Ben was down by the curb in front of the building at 9:42, just to be on the safe side, and waited patiently for eighteen minutes before Ms. Hoshoku emerged from the double doors like a queen hitting a red carpet even several social classes beneath her worth. The repeating shock of seeing the woman ever-taller had finally worn off, or perhaps simply numbed, though Ben still couldn’t allow himself not to gawk whenever she was in eyesight.
Hoshoku was within a day of hitting eight feet tall. It was clear she was replacing her outfits daily with newly fitted custom suits and skirts designed to accentuate her in all her strengths, though at this point, there weren’t many points on the woman’s skyscraping frame that weren’t strong. And Ben had a special understanding of this truth, because he’d been squeezed against so much of the director of production’s lower body, he could confirm: just about every square inch of her now was pure, unabashed, flexible muscle, layered beneath skin with just the pitch-perfect level of jiggle when it was dipping a man’s tiny face into the crack.
At this point, Hoshoku was double Ben’s height, meaning he was face-to-crotch with the woman if he was ever unlucky, or subconsciously lucky, enough to be standing in front of her. This wasn’t a common occurrence within the confines of her office, where generally her first mandate was for the man to cower directly on the carpet so she could use him to cradle her feet and legs.
However, today, there was no getting around this gaudy direct size comparison. As they awaited the car service to transport them to the hired photography studio for the marketing campaign shoot, the Blend tech was achingly aware more so than ever before, even when he was laying on the floor at her nyloned heels, of how truly massive Hoshoku had become. While the entire female population, it seemed, had ballooned up to more than seven feet, this woman, the boss of his business and his body, was still yet in a league of her own at seven-foot-eleven. Not merely a giantess, but a deity.
Ben could hear female passerby giggling and snapping pictures of the odd couple standing by each other on the sidewalk. Not that the man had any illusions about what people might think, of course. No one was going to mistake them as boyfriend and girlfriend. He would’ve visibly presented as an underling to complete strangers before he lost his height; now, the point was driven home so hard it went right past comical and into the tragic. If anything, it would’ve helped his cause if he could’ve pretended he was simply Hoshoku’s little adopted son, rather than a man of roughly the same age as his dizzingly huge companion.
Ms. Hoshoku was silent other than to utter Ben’s full name in her usual droll tone as a greeting. When the car arrived, which turned out to be a stretch limousine, the woman had nothing to say to Ben. It seemed her chattiness only truly came out in her office with the door shut, where she was free to toy with him to her heart’s content.
Ordinarily, Ben would’ve had the thrill of his life sitting in this backseat with his boss. It was the kind of event he could’ve gloated to his friends about and put pictures up on social media. All of that had fallen by the wayside in the past month, though, with contacts and relationships breaking apart as fast as the men were melting inches. Now, he was just a loner the size of a toddler, folded into himself on a leather seat that looked far too big for someone so shrimpy. Meanwhile, Hoshoku had to bow her head and bend deeply at the knees just to fit inside the extra-large vehicle. The pair were silent for the entire trip as Ben continually glanced in the direction of his superior and had to remind himself that, no, they weren’t taking a ride inside an electronic remote control car, they were in a bus-sized limousine, and the other passenger was simply too tall for words.
Ben was led into the maze-like studio behind the photographer and Ms. Hoshoku, who he closely followed for fear of getting lost in this vast space by himself. Of course, because serendipity was being so kind today, almost the first thing he did upon entering the studio hall was face-plant directly into a photography assistant’s rear end.
The young stranger’s decidedly plump behind, unlike most of the other female associates whose asses Ben had inadvertently interfaced with, was not composed of the same rock-hard gluteus-maximus might. In words Ben’s college friends might’ve balked with, she possessed a pretty fat ass. It was more like being squeezed flush into a body pillow as Ben sunk several inches deep into the folds of the woman’s skirt, feeling her ass cheeks through her panties separating at the accidental application of pressure from his neck. Practically inviting him into the hot, wet cavern where the sun most certainly didn’t shine.
Flabbergasted, Ben tumbled backward, mildly traumatized by the experience. The full-bodied woman turned, chuckled mildly at his misfortune, and wandered off in the other direction with an armful of stacked camera lenses.
“Perhaps you should learn to watch where you’re headed, Benjamin,” Ms. Hoshoku said somewhat predictably, appearing almost out of nowhere despite her imminently visible personhood. She snatched him by the scruff of his collar and hoisted him up with one hand like the lost puppy she’d once compared him to.
“Y-Yeah, probably,” he sighed. Outmatched, as always.
“If you’re going to represent this company as I think you want to, there’s a certain decorum to be maintained,” Ms. Hoshoku explained, with broad hands defiantly planted on her hips. She glowered down at this clumsy little man who only came up to her waist. “So let’s keep our eyes on the prize. And not the kind of prize you want. That sort of prize is granted to you if and when I feel you’ve earned it.”
“Yes, Ms. Hoshoku,” he agreed with the humble nod of a servant.
“Come now, Benjamin,” Ms. Hoshoku said, brushing her slender digits through her raven locks to ensure her ensemble was just as camera-ready as always. She patted down her shirt, as well, highlighting the thrusting hillocks of her breasts through the top and the waning geometry of her prominent hips within her tight skirt. “After all, we’ve got some ForLit to sell to the last remaining eggheads on this continent who have yet to join the following. Don’t we, now?”
“Yes, ma’a… I mean, yes, Ms. Hoshoku.”
Then came the part he’d been dreading for almost a month straight, even before the unnatural phenomenon of his body reducing down to an elf. The very reason he was ensnared in Ms. Hoshoku’s tentacles at all: because Blend, supposedly, wanted a human face on the campaign of ForLit, combining the forces, talents, and differences of two employees from opposite tips of the spectrum. Frankly, the man had yet to hear from a single corporate voice aside from Hoshoku’s whispered promises while she pressed her bare foot into his stomach and lowered her anus down to within inches of his face.
For all Ben knew, Blend had no intention of displaying him in the afterglow of his own manufactured success, and he was here entirely as Ms. Hoshoku’s lapdog. God knew he was small enough now to pass for a whining little mongrel, curled up on her powerful thighs where he belonged.