clubbing attire, probably from a shop which the man would’ve never been able to afford even before his boss absorbed all his savings. It made him feel more important than he had in weeks just to wear something remotely handsome that actually fit his body. He tried not to think of the fact that within a few days, he’d probably be too small to wear it any longer. Tonight, he had to live in the present, and just enjoy the moment.
After all, if it wasn’t for the seven-foot height difference between himself and his “date,” Ben realized he and Ms. Hoshoku could’ve made a very attractive couple tonight to any gawking outsiders. They emerged from the limo and Ben was clutched like a toddler to his keeper’s breasts as she bypassed the female bouncers with a nod and entered the hall.
The club floor was hot and hopping. The smell of perfume, sweat, and fruity vodka shrouded the air. Dry ice coolly drifted in a hazy fog over the floor. Neon lights blared all around in time with the ear-splitting percussion of the rhythmically pulsing electronic song. At the center of it all was a regular riot of dozens of dancing women: singing, laughing, downing entire bottles of $600 crystal liquor mixed with ForLit. Some even joining the sexual promise of the music a step further, pressing their full, warm lips together and snaking hands down into one another’s panties for a mutual benefit.
It was near-impossible to see where they were going as Ms. Hoshoku carried Ben between the throngs of eight-foot-tall behemoth women, all of them and their deified curves hugged by the light and shadow in ways that made the tiny man’s loins stir more vigorously than normal. This must be what heaven was like, Ben decided. Being carried through a vast army of joyous, dancing, jiggling, swaying women in the prime of their life and size, hugged to the bulbous tits of a woman who outshone them all with her style, intelligence, and power.
He didn’t need his pathetic dreams anymore. This was the dream.
Before Ben could realize what was happening, he was being gently removed from Ms. Hoshoku’s capable hands like a doll and cradled into the grips of others. Notably, many of the women surrounding him had shed their bras, panties, or even entire ensembles of expensive party clothes; there were no other men around to gawk and harass them, at least none large enough to be threat, after all, so what was the harm? He was squeezed between the naked breasts of strangers, with erect nipples pressed forcibly between his lips; he was only too happy to oblige, licking, sucking, and chewing on every bit of female skin which was shoved over his teeth. A single areola was just about enough to fill his cheeks. He was massaged up and down six-pack abdomens and slender, sloping hips. Hands explored his body, cupping his puny jewels through the fabric. His body was clamped between rigid thigh muscles and loping ass weight. One woman even dipped his head down into her loose panties, raking his head over the smooth, ejaculate-painted lumps of her vulva.
And then, just as suddenly, Ben was back in Ms. Hoshoku’s hands. He had no idea how she’d located him again in the pink-lit space filled with so much noise and sticky, flailing limbs. She regarded him with only a glance and that famous, jealous smile, and then she was tucking him behind her back.
Ben felt his mistress’s fingers clawing with his newly selected clubbing outfit. She was tearing at it, hungrily, in almost animal lust. His jacket was ripped to confetti, and then next his pants, leaving him only in his makeshift underwear, which was robbed of him, too. In no time he was naked in Ms. Hoshoku’s hands, palmed against her broad, clammy palms, his member pinched teasingly between her fingertips. The shimmering, protruding wall of her unbelievable derriere suddenly drew near in the dark. Ben was squashed squarely into this holy place at the center, his helplessly erect penis pinched into the folds of silky fabric and Ms. Hoshoku’s enormous, muscular cheeks. With a pinch of her fingers, the skirt was tugged higher, and then there was nothing separating Ben’s naked crotch from his boss’s epic mass of butt. Then the music picked up.
She was grinding on him. Ms. Hoshoku was a talented dancer, Ben realized. It was just another skill to a skillset that already included tricking the entire human race into altering its size for the betterment of her ideal world.
With no clothes to encumber his body, Ben was left to focus on the gentle brush and firm squeezing of Ms. Hoshoku’s fingers around his hips and legs. Like fleshy tree trunks, teasing him into complete arousal. Horniness dripped from him. His full-length cock was flicked and twerked at every angle, up through the curved valley of her crack, then back and forth on the uneven hillocks of her cheeks. All the while, the woman was constantly flexing and releasing the hold of muscle and skin upon Ben’s hapless form: her ass transferred on a dime from hardened, Olympic gluteus maximus to flabby, marshmallowy ass flesh.
In those flashing seconds, punctuated by the quaking and trembling of her grinding ass, Ben experienced everything he adored and feared about Ms. Hoshoku’s powerful rump. It was the purest distillation possible of the dedication he felt every waking and sleeping moment: a reminder of the exact reason why, so many weeks ago, he’d done absolutely nothing when he realized what was happening to the world. He’d allowed it to happen, allowed himself to shrink down into the dusk of male existence, so that he could be here.
So he could be pressed into Ms. Hoshoku’s pale, bare bottom in a fog of sweat, fruit, and lust, and reach the climax he’d been aching for his entire life.
Ben’s orgasm was almost nuclear. Cum spurted over the luscious mountains of her ass cheeks, leaving him quivering and meek in her grasp. He writhed as his body was electrified by pleasure and soreness, his every extremity up to his fingertips alive with internal flame and sexual necessity. If he could do this over and over again, for the rest of eternity, repeating this moment, Ben knew he could be the most blissful man on the face of this lonely earth.
But she wasn’t done. Not yet.
The world went black for Ben as his head was smacked forward into the gaping valley of Ms. Hoshoku’s ass so hard he felt he’d been cracked over the head with an entire hot air balloon.
When next he awoke, groggy and head spinning, Ben realized he was back in the limo with Ms. Hoshoku, those almond eyes and leering Japanese smile drinking him in. At least, he thought it was Ms. Hoshoku staring him down in the privacy of the limo’s shadows.
It was hard to be sure at first, as she was now so large, he easily laid in the palm of her hand without spilling over either side of the fleshy platform. The word “goddess” to describe her was no longer a hyperbole. In the stinging afterglow of the most wonderful orgasm of his life, Ben realized he’d lost most of his height. More than a foot, in fact. He couldn’t have been taller than six or seven inches.
And now, this was all that remained: that which could fit into Ms. Hoshoku’s godly palms and fingers. It seemed reckoning was near.