Meet Cute-Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Six Hours Later

Nancy, Ben, and Ryan hung on for dear life as Jennifer’s body spasmed with her second orgasm of the night. They were currently engaged in what was simultaneously the most individualized foursome ever for them, and the most interactive ever for Jennifer.

Jennifer was near-delirious from pleasure. She was stroking off Ben and Ryan simultaneously as they each contended with being pinned under a breast the size of their bodies. She sighed in satisfaction as Ben, then Ryan, came. She lifted her boobs off of them, one after the other, rolled over, and deposited each man on top of her breasts to relax.

Nancy, who had just come up for air after figuring out how to give cunnilingus to a double-sized vagina, found herself gently but firmly pinned between Jennifer’s thighs. Then she squealed in a combination of fear and delight as she was clamped between Jennifer’s thighs, flipped over, lifted by hands the size of baseball mitts to Jennifer’s face, and peppered with giant kisses. She half-heard Jennifer’s voice say “your turn” before she was turned upside down and treated to cunnilingus delivered by the largest, strongest human tongue on the planet. Nancy regretted having to shout for Jennifer to stop when she climaxed and the stimulation grew to be too much.

As the four basked in their respective afterglows, Jennifer held her boobs together between her biceps; Ryan, Ben, and Nancy lounged in her cleavage. “Thank you guys. I feel less like being this big is all downsides now.”

Ben patted her breast. “No, there are objectively a lot of upsides. Like, a lot. A huge amount.”

Nancy, who was half asleep, snorted. “Shut up, jackass.” She twisted to look up at Jennifer’s face. All she could see was the underside of her chin. “We’re glad to help, Jenn. You always are, and will always be, just you to us.”

Jennifer smiled and closed her eyes contentedly. “And you’ll always have foursomes with me and Ryan?”

“Mm-hmm” Nancy nodded languidly. “Right up until the moment that Ben and I have children old enough to start asking questions.”

Ben’s eyes snapped open at the word “children.” He started to say something, but saw Ryan signaling him from Jennifer’s other boob to shut up, and did.

Two Weeks Later

Fiona finished folding an humongous, ugly, sturdy, beige bra, put it on top of the pile of laundry next to her on her bed, and picked up her phone. “Hey, Rach! How’s it going? How was the hearing?”

“Really good! They’re charging Gavin with a whole host of things, the most serious of which is attempted murder.”

“Really? I’d assumed aggravated assault at most. Well, that and the stalking and the PFA violation and the terroristic threats…”

“Those are all charged, too. But the DA thought this level was appropriate given the way Gavin slammed Ryan down on the car and grabbed him by the neck.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

“But the best part, Fee, was the look on his face when he saw me. I wore heels like you told me to. He was looking up at me and you could just tell that he was intimidated. It felt so good!”

“That’s awesome! And soon you won’t even need the heels.”

“I know! God, so satisfying.”

“Hey, speaking of feeling good, how’s the therapy going?”

“Oh, I should have done this years ago.” Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Um, along those lines, I wanted to apologize. And I want to make clear, I’m not fishing for forgiveness. That’s yours to give—”

“—on my own time and only if I choose. Fiona chuckled. “Sounds like Leviathan Psychological’s therapists have some stock lines. Apologize for what?”

“I…made fun of you. A lot. For your body. The size of your chest. I was really cruel. You’re good at playing it off, but I’m your big sister. The insults had to have hurt.”

Fiona let the apology sink in for a few seconds. She resisted the urge to deflect, or to make a snide comment. “Yeah. They did.”

“I’m seeing now that what I was expressing was jealousy over you being more like Mommy, being prettier, than I am.”

“Rachel, you’re—”

“Fiona, stop. I know I’m pretty. But you’re a bombshell. Okay? And I should have recognized that I was acting out of jealousy sooner and worked through my feelings instead of aiming them at you. Not even that—I should have simply chosen to be kind to you about your body. I’ll work to be a better sister to you.”

Fiona smiled. She sniffed hard to stop herself from starting to cry. “Thank you. That means a lot. For as much as I try to play it off, I really admire you, and…well, I don’t know what more to say because I’m not accustomed to being sincere, so I’ll stick with thank you and i means a lot.”

“Of course.” Rachel looked down at her now H-cup breasts straining at her shirt. “I also need to tell you that now that I’m, well, buxom, I know that you were telling the truth every time you retorted that I was missing out by being built like a chalkboard. I haven’t paid for a drink since the treatment supercharged the girls. And having to find necklaces and scarves to dress up outfits is a thing of the past—these accessorize themselves!”

“Yyyyyyeah.” Fiona looked down at the twenty-six inches of cleavage between her sternum and the center of the neckline on her v-neck pajama top. Even though she now stood 6’8”, her breasts were resting comfortably in the basin made by her shins, thighs, and hips as she sat cross-legged on her bed. She patted the side of her left breast matter-of-factly. Doing so sent a ripple through her bust that would reverberate for five full seconds. “Maybe give it a little time before you get too excited about them.”

On Long Island, Mark was deciding whether to tap out as his 7’4” wife smothered him under breasts that were nearly four times the volume of his head.

And in rural Latvia, Marnie Jo had just crested a rocky hill while hiking ahead of her team of Orange Yak documentarians. They were following the remains of a washed-out dirt path, guided only by a satellite GPS unit and paper map. Night was falling. The sky had turned threatening. “Do you want to send up the drone? See if we can spot the village that way?”

The drone operator shook his head. “There was too little sun to charge the batteries today. We wouldn’t be able to get it up to altitude for any appreciable time if we had it transmitting images.”

As thunder rumbled in the distance, another crew member yelped. He pointed towards a copse of trees next to the washed out path. “I saw something move in there! A bear, or—or a tree!”

The drone operator shook his head. “Dude, how does a tree move?”

“I don’t know, man, it’s Europe!” The second crew member yelped again and pointed. He backed up behind the drone operator. Sure enough, a huge shadow loomed among the trees.

Then a flash of lightning illuminated the figure: A 7’2” woman whose enormous breasts strained against her white blouse, which was cinched to her relatively narrow waist by a wide sash bearing a geometric pattern. A red, ankle length skirt billowed out to accommodate her obviously huge hips and ass. Her long, brown hair flowed behind her in the wind of the approaching storm. The woman looked down at each member of the Orange Yak team in turn before focusing on the petite woman leading it. “You. You are Marnie Jo?”

For a few seconds, all Marnie Jo could do was stare in silence at this huge, gorgeous woman. She was eventually able to nod.

“Good. I am Sofija. Follow, before storm.” Sofija turned and began to lead the way through the forest.

The drone operator elbowed the second crew member. “Hey. Do you get the sense that the extreme athlete we’re supporting is using this whole documentary as an elaborate cover-up for a booty call?”

The second crew member nodded. “Oh, 100%. What does that make it, like, a dozen times now?”

“Are you counting the Santa thing?”

“Are you not? Did you see what Mrs. Claus was wearing?”

Thirty minutes later, just ahead of the storm, Sofija, Marnie Jo, and the Orange Yak crew arrived in Sofija’s village. They were ushered inside what appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a community hall. The Orange Yak crew members found themselves paired off with similarly-aged women from the village. All of the women ranged in height from 6’1” to 6’10”. When it became clear that two members of the Orange Yak crew were gay, the women sitting with them somehow disappeared and were replaced with two of the village’s gay men. Food was served. High-proof, locally-distilled, clear liquor flowed freely.

A few drinks in, Marnie Jo said to Sofija, “So! Barbara is your cousin?”

Sofija, who was apparently nervous and had addressed her jitters by being a few more drinks in than Marnie Jo, shook her head and gave a dismissive wave. “Pah. Let us, how you say? Cut to hunt.”

“Cut to the chase.”

“Jā. Barbara tell me of you. Her description wrong. Too little.”

Marnie Jo’s face fell. “Oh.”

“No. Too short? What is word?”

Marnie Jo fought back tears. Then she shook off the feeling of sadness. Maybe the part of herself that had remained closed off since her husband had died should stay closed off. Her foolishness with Barbara was foolishness. “I understand. I’m smaller than you expected. It’s not to your taste. That’s happened to me before.” She sighed in frustration at Sofija’s confused look. “You don’t like me. It’s okay. This was stupid.” As Sofija continued to look sad and puzzled, Marnie Jo stood and pointed at herself. “Me.” Then she gestured with both hands, bringing them towards each other in a compressing motion. “Too short.” She pointed at Sofija. “For you.” She turned to walk away from the table. She yelped in surprise as Sofija grabbed her shoulders and spun her around.

“No! Gah!” Sofija banged the heels of both palms on the table in a way that made her bust wobble enticingly. She leaned over and reached out to squeeze Marnie Jo’s arms, reconsidered, and instead longingly cupped Marnie Jo’s cheek with one hand. “Barbara…she score you…like Russian judge.”

“Scored me like…oh!” Marnie Jo smiled. She leaned into Sofija’s hand, then took it in her own. It was warm, and strong, and so very, very big. “Thank you.” Marnie Jo gestured for them to sit back down. She felt butterflies in her stomach when Sofija held onto her hand.

Sofija blushed and looked away demurely as she sat. She downed another glass. “Good. Uh. You think me pretty?”

“Yes. Jā. Very.”

“I am, eh, not too…?” She let go of Marnie Jo’s hand and spread her hands apart in an expanding motion.

“No. I like.” Marnie Jo mimicked the gesture.

Joy and lust played across Sofija’s face “Good! Good. So we go fuck?”

Marnie Jo laughed briefly in shock, then nodded. “Uh, yes! If you want!”

“Jā! And if fuck good, then married, no?”

“Marri—! Wow!” Marnie Jo rubbed the base of her neck. “And Ryan thinks I’m forward.”

“Who Ryan?”

“My son”

“Ah!” Sofija nodded in recognition. “Yes, with the….” She held her hands over a foot apart, palms facing each other.

Marnie Jo blushed. “A-apparently, yes.”

“So…not get married, then? Must meet Ryan?”

“Well, it’s…I mean, I won’t say no, but—”

“Sorry, what does this mean? ‘I won’t say no’?”

Marnie Jo furrowed her brow and struggled to find a simpler way to say it. “I suppose…it means…jā.”

Sonjia’s face brightened into a joyful smile that made Marnie Jo’s heart leap. “Good! Settled. We go fuck, and if good fuck, talk Ryan, then married!” Her expression turned serious. “Ah, no. First, must talk of one thing.”

“Which is?”

“I do clinical trial.” She enunciated “clinical trial” carefully. “For Jennifer.” She made the expanding gesture again.

Four Months Later

The Dean of Students opened her office door. “Mr. Banton, good to see you. Please, come in.”

“Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the time. I imagine you’re busy this time of year.”

“I am. What can I do for you?”

Ryan took a deep breath. “Dean, as you may have heard, I’m…close with Jennifer Ard. She’s a student here. The one who—“

“I’m well aware of who she is.”

“Okay. Well, as you probably know, then, Jenn hasn’t been able to attend any classes in person this semester. Classes end this week, obviously.”

“And?”

“And…” Ryan bent down and rummaged in his backpack. He produced from it a campus map, which he spread out in front of her on her desk. On it, he had multicolored highlights to indicate footpaths, emergency vehicle access points, fire hydrants, and mass egress points. Then he produced a list of Jennifer’ classes, their current enrollment numbers, and names of the professors and TAs teaching each. “So, you know how when the first nice Spring day rolls around everyone asks—“

“—can we have class outside?”

“Yeah. Dean, because of her…condition, she may never get to attend a college class in person again. She hasn’t been allowed on campus since February. She may soon be barred from densely populated areas. Could you talk to her professors and see if they’ll have classes outside? Just for this week, so she can attend in person.”

“I see why you’re on track to graduate summa cum laude, Mr. Banton.” The Dean looked over the assembled materials. “I can’t guarantee anything—it’s up to the professors—but I’ll ask.”

“Thank you!”

“No, thank you. This is very thoughtful. And this the kind of chance I’ve wanted to stick it to that god damn fire marshal.”

“Well, then, you’ll love my next request.”

The Dean sat back in her chair and put her arms on the armrests. “Okay?”

“Quad Bash.”

She took a long, deep breath. “Ooookaaaay?”

“Hear me out. It’s outdoors. We could cordon off an area for her back by Perelman—”

“Aren’t the bands performing in front of Perelman?”

“The other Perelman.”

“Oh, right.”

Ryan pointed to the area he’d marked on the map. “So she wouldn’t be blocking any views, footpaths, or the like.”

The Dean looked over Ryan’s map and sighed through her nose.

“Please, Dean. I know it’s a big request. But she’s probably never going to get to see live music again in pers—”

The Dean held up a palm and looked at Ryan over her glasses. “Young man, you’re pre-med, so take it from someone who has climbed this high in University administration and will climb higher not by merit, but because she knows how to separate alumni from their money: Once you’ve made the sale, shut up. Let the customer talk themselves the rest of the way into buying.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Dean traced Jennifer’s likely entrance and exit points with her fingers. “She would need to stay in the cordoned-off area.”

“Of course.”

“Anyone in the cordon with her would have to sign a very comprehensive waiver.”

“Absolutely.”

“She would—and I feel terribly un-feminist in saying this, but I have to say it—need to wear something high-necked and loose-fitting that does not afford a view up to her, um, privates.”

“Right.”

“And shoes, which have to stay on. No sandals. No flip-flops. You have no idea how many emails we get asking for feet pics of the University’s giantess.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“The same goes for any outdoor classes she attends.” The Dean scrutinized the map once more. “One question. The cordon you suggest here is, well, it’s somewhat larger than I’d have expected. If you don’t mind my asking, how tall is Jennifer now?”

Ryan hesitated. He worried that telling the Dean the truth would ruin everything he had just achieved. Then again, that was better than Jennifer showing up on campus and being turned away. “Twenty-seven feet.”

“Oh!” The Dean swallowed. “Well. Yes, it does sound like this is a now or never opportunity for her. Let me see what I can do.”

One Day Later

Rachel pulled her phone out of her bra strap and answered. “Hey, Fee, what’s—”

“I need your advice on something. A male ego thing. On which you have more experience.”

“Okay?”

Fiona sighed heavily. “So, let’s assume you’re out on a date with a guy and, hypothetically, he’s shorter than you.”

Rachel snorted. “Hypothetically. Remind me how tall you are now?”

“Seven foot nine. You?”

Rachel scratched the back of her neck. “Eight foot four.”

“Rachel!”

“What? I’ve been playing the field. At least I haven’t gone overboard like Mommy.”

“Oh, no. How big is she now?”

“Last I saw her? Over nine feet. And her boobs have gone crazy. They’re bigger than mine, even.”

“Jesus! How much sex are she and Daddy having?”

“A lot. Also, fair warning, he definitely took one of the pills. And he cannot keep himself contained around Mommy, so it’s on full display.”

Fiona chuckled. “I’m not surprised, the way she talked about Ryan. Poor guy probably felt inadequate. Can we get back to my question now?”

Rachel cringed sheepishly. “Yes. Sorry. Male ego, guy shorter than you. How much shorter?”

“Two feet.”

“Oh, that’s all? Alright, what’s the question?”

Fiona chewed on her bottom lip. “So, how do you kiss him while still making him feel like he has some, I don’t know, agency in the matter? Like, you were 6’6” in eighth grade. You’ve had to bend down for boys to kiss you for much longer than I have. Do you put him in a position where he can initiate and just naturally reach your face? Like, stand down a few steps? Do you pretend that when he tugs on your hand and you kneel down, or get down on all fours, that he was much more responsible for your movement than he actually was?”

Rachel nodded slowly. “Fiona, I think you shouldn’t assume that he even wants agency in the matter.”

“What?”

“Fee, you are seven feet, nine inches tall. This guy you’re dating? Every time he fucks you, he’ll make you even bigger. Even if he doesn’t, you’re going to get bigger. And he’ll stay 5’9”. Forever. He already knows that if you’re standing up, he can’t kiss you on the lips unless you want him to. Roll with that.”

“Huh. You’re right.”

“Plus, the things you’re talking about doing as ways to make him feel like maybe he does have agency? They don’t work if he still can’t reach your face past your boobs.”

“Right. Fair point.”

Rachel waited expectantly for a few seconds. Then, she said, “Fiona?”

“Yeah?”

“How big are they?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb, Fee. You haven’t said a word about your breasts growing since our treatment started. I was a C-cup and now I’m an L-cup. Mommy’s probably a O-cup, maybe a P. You started out in that ballpark before the treatment. I’m worried about you.”

Fiona was silent for a few seconds, and then she began to cry. “Rachel, they’re so big! I’m a W-cup! They hang down to my waist and…and they’re wider than my shoulders! And they’re not saggy, either. They’re so full, and project out, god, multiple feet! I can’t get my arm around more than a third of the circumference of one. And they’re so heavy. Sometimes, when I lay down, it feels like they’re going to suffocate me!”

“Oh, Fee! You should have told me! We can go talk to the doctors. See if we can adjust something!”

“No! No, Rachel, you don’t understand.”

“I want to. Please, talk to me.”

Fiona sniffled. “I don’t…god, oh, god, promise me you won’t tell anyone this, okay?”

“I promise.”

Fiona swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. She whispered, “I like it.” When she heard no laughter or disgust on the other end of the line, she continued. “I’ve always loved having huge breasts, Rachel. It just feels inherently feminine. Sexy. So to have them grow like this…it feels amazing.” Fiona paused again and still heard no judgment. She continued. “The day I realized they were thicker from nipple to root than my torso I must have masturbated for hours. It scared me. I want them to get bigger, but I also know that’s crazy. That’s why I haven’t been having sex or masturbating: Because I’m afraid they’ll grow faster. And then I’ll like it more, and I’ll make them grow even faster.”

Rachel shook her head. “Fiona. It’s not crazy. It sounds like you feel—“

“Womanly.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Fee. So go ahead and feel womanly. We’re already giants, right? Have all the sex you want, masturbate all you want, grow all the boob you want. Does your 5’9” guy like them?”

Fiona wiped away her tears, then rubbed her face. “Well…he’s actually more of a, um, crush?”

“A crush.”

“Yes. One with whom I have never spoken.”

“Fiona.”

“We have made eye contact twice. Or, once. The other time I watched him stare at my boobs and my nipples got hard, so I count that.”

“Fiona…”

“I’m just planning ahead!”

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, you’re stealing Daddy’s moves now?”

“How did you hear—no, don’t answer that. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“We?”

“You, Fiona, are going to masturbate as frequently and as furiously as you can between now and next weekend because you have some catching up to do.”

“Catching up to what?”

“To your wingwoman, obviously. We can’t have just one eight footer out at the bar. I’ll be there next Friday. We’ll go out, I will position you to hook up with this dude, and you will give him the full-body titfuck of his life.”

Fiona half-laughed, half-cried. “Rach, I barely have room for me in my apartment.”

“Fee, you talk like I’m going to be sleeping at your place. Oh, sweetie, no. It’s my job to clear your path to conquest. So I’m going to be in the strange apartment of the dude or dudes I picked up for your sake, listening to him or them say insightful things like ‘Jesus your boobs and ass are huge’ and ‘holy shit you’re tall’ before I get fucked into a bigger dress size.”

Fiona blinked rapidly. “You know, I think your therapy worked too well.”

Rachel snorted. “So, it’s a date, then?”

Back on Long Island, Mark was breathing heavily as his 9’6” wife swung herself off of his slowly-dwindling 14” erection. “Oh, my God. Barbara, do…do you think we should, you know, slow down at all?”

Barbara caressed his relatively tiny chest with a fingertip. She pretended to think about it, then bit her bottom lip and shook her head. She scooted over towards him, lifted an R-cup breast, and dropped it on him with whumph. “Nē.”

Mark reveled in the way the bed shifted with his wife’s every movement—and the way he could feel the shockwave from the impact of her breast on his chest travel down through his body and into the mattress. He caressed the outer curve of her bust with his hand and entire forearm. Then he arched an eyebrow. “‘Nē’?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve been talking to Sofija. The call quality on Orange Yak’s satellite hookup is very good!”