Growing into the Job, Post 612: Outreach: Thanksgiving (Home (Patreon)

Far Horizons Evolution Center had settled into the peculiar silence of holidays, a building full of sleeping secrets. Most of the lights had been dimmed through the old FHMA wing, and somewhere deeper in the building's innards, an HVAC system sighed synthetic pheromones through miles of ductwork. The occasional security radio crackled faintly from the guards on patrol in the lobby or elsewhere; she could hear them, he could not. Outside, Thanksgiving night had fully claimed New Corinth. Occasional rain still whispered against the windows and reflected the sodium parking-lot lights across broad sheets of wet pavement now empty except for a handful of employee cars. 

Melissa Monroe sat at one of the small round breakroom tables, her enormousness making the furniture look almost comically undersized. At well over seven feet tall now, thick in the leg, heroic in the bust, she dominated the space without even trying. Her long, powerful thighs were cramped beneath the table, her hips and their own thickness straining the black leggings she’d worn to the event. Her tight blue “Far Horizons” volunteer tee clung to her monumental chest, the shallow scoop of a neckline modest but still barely containing the heavy, rounded swell of her massive breasts.

In comparison to the new construction, Far Horizon Medical Associates was now showing its age. The cabinets in the breakroom were the same slightly faded veneer they'd been for years. The coffee maker - new only because the old one had finally died last week - sat beneath a corkboard still cluttered with forgotten notices and curling inside-joke cartoons Marisela had drawn at some point. The refrigerator hummed with familiar determination, oblivious to the fact that the small geriatrics practice it served was now just a small outcropping, almost an afterthought, on a women’s health-and-wellness medical facility many times its size. 

Across from Melissa at the table, Dr. J looked likewise impossibly small.

"I still love this room," Melissa said to him, popping a forkful of pumpkin pie into her mouth, "It still feels like..." Melissa searched for the word as she looked at the man she loved and chewed. "...ours."

“Yeah…” he agreed, watching her eat, watching her jaw work, watching her throat pulse as she swallowed. He was not even four feet tall now, occupying only a fraction of his chair, his feet dangling several inches above the floor. He looked impossibly small beside the woman whose head nearly reached the upper cabinets even while seated. Years ago, patients and staff would have described Dr. J as reassuringly average. Now, if he was standing aside Melissa, she could have rested her chin atop his head while still seated.

She’d set the whole pumpkin pie - one of several she’d been given to take, leftover from the charity event - between them earlier.  She hadn’t sliced off pieces, but rather it looked like she intended to eat the whole pie…if not all three of them. Melissa was hungry but still exhilirated from the event, from the crowd, and from the energy it had given her. She could feel squirt, now, in fact, flowing into her from across the miles, men who’d gone home from the charity dinner with thoughts, and maybe pictures, of her. His shoulders, though, she saw, were slumped with exhaustion from the long day of volunteering. But - she also noticed - at least his eyes were fixed on her, with that familiar mix of awe and quiet enrapturement. She liked that. It was the way things should be. When he was tired, he could always look at her.

Go ahead, baby. I don’t mind. 

I want to give you even more to look at. 

Melissa speared another generous forkful of leftover pumpkin pie, the flaky crust crumbling slightly as she brought it to her lips. She chewed slowly, savoring it, a soft, contented hum vibrating in her throat.

Dr. J again watched every movement - the way her full lips closed around the fork, the gentle working of her jaw, the seismic shift of her massive chest with each breath. He was tired, bone-deep tired, but being near her like this always made the world feel quieter. Safer. Even if it also made him feel smaller than ever. Smaller, even, than when he watched her addressing the crowd at the charity event today.

Melissa took in his gaze, continued to let him look. She smiled around the bite, golden-green eyes sparkling with playful confidence as she swallowed. 

“Whaaaatttt?” she eventually teased, rousing him from his trance, voice warm and low, biting her lower lip. “You like watching me eat. Is that it, honey?”

“Oh, I uhh….”

It was obviously embarrassing to him, being caught in reverie.

“Shh don’t worry, it’s okay,” she giggled, digging her fork back into the center of the pie, pulling out another blob of pumpkin filling, “Maybe you should film it, post it. I could make a little show out of it, you know, me eating. People enjoy watching a woman eat.”

He let out a tired little laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” She took another bite, deliberately slower this time, holding his eyes as she chewed. “Randi’s followers seem to like it. They ask her to eat all sorts of things. Maybe I should try it, start a whole series. Like, ‘Mommy Melissa Eats Snacks…’”

She watched how he laughed softly at her joke, this time with a bit more hesitation. Then she gestured with the fork toward the mostly-empty pie tin. “Want some? There’s still a little left.”

Jay hesitated, because what the offer implied was familiar now. He couldn’t eat, not solid food, not by himself. He would need her to macerate it in her own mouth, feed it to him already chewed. Something about her saliva made it palatable, digestible. He’d stopped asking questions, but the thought was still unnerving at times. “Uhm…n-not right now.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” she smiled, digging in for another forkful, “I’ll just get fat here all on my own.” She took another big bite. She started to chew thoughtfully, but then immediately began to speak. 

"I thill don’…” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sssry…mowff ful.” She swallowed. “…okay. I still don't understand the cranberry sauce." A frown had come over her. 

He looked down at the pie. "What about it?"

"I mean, I made one batch, for our event. It was a big batch, but it was only one. It should've run out after..." She frowned harder. "...I don't know. Fifty people?"

"Probably?"

"But somehow…it never disappeared." She looked at him, he looked back. Melissa blinked twice. "...that's weird, right?" Another thoughtful bite of pie.

His mouth twitched.

Melissa caught it immediately. "What?"

"It's nothing."

She narrowed her eyes. “Jayyyy…."

He sighed the sigh of a man who had spent enough time around Melissa Monroe to know resistance was futile. "The cranberry sauce...wasn't very good. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean it ‘wasn't very good’?"

He tried very hard not to smile, and tried to ignore how the glass coffee pot had rattled, eight feet away. "It was..." He searched, diplomatically, for the right word. "...salty."

She looked genuinely horrified. 

Right word? Nope. Fail. 

"Salty??"

"Mmhm."

"My cranberry sauce?"

"Mmhm."

She sat there processing this revelation with increasing disbelief. She went over the recipe - what she could remember of it - in her head. “Nobody told me?”

Jay couldn't help himself anymore. He cracked a little smile. "They were trying to protect your feelings, Melissa."

"My feelings?"

"You looked so proud."

"I was proud!"

"I know."

"And everybody kept eating it!"

"Some people did," he answered, “and some people - most people - were warned.”

“Warned?!” Melissa covered her face with both hands, “By who??”

“The girls,” Dr. J acknowledged, “Randi, Amelia…everyone that was there with us, serving. They just steered the people away fr-“

"Oh my g-d." Her voice echoed slightly through her fingers. "They were all pretending??"

"They were being polite."

Melissa groaned dramatically. The windows rattled, but just a little. She stared into the middle distance. "I have terrible, mean, awful friends." She pouted. 

"You have very loyal friends,” he assured her. 

Another pause.

Then, he saw it. Melissa started thinking. A dangerous moment. 

"I cannot believe nobody said anything,” she said, seeing him try to hold back a laugh, “You either! You’re mean too! Next Thanksgiving...or maybe for Christmas…" She’d settled on something, or was settling on something. “…I'm making it better."

He nodded. He knew he should nod. 

Melissa tapped her fork thoughtfully against the edge of her plate. "I just need to tweak the recipe."

"You probably need less salt,” he said, “like, zero salt.”

She gave him the stink eye. "Okay Mr. Comedian I know that." She pointed her fork at him, then she grinned. "But maybe something else, too.”

He raised an eyebrow.

"A new secret ingredient. People will love it.” She watched his eyes, as she shrugged with an innocent smile that only confused him more…until she started pushing out her chest. Slowly.Towards him. “Maybe."

Her smile - not so innocent anymore - lingered between them.

Then Melissa glanced at what was left of the pie. "You still don’t want any?”

He tried to smile back. "I, uh, yeah…waiting,” he stammered, “you know. S-solid food, and my stomach…”

Melissa nodded. But then she smiled, gently but with satisfaction. She didn’t bother cutting a piece of pie for him, or get one of the new ones from the fridge; he would have some of hers. She wanted him to. She scooped up a generous forkful, brought it to her own mouth, and chewed it slowly, thoughtfully, dutifully, her eyes never leaving his. When she leaned across the small table, her massive chest rested heavily on the edge, filling his vision as she smiled down at him trying not to glance down into the deep valley of cleavage bulging up towards her neckline 

She opened her mouth slightly, offering the warm, pre-chewed bite which sat on her tongue.

“Okay, yes…” Jay conceded, surrendering. He was hungry. 

He leaned in without thinking, accepting it from her like it was the most natural thing in the world. The soft, sweet mash of pie and the faint taste of her filled his mouth as she gently pushed it from her tongue to his. Eyes so close, she watched him with open satisfaction, especially after his teasing commentary about her cranberry sauce. He chewed the last bits himself - and then swallowed. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, voice warm and indulgent as she reached under the table and found his already-hard cock with her hand. She knew he’d be hard; the taste of her saliva always made him erect. 

His eyes, immediately, went wide, and then fluttered with a groan. 

“Good boy. You like when Mommy feeds you.” They’d been volunteering at the community center all day. There were bathrooms, sure, but they hadn’t had the free moments to step away to give him any relief. So, it had been many hours…

Very slowly, she began to stroke him through his soft boy-sized sweatpants. He groaned again. Her satisfaction grew, and - as she felt a new, strange pressure build in her chest, in her breasts - she kissed him deeply. 

He was melting for her, she could feel it in their kiss, and so she redoubled her efforts. She loved how easy this was. Still wanna make jokes about my cranberry sauce now, honey? She suddenly felt like turning him into putty. 

Melissa took him from his pants, into the cool air and into her huge, warm hand. They were alone, so why not? She kept feeding him, scooping another generous forkful of the soft, warm pumpkin pie and chewing it slowly, deliberately, again letting him watch - and groan, now that his cock was in her hand - before leaning across the small table with it once more. Her massive chest still rested heavy on the edge as she fed him from her mouth. Again, the pressure, near her nipples

Jay’s breath began to hitch. He was melting more and more - slowly, helplessly - as her hand began to stroke him with long, unhurried motions under the table. The contrast was dizzying: her enormous body looming over the small table, her thick thighs spread beneath it, while he sat tiny in the chair across from her, unable to reach the floor with his feet. Every slow pump of her hand sent warm waves of pleasure through him, but it was the casual way she did it - like it was the most normal thing in the world, like she was doing her expected duty - that made his face burn with humiliation and arousal.

She speared another forkful, chewed it thoughtfully, then leaned in again to feed him. As he accepted the bite, her hand tightened gently around his shaft, stroking with steady, loving rhythm.

“You were such a good helper today,” she praised softly, voice warm and maternal, “All those people at the event…thousands of them. And they all looked so small next to me, didn’t they? Like little dolls.” She chuckled, the sound rich and pleased as her hand continued its slow, tormenting work beneath the table. “It felt good, baby. Knowing I could feed them. And knowing that I could just…stand there and be bigger than all of them.”

Jay whimpered around the pie, hips twitching involuntarily into her grip. The wet, slick sounds of her hand stroking him mixed with the quiet hum of the breakroom lights and the distant patter of rain against the windows.

“They were so small, all the people that came to see me,” she repeated, voice dreamy, urging him on, “so, so small…”

“I dunno,” he managed, voice shaky with a tired little laugh, trying to keep some shred of agency, “Th-they…nngh!…looked p-pretty big to me...”

Melissa’s smile warmed instantly, golden-green eyes softening with genuine affection. She loved him so much in moments like this -  when he could still try to tease, even while falling apart in her hand. She leaned forward again, feeding him another soft, mushy bite with a deep kiss, her massive breasts swelling heavy and hot as her hand kept stroking him steadily under the table.

“So,” she said after he swallowed, voice casual but curious, “I asked everybody else today. But I never asked you...”

Jay blinked, struggling to focus through the pleasure. “A-asked me what?”

“What you’re thankful for, baby,” she reminded him, “the girls, the volunteers, all the little people there. They told me what they’re thankful for on Thanksgiving, but now I wanna hear it from you...”

A long pause settled between them. The breakroom felt smaller, quieter, the refrigerator still a present hum. Jay looked up at her - at the woman who had changed his world - and answered honestly, simply:

“Well, f-for starters…th-this place,” he whispered.

Melissa hummed, pleased, as a pulse of something new pooled behind her nipples though her hand never stopped in its slow, loving strokes. Good answer. Not quite enough. “What about this place?”

“Th-the people here,” he managed, voice growing breathier as the pleasure built.

“The people here, huh?” She smiled, eyes sparkling, but kept urging him gently, her grip tightening just enough to make him gasp. “Which people…in particular? Who are you most thankful for?”

He was getting closer now, hips rocking weakly into her hand, the wet sounds of her stroking him growing more obscene in the quiet room. He knew what she wanted him to say, and it would be the truth. The word came out shaky, raw, sincere. “Eh-everybody. Your f-friends. All the girls y-you brought here…” he managed, “b-but most im-importantly…I’m thankful f-for you.”

Melissa’s breath caught. Her gemstone eyes softened with overwhelming love and deep hunger at the same time. She leaned across the table while her hand worked him faster beneath it, stroking him with firm, possessive confidence.

“That’s my good boy,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “That’s exactly what Mommy wanted to hear.”

The tension snapped, and Jay came hard in her hand - hot, helpless pulses spilling over her fingers as his whole body trembled, a broken groan escaping around the last bits of pie. Shame and relief crashed together in a dizzying wave, leaving him limp and panting in the chair.

Melissa kept stroking him gently through it, milking every last drop with tender care, her smile warm and satisfied as she watched him come for her.

Eventually, quickly, she saw him begin to wilt. She’d made him feel good, she’d given him relief, she’d shown him how nice it could be when he did what she wanted. “So, what do you say, baby, on Thanksgiving?” she asked him, as his eyes were already drooping. 

He knew what she wanted to hear, and so he said it, even as he was falling asleep. 

“Thank you…Mommy.”

And then - at her nipples, from her breasts, and just as his eyes finally closed - she started to gush.

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