Going Down? Again

A Thus-Far and Potentially Eternally So Incomplete Rewrite of a Modern Classic

Original by BBL

Rewrite by greapos

comments (appreciated): greapos@yahoo.com

Standard Disclaimer: The Author of this piece is woefully undereducated in the medical sciences. Any similarity to anything approaching actual scientific knowledge, or literature in general, is purely coincidental. Also, things might get a little weird…no kids.

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“Perfectly healthy.” I remember the very words that my doctor spoke like it was yesterday. How wrong she was! Here I am, nearing thirty years old, now the smallest man that the world has ever known...

It started a few months back when I filled a temporary position working for a environmental clean-upcrew, trying to help make ends meet until one of my job applications for a managerial position in retail came through. I was delighted to be finishing my last day of manual labor on the land fill site and had just completed the task of clearing away some overspill refuse when the spade I was using struck and pierced a metallic cylinder half covered by the veritable spaghetti of waste. A blast of highly compressed gas blew out of the split I had made in the canister and for a second I was coughing and spluttering in the resulting pink cloud that wrapped around me. Whatever it was, it had an intense, though not entirely unpleasant, odor, almost like a strong perfume. The mist evaporated into the air in seconds but left me with a strange taste in the back of my mouth for a while. I was so concerned at what I had inhaled that I preceded to uncover the source of the gas and cleared the garbage from around it. The canister was non-descript, a completely plain non-painted metal cylinder. The only distinguishing mark was an engraving on the base. It read “Test batch 34 unit 307, DOH ref 0045”

“Damn it!” I swore, cussing a few more times after. It was something that once belonged to the Health Department. What was it doing here? Hell, it could be dangerous. There had to be regulations for the disposal of medical goods.

I ended up having trouble breathing after a few hours and my supervisor, concerned for my well being, made sure I went straight in to see my GP, Doctor Valerie Richards, which seemed a logical action. They even sealed up the canister and made me bring it along. I was about an hour in the waiting room and finally went into see the doctor, who tested my almost asthmatic wheezing and was a little concerned that the gas might have contained some sort of chemical irritant. She wanted to run some tests, pretty routine stuff she said, for such a case of “accidental exposure to an undefined chemical source” as she put it. As thorough as my doctor always was, she proposed to make inquiries about the canister, which I duly left with her hoping at the back of my mind that perhaps I could have the foundations of a good legal case should it be necessary.

I delayed starting my new job for a week while the doctor signed me off for my breathing to improve. However it was less than a day or so into the week when I seemed to have shrugged off all the results of my unusual encounter and my breathing was back on track. Throughout all this, my wife Denise was her usual caring self. She worried and fussed around me for a few days until she could see I was apparently totally fine and fighting fit.

I was already three weeks into my new career as a sales manager at Harold’s Department Store when I had to leave early to the doctor for a check up and the results that she had promised.

“Sabrina, will you make sure to get the closing figures to Miss Monroe when you cash out tonight please?” I instructed the pretty teenage assistant who worked with me in our department. She looked up from serving a customer and smiled her sweet face at me nodding. Feeling confident in her abilities I attended to my business and next stop was the doctor’s office.

“So, Rob, your respiratory system appears to be extremely healthy and I’m glad to be giving you the all clear. In fact I can’t find a negative thing to address.”

I smiled at Doctor Richards and felt relieved. She had always been a great doctor, extremely efficient and totally honest. Not to mention, also, sort of a babe. Though she didn’t quite have the body of my wife, she was slim and pretty, and seemed to be concealing a healthy bust underneath her white lab jacket and conservative outfits. I always thought there was a little bit of a flirting thing going on between the two of us; I’m sure I was probably mistaken and that many patients have the same feelings about their doctors.

“No side effects at all then, doc?”

“That’s the good news Mr. Carter, no side effects at all, a clean bill of perfect health.”

I was happy about the conclusion. I had been feeling a little run down recently, but then maybe that’s what a move in careers can do – with the extra stress and all.

“Just one final thing before you go. I did hand in that container you passed on and my colleagues in environmental health are pursuing it with the DOH to discover how that thing ended up at the site. We haven’t managed to find out who is responsible yet or what substance was inside there, although it seems harmless enough. And don’t worry, I haven’t given anyone details of you at all, just in case this turns out to be a sensitive matter.”

“That’s fine, Doc. I’m not really that worried now. Like you said, I’m in perfect health. I just feel a little tired, with the new job and all.”

“Well, come on back in a few weeks,” Doctor Richards said with a warm smile, her teeth brilliant white, “if you’re not feeling any better.”

I left the doctor’s office and returned back home to our beach apartment and shared the good news with my wife. Things seemed fairly normal and routine for the next couple of weeks after that day. I would go to work at the store and Denise taught her aerobics classes at the health club and, as usual, life was pretty peachy.

It wasn’t until one Sunday that odd things began to occur. Denise and I were attending a ball, and I had to dig my old tux out of the closet. It had been a year since I last wore it and as I slipped it on I noted how distinctly loose the trousers seemed to fit and how the jacket sleeves didn’t have that hand-tailored look that I recalled.

“Denise, honey, what’s with this tux? I thought it fit me better than this.”

I stood before the full-length mirror fiddling with the bow tie. It was one of those real ones so I couldn’t just snap it on and I never had quite the knack of fixing them.

“It’s about time you learned to do these things yourself,” my wife said in a teasing, slightly condescending tone as she stood before me reaching up to sort out my tie. She fiddled with it for a few moments before stepping back to inspect her work and ask “What’s wrong with your suit, Rob? It looks fine to me. You look very sexy…just like James Bond.” She lifted up a little on her toes and kissed me reassuringly. I admired my reflection. I did look sharp even if the suit felt a little ill fitting.

As for Denise she looked as gorgeous as ever. Her black evening dress accentuated her curvy hips and long legs to perfection. And, as she was always ready to offer a hint of cleavage, her overly healthy bust was nicely drawing my eyes, a necklace of white pearls nearly dropping into the deep space created between her breasts. On an otherwise perfect body, it was always Denise’s chest that drew the most attention. “Full Double-D’s,” she took to calling them when asked, though I knew from my surreptitious rifling through her lingerie drawer that she was actually a 34-E.

Denise always looked good. She was your classic busty brunette with long, flowing hair a bit down her back and a pair of big, warm, brown eyes. Her mixed, mainly eastern European ancestry lent her a timeless beauty, a flawless, olive complexion and an elegant posture and sense of poise. My wife, though, was no mere trophy for my arm. I loved just as much the personality and brains behind the beautiful exterior. But, if I was James Bond tonight, she was perfect as a gorgeous bond girl.

“Thanks, honey. You look like a million dollars as usual,” I assured her.

“Pffft,” she dismissed off-handedly, “Come on, Mr. Bond, we have a ball to attend.”

I can’t say I noticed anything else odd that evening until perhaps much later when we walked home. Denise had snapped one of her two-inch heels, catching it in a manhole cover as we crossed the road. I suggested that we walk the rest of the way along the beach to our apartment so she could tread bare foot on the fine sand. As we walked side by side with my arm around her I had the oddest feeling she seemed taller than I recalled. I didn’t make an issue about it, in fact I always did like my wife’s long legs, and it was just that this evening I could swear they looked longer, or was it that she seemed a touch bigger all over?

I had been six-foot four since I was eighteen and Denise was tall as well, a good height for a woman at five-foot nine. Somehow walking alongside her tonight my normal seven inches of superiority didn’t feel as impressive and I made a mental note to take stock of her height another day as it was an odd thing to notice after being with her since our high school days when we first started seeing one another.

Reaching home, still feeling the few cocktails we’d enjoyed, it wasn’t long before we ended up in the mood for some loving. I lifted Denise up off her feet to take her to the bedroom. The funny thing was that at the top of the staircase I was definitely struggling with her weight a little more than usual.

“Hey, have you been pushing too many pencils at work baby?” she asked teasingly as I held her in my arms, catching my breath with my biceps flexed fully beneath her. The truth was I did feel noticeably weaker.

“Either I haven’t been working out enough,” I puffed, “or you’re putting on a few pounds.” She playfully slapped my face and laughed. Lowering her to our king sized bed I climbed on top of her and straddled her sexy body. We had already stripped each other down to our underwear when our foreplay kicked off downstairs, but I was in the mood for some more. Looking down at the dark raven hair of my wife sprawled out seductively on our satin sheets, I let her open the fly of my boxer shorts and felt her feminine hands eagerly grab my ready erection.

“I know where this big boy wants to go…” she teased, knowing full well I always got fired up when she would bring me between her voluptuous swells and masturbate me. As usual her ample proportions all but completely captured my manhood’s length and she wriggled nicely on her back letting it slide up and down until I was hotter than a volcano and just as ready to erupt.

I quickly plunged myself into her wetness and got into an animal stride. I was always careful not to overwhelm Denise with my size and to gently slide it in until I filled her, yet tonight she must have been really ready for me because there was none of the usual easing of our connection. Afterwards Denise commented that she felt as if she had opened up to me like never before and that she really enjoyed the sensation of having none of the slight discomfort she was normally distracted with.

I didn’t think much of that occurrence, but maybe on reflection I should have taken this additional hint that something was changing between us.

Because the next week was full of odd things that I noted. I found to my annoyance that my car seat was a little far back and, like the tuxedo, all my shirts and trousers seemed to be more generous than usual, requiring me to tighten my belt and compensate by pulling them up just a little. I figured I was losing weight, so during one lunchtime I satisfied my curiosity by walking out of the footwear department to use the new weighing machine they had installed in the sporting goods section.

“Hey Rob what brings you down here?” It was Heather, a charming red head that had started around the same time as I.

“Oh just wanted to use that weighing thing they installed last week for you.”

“Not on a diet are you?” She quizzed and led me over to the device. “Put the money in there, take your shoes off and it will also measure your height and print out if you’re close to the recommended height-weight ratio. Oh, and by the way they have one by the bathrooms on level two. It’s closer for you next time.”

I looked up to see that it was like the ones they had at some sports centers, featuring a light beam upon a curved arm for laser measurements. “Thanks, Heather,” I said and set to untie the laces of my shoes, yet I noticed they seemed almost loose enough for me to slip off without easing the bows apart. Odd, I thought. Here I was head of the footwear section and with ill-fitting shoes myself. I fed a coin into the machine and hit the button. The display told me to stand still for a few seconds and my print out was ready. Before I got a chance to glimpse at the results, walking back to my department, I came across Gloria Monroe. Ms. Monroe owned the store and was therefore, I guess, my boss. I shoved the print out into my pocket

“Hi, Ms. Monroe.”

“Afternoon, Rob,” she beamed at me, which made me a little uncomfortable. I had the feeling that she was a little taken with me and I hoped that wasn’t part of the reason for me having this job. I was fairly used to women hitting on me now and again - which may sounds very conceited - but I was a tall, good looking guy. “Getting some tips from the other departments?”

“No, I just thought I would stretch my legs a little on my break.”

“Okay then,” she replied, “nice to see you.” Before we passed one another, I looked for one final time at the woman in her business suit. She was always dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place and a face full of make-up as normal - not that she really needed it. There was no doubt that Gloria Monroe was beautiful. And, not to mince words, an absolute amazon. Statuesque, in fact, would be a perfect description, and today she really did live up to the word. For, as she carried on walking past, I noticed she was taller than me by far in the pair of heels she wore. I made sure I didn’t glance back for fear she would read something into it, seeing me do a double-take - though it was true, I admit, I did find her attractive. Even though she was likely in her early forties, I’m sure she was an absolute stunner in her twenties. Exactly my type: tall and busty. Anyhow, I reminded myself, I was wrapped up in my wife. She was perfect and I was a lucky man who didn’t need to look elsewhere. I guess it was just a thing we guys do regardless, right?

Speaking of attractive, there was my teenage assistant Sabrina, lifting up a shoe box to the high shelving and giving me and any guy around a nice display of her slim body and pert breasts in profile as she stretched.

“It’s okay, Sabrina. I’ll put them back for you.” I walked up and she handed me the box.

“Rob, do you think we should organize these more popular lines on the lower shelves? I can barely reach up there. It’s alright for a big guy like you but not for a little girl like me.”

“Sure, perhaps you could do that one afternoon and I’ll tend to the customers.”

She smiled and went off into sales patter as a lady sat down to be measured. I turned and went to place the box back and found myself lifting up on my toes to accomplish the task. That was strange. I had done this time and time again without the aid of tiptoes. Looking up at the shelf I pondered for a second and then instinctively reached into my pocket, compelled to read the results from the machine with some urgency. The weight I ignored because the height was so wrong. Six feet exactly it read but it was obviously not working correctly. I shook my head and tossed the paper away.

“Rob, can you finish up with this lady for me?” Sabrina asked, appearing next to me, “I think I’ll start shifting some of the more popular product off those shelves right away. I saw even you struggled back then.”

I faked a grin and took the task in hand feeling a little weird – at the time I didn’t know why. Finishing with the customer I asked Sabrina to cover the department for a bit; I felt compelled to return to the machine to verify the results. Then I recalled Heather mentioning a second machine by the bathrooms, and decided it would be a better idea to try that one out, as the first was surely not calibrated correctly. That machine, I was sure, would give me the right reading…

I didn’t come back for over half an hour because I needed to walk outside for some fresh air. The second machine, to my dismay, had verified that the first machine was correct. It had concluded the exact same results.

“Four inches?” I muttered to myself wondering what the hell was going on. But the answer, however much I didn’t want to hear it, was screaming out of that black print. I had lost four inches in height. I walked back to my department and, lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear Sabrina talking to me at first.

“…she loved the new range and bought a couple of really high pairs.”

“I’m sorry?” I said as I snapped back to the real world.

“Your wife. Denise.” Sabrina explained, pausing. “She came in twenty minutes ago.”

“She did?”

Feigning exasperation, she continued “Yes, I told you already. You missed her. She said she’d broken her good heels the other night so I fixed her up with some new ones from the Tower line.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. And…” Sabrina giggled, “she told me you have a thing for high heels…so she bought two pairs!”

I felt a touch embarrassed by having this pretty teen let in on one of my private secrets, and I was a little surprised at Denise for sharing this with her. It was true that I did have a “thing,” as she put it, for high heels. I felt there was nothing else that displayed a woman’s legs so well. But more so, the thought of a woman looking for more height, knowing how it drew men’s eyes, commanded their attention, was secretly exciting. But, today of all days, something felt different about discussing high heels. I glanced at the innocent range of woman’s shoes and boots from the Tower collection, all of them sporting a considerable heel - hence the “Tower” label – and began to realize what the implications of high heels would actually mean to men not as tall as my customary six-four…men like myself at this present moment. It would mean taller women…women perhaps taller than myself. I didn’t dare ask if Denise had gone for the highest ones and I changed the subject swiftly.

“So, I hope she got the staff discount.”

“Of course. Maybe she’ll be back for more…” Sabrina smiled and said nothing more on the subject until we cashed out and made our way to the parking lot.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rob.” Sabrina began to walk off and then glanced over her shoulder, shouting back “Hey, did you have a nice day, surrounded by all these women trying on high heels?” The little minx winked, hopped onto her moped and screamed away on it.

I climbed into my car and instantly noted the seat needed another adjustment, which confirmed my inner fears. I was definitely shorter.

Denise came home late. She had an evening session at the health club and I was thankful as it gave me chance to come to terms with my height loss. I sorted out most of the clothes I had that seemed okay to wear, or at least passable, and turned up the legs on a few of my work trousers using double sided tape to hold the alterations in place. Of course, Denise and her seamstress skills could have tailored my clothes more professionally - after all, she used to make her own costumes and dresses - but I felt too self conscious to tell her I wasn’t as tall as before. However the real niggling inside me at present was the fear of what had led to this occurrence. I started to think about the chemical I was exposed to last month.

When my wife came home she thankfully didn’t notice anything and for the best part of that week I managed to avoid standing up and being to close to her so she couldn’t see that I was now only three inches taller. Three inches…that figure banged about in my head a lot. I wasn’t far off her size now. I was thankful and frankly relieved that with regular checks of my height using the machines it hadn’t altered and I began by the end of the week to think part of this whole dilemma was my mind playing tricks on me – I’ve always prided myself on my strong powers of denial. It wasn’t until the next Sunday evening that things eventually came out.

“Rob, that was Cindi on the phone. She has some free tickets for a meal at Roxie’s in the city. Pete’s come down with a sudden stomach bug, so you and I are in luck!”

Denise was almost skipping around the apartment. She had wanted to have a meal at Roxie’s ever since it opened, but it was not only expensive but very hard to get a reservation. I had never managed to take her there before which made this all the more special.

Denise spent an eternity readying herself, which never ceased to amaze me because she was a drop dead gorgeous knockout just naturally. In the meantime, I had problems with the shoes I wanted to wear that night, a slip-on designer pair that went with my black trousers. They had a lot of spare toe room and I found myself doubling my socks with thicker pairs just to keep them on. I made a mental note that I had to address this on Monday at work and check my shoe size, which had obviously altered along with my height. Thankfully, I had converted my black trousers to address my shorter legs so these were fine and my shirt, which was a white crew neck, had to be worn tucked in. I pushed the sleeves up semi-casually to avoid the excess over my hands from showing. The result was good and I looked fine. What concerned me more as I dressed was being close to Denise tonight, closer than I had been all week. I sat in our room waiting for her to appear from the bathroom where she was busy styling her hair.

“Okay, Honey, I’m ready,” she called out, “Ta da!”

I saw Denise step out from the bathroom door. She was dressed in a hot little outfit, a slinky red dress that just screamed ‘check out the bod.’ It made no attempt to hide her taut, voluptuous curves, packing her curvy hips and narrow waist tightly, like a second skin. And, though it revealed no cleavage, it did nothing to downplay her impressive chest; her breasts looked so big, so heavy. Beyond that, her makeup was flawless, her hair styled up. She looked fabulous.

“Wow…Denise.”

“You like?” she asked, beaming, twirling on her toes to give me the whole view.

“You look…wow,” I responded, grinning, marveling at my own luck. Sometimes I forgot I was I was married to an absolute sexpot. “You look hot, baby.”

“Why, thank you,” she replied, checking herself once more in the mirror. Ever since high school, she was well aware of her significant charms, and knew how to bring out the best in her appearance. “I have to say, you look pretty hunky yourself.”

I smiled at her compliment and then traveled my eyes down the back of her long legs to see that she wasn’t wearing any shoes yet.

“And…I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said, her eyes sparkling as they met mine in the mirror.

“Really? A surprise?”

“Your assistant fixed me up with some new heels to go with this dress.”

“oh…really?”

“Yeah…nice and high,” she said with a hint of mischief, “just the way you like ‘em.” Again, she knew my weakness for women with legs like hers in high heels. I think she also knew how I enjoyed seeing her, a tall woman herself, tower over shorter men.

Oh my, I thought, doing a few hurried, pointless calculations in my head. I just prayed they weren’t too high.

Denise reached down into her shoe cupboard and I admired how her dress rose up the back of her thighs.

“Pretty sexy huh?” she asked as she stood up and swiveled around to show off a pair of pumps sporting heels bigger than anything I had ever seen her wear. My breath caught as I knew that shoe straight away - it was one of the Tower collection’s highest, a 6-inch heel.

“Aren’t these just awesome? And so reasonable with your discount, baby. I knew you’d just love them.”

“Uh, yeah…great babe,” I said, feigning nonchalance.

“There,” she said, as she slipped them on to her feet, “they feel great, too. So comfortable for such tall heels…I guess it pays to go designer label.” She twirled a little, looking at the profile of her legs. She had the taut, muscular calves and thighs of a fitness pro, with perfectly tanned skin.

“Yeah, huh?” I said, all the while mentally calculating how tall Denise would be in them…but she let me know that enthusiastically herself.

”And what’s more, now I don’t have to look up at you all night, baby, because your wife is going to be standing six foot three. You won’t even have to lean down to kiss me! Tonight…” she continued with mock drama, “we breathe the same air!” She smiled and I gulped knowing the time had come. I was going out tonight with a woman taller than me.

“So come on, honey, stand up and let me give you a kiss.”

I hesitated but knew there was no way out, no excuse to be made. I had to face this. I slowly rose to my feet and there was Denise, with her eyes above my own, probably staring along the top of my dark head of hair as I stared back at her lips, now level with the middle of my nose. I raised my eyes up to meet hers, a weird sensation.

“Come on, stand up straight, Rob. I want to see how tall these really make me.”

“Um…. I am standing up.”

Denise was silent for a few cringe-inducing seconds as she took in my dimensions and reality checked the situation.

“What the…? You are standing up? But why am I…still up here? These heels aren’t that high are they?” She looked in doubt at her new footwear and then back down at me.

“Rob, I’m taller than you, hon.”

Her words gave me a slight chill of how real this was. Partly it was a relief but also the start of my coming to terms with my lost inches

“But I’m five-nine, and these are six-inch heels…that would make me six-three, right? And you’re, what? Six four…? This isn’t...this isn’t right…is this some sort of trick?”

I merely looked up at her silently, my heart racing, palms beginning to sweat.

Logic failing her, Denise looked down at me, her husband, now shorter than herself. Seeing as she was receiving no explanation from me, she continued. “I must be four inches taller than you in these new heels. What’s happening?”

I couldn’t take it any longer. I sat down on the bed, shaking my head. My voice caught in my throat, fighting back emotion. “Oh, god, Denise…I don’t know… hell, I can hardly believe it myself…”

“What?” She asked, her voice suddenly full of concern as she sat down aside me, “Rob, what is it?”

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to open up.

“…uhh…remember, last week, I said my tux didn’t fit..? Well, neither do any of my other clothes…it’s…it’s not them. It’s me…I’ve…”

“What, Rob…what are you saying? Are you saying you’ve…shrunk?”

I raised my eyes, looked up at her. Denise jumped to the conclusion herself.

I just nodded, slowly.

“Oh, Rob…There must be an explanation. Is your back ok? You didn’t hurt it, did you? Digging and lifting for that construction job, did you?”

“No, no…I haven’t got a curved spine, if that’s what your thinking. Look at me I’m standing up straight, I couldn’t be any straighter.” I stood up to demonstrate it was nothing connected to my posture. Denise rose to her feet and once more looked down at me.

“You must be, like, five-eleven, or barely six feet. You can’t just have lost five inches, baby…it’s, it’s…well, it’s impossible.”

“Five inches?” I responded, perhaps a touch defensively, “I figure more like four, but…whatever. Look at me, and look…look at you, in those heels…”

Looking up at her, I felt the first stirs of an erection stiffening in my pants. I tried to put it from my mind.

“Yeah, I am taller in these, Rob. It’s…amazing,” she seemed a bit lost in thought, “I can’t believe it…But, honey, what are we going to do about it?”

“I have no idea!” I didn’t, of course, want to go to see Dr. Richards. I’d be too embarrassed; maybe it was a bit immature but I didn’t want her to see me like this. “I feel crazy going to the doctor and saying ‘look at me I’ve lost four inches. Can you find them for me please?’” My tone was a little sarcastic but not aimed at Denise, more at the situation and my frustration.

“Rob, she may be able to help, it could be….” Her face went blank as she simply couldn’t fathom a potential reason.

“It’s impossible isn’t it? People just don’t get shorter…I don’t want to see the doctor. I mean its not like I’m ill or anything. I’d be wasting her time.”

”Oh, honey, are you sure?” she countered, “I mean, don’t you want to get this looked into?”

“Yeah, but, I kinda just want to forget it. What’s four inches, anyway? I mean I’m still six feet…that’s tall right?” I was trying to convince myself, “And you’re five-nine, so I’m still taller than you. It’s not so bad, it’s not like I’m short or anything…”

”That’s true, baby,” Denise’s face brightened a bit, seeing that I was coming to acceptance of my new height, “but are you sure you want me wearing these sort of heels tonight? I am noticeably taller than you like this.” Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t put up more of an argument, put more effort into getting me to the doctor.

“No, Denise, you look fabulous. They’re great shoes, you should be able to wear them. You know I love you to wear high heels, they always look so sexy on you.”

“And it makes no difference, now, that I’m taller than you in them?”

I paused, realizing I was committing to a change in our relationship, granting her my blessing to wear high heels, as if her extra inches didn’t bother me. But, I thought, it was only a few inches difference.

“I’ll just have to enjoy having a taller, leggier wife, huh?”

We kissed which was new for me as she tilted her head down to reach my mouth.

“And I can enjoy not looking up at you for a night. And no more tip toes to kiss!”

We laughed, a sign of relief between us, as we went out for the evening. Over the next week it was actually almost forgotten. Denise had adjusted some of my clothes, and I bought some new shoes from work. Life was back to normal…for a while anyway.

It was the middle of the following week at work and Sabrina was packing up some open shoeboxes at the close of another busy day.

“Sold out of the size 5 blue courts, Rob. Can we order some more?”

“Yeah, sure. Great job today, Sabrina.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

As I walked past her to adjust a display I felt Sabrina tap me on the shoulder. I looked around to see her as tall as me! My jaw dropped. What..?!

“Wow, Rob, look at these! They’re like stilts! I’m nearly as tall as you!” Her pretty face was clearly impressed with the heels she had slipped on for size as she grinned.

“Yeah,” I responded, swallowing nervously, but relieved, “I, uh, wouldn’t wear the Tower stock Sabrina, especially those new eight-inch ones. Those heels are easy to catch and damage. If your not careful, those’ll set you back two weeks pay.” I was being a touch short with her as it wasn’t right to risk damaging our display stock for a bit of fun…but also for the fact that she was level with me that made me edgy and uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Rob. You’re right. I was just curious. I haven’t tried anything bigger than a three-inch heel before. And, by the way, these are the five inch ones.”

Alarm bells! Five inch heels? I cast an urgent look at the shoes as she slipped them off from her petite feet. I knew she wasn’t very tall and a slight chill began to ripple down my spine I had to casually get her to reveal her height.

“Never wore more than a three inch heel, huh? That’s surprising. You’re quite short, aren’t you? I mean, most girls your age wear those tacky platform spice girls rejects don’t they?”

“I’m little more sophisticated than most, I hope,” she giggled, “and I’m five-four, I’d say I’m pretty average for a girl. Not too short.”

There was a silence while I considered that I could have shrunk again. At the same time, Sabrina was doing a double take.

“Rob, just how tall are you? I mean you must be average for a guy, I guess. For some reason I always thought you were very tall.”

“No, just about…average.” I slipped away to avoid further conversation excusing myself with the premise of some pressing business.

At home that evening I was reluctant to measure myself. Even though part of me wanted to know for sure, the other part of me felt like it would be too alarming and, frankly, depressing if what I feared was true. Denise was out as usual, giving a class and I knew I eventually had to face her. When she arrived home she was carrying a brown paper bag, what looked like a take-out dinner. Still dressed in her lycra leotard and sneakers, I marveled at her form. What made me most nervous was that, even from watching her down on the sofa, she looked taller to me.

After a few pleasantries, she went into the kitchen to prepare the meal, leaving me to my thoughts and fears. Eventually she returned, and sat herself down beside me. We ate off trays in front of the television.

“You’re quiet, honey,” she stated with some concern, “everything okay?”

We had both finished our food without much conversation. I put my fork down and took a deep breath.

“Denise, I think it’s happened again. I think that I could be a little… shorter.”

“Oh, Honey. Are you sure?” Her face was a picture of concern initially, followed by…something else, maybe curiosity. She clutched my hand. “By how much?”

“I’m a little nervous to check. It may be nothing, but, well…When I saw Sabrina at work today, I noticed how much taller she seemed to appear, next to me.”

“But she’s such a short girl, Rob… she’s a tiny little thing.”

“Well, yeah, but…she tried on some heels and…I don’t know…”

“Here, you’d better stand up, honey.”

Again I took a deep breath, and stood up.

From down on the couch, Denise smiled reassuringly and then offered her hand so I could pull her up to join me. Even this task told something inside me that she was heavier than before. Denise stood up and faced me, completely eye to eye.

“Oh, god, Rob!” she exclaimed, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, “You’re only as tall as me now! That means you must have lost, what? Another three inches? Oh, honey, what’s happening to you?”

She instinctively hugged me, but this was no hug that I was used to. Before, in such an embrace, I would hold her head down by my chest and feel her slim body against me. But now, with her as my equal in stature, we brushed cheeks and I felt her full bust press into my own chest. I also found placing my arms around her not as easy as before. We discussed, again, calling the doctor, but I simply wasn’t in the mood to hear it. I guess I didn’t want a label for what was going on with me for fear it was irreversible in some way.

“Okay, honey,” Denise agreed, “it is your choice. But this is the second time, and who knows if it will happen again? You could end up shorter than me next time. Have you thought about that?”

I looked at Denise, now such a different woman. So much taller than before. I had to admit, putting my fear and dismay aside, she seemed to be more attractive to me like this. Apart from Miss Monroe at work, I didn’t often encounter any women who equaled my height, and here was Denise, doing just that. It felt oddly exciting somehow.

I couldn’t, of course, let her know that.

“It’s okay, honey,” I assured her, bringing her back out to arm’s length to look her in the eye, “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”


The next morning, I noticed my clothes situation had really taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Fresh from my morning shower, I tried on my various trousers, even some I had recently rolled up, and none of them wanted to be part of my life anymore. The waists all seemed enormous and the room in each leg was extremely baggy. Was this all because of my recent episode? Concerned, I looked through my tops. I needed a shirt to wear but my old seventeen-inch collars made my neck look like it was rattling around in the large gap. The sleeves all fell over my arms and even rolling them back didn’t stop gravity taking the material down over my thinner seeming arms.

I sat on the bed naked and feeling very nervous. Far too nervous to check my height out formally with the measuring tape that was still in the bedroom from last night, when we measured me, confirming my new height of five-nine.

Should I back down and see the Doctor? No, it was far too embarrassing to reveal that I was getting shorter. And, who was to say that it was permanent? I could shoot back up at any time, couldn’t I?

“Rob? Honey? You’re going to be late!”

Denise’s voice snapped me out of my self-pity and I moved closer to the tape measure where it lay there on the dressing table, innocently holding all the answers. Still sat on the edge of the bed I held it in my hands pulling some length out not committing to use it.

“There you are, hon.” I turned, surprised to see Denise had come up to join me, inquisitive to what the delay was. “What’s keeping you?”

She spotted the tape in my hands

“Oh no,” she said, her eyes widening, “Not again, I hope?”

“I’m not sure, Denise, but…my clothes…”

Denise sat down beside me. She was dressed in grey cotton shorts and a very small, very tight, bright yellow crop top that just announced her large breasts. Did they seem that little bit larger today? I shrugged off that thought even though it was a pleasant one. Denise’s hair was up in a ponytail and she was obviously ready to go the health club, looking as athletically toned as normal in her outfit.

“Well, you did just get smaller only yesterday, it could be from that,” she explained, trying to comfort me, “How do you feel? I mean, do you feel sick in any way? Any symptoms?” Her hand rose to my forehead, checking my temperature. I thought to myself that it seemed larger than normal, less petite. I shrugged these questions away with my other observations and answered her concerns.

“No, I feel okay,” I replied, “maybe just a little worn out, tired…”

“Will you reconsider the doctor, then?”

“It’s not like I’m sick, Denise,” I shot back, perhaps a bit snippy, “I’m just not six-four anymore. That isn’t an illness, is it?”

“I guess you know what’s best,” she said, acquiescently, trying to soothe me, “but I can’t help feeling worried about you.”

“Thanks babe, but really, I’m fine,” I responded, happy she didn’t press the issue, “I promise that if it gets worse…I mean, really worse, and people begin to notice…then I’ll go and see the Doctor.” She looked at me in concern. “As for now, it’s only really you that knows, and if I get myself some reasonably heeled shoes, I’m still going to be five-ten or thereabouts…and that’s not short, is it?”

“No, of course not, honey,” she said, placating me. She paused a bit, considering her words, “But it doesn’t help with me being a tall girl does it? I mean, if you had married a more average, shorter girl, like five-five or something…”

“No, that’s not it. I love your height, it’s part of what attracted me to you in the first place.,” I said, trying to sound confident, “That hasn’t changed. If anything, you just look taller now, and I don’t mind that at all.” I clasped Denise’s equal sized hand and smiled at her.

She paused again, thinking before speaking. “Can I confess something, honey?” she asked.

“Sure, of course,” I replied, curious as to what she had to say.

“I…I haven’t missed you being a lot taller than me. It’s kind of…nicer, now. When we…make love I don’t feel so dominated by you like I used to. It makes me feel more confident, sexier somehow.”

Wow. That was revealing. She seemed to like the new me. “Hm. I guess I haven’t really thought about you in all this, I mean how it may affect you. So, having a husband who doesn’t tower over you isn’t a big turn off then?”

“On the contrary, babe, you’re still as dashingly handsome,” she joked, “only more my size now.” She paused, her smile fading a bit, and asked, “and…what about you?”

“Me?”

“You commented the other night how nice my legs looked, being that bit…longer.”

I grinned, recalling. She remembered that, did she? “You’re right. There are a few benefits…You are definitely a lot leggier,” I said, “and perhaps a little more busty, too…”

Denise looked down at her chest and rolled her eyes in false modesty. “Yeah, like I need that!”

I just smirked. I knew she was proud of her figure.

“I suppose that, to you, it must seem like I’ve been slowly growing and that I’m…what? About six three or four to you now?”

“Like I said…a lot leggier.”

We both felt a little better having been more honest with each other about this unusual situation that was forming between us.

Denise kissed me and lay back on the bed releasing her long dark hair so that it exploded in a contrasting and vivid display across our satin duvet. Her eyes gave me the signal that she wanted me. I simply couldn’t refuse those eyes.

I climbed onto the bed and peeled down her shorts. She was wearing a sexy pair of pink panties and kissing her taught athletic stomach I made my way down to them until I could pull them gently between my teeth. Denise aided me and rolled them down her silky thighs. I mounted her with enthusiasm but Denise still wanted some foreplay.

“Up here first, baby…let’s not rush things…” She pulled her small top up and exposed those jutting breasts, held taut in a white bra. Sliding myself along her body I took my weight as she guided my manhood into the embrace of her bosom and I began to make love to her breasts as they wrapped lovingly around it. What surprised me more than pleasantly was how they seemed to totally consume the entire length of my staff.

“You’re right, honey,” she said breathlessly, “you do make me feel a lot bustier.” She emphasized her words by squashing her large breasts together. They blossomed upwards, voluptuously, around me. My eyes goggled. Man, sometimes I forgot: her breasts are big. “Does that feel good, baby? Losing yourself in between these?”

“Yes,” I responded, moaning, “that feels good…so good…”

Before I hit critical mass Denise released her breasts and pushed me down onto her. I drove myself into her inviting sex, slipping inside her easier than before, much easier. It was almost like making love to another woman, a woman who was able to receive me effortlessly. Denise felt the connection more than ever before; she now had me entirety, and this gave her immense satisfaction. We eventually rolled over, both panting gently.

“Rob that….”

“Don’t say it. It was good, huh? You felt it too?”

“I felt…bigger down there. That was all of you inside me, wasn’t it?”

“Yep. Everything,” I sighed and reached over to our bedside table to grab some tissues to wipe myself, offering some to my wife.

“Thanks,” she smiled, evidently happy with the outcome of our spontaneous love session.

“So, even if I have a wardrobe problem,” I joked, “at least the sex is great.”

“Aww, baby, let me help,” she said, sitting up to rise off the bed, “Let me measure you again, get your inseam and everything, and I’ll work on fixing your clothes, okay?”

I looked at her sweet face as she fixed her clothes back to normal.

“Sure…here.” I passed her the measuring tape and slowly stood up with my back to her, not wanting to see the verdict of my height, preferring her to announce it.

“Oh, my, um…you might want to turn around, honey.” Her words sounded concerned.

I turned around in an instant to see what had prompted that tone of voice. Part of me wished I hadn’t.

Denise was taller than me by at least two inches, maybe more. I looked forward at her nose level and then slightly up into her warm, gorgeous eyes, full of sympathy.

“Oh, no,” was all I could muster as a reaction.

“Oh Rob, it’s happened again,” she said, “and now, look…I am actually taller than you.”

“You could take off the sneakers,” I muttered, trying to take in this new sensation. I knew her pink Nikes would have almost no real heel.

“Rob, you know that’s not it. I’m as tall to you now as I was in those new heels the other night.”

“Oh, man,” I said, dejected, stating the obvious, “I’m really shorter than my own wife.”

“It’s…it’s okay, baby,” she said, again trying to mollify me, “I’m only a little bit taller, a couple of inches at best. In fact, we’re nearly the same height.” Her words did little to make me feel better about the situation.

“But, you are still…taller than me.”

“That’s okay, honey. I’m taller than a lot of guys.”

“But…never taller than me!” I shot back, raising my voice a bit. I instantly regretted that…this wasn’t her fault. “Now you’re…you’re…”

“Yes, yes,” she said, comfortingly. She could tell I was upset, “I guess I am. Oh, honey. Oh, poor baby…” Denise instinctively hugged me to her and I felt her body, a new, larger body press gently into my own. Her breasts flattened slightly against my upper chest, where they had never been close to reaching before. I looked down to the side and Denise’s legs stood higher than my own, lifting her waist higher than mine.

It was awkward, with me trying to adjust to the new facts as Denise attempted to find something that I could wear to work. I lay back on the bed naked and shut my eyes as if this would fool me to thinking everything was back to normal in the darkness.

“So, you’re five foot six and a bit,” Denise said as I heard her sift through my shirts in our closet.

“That makes me officially short,” I said in a dejected manner.

“Not at all babe, just…just, well, shorter than average.”

“And shorter than you.”

“Well, yes, shorter than me. But, remember, I’m tall for a woman and, like I said, I know lots of men that are shorter than me.” She looked down at me. “Sorry. I’m not making this any better, am I?”

“It’s okay, Denise. I’m gonna have to get used to being the new me, and being around the new you.”

“Well, in private, behind these walls, we can still pretend its me who’s grown a lot taller and that you’re still six four. Will that help? Just think of me as being…six foot seven.”

“Six foot seven? You’d be a great basketball player.”

She laughed at the thought and so did I. The humor seemed to diffuse my current self-pity.

”Well, since you have to get to work, I don’t have time to sew anything up…but here’s something that might work,” she said. I opened my eyes. “You’re not going to like this,” she continued, laying out some clothes next to me on the bed, “but these should fit you.”

First I picked up a plain white shirt. “Wait a minute…this is one of your blouses!”

“It’s not a blouse” she stated plainly, “It’s a shirt. Blouses are softer and more feminine. It’s a plain white shirt. It’s…unisex. Here, feel the material…”

Her assurance wasn’t convincing, but what choice did I have? I tried it on and surprised myself in the fact that it did fit. If anything it was a little on the large size.

“Looks like I’m about your shirt size,” I commented as I stood up, seeing the sleeves looked fine and the length was more than adequate, the collar size was also a nice fit yet the body of the shirt seemed far more spacious than I was used to, and not so fitted.

“Hmmm…Not quite,” Denise commented, and came over to me. She pulled the material down to flatten the front a little.

“Yeah, looks like it’s loose…around…here.”

I looked down at her chest, which filled her shirt nicely.

“Well, it’s not baggy on me,” she was trying hard not to grin, “I guess I’m just a little bigger in the chest, huh?”

Her observation did little to make me feel better about wearing her shirt. Reaching down to the bed I noticed the next garment in line and my hand froze half way to retrieving it.

“You are kidding right?”

Denise broke a smile and a sexy one at that as she held up a pair of silk, boxer style knickers before me.

“Your boxers are all way too big, honey,” she said with some amusement, “and these are practical. I think they should do just fine. And besides, you’ll look sexy in these…and I’m willing to bet that you’ll love the feel of them.”

I’d never worn a pair of women’s underwear before even as a joke and had to admit it wasn’t like I had an alternative.

“Well, alright…but I’m not going to make a habit of this. It’s a bit kinky if you ask me.”

I took the soft silky knickers and put them on to her seeming delight. A wolf whistle escaped my wife’s lips and it pained me to admit the material was good against my skin.

“I suppose you’re going to make me try on one of your skirts next?” I said dryly.

“No, I don’t think you’ve got the legs for my skirts,” she joked back, “but…here…try my trousers. They should look okay. They have a normal cut and they’re plain black.”

“But…look at the label,” I added, perhaps catching myself in a whine, spotting the brand logo of a popular woman’s clothes shop.

“It’s your choice, babe,” she said, a touch exasperated, “I’m not forcing you to wear my clothes, but if you have to go to work then this is all I can offer that has a chance of fitting you. I promise that when I finish work, I’ll go shopping and see if I can get you some smaller men sizes, okay?”

I grimaced but had to get on with making the best out of a bad situation. Looking at myself in the mirror a short time later I decided that the clothes my wife had shared with me would do for the day. I couldn’t help think that Denise found this amusing seeing me in her things and knowing we could share the same wardrobe if required.

“You look fine…honestly,” she reassured me, patiently.

“I feel conscious that these are your clothes I’m wearing.”

“Don’t be silly, they look perfectly passable.”

“Mmmm…alright…” I moaned, discontent with the situation. I fussed before the mirror looking this way and that at my reflection.

A few minutes later I was debating if I should wear a coat as I stood by the front door but it was summer and my coats would all hang on me. As I looked out of the front door window I found myself summoning courage to leave the house when I heard Denise walk up behind me. She leaned in and whispered into my ear, which was something I wasn’t used to her being able to do so casually.

“How about a kiss goodbye for your tall wife?”

I noted that the word “tall” had crept playfully into her question but chose to ignore it as I turned to kiss her only to find my lips level with her neck line! She was taller again by several inches and my mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Oh my god! No!”

“What’s wrong?” she purred, as she easily rested her arms around my shoulders, “I thought you liked statuesque women.”

“I’m…I’m…s-smaller again!” I exclaimed, looking up at how much my wife had shot up in the world, making my chin not far from the level of her bountiful breasts and bringing those breasts much higher and much closer to my face.

“You do look very little,” she teased. I was a little taken back by her tone. I couldn’t believe she was being so casual as I looked up at her eyes from below, which sparkled merrily.

Denise obviously couldn’t hold herself together and burst out laughing. I failed to see the joke until she guiltily grinned and explained. “I’m sorry, honey, but I just couldn’t resist. I slipped on a pair of heels…”

My eyes darted below to see a pair of formal heels on her feet. Though I was, I guess, relieved, it just emphasized just how easily my wife could elevate herself well beyond my statistics just by wearing a pair of shoes. I also felt a little uneasy that she did it so flippantly.

“Very funny,” I retorted.

“Sorry, honey, I know I shouldn’t tease you,” she said, her tone conciliatory, “but you did say you like me being taller.”

“Yeah,” I marveled, “You are tall in those…” My voice, I think, belied a bit of arousal.

“I do have higher pairs,” she offered, “but maybe I should keep those in the closet, huh? What do you think honey?”

“Uh, I…I don’t know,” I stuttered. What was she suggesting, actually, “Y-you look good enough already from down here…”

“You know,” she said mischievously, “I think my husband has a thing for taller women and he’s afraid to admit it…” She kissed me on the forehead as it was closer than my lips and smiled. “Looks like I’ll have to lean down a little to kiss him properly.”

“Or you could just take the heels off,” I suggested.

“I guess I could,” she agreed, “but you know, now that you’re sharing my clothes, perhaps I could let you try on a pair of my high heels just to even us up a little.”

“Ha Ha.”

She sniggered and proceeded to lean down and meet my lips, which I couldn’t help thinking she enjoyed.

I soon found myself at work. I was late but it wasn’t a big deal.

“Hey, Sabrina.”

“Morning, Rob.”

Did Sabrina just give me a double take? I thought and quickly crouched down to put some stock back in its correct boxes.

“Hey, Rob. Can I leave early today? I’ve got a date and I…”

“Sure,” I responded quickly, glad to see her leave earlier than normal as I was a little conscious of working next to a girl who was only a couple of inches shorter than me. It wouldn’t be long before she noticed this herself, but I was going to prolong explanations wherever I could.

Avoiding standing close to Sabrina, I muddled through the morning shift, noticing every woman I attended to on a fitting seemed to be tall - some very tall. It was a new world. With my reduced stature, women had changed fundamentally: there were few short women and I felt, more or less, on equal standing with most of them now.

One achievement of the day was to stealthily change my own shoes for some new ones, which I decided to borrow from the scuffed and faulty stock. These new shoes confirmed I had lost three shoes sizes.

Midday came and I couldn’t avoid walking behind Sabrina to get some polish for a customer. She was standing and wearing her normal black shoes. Her two-inch heels made her as tall as me. If she turns around, I thought, she’ll see something’s up in an instant. Luckily she didn’t.

When Sabrina had left I relaxed a little and pushed myself into sales patter mode charming the ladies as best I could to buy expensive shoes. My wife’s clothes fitted me well, if not a little long on the pant legs. But, I had to remind myself, she did have longer legs than me now. It was the waist that fascinated me. I knew Denise’s vital statistics by heart: 40, 24, 34. She was curvy, certainly, big in all the right places but how my waist managed to squeeze in her 24 inch trousers surprised me. It was a long way from my previous 36 inches but then all of me looked a lot more compact. I was in such deep thoughts as these, crouched down replacing stock, when Gloria came along.

“Afternoon, Rob. Business going well?”

“Fine,” I responded, looking up towards her, “some good…sales…today.” Holy Christ. From where I knelt, looking up at Gloria, she looked absolutely enormous.

“Everything okay, Rob?” she asked, noting my discomfiture.

“Yeah, fine,” I replied, lowering my head back to my stock, “just kind of tired.”

“Well, hey…I’m going to grab a pair of pumps for myself, I see a box in my size up here on the top shelf, above your head,” she said, as she began to extend her arm over me, “Mind if I reach over you?”

“Uh, no,” I answered, “go right ahead.” I shifted to my right a bit, to get out of her way, and bumped into a short stool that was next to me. As she rearranged the boxes on the top shelf, stretching a bit, to get to the box she needed, I stood up next to her, and slightly behind her.

Immediately, my breath caught. Looking at Gloria from behind, I was struck by just how enormous she appeared. From my new height, she absolutely towered over me; I don’t think I even came up to this woman’s armpit. As I goggled at her size, at just how substantial she seemed, I must have let out a little croak.

“What was that, Rob?” she asked, turning her head a bit towards me, “Did you say something?”

Quickly, in a panic, I crouched down, grabbing the stool besides me to take a seat. I didn’t want her seeing me standing, giving her a chance to compare our heights. “Oh, uh, no, Miss Monroe,” I stammered, trying to look busy again, “nothing.”

“Well, okay,” she said, turning full round now to face me, a shoebox in hand, to find me sitting, “I found what I need. Just get me a receipt later.” She looked at me sort of quizzically.

“Will do.”

“Oh, and by the way,” she asked, looking down to where I sat. God, she looked tall. “How is the ‘Tower’ collection doing?”

“The Towers…The Towers….oh yeah, the really tall shoes?” I replied, feigning as if I had to review my memory banks, “they, uh, seem to be moving really well. I’m surprised, but I guess women like their heels high these days.”

“Yeah, well, push them as much as you can,” she instructed me, fixing a loose strand of hair, “I really want to see a lot of sales out of them.”

“Sure,” I replied, starting to feel like I was being made extra small by the woman looming above me, “I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Rob,” she said, “I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye, Miss Monroe.”

The rest of that day I could hardly shake the image of confronting a woman that way and feeling so short. Was this something I would have to get used to? If I continued to shrink, would all women start to look this way to me? It would be a different world; would I start to feel…inferior? Could I handle that? I tried to ignore my own questions, tried to be satisfied with the fact that Gloria was a woman of unique stature, much taller than average.

That night, I found that Denise had bought me some new clothes, which resulted in making me feel much better about life. The weekend came and I didn’t shrink any further, so life settled once more and I actually began to try to appreciate parts of my new size. Like, when I got into our car I didn’t have to alter the seat like I did back when I had longer legs than Denise. In fact, if anything, I needed the seat a little closer than her now. Other new-found pluses included the bathtub, which was more accommodating to a guy in the mid five-foot region than a six-foot plus guy. I tried to stay confident in the belief that this was all temporary and soon I would reclaim my previous stature, so for the short term I could enjoy these new sensations and situations in which I found myself.

This included the feelings I got when I was around Denise. She seemed different, yet so much the same; it was hard to explain. She was her normal self yet she looked all the more attractive being taller, and I found myself checking her long legs out more than ever, reveling in the fact that they were so long. And, always being a breast-man, I was of course happy to find myself with an even bustier wife than normal. I felt almost like a teenager again in some ways, trying to sneak sidelong glances of her chest when she wasn’t looking. What made me a bit uneasy, however - though it may have been my imagination – was that she seemed to like getting close to me at any opportunity, as if to constantly keep comparing our heights.

When Sunday came, we had plans to go out shopping for the afternoon but I had nothing going on that morning. When I woke up, a bit later than usual, Denise was already at the health club giving a class, which offered me no choice but to rest in bed and flick the television on and take it real easy. I enjoyed lazy Sundays and soon found myself dozing off to sleep.

“Wake up, mister,” her voice announced, rousing me from my slumber, “you better shift yourself into high gear because we’ve got shopping to do!”

Denise switched off the television, which had moved on while I slept to some kids’ program. I stretched with a mighty yawn before jumping out of bed. Denise was sat on the other side of the room, removing her sneakers and going over the list of all the new outfits she needed. As I walked past her towards the shower in our bathroom she beckoned me back.

“Hon, my bra catch is caught. Can you undo it for me please?”

I smiled and watched her stand naked with her exposed back to me, wearing just a white bra with her leotard in a pool at her feet. Standing behind her, my size was apparently different as I was totally unable to peer over her head like I did before. I swept her long brown hair aside to see the offending catch and quipped, “You obviously need an expert in bra catches, and bra catches are my specialty.”

As my hand made for the catch I was suddenly overcome by a sensation like none I had felt before, a warm pulse that flowed through my limbs and tingled every hair on my body. It felt pleasant in a way, and sparked off a heady rush like a powerful drug. My eyes closed for a few seconds as I rode the wake of this energy flowing within me. As it subsided I opened them once more to look at my wife, or I should say to look up to my wife! Denise was huge! Towering, so tall now that I was looking across somewhere to the lower part of her shoulder blades, and my hands were reaching upwards to the catch, as it was almost level with the top of my forehead. I stopped what I was doing, stunned, and realized I had shrunk again - only this time while I was conscious of it.

“Some expert!” Denise commented, noting my delay, “What are you doing back there?” She sounded a touch impatient and I didn’t know if I wanted to be there when she turned around.

“Uh, Denise,” I said, my voice low, “it’s…happened again.”

“What was that, Rob?” With a swish of her hair as it swept across my face, Denise turned around. For me it was like slow motion as I watched her confront me not with her eyes or any part of her face, not even the tops of her shoulders. For now, as short as I was, looking forward at her meant looking at her chest. Her bulging bra was square in my face! I was now only as tall as my wife’s breasts and, as large as they were, the tops of them even rose above me.

Denise initially looked clean over my head and gulped dryly with surprise as her eyes lowered to see my dark head of hair perhaps a foot or more beneath her eyes.

“Oh, Rob!”

I looked up past her breasts to the underside of her chin and eyes above, her face held a look of disbelief, her mouth an “O” of shock.

“What happened?!” she exclaimed, “You…you shrunk, again….but…so much…so much more than last time!”

“Y-yeah…” I responded, a little disoriented, “what’s…what’s going on…?”

“Oh, god, I don’t know,” she said, trying to calm herself, “But, wow…you really are short….oh my, you’re only as tall as my chest!”

“Uh…y-yeah, Denise, I noticed…”

“I’m sorry, baby,” her voice suddenly consoling, “but…look at you. I feel enormous standing next to you now, like some big amazon woman.”

“Y-yeah, you…you look like an amazon…” I replied, “you really…tower over me…now.”

“I do, don’t I?” she said, taking a full breath, straightening her back a bit, as if to emphasize the effect. “You must be just over four feet tall.”

I gulped, forced to take in again the sheer mass of my wife in front of me, I was overwhelmed and closed my eyes. “I…I guess I can’t avoid the doctor now…” I said, “I guess I have to go. This is…beyond a joke.”

Denise placed her hands down onto my shoulders and stroked her fingers in the back of my hair in a comforting manner. “Yes, honey,” she said softly, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Denise,” I said, opening my eyes again to look up at her, “I’m…I’m afraid.”

“Oh, my poor baby!” she said, trying to soothe me, massaging the back of my neck, petting my head. She paused, a caring smile on her face. “Now, don’t worry, honey,” she said, “I’ll help you through this, I’m here to take care of you.” Her words felt condescending somehow, like she was talking to a child. Perhaps it was just the frame of mind I was in that made it feel that way.

“Denise, I’m n-not a child…I’m a…man.”

Denise smiled sympathetically and her large hands came either side of my cheeks, keeping my gaze up to her. “Oh, off course you are, sweetie,” she answered, “of course you are…”

“But…you’re…you’re making me feel like a small kid, standing next to you.”

“Oh, but honey,” she continued, “you keep getting shorter and shorter and shorter.”

“I know!” I snapped, peevishly, “Don’t you th-”

“Shhh….shhh…” she hushed me, “don’t do this to yourself, Rob. Don’t get all upset. It’s not the end of the world.” She paused, allowing me a moment to gather myself. “I’m sure the doctor can find what’s up and in the meantime, honey,” she continued, her voice lightening, “it’s not so bad, huh? To measure up to your wife like this?” Again, she took a full, inflating breath, straightened her shoulders. “I mean, look at me. You always did love my long legs…and now they’re even longer.” For emphasis she rose a knee, rubbed a leg, a smooth inner thigh, up against me…up against my side.

“And these…” she continued, lowering my head in between her hands so I was forced to look straight forward at the heaving fullness of her breasts in her bra, “these are even bigger.” It was true. Her breasts looked so much bigger than I had ever appreciated them to be, so much wider, fuller, rounder and pushing forward so much more than ever before. But they hadn’t changed, I reminded myself. They hadn’t altered one bit. It was all relative to my new perspective…right?

“What man wouldn’t like to see his wife’s boobs close up like this, hmm?” she asked, “Staring you right in the face all of the time? I would say you’re a good height.” With that, Denise pushed her considerable cleavage into my face and held the back of my head.

Suddenly, I was no longer thinking about the negatives of the situation. Lost were the fears of getting shorter, finding a cure. Right now I was enjoying Denise holding me this way as I smothered in her softness. Again, I was a tit-man, and – although blessed with a buxom wife - had only dreamed of ever feeling anything like this. Her breasts absolutely overwhelmed my face.

She held that teasing embrace for a long moment before she eased back to see my reaction. I gazed up at her, looking a bit, I think, dumbfounded. Of course, I was very aroused by now and my manhood searched somewhere below, touching the lower portion of her silky thighs.

“You are so much…bigger,” I admitted, overwhelmed by Denise and her simple action to distract me, to placate me.

“There,” she said, smoothing my hair, “that’s the attitude I was after! Its not so bad to have your wife towering over you now is it, shorty?”

I noted her use of the word “shorty”, but in my aroused state I think it escaped triggering a response. Of course, from her side it was a natural description when encountering someone my size, and she thought nothing of it. But in hindsight, this was another step in the changes to our relationship.

“Now remember, honey,” she continued, “here in this bedroom, behind closed doors, you’re normal size.” She smiled down at me. “But your wife keeps getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger.” Again, it may have been my state of mind, but she almost sounded as if she liked the idea.

“I know, I know,” I replied, failing in sounding strong, “but it’s what’s outside this house that makes me worry. Women, god, every woman I know will tower over me now, just like you do…”

“Oh Rob, honey, I know. It must be a lot to take in,” she said, “it’s going to be different, with all these women so much taller than you…” Still she looked down at me, with a new look in her eye. She was thinking, for sure, and trying to read my face.

“y-yeah…I guess…”

“All us ladies, now, so much bigger than you,” she spoke softly, and began to peel her bra strap down her left shoulder. My brow furrowed…what was she doing? “All us ladies,” she continued, peeling the cup, now, away from her breast, “with our big, big boobies…”

With that she pulled me in again, gently, towards her firm bosom. She guided her nipple towards my mouth and pushed it between my lips. I responded, my mouth opening wide to accept her thick nipple, and began to suck lovingly as I felt it fill my mouth more than I was accustomed to. With the soft mass of her breast against my face, I lost myself in that moment, my eyes searching up over her bosom to her face as it sweetly smiled a comforting greeting. Somehow, with all that had just happened, I felt more comforted than ever before, calm and with no worries in the world. It was as if Denise was my protector and the one who would make everything feel right again.

“There you go,” she purred to me, “You’re just the right height for this, aren’t you darling? Just the right height to suck…” Her words ran over me as she gently cut her fingers through my thick hair from above. I, lost in myself and her, said nothing.

“….that’s it, baby,” she whispered, “you just enjoy yourself.”

I felt her nipple push deeper into my mouth as her larger seeming breast mashed against me, plastering its soft exterior across my face with its more than ample size. I was uncontrollably hard now and felt my manhood somewhere on her lower thigh as I tried to come to terms with the fact that it was now unable to reach its target without major assistance. Just then, however, Denise trapped my inches between her warm thighs, holding it there in warm bliss as she continued to stroke my hair. I continued to mouth at her, and began to gently pump myself into her lap.

“Oh, that’s it, baby, suck. Suck on my breast,” she cooed, allowing me my pleasures down below. “Mmmm…that’s right, goooood. How does that make you feel, honey? Better?” We continued like this for a bit, several long moments of pleasure before she opened her thighs again, casting me free. My lips broke from her impressive breasts and I stepped back, in slight awe. She was so tall, standing there, innocently towering above me as she slid her bra back over her breast.

“I…I,” I struggled, searching for words. My gaze was cast downwards. “ I don’t know what came over me, Denise.”

Her hand gently reached down and cupped my chin, raising it to look up to her eyes.

“I’d say you just did what came naturally, honey…”

I looked up into her warm, brown eyes and tried to take comfort in them. There was something in them, though, that set me a bit ill at ease.

“Did that calm you down, honey?” she asked sweetly, “having my nipple in your mouth?”

I squirmed a bit, inwardly. “Y-yeah, I guess…”

“Good.” She seemed pleased. “So,” she asked, “wanna share a shower?” Something in her tone told me it was a request that couldn’t be ignored. I was very aroused, yearning for release, and her eyes held promise. She took the initiative and clasped my hand, holding it in her noticeably larger one and led me to the shower like a little boy in tow.

Denise unclasped her bra from behind, its clasp somehow repaired, and stepped into the large shower cubicle to turn on the water. At first her back was to me and the shower head, so I stepped in behind her, watching the water flattening her hair so it would cling to her back, watching the water flowing over her curves, down her gorgeously proud hips and over her firm, muscular backside.

At my present height her bottom was higher than my waist and just in the perfect alignment for me to clasp my hands upon and trace its smooth curves. I found myself doing just that and ran both hands around her waist and then over her hips. I couldn’t help but move closer to her, making myself feel that bit shorter as my face hit the wall of warm, wet hair. Suddenly I wanted to make love to her from behind, as we sometimes did. I felt her thighs part allowing my manhood to travel between them.

“Ooooh…” Denise gave a note of approval as she felt my stiff member brush her inner thighs in search of her sex. Instinctively I looked down to help guide my length to her, but I saw the impossibility of what I was aiming for. Denise’s legs were so dammed long! I hadn’t really appreciated how much longer than my own they had become until I saw that she was so much taller than me I couldn’t hope to bury myself in her this way. Embarrassed and frustrated I immediately rose up on to the highest extent of my tip toes noting her own longer feet set flat and firmly on the ceramic base of the shower before mine.

“A little higher, baby,” Denise said encouragingly, but didn’t realize my predicament. I had no more inches to offer and my tip brushed but a few inches shy of her wetness.

“Oh, just a bit more,” she urged. I felt her fingers reaching for my shaft.

“You’re…mmph…” I struggled, making myself feel totally inadequate, “You’re too tall….”

“Too tall, huh?” she said, her voice wanton, as her hands verified that I was a few inches outside of home, “Oh, it looks like I’m a lot bigger than my man, hmm?” She then bent her knees just a little and braced her hands against the shower wall. With this action my manhood slipped in but I was still straining on my tip-toes. “That’s it, big boy,” she implored, “Push it in all the way.”

I clasped her waist and thrust into her, but my enjoyment was short lived. With only a few strokes as I had to settle back on the soles of my feet; I couldn’t maintain my elevation.

“You mister,” she said mischievously, “are such a tease!” Denise was figuring that I withdrew to prolong things. “But then again,” she continued, turning around to face me, “so am I.”

She towered over me again, the water splashing spectacularly from her bust and right into my eyes. I could hardly see, but the effect was marvelous. I felt, rather than saw, her breasts press into my face. She rubbed her slick skin over me wetly; at one stage my face was practically in her cleavage as her boobs curved out lovingly rubbing aside my cheeks. I was in orbit as she began to slowly wiggle her sexy body, rubbing it close against mine. I could feel her long legs before me, embracing my shaft. She gyrated that fantastically tall body of hers seductively, pushing me back against the cubicle wall. Part of me was surprised at how much she was taking control, but it seemed kind of natural for her to make all the moves.

“Oh god, this makes me feel so tall…” she moaned. I registered her words even in my heightened state of arousal. Trapped by her wet, voluptuous body I searched blindly for her breasts, reaching up to feel them, and how much they had changed relative to me. As my hands groped her flesh, I marveled at her size. In the past, her E-cups always gave me more than enough to satisfy me, but this, now, was more Denise than I had ever felt.

Denise sighed at my attentions, enjoying the feel of my smaller hands, and squeezed her thighs tighter around my dick, once again allowing me to pump into her flesh. When she felt that I had been revved up enough, she lowered herself down, laying as best she could on the shower base with her legs parted. In the torrent of the water I went down on top of her and made love to her, all the time conscious of her larger frame beneath me, which made the experience oddly new and exciting.

Having pleasured ourselves, reality slowly kicked in as I was toweling off in the bedroom. I stood before our full length mirror. I couldn’t see any frank difference in myself, at least not openly. I was still the same guy, I told myself. I still looked normal.

It was only when a beautiful face and a mane of long dark hair came to stand in back of me, looming over me from behind, that I could see how much shorter I had become. Denise looked clean over my head at our reflections with her hands casually resting down upon my shoulders. The hint of her bust I could just se as it stood just proud of my dark head of hair. Looking at the two of us this way made me feel short…very short. My wife, in her bare feet, towered loftily behind me.

Watching Denise’s brilliant white smile gleam, I couldn’t keep my mind from the fact that I had begun to see her differently, maybe more like other, shorter men have always seen her. Her tall, athletic, exceptionally curvy figure was hard to ignore and was what drew me to her in the first place. To me, at my normal size, before I started to shrink, she was always just plain hot. But now, now that I’m no longer quite so tall, I was getting a taste of what her body could mean to men of smaller stature. As tall as she was - with breasts that were enticingly just a bit too big for her frame, with her finely sculpted body, with legs, rear and hips all but bristling with muscle, with her long, elegant neck, beautiful face, and a smile that could hit you like a load of bricks – she was actually a bit intimidating. One could not, I thought, help but stop, stare, admire…and maybe feel a little awe.

“Penny for your thoughts, darling?” She whispered. It was odd, a bit disconcerting, to hear her words coming from above my head. It was as if she was standing on a ladder behind me, only I knew the ladder wasn’t there.

“Oh, uh, no…” I deferred, “nothing, really…”

She looked at me in the mirror, looked at the two of us. “I can’t lie, honey, this is quite a trip, seeing us like this.”

“Yeah, huh?”

“You know, I don’t usually like my men so short,” she said, mischief in her voice, “but you’re just so cute…I think I’ll keep you.” With that Denise pinched my backside and I spun around to playfully tackle her onto the bed, a reflex reaction just like we would normally play fight. However, things were, of course, not normal. Denise stumbled back from my advance but didn’t fall down on the bed as I had planned. Instead, she had the strength to hold off my weight. I had never been in a stand off position when we played before, I always overpowered my wife and easily pinned her down at any given occasion.

Denise was also surprised by her ability to keep me at bay. She was straining as I was, yet there was a half smile upon her face. She obviously realized that I wasn’t as strong as normal. Not wishing to be defeated, and wanting to wipe that little smirk off her face, I ended up tripping her so that she fell and we landed on the bed together. I began to tickle her, still knowing her weak spots. When we finished fooling around we both lay on the bed, gasping.

She spoke first. “Rob, were you really trying back then? You know, to push me down?”

“Oh, uh, not really,” I lied, “I thought I would give you a chance.” Eager for a change of subject, I jumped up from the bed, over to the closet.

“Really?” she said, still pursuing the topic, “We’ll have to have a re-match soon. Because I don’t think you can be much stronger than I am now.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, “Hey, what should I wear?” I stared into the wardrobe at my clothes, hoping she went with the change of subject.

I looked around our closet blankly. All my clothes seemed to belong to another man, a much bigger man.

“I don’t know, honey,” Denise replied, “It’s a good thing we’re going to the shops this afternoon. We can get you some new outfits there.”

“We’re…still going?” I asked, a bit incredulous. I thought my recent shrinking ruled that out.

“Of course! Even more so, now. I need a new jacket, some new tops, a new skirt. But you’re in desperate need of a new everything. I don’t think I have anything to lend you that wouldn’t be too big for you. All of my clothes would drown a little guy like you.”

Her comment stung me a little bit. It wasn’t intended to make me feel bad, though, and looking up at her clothes I knew she was right.

I ended up that afternoon borrowing a pair of her summer shorts, which happened to be pale blue and not very manly, and her tightest black t-shirt that - as she predicted - almost drowned me. For my feet the only solution we could come up with was a pair Denise’s old rubber sandals. We cut the open heel away by an inch or so in order to make it fit. Thankfully it was summer. Finally, my new outfit on, I faced Denise. She couldn’t help but snigger a little.

“Denise, come on, it’s hard enough as it is, contemplating going out like this”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you do look funny in my clothes,” she grinned, as she pulled the loose t-shirt out a little at the sides, “and they are awfully baggy.”

“I’m hoping that I’ll grow into them,” I offered, managing a brave smile. Inside, I was fearful of venturing into the outside world as a man now somewhere just over four feet tall. I was glad she hadn’t insisted on measuring me…I simply didn’t want to know.

I can recall that afternoon very well, as it was the day that the world seemed to have first changed dramatically around me. Things like the height of our cupboards, usually well within my reach challenged me to reach them. I didn’t mention this to Denise, as it made me feel slightly inferior; instead, I did without the items beyond my reach. Another noticeable thing was the car. My driving position had significantly altered and, although I could see over the steering wheel, I was looking at the road from a different perspective. Of course the seat of the car also needed to be pulled in and I decided, having insisted on driving to the retail outlet, that I would let Denise drive back. When we got the shops, a place thankfully far from our home town where no one knew me, I suddenly felt very self aware, stepping out of the car with Denise at my side.

“Everything okay, honey?” she asked me, as we walked through the parking lot, intent on her mission.

“Yeah, it’s just that…I dunno…You look…even taller.”

“Oh, it’s probably these shoes. They aren’t that high, really.”

She had a pair of open-toed sandals with two and half inch heels, which did little to make me feel any more comfortable walking beside her.

“You could have worn flats,” I complained, “Now I look even shorter compared to you.”

“Oh, Rob, I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” she apologized, “And, besides, I always wear heels out, honey. Hardly any of my shoes are flat.” We walked a few more paces before she continued, “I thought you didn’t mind me being a little taller…or maybe you do now, shorty?”

That the was the second time I heard Denise use the term “shorty”, and – though it made me feel strange – I let it slide again. Anyway, of course I loved her in heels; she looked fabulous with her toned legs and rear. But in public, the two of us together, I stood no taller than the base of her chest and was forced to look over it just to meet her eyes. It reminded me of shopping with my mother many years ago. And, to be honest, I was pretty much a child in stature compared to Denise.

“I’m sorry, Denise. It’s just that, well, I feel like everyone will be looking at us and thinking, ‘check out the midget with the tall, good looking brunette’.”

Denise offered a companionate smile and brushed my cheek with her hand. “Well, if they do, they’re just jealous.”

“I guess.”

The shopping trip was a real eye opener. Whether people stared at us or not, I don’t really know; at least, no one was being too obvious. I just kind of convinced myself everyone was taking mental note of the short guy with the tall hot chick. But, looking beyond the two of us, the experience of being around so many tall – or, rather, normal sized - people was also very strange. Particularly the women and girls. I noticed young girls probably in their early teens all walking taller than me, and some older girls even as tall as Denise. It was as if, suddenly, the average height of everyone had increased around me and I was left at my normal size.

Though I felt intimidated when passing by most of the men, also, what was more difficult was still encountering women at my new-found size. Every time I turned around, everywhere I looked, my eyes were drawn to women’s breasts that, for the most part, were somewhere between eye level and chin level with me. Ignoring them became very difficult. I’m sure Denise noticed this, grinning on occasions as I forced myself to look down at my feet.

Then there was the embarrassment of being served by a young female assistant as we shopped for new clothes for me. This was perhaps the worst thing to bear. Denise just about pushed me forward towards her, like a reluctant child, to be measured as we entered the store. I looked at this pretty girl who was obviously hired by the men’s clothing store for her looks. She was perhaps just seventeen, skinny as a rake yet she was tall enough and had a full enough bosom that her cleavage, though modest in her tight sweater, was squaring me straight in the eyes. Not an unpleasant view but one that had me blushing as she stood close to take my collar size and I couldn’t avert my gaze anywhere else for a few seconds. Again I saw Denise smirking as the girl finished and summarized the results, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort she was causing me.

“Okay, sir, if you’ll follow me,” she said, “I can show you some clothes in your size.”

We walked through the department store passing all the adult sections and entered the children’s section, where the girl began to flick through some trousers on a shelf.

“Um, excuse me, miss,” I interjected, “but this is the children’s section. I don’t think that’s really…appropriate…for me. I need some suits and formal wear and men’s casual w-”

“Honey,” Denise interrupted, “I don’t think they cater here for your…unique size.”

I began to appreciate that there was a new humiliation here for me, as I wasn’t classed as an adult anymore for clothing.

“W-well, then…” I sputtered, “w-we’ll have to go to a private tailor…have some clothes custom made…”

“Oh, Rob, I know…but you know we don’t have the money for that,” Denise said, trying to calm me but sounding a little condescending, “I’m sorry, miss, please go ahead.”

“Oh…okay,” the girl continued, perhaps a little uncomfortable, “Sir, we do have some nice suits in our Young Men’s selection, and well, your wife is right. In your sizes there isn’t anything, really, in our men’s section.”

Being told this by a young teenage girl really hit home and I knew, from that moment onwards, that I had to see the doctor as soon as possible to regain the inches I had lost.

After reluctantly buying some clothes from the smaller, early teens range I was led around to some of the women’s clothes shops by Denise, who somehow didn’t manage to buy anything despite trying lots of things on.

The next task was some shoes for me. I had decided a heel would be nice, but they didn’t make anything with a significant heel for men and my new foot size was barely in the adult categories. I knew I could get shoes discounted from work, but if I was to go back to work before I grew back to normal size I would need something a little more respectable than custom beach footwear on my feet. Denise sat down beside me as I tried on some formal style shoes. She picked one up in her hand and inspected it.

“Wow, aren’t these small!” she marveled, “These make my shoes look like boats!”

“Thanks, Denise,” I said a little sharply, but noticed that indeed her right foot was considerably longer in those open toed sandals than the small shoe that I was about to try on beside them.

“Sorry, hon,” she apologized, “I have a habit of not making you feel better, don’t I?”

“Denise, it’s hard enough accepting these things fit me, but it’s even harder to know my own wife’s shoes would slop about on my feet like a pair of clown shoes.”

The air a little tense between us we finished the day of shopping in relative silence. Denise drove us home, trying to lighten the mood with idle chitchat, but I was, perhaps a little irrationally, upset, and didn’t feel like talking.

At home, later that day, Denise walked in on me as I was struggling to put back the new t-shirts I had neatly folded into the top drawers of my dresser. There I was, wobbling on my tip-toes, reaching up and cursing under my breath the decision to have such tall dressers - which at the time, of course, made sense when I was over six feet tall.

“Here let me help you with that, honey,” she offered, “you should have called me.” Denise casually took the items from my hands tucked the t-shirts away. She closed the drawer with no effort; I felt several inches smaller just to see her do with ease what was so challenging for me.

“This is so difficult,” I admitted.

“What’s that?” she asked, stopping and turning in the doorway as she was moving to leave, “What’s so difficult?”

“Being so short like this. I was so adamant, not to resort to using a chair for that. I couldn’t manage it, as hard as I tried…and then you come along and in two seconds it’s all done.”

“Well, honey,” she explained, trying to make me feel better, “You know, I’m pretty tall for a woman, and you…you’re…”

“Go on say it…”

“You’re short, sweetie,” she said plainly, “Very short. And if I can do things, like reaching stuff you, to help - I will. You know you only have to ask.”

“God, things are so different,” I said, sounding exasperated, “I can’t get used to being like this. I’m going to get an emergency appointment at the doctor’s tomorrow and call in sick from work. I’ll have to face up to what ever this is, and the sooner they can get me back to normal the better.” I guess I was just upset and a little depressed, feeling like my pride had taken a good bashing.

“Oh, baby,” Denise said in a comforting voice as she stepped back into the room, towards me, “don’t worry…” She embraced me, wrapping her arms around my back and squeezing me in a loving hug, resting her head on top of mine. The thin cotton summer vest she was wearing plastered my forehead and eyes with the base of her large breasts and I soon found my self pity begin to give way to a growing arousal as I breathed in her scent. I kept myself in check as she stepped back after a moment, noticing my face had disappeared.

“Oops, sorry honey,” she giggled, “I didn’t mean to smother you down there! I forget you’re kind of…at their mercy.”

“It’s…okay.” I was a little hot under the collar and I’m sure she could tell.

“You know,” she said observantly, “I noticed you had this problem earlier today, with all the women around you.”

“What do you mean? What…problem?”

“Your, uh…size, now. Compared to pretty much any grown woman you meet, you’ve got a new perspective,” she explained, a bit coyly, “You know what I mean, honey. At your height, nearly all the women we passed at the shops were giving you a good eye full.”

“Uhhh…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want my wife thinking I was looking at other women’s breasts.

“Must be hard for you honey,” she said, “I know what a boob-man you are.” I started to speak, shocked at her frankness, but she continued. “And suddenly you’re in a world where they’re surrounding you all day, in your face all the time,” she inhaled deeply, demonstrating her size, “including mine.”

“uh…” My eyes goggled.

“Must be very…distracting,” she said, pulling her shoulders back a bit. Her top strained over her big breasts, stretching at its buttons.

I glanced downwards, averting my eyes.

“Oh come on, honey,” she said with a giggle, “It’s no big deal. Like the girl in the shop today…You must have had a pretty good view of her, huh?”

“um, yeah,” I reluctantly agreed, remembering the quite embarrassing episode, and probably flushing a bit.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rob,” Denise said, “I’m not jealous. I actually thought it was quite amusing, seeing you squirm as she measured you.” She fiddled a bit with my collar. “You didn’t like her being so close, did you?”

“It’s just that…well…it’s just a little humiliating, I guess,” I said, “Being th-”

I was about to continue but Denise stepped forward to once again position her breasts right in my face.

“But not if it’s your wife, though, right?” she said teasingly, “You don’t mind if it’s her, with her big rack, do you shorty?”

“Denise,” I said, trying to sound annoyed, taking a step back, “please don’t call me ‘shorty’. That’s several times already today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” she said in conciliation as she looked down over her bust at me and smiled sympathetically, “It just kind of comes out naturally. I’m sorry to offend you…I’ll try hard to remember.” She paused and smiled as if she just thought of something. “You know its like we’re living in a movie, sometimes, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean? How so?”

She put on her best voice-over impression and began, “Rob Carter, a man suddenly finding himself living in a world where he is shorter than every woman he encounters. A man who finds himself at the mercy of women’s breasts. With his towering wife at his side he takes on the challenge of finding the miracle cure that will one day allow him to see over her imposing bust, the day when he will be tall enough to measure up to her and once again, their lips reunited...”

I jabbed her in the side to end her playful banter, unable to keep myself from smiling, and we both ended up laughing about it. The rest of that day was uneventful, I guess, except for when I couldn’t reach to adjust the shower jet and slipped in the cubicle as I tried, grazing my knee.

The following morning I went to the doctor unaccompanied as I told Denise that I would rather be on my own so she went off to do some classes at the health club as normal.

Doctor Richards took my measurements. Needless to say, she was shocked to see me this way and I was a bit sheepish at first. Attractive as she was, it was hard to act the suave, sophisticated dude and flirt appropriately when you’re barely four and a half feet tall.

It was totally inexplicable, as she put it, and as far as she knew unheard of, to see such dramatic changes in the body of an otherwise normal, healthy man. Based upon her medical knowledge, mine was a unique case. But then again, she admitted herself, she was just a GP and my condition was probably far beyond her realm. I looked at her as she measured and weighed me and couldn’t help but appreciate her anew.

Before my “changes”, this young – I would guess we were both about the same age - and quite pretty doctor was petite and quite busty, maybe hiding a pair of breasts beneath her lab jacket that would nearly rival Denise’s, on her much smaller frame. But now, by benefit of my reduced size, she was a total knockout. As she examined me I couldn’t help but notice her perfect skin, her healthy, light auburn hair pulled back in a conservative bun, her finely muscled calves. And, once again, her figure promised to be nothing short of spectacular underneath her medical uniform.

I wouldn’t have called her very short, but she couldn’t have been much taller than five-four or so. Nonetheless, her bust would have likely been just below my nose if we were both standing, but she seemed to take extra effort in remaining as professional as possible and keeping it out of my face during the exam.

Thankfully, therefore, with her modesty and some added discipline of my own I was able to keep my natural reaction from kicking in. Thinking of which, I was beginning to feel that this was another side effect of my shrinking, that I was getting turned on more frequently and more easily, that it was harder to keep my eyes and thoughts off of women’s bodies. I didn’t want to mention this to the doctor, for the perhaps irrational fear of embarrassing us both, but it nagged at me anyway. My mind was drifting with such thoughts during the exam, but I came back to reality as the doctor began to look at some notes on her computer screen.

“Well, you’re still pretty fit, Mr. Carter, just like the tests we ran before,” she explained, eyes still on her monitor, “No drastic changes. The only connection I can make, of course, is that exposure to the gas within that strange canister you broke. My gut feeling is that something in that gas has affected your body, but I can’t trace what it is. Nothing showed up on your blood sample before, but I’m going to take another and send it in for special analysis.” She paused, thinking for a moment, as if weighing several courses of action. “Realistically Mr. Carter,” she continued, “I should refer you to the University’s scientific unit in the city. That’s where the challenging cases get solved.” Again she paused, and turned to look me in the eye. “But I’m thinking you don’t want to be in the spotlight quite yet. Am I right?”

I was quite relieved to hear her say that, as I had feared – conservative clinician as she always appeared in the past – that she was going to rush me out to an involved battery of testing at a specialist’s office immediately. This was a much better course of action. “Nail on the head, doc,” I answered.

“I thought so,” she responded, turning back to her computer, “and while you’re otherwise perfectly healthy, and your height seems to be stable for now, we can investigate your blood work a little more. I don’t see a need to rush you into any guinea pig situations just yet.”

“Thanks,” I replied, still a little surprised – though pleasantly so – at her laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing. I was, I guess, thankful for her current protection of me.

“Now,” she continued, pulling out a notepad and clicking her pen, “I’m guessing you will want me to write a note for work?”

“Actually no, doctor,” I corrected her, “as embarrassing as it might be, I need my job and want to go back to work tomorrow. I need something to focus on right now so that I don’t worry about this all the time.”

“Fair enough, I understand,” she said, “but you realize people will ask questions.”

“Doctor, if you don’t have answers neither do I,” I said with conviction, “I’m just going to have to tell people that I don’t know what’s happening, that the doctors are working on it, and I hope to be back to normal soon.”

“Well, that’s a good outlook,” she said brightly, flashing pearly white teeth, “I promise I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of it, Mr. Carter.”

As I gathered my things to leave and she finished her notes, I brought up one concern that was still preying on me. “Doctor, do you think we’ll find a way to get me back to normal size?”

“A cure…? Or rather, a reversal? I don’t know,” she said honestly, “What’s occurred with you already is remarkable, so who knows at this stage?”

“God, being this size forever is hard to think about,” I admitted.

“Is it something you’d like to talk about,” she inquired, her tone clinical, “with a professional? I can set you up for an appointment with a very good psychiatrist, her office is right down the ro-”

“No, no,” I interrupted, “that’s okay.” It was hard enough getting myself to this appointment. A shrink would be torture.

“Well, don’t worry yourself unnecessarily for now,” she said, trying to reassure me, “until we know the facts, just try and be positive and perhaps enjoy seeing life through a different set of eyes. Not many people get this chance.” She paused a moment, thinking. “You know, you’ve kinda made me feel good today”

“I…have?”

“Well you’re the first adult male patient I’ve had that doesn’t make me feel short.”

“Hm. That’s…great.”

Her closing comment didn’t make me feel much better about things as I walked back home, wrapped up in the looming thoughts of living my life at this size.

The next morning came and I was suddenly less confident about going to work, especially due to the fact that I had called Miss Monroe the morning before to explain my absence, and offering that I would give her the full details in the morning. Dressed in my new work clothes I felt that at least I had things that fit and didn’t have to wear Denise’s clothing. I did, however, rip out all the labels, as they psychologically seemed to be very annoying to me.

Waiting in Gloria’s office, early before the store opened, it seemed to be ages before she turned up. It was one of those grand offices with plush fittings and some very nice antiques on shelves. The most notable of which was a massive tapestry on one of the far walls. Boy, this woman must be loaded, I couldn’t help but think.

“Good morning, Rob,” she said cheerily as she walked in, “glad to see you back.” I was taken back again by her exceptional height, so much more apparent now that I had shrunk again, since last seeing her. Even as she sat down at her desk, I could see a major difference in the way she appeared to me.

“Morning, Miss Monroe,” I offered back, suddenly feeling a bit like a kid in a principal’s office, waiting to be reprimanded. I noticed she was wearing what I would describe as a “power suit”, consisting of a black knee length pin striped skirt and a pink blouse with matching jacket. I could see underneath the desk; she did have damn good legs and they were set off by the high heels she was wearing. Those heels worried me because they looked at least four inches high; I was becoming very good at spotting and judging heel heights over the last few weeks.

Gloria gave me a strange look, casting her eyes across me in a curious fashion. I knew she could tell something was different about me but she couldn’t pin point it.

“So what was it that kept my favorite employee from his post yesterday?” Her use of the word favorite and the smile that backed that word up made me feel uneasy rather than comforted, the message her tone obviously wanted to relay. As I said before, I had often suspected that Miss Monroe had more than a passing interest in me, and – unless I was mistaken - her demeanor today was sending those signals out.

“Well, it’s rather difficult to explain,” I began, “as I haven’t got any hard facts to back it up, at least not medically yet…” I began to unload my story and Miss Monroe just looked wide-eyed and full of total surprise as I continued.

“This is rather too fantastic for me to believe, Rob,” she concluded, a bit incredulous, after hearing me speak my peace.

“It’s all true, Ma’am,” I said, “just look at me, how I’ve changed.”

“You certainly look like you’ve lost weight, but...”

With that, and a deep breath on my part, I stood up. All four-foot five of me.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth, “You’re not joking! You have…shrunk!”

And then, the moment I was dreading came about as all six-foot something of the amazon that was Gloria Monroe in those four-inch heels stood up and walked over to me.

“Oh my god, you are short,” she whispered, walking in a circle around me, as if…inspecting me. I merely stood there, looking at her. I was barely taller than her waist!

“And you used to be nearly as tall as me in my flats,” she marveled, “It’s…phenomenal!” She seemed to take inordinate interest in my condition, and seemed a bit at a loss for words. As for myself, I simply couldn’t get over how enormous she appeared. She was the tallest woman, by far, that I had ever encountered. She had to be close to seven feet tall in those heels.

“So, uh,” I spoke, eager suddenly to get out from under her scrutiny as quickly as I could, “as you can see, I’m…uh, a little vertically challenged, but I think I’ll be okay for work…”

“Well, I hope you won’t find things too…challenging today. Sabrina can pick up the extra slack and remember, I’m always here to help you.” She seemed to brush against me as she walked around my side once more, her hips swaying into me.

“I’m…sure I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure you will too, Rob,” she agreed, “I have to say, you are very brave coming here today like this. I do hope you won’t find working here too…distracting, at your new size.” She said this as she stood looming over me and purposely flattened the small creases in the front of her skirt, drawing my eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, “I guess I’d better…get a move on.”

I was out of that office like a shot. She had made me feel vulnerable without even trying, just standing there, so much taller than me.

Back at my department, Sabrina was knelt on the floor, sorting out boxes of shoes.

“Morning, Sabrina,” I offered with a confident smile and walked straight over to the seat behind the cash till to change the paper roll, one of my normal procedures of the day.

“Hey Rob!” she chirped, “Feeling better today?” She didn’t look up as she was busy with the task at hand.

“Oh, fine, thanks. Uhh…was it busy yesterday?”

“Very. We sold completely out of the Towers. Seems their styles are so in at the minute, with big heels making a comeback,” she explained, fighting back a teasing smile, “Good news for you, huh?”

I recalled that she teased me on heels the other week after Denise came in and said I had a “thing” for them. Though it made it a bit uncomfortable, this was probably a good time to mention my size and get it over with.

“Good news, glad they’re selling well,” I said, steeling myself, “though, it’s funny…but it looks like I’m the one in need of heels to be around my wife nowadays.” My comment didn’t get quite the reaction I expected out of Sabrina as she stood up and turned to face the high shelves, looking up at them.

“Yeah, I guess that wife of yours must be pretty tall nowadays wearing those two pairs I sold her. She’s tall even without heels,” Sabrina said, letting out a breath of exasperation. “Man, I wish I was tall like her. Look, there’s still some left in stock up on these high shelves. Would you mind getting these down for me?”

I took a hard gulp looking at the back of my pretty assistant as she stretched up to the highest shelves. She wasn’t close to being able to grab the boxes up there, but she was certainly closer than I would be! Sabrina, I’m certain, was nearly a foot taller than me and there was no way she wasn’t going to notice.

I stood up and walked behind Sabrina, noticing her shoulder line was above my eyes. This was weird. Sabrina used to look like such a little thing, with a slim frame and petite features. Now she didn’t fit that description at all; in my eyes, in fact, she got her wish: she was tall.

“Sabrina I don’t think I can be of any help,” I said, trying to keep my voice strong, “You are, well, uh…. a lot taller than me now.”

Saying that caught Sabrina’s attention. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder to where I should be standing, instead looking straight over me, seeing no one there.

“Rob?” she asked.

“Down here.”

I looked up at her as she turned around, her face tilting down. Her eyes went wide as they set on me with a startled look.

“What the…!” She stepped back, incredulous. “Rob! What…what happened to you? Am I dreaming? Am I suddenly taller than Miss Monroe or something?”

My face, in response, told her it was all too real. Sabrina just looked down at me unable to speak for a few seconds as it all registered.

“So,” I tried to joke to break her silence, “it looks like you’re the one who’s going to be handling all the high shelves from now on.”

“Oh my god, Rob! You’re a shrimp!” she exclaimed, not able to stop herself from giggling, “Your so little! Gosh, I’m way taller than you are!” She eyed me with animated interest and took a step closer to me. “You make me feel so…big! How is this possible? What happened?”

I explained as much as possible, without mentioning the theory that it was connected to the gas in case the situation became sensitive, and tried to stay as positive as possible, tried to sound confident that things would soon sort themselves out.

“So…they don’t have an explanation?” she asked, her eyes still wide with amazement, “And you’re gonna be really short like this, for ever?”

“No…I hope not, Sabrina,” I assured her, again – I hoped - sounding more confident than I was, “They’ll find a way to reverse this, I’m sure. But for now you’re the tall one around the shoe department, so I need to rely on your help a little more.”

“No problem, little boss man,” she said, eyes glinting in amusement, “you can rely on big Sabrina.”

I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation and, with a smile, instructed, “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s get back to work.”

Most of the morning was spent by Sabrina trying to come up with new little jokes about my height. Like, when she asked if I had been “short changed” by one of our customers after a sale. Or, when I told her a little curtly to clean up some empty boxes, she told me to “not to be so short with her.” I frowned a lot but I knew she was just playing and had to get used to this banter, I suppose. I actually took it as a positive; maybe if I looked at ease with these changes myself, maybe others wouldn’t see it as such a big deal.

Nonetheless, the day went by very slowly for me. I really felt every inch of my height loss as I attended to women who all seemed to be tall and whose foot sizes all seemed very large. It was even odd handling the stock today; at one stage I sat staring at a pair of court shoes that happened to be Denise’s size. I toyed with the shoe, so large in my hands, and found it hard to believe she would ever fit into it. It looked like a custom sneaker built for a female basketball player.

“Guess your wife will have to put away her high heels now, huh Rob?” Sabrina startled me and I rapidly put the shoe away in its container.

“What? Oh, uh, yeah,” I responded, “I suppose she doesn’t really need them around me, now, huh?”

“She must be like five-nine or five-ten, right?” Sabrina asked, “She must really tower over you, even in bare feet. With any heels on she must make you feel tiny.” Her conversation wasn’t helping my self-esteem, but everything she said was pretty obvious.

“Yeah, she’s five-nine,” I admitted, “and, yes, it makes her look…pretty big now.”

“Does she still wear heels?”

“Uh…sometimes.” I was suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Really? Wow…” Sabrina said, amazed, obviously trying to picture the scene. “How does she look then?”

“I dunno…taller.” I wasn’t sure how much more I about this I wanted to discuss with Sabrina. But then again, I didn’t want to seem like I was upset by the situation.

“Wow…well, even I’m tall in comparison to you,” she said, “What’s it like being so small to your own wife?”

“Uh, well, it’s difficult sometimes, you know,” I explained, “I rely on her a lot more.”

“Doesn’t it get embarrassing?”

“What…what do you mean?”

“Y’know, having her so much bigger than you?” she continued, “And, what do you guys do, y’know, …in bed?”

“Sabrina!” I exclaimed, “I don’t think we should be talking about this!”

“Okay, okay!” she apologized, hands up in conciliation, “Sorry!”

“Now, let’s get back to work.”

“Whatever you say, boss…”

Though I was able to extricate myself from that situation with Sabrina, her question was the same that was posed to me two weeks later by my friend Peter.

I recall that evening well. It was the first time Denise and I had attempted to socialize since I had grown so small. My height had been stable, and for that I was thankful. But the reality of life lived under five feet tall is very different than that at six foot four. Just entering a room full of people was difficult enough when you were used to seeing across most of the crowd to make eye contact with friends. Now, if I entered a room, all I would see was women’s breasts and men’s chests surrounding me and would have to look up to recognize anyone. Entering back into our normal social circle was a big step for me. But, it was one Denise was keen that I make, as she wanted us to try and live a normal life –at least as much as was possible.

As the days had gone by, my height stable at just under four and a half-feet tall, Denise’s attitude had slowly changed. She seemed different now, more confident, more assertive. Not just around me, but in general. My reduced height became less and less of a problem to her. In fact, she admitted she actually didn’t mind the new me and part of her enjoyed being so much taller. This all became even more clear as we dressed that night, ready to meet Peter and his wife Cindi at a party.

“Are you ready yet, Rob?” I heard Denise call from downstairs as I fixed my shirt. Looking into the mirror I frowned at the result. The shirt selections I could wear didn’t exactly match my tastes but I guess what I was wearing would have been very fashionable for a ten or eleven year old going to a family disco.

“Just coming, hon.” I walked to the top of the stairs to see Denise at the base, looking back up. She smiled at me.

“Oh, very trendy, darling,” She grinned, teasing, but quickly saw that I wasn’t in the mood for it. She knew I was a little uneasy about going out tonight, and quickly added, “You actually look very good, Rob. You do. I’m impressed.”

I managed a smile and began to walk down the stairs. “Thanks.” I knew she was trying to be understanding, and realized I must look at least a little bit ridiculous.

Denise, however, looked absolutely stunning. Her thick mass of dark hair was pushed up on her head in a style that let several stray lengths curl around her face. Her make up was immaculate, making the best of her big brown eyes and full, luscious lips. Her outfit was very racy, especially for Denise, who could tend to be modest about her eye-popping figure in large settings. It consisted of a very simple, incredibly tight, sleeveless black dress with a low neckline and a skirt cut well above her knees. She had put a lot of effort into herself tonight - she was obviously very excited about the evening - and it showed.

As I walked down the stairs, looking at her, I had to keep reminding myself that she was mine. Looking like a sexpot sent from God, this was my wife, I marveled. My eyes continued to drink her in, and she smiled at me, watching me look at her.

And then, about half way down the stairs, I noticed them. Her new, black leather boots. I recognized them in an instant from the “Tower” collection at work, and knew they sported either a six- or and eight-inch heel option. This was, of course, the other pair Sabrina had sold her, which I hadn’t yet seen. I kept my smile but inwardly my heart sunk. Why oh why did she have to wear them tonight?

As I finished descending the stairs, my eye level dropped from above her head, to level with her own, to her chest, and at last with her taut stomach. And, finally, there was Denise, my wife, smiling down on me like never before, looking like the cat that caught the canary. I felt tiny.

“Wow,” I said, dropping my gaze down to her feet, “those are…some heels.”

“Yeah,” she replied, “no wonder they call them the ‘Tower’ collection.” It was obvious she enjoyed the fact that she was, in these boots, unnaturally tall. She not only loomed over me, she would loom over just about anyone.

“Yeah, huh?” I said, “They do make you look…tall.” I looked forward to see her stomach and thin waist. Her breasts jutted out, over my head above. I looked down at her long legs and curvy hips, so shapely in this short dress, and as I did Denise twisted her leg to show it off and demonstrate the tremendous heel on her boot.

“I’ll probably be a little taller than most of the guys at the party wearing these, huh?” she giggled as she continued to present her heels, “I’m six foot five with these on…isn’t that something?”

“A little taller? You’re going to tower over every guy there!” I exclaimed. She just giggled in response, as if she loved the idea. “And you went for the full eight-inch version, Denise? Not the smaller one?” I asked, incredulous. I was getting a little worked up. “Honey I know it may have been fun to wear those when I was six four. Even then, you’d be taller than me. But just look at us now, Denise! I look ridiculous next to you! Like a midget! And in front of all my friends?! I mean, you must be, what? Two feet taller than me!”

“Yeah?” She didn’t appear to be too concerned

“Everyone will be looking at you!” I added. She didn’t seem to mind the idea, unusual for Denise, who once again did not usually flaunt her figure excessively.

“Oh, Rob,” she said, trying to defuse the situation, “don’t be so dramatic. They’re just boots. You like them don’t you?”

“Denise, that’s not the point. They look great on you, your legs look great in them…but…”

“Rob, face it. I’d tower over you if I went in flats, if I went in bare feet. If I’m going out, if I wear a dress like this, I can’t just wear flats. Besides, I don’t own anything flat but my Nikes,” Denise explained, “Anyhow, I figure that if I wear this extreme pair of heels tonight, I’ll be taller than the guys and - in some way -that’ll make them feel short themselves, and perhaps they’ll be more sensitive towards you.”

I tried to follow her logic, but she was reaching. She just wanted to wear the damn boots, to be a bazillion miles tall. Anyway, she seemed to have her mind made up.

“So, you’re not going to slip any smaller ones on then?” I asked, hopeful.

“Not tonight, honey. I’ve been dying to christen this pair for a while and this party is just the excuse. Besides, Cindi bought a matching pair of these last week and we both said we would wear them together.”

Oh great, I thought, that’s all I need. Cindi towering way over me all evening as well. Both Cindi and Peter, good friends of ours since high school, had heard about my condition. In fact, I had noticed Denise recently seeming to go out of her way to let people know as she gossiped to other women on the phone. I protested at first, but Denise simply scolded me for being too dramatic. Maybe she was right; I shouldn’t hide from it, I guess.

Nonetheless, neither Pete nor Cindi had actually seen me yet. I knew Peter was tall; he and I used to be on the basketball team together at school. I think he was six one or so as we used to stand nearly eye-to-eye. Cindi, on the other hand, wasn’t tall at all, probably five-three or thereabout.

“Can you even walk in those?” I asked, still a bit miffed but becoming resigned to the facts.

“No problem,” she said with pride, “watch.” She walked along, as if on a catwalk, down our hallway. Her hips swayed fluidly. Wow, I remember thinking, that woman has a walk. She twirled at the end with the natural grace of a super model. It was as if she was born for those heels; Denise was an expert. Sometimes women amaze me.

I started suddenly when I heard the honk of a horn outside. Our taxi. Without further ado, Denise grabbed her full-length coat and we headed out to catch our ride.

After a drive of about twenty minutes, we arrived at the party, which was being held at a meeting hall. The occasion was an eighteenth birthday bash for Peter’s cousin, Jessica, who I knew, maybe a little too well. Like Gloria Monroe, I had the feeling she was another admirer of mine. But, that was a long time ago – it had been at least five years since we last saw one another, and teenage crushes come and go. And anyway, what self-respecting teenage girl would retain a crush on a guy four and a half feet tall? Denise, fully aware of our history, teased me during the cab ride that Jessica was now a woman and could legally chase me. She found it a bit of fun that I had a young girl pining after me since she was thirteen years old.

With these thoughts in my head we entered the busy hall, having left Denise’s coat on the racks provided in the cloakroom. As I feared, a few heads turned to look at us as we strode in, and I felt those eyes laying heavily upon me and my wife, drawing a comparison. Denise put a hand down on my shoulder and, stooping to my level for a moment, whispered reassuringly in my ear “They’re just jealous. They’re staring at the enormous brunette that’s just walked in, not you.”

Though a bit taken with her confidence, I hoped she was right. I must admit I would have stared at her too, the way she looked tonight. I didn’t see our friends and relied on Denise to look over the crowd of milling bodies to locate them.

“Pete’s at the bar,” she told me, removing her hand from my shoulder, taking mine palm in hers to guide me, “this way.”

I kind of felt like I was in tow with Denise, as she was all but dragging me through the crowd. She seemed eager to get into action tonight and bubbled with an almost reckless energy. Finally, as the crowd parted before us, there was Pete. His eyes goggled over his pint first at me, and then – even more so – at Denise.

Seeing Denise like this must be sending Pete for quite a loop, I thought. He always, I knew, had a fascination with Denise – or, rather, should I say, with Denise’s breasts. I was - I admit it - a tit-man, but Pete was a whole other story. He was absolutely fixated, enthralled, mesmerized…what have you…by women’s breasts. He had, I knew, a fetish which must have run ten miles deeper than my own – or at least he had more trouble hiding it. And Denise was very, very, very well-blessed.

I remember being back in high school, before Denise and I started dating, listening to Pete talk about our classmate Denise “The Body” Stevens and her “endowments”. Pete and I were buddies from very young, and when Denise began to blossom as a teen, far outpacing the other girls at school, I would get from him almost daily updates on her development. I had always urged him to ask her out, obsessed with her as he was, but he was too nervous, too intimidated. Finally, he started dating Cindi – known more around school for her incredible, god-given rear than her chest. Also very pretty, very popular, just not as tall or voluptuous as Denise. So, tired of just watching her grow (and grow and grow!), I took my own advice and asked Denise out. The rest, as they say, is history.

I know Pete doesn’t resent anything at all, that he’s very happy with Cindi, even if her chest is, though healthy, only average. But, though he would never say anything to me, or certainly try anything with her, I am very aware of the way he looks at Denise. And tonight she was giving everybody a lot to look at.

Pete was a builder, always large in frame and, as I mentioned earlier, rather tall. I knew I would feel puny before his bulky presence. But, from where he sat on his bar stool, he looked…thinner, at least thinner than usual.

“Holy shit! Rob, is that you?” he exclaimed, putting his beer down on the bar.

“Hey, Pete,” I said, a little uneasy, “How’s it going?”

Pete moved to get down off his bar stool - maybe to, what? give me a hug? – but I stopped him.

“No, that’s okay, bud,” I insisted, “don’t get up.” At my height, the last thing I wanted from him was a hug.

“You sure?” Pete asked me, offering me the high stool. I waved him off and he remained in his seat. He then looked over at, or should I say up at, Denise. “And, hey Denise. You look great.” I caught him, of course, giving her the quick once over, unable to resist trying to catch a glimpse. I loved him, but what a dope.

Denise lent in and kissed his cheek, smiling. She was, I think, enjoying the reaction she was causing about the crowded room, at the packed bar. Glances, peeks, and out-and-out stares were coming at her from all directions. She would have attracted looks, of course, without the heels, even without as revealing a dress, but tonight she was like a magnet for eyeballs, the sight of her was quite extraordinary.

“So,” I asked, “where’s Cindi?” Denise, I could tell, was wondering the same thing, and had been scanning the room from her vantage point on-high.

“Oh, you know her,” Pete replied, picking his glass up once again, “she’s downed a couple already, probably in the ladies’ room.”

“Getting herself gorgeous?” I confirmed, as I tried to catch the bartender’s eye.

“Yeah,” he replied, waving down at the bartender himself, trying to get his attention, “freshening the war paint again, at least.”

“And, hey,” I commented, “you look good, buddy. Have you lost some weight?”

“What? Oh, me?” he asked, a bit taken aback. The bartender was moving our way, thankfully. “No, well…yeah, I guess.” The bartender settled at the bar and was talking to Denise, who was leaning in, presumably, to order our drinks. “It’s this new…uh, diet that Cindi’s got me on.”

“What do you gentlemen need?” the bartender asked, interrupting us, giving me a once over. Denise had a glass of white wine in hand already.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Pete answered, “two pints of bitter.”

“Well, anyway,” I told Pete, “keep it up.”

Though the first few moments proved awkward for Peter and me, with his clumsy offerings of sympathy for my ‘condition’, the three of us all soon had fresh drinks and began chatting like normal. I sort of regretted not taking Pete’s offer of his chair because that would have at least gotten me a little closer to eye level with everyone, and made conversation easier.

“Hey Rob,” Pete asked, watching me trying to manage my beer with one hand, “you can still manage a full pint, huh?”

“Of course he can,” came a cheery female voice from behind me, “he’s pint sized now!” I would recognize that voice anywhere: Cindi had walked up behind me from the crowd. I turned around and suddenly there was a firm pair of bouncing C-cups right in my face, covered - or should I say almost covered - by a very thin, see through white top that displayed the decorative silk bra beneath it. I never realized Cindi had such a nice pair! It had actually been some time since I’d seen her in anything revealing…maybe Pete had finally convinced her to get implants?

My eyes darted quickly away from this spectacular view to see a short, spangled skirt painted tightly over her amazing hips and some nice legs extending down into a pair of identical knee boots, just like Denise was sporting. It was no wonder that Cindi appeared so tall to me.

“Well hello down there, little guy!” she giggled. I could tell immediately that her normally bubbly personality was enhanced with some alcohol.

“Hey Cindi,” I replied, backing up a step, “how’s things?”

I looked up at the gleaming white smile upon an angelic, luminous face framed by a mass of blonde hair. Cindi, I had to admit, was a gorgeous woman, with a pair of mischievous, sparkling blue eyes. She kept herself in good shape, also; although she was stuck behind a desk all day as a receptionist at an attorney’s office, she spent a good deal of time at the health club, often taking Denise’s aerobics classes at night. From this angle, though, she looked so different.

Cindi and I had always had a fun relationship, I guess. She was, as I said before, bubbly. Very bubbly, in fact, sometimes just this side of irritating. But, she was my best friend’s wife – and my wife’s best friend - and I tried not to let her annoy me. She was also a relentless flirt, and always voiced in public her full intentions of stealing me from Denise when Pete meets his untimely end. Of course she was kidding, and seemed committed to Pete in every way. The two balanced one another out and made a good pair.

“Oh, Denise,” Cindi exclaimed, ruffling my head of hair, speaking right over my head, “you didn’t tell me he was this short!” She looked down at me. “I just said to Peter, on the way here, that for a change I won’t be the only shorty of the pack. But now…Wow! I feel pretty big next to you!”

She giggled, unable to believe her eyes. I just held my tongue as Denise looked on, bemused, finishing her first glass of wine and looking for another. “And you look so sweet like this!” Cindi continued, her face scrunching up like she was talking to a child, “just like a little man!”

In a sudden, unexpected move, Cindi reached out around my sides with her hands and lifted me up to swing me around in a circle before putting me back on my feet. I was speechless. Little Cindi had just lifted me clean up off the floor and tossed me around like a child!

I looked around, hoping someone would come to my defense, because that was embarrassing! Denise was stifling a laugh as the bartender brought her second drink, not sure how I would react. Pete, embarrassed a little himself, just playfully scolded her.

“Put him down you ditz,” he admonished his wife, “you’re embarrassing the poor guy. I’m sure he feels small enough already without you rubbing it in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized halfheartedly, “I just couldn’t resist. It’s so nice to be bigger than someone for a change.”

“Well, look at you, hon,” Pete continued, as he downed the rest of his pint in one, “in those ridiculous heels.”

“Oh pipe down!” Denise shot back playfully at Pete, coming to her friend’s defense. Drink in hand, she moved in closer to Cindi and I. “These are great, aren’t they Cindi?” she asked, looking us up and down, “I might get some of their new sandals, too.” As tall as Cindi was to me, I suddenly appreciated how much bigger my wife was, who towered over both of us considerably.

“Well you don’t need a pair of good heels as much as me, girl,” Cindi marveled, looking her friend up and down herself, “God, you’re enormous in those! Look at you and those legs of yours! You’re like some sort of, I dunno…amazon!” Cindi’s enthusiastic wonder was a bit discomfiting to me. “I mean, isn’t she huge, Peter? I bet she’s even taller than you!”

“I am,” Denise stated simply, as if in a challenge, and smiled across at Pete. Peter, who simply sat there and didn’t raise and argument, looked a bit sheepish as he turned and caught the bartender for Cindi, who was empty.

“Uh, why don’t you two girls go dance,” I suggested, as Pete got his wife’s cocktail, “Pete and I have some catching up to do.” Just then the bar patron sitting next to Pete got up and left. I moved towards his seat.

“Come on, Denise,” Cindi said, “let’s leave these two to gossip.” As we both moved to the bar, she to get her drink and me to get my seat, she stepped in extra close to me, playfully intimidating me with her size. “But you, little man,” she added as an aside, “aren’t leaving tonight without a dance for me, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I shrugged her off, hoping she would forget my promise in the haze of alcohol that was soon sure to descend over her, and struggled myself up onto the bar stool to join Pete. The two women walked off to towards the dancing crowd beyond.

“Get that down yer trap, mate,” Pete urged me, nodding at my half-full beer, “cuz here’s another.” I eyed the new pint warily. Pete just winked at me, “cheers.”

I actually hadn’t had a drink since my recent shrinking and – besides feeling larger in my hand - there was definitely a bit more liquid in the glass. I would have to pace myself, I thought, and still sipped at my first pint.

Enjoying my time with Pete, the two of us for the moment just a couple of guys, we sat and watched the women over on the dance floor. Both our wives were naturally good dancers and still moved surprisingly well in their outlandish heels. We chatted for a while about general things, but I sensed Pete’s curiosity about my condition, and I decided to break the ice a bit more.

“Is it just me, Pete,” I asked, surveying the crowd, “or do all the women seem a bit taller here?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he replied, sipping his drink, eyes narrowing, “it’s this new style, these goddamn heels.” Sure enough, upon closer inspection, many of the women wore significant heels. I even recognized a number of pairs from the “Tower” collection, though none quite as dramatic as Denise and Cindi’s.

“Hmm,” I added. There really were a lot of high heels out there. Many women, at least those dancing with men, equaled or at times outmatched their partners in height. “Big is in, huh?”

“I guess.”

The two of us looked out over the crowd some more. Our wives had taken, as most attractive women do at a party, to dance in a group with the other attractive women. They looked, well, awesome. I saw a roving waiter bring them each another drink.

“And, speaking of big,” I continued, hiding a little smile behind my drink, “what’s up with Cindi? Did she…y’know?”

Pete looked confused. “Did she…?”

Poor Pete. I knew this would embarrass him. “Y’know,” I said, putting down my glass and holding my palms to my chest, “have…surgery?”

He flushed red. “Oh, uh, that,” he stammered, “yeah…no…no surgery.” He took a nervous sip from his beer. “She’s just been, I dunno, eating well.”

“Must be great for you, huh?”

“Mm, yeah, I guess,” he answered, obviously eager for a change of subject. Good friend that I was, I asked him about last night’s baseball game.

After a good deal of easy conversation and several more drinks on his part, Pete got his courage up and eventually got around to the same question that Sabrina had posed a couple of weeks earlier, as we watched our wives dance.

“So, Rob,” he asked, growing tipsy but still a bit tentatively, “what’s it like being so small…with a wife like that?”

“Geez, buddy, you have no idea,” I said, “I mean, everyone looks tall to me, even, like, Cindi, my assistant at work, Doctor Richards.” Had I mentioned that yet? Pete and I shared the same doctor. “It’s sometimes like…like the world swelled up around me, and I was left normal.”

“You mean, like everything swelled up?” he said with a coarse, bawdy tone to his voice and a waggle of his brow, obviously insinuating Denise’s breasts.

“Yeah, everything,” I agreed, chuckling, ballooning my palms again over my chest. Surprised at my own frankness, I was feeling better than I had in weeks, probably due in part to the small bit of booze I’d had. It was good to relax with an old friend. Pete and I both shared a laugh, and I noticed the wives look over our way.

“Man, I can’t imagine that!” Pete said with wonder, though he obviously was giving it some effort.

“Denise has been taller than me for some time now. I actually thought I’d get used to it,” I explained, “but…well…she’s a lot of woman.”

Peter slapped me on the back and laughed, just as Denise and Cindi approached. They looked like they’d enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, and had had a few more drinks in the process.

“What’s the joke, boys?” Denise asked wryly as she and Cindi looked us both over.

“Rob was just saying, Denise,” Pete joked, stifling a giggle, “that he really has his hands full with you”

“Oh was he now?” she asked. The wine was certainly starting to have its way with Denise; her hair, along with her eyes, had become a bit untamed. It made me, in fact, a little nervous. “Well, my little Rob likes a tall, dominant woman, someone to take care of him…don’t you, honey?” Denise gave me a flirty look as she strolled back towards me and sank a large gulp of her wine. Wow. She was getting drunk, I started to realize.

Pete looked at the two of us and lowered his gaze. She rustled my hair and stood next to me on my stool. I was aware of her large breasts, still heaving a bit with exertion from the dance floor, in my side vision. “Were you telling him, honey, what my boobs feel like now?” she asked, “Now that they’re the size of your head?” One hand on me, she moved in back of me, behind where I sat.

“Oh Denise!” Cindi chirped in, sipping her cocktail, “Stop! He’s turning all red!”

“Yeah, he likes his ladies big,” Denise continued, putting her arms down over my shoulders, resting her breasts against the back of my head. They felt huge, heavy. “Big big big.”

“Omigod!” Cindi chortled, spilling a bit of her drink, “Denise! They are! They are as big as his head!” Pete merely looked on quietly and shifted in his seat as his wife laughed and pointed. “God, Denise, your boobs look huge like that!”

“Mmmm…” I heard Denise purr, behind me, as she pulled me in a bit tighter, “Do they?”

“Yeah,” Cindi agreed, eyes wide, “his head looks so tiny!” Cindi moved in closer, pinching a cheek in my hand. “Oh, my, you are so….cute!” she said, pursing her lips. Okay, I’m all one to go along with a joke but this was getting humiliating. “Now, little mister,” she continued, as if addressing a young boy, “you promised me a dance.”

Damn. No chance her forgetting this, huh? I took a deep breath, steeled myself. It was, anyway, a quick out from this situation.

“That’s a good idea, isn’t it honey?” Denise said from behind me, “Have a dance with Aunt Cindi.”

That was it. “Hey, would you two stop treating me like a kid?” I snapped, pulling a bit away from Denise, turning around best I could to face up at her, “I mean-“

“Oh oh oh! The little man is upset!” Denise replied, interrupting me. To my frustration, she sounded amused, and looked down on me with a giddy smile as Cindi continued to giggle, looking on. “What?” Denise continued, “Does he need a little titty to calm him down?” And then, to my incredulous chagrin, she suddenly mashed her right breast into my face, holding the back of my head with her hand. “Here, baby,” Denise said, “this’ll keep you quiet.” Cindi hooted in delight.

“Hey!” I cried, pushing myself away from her with what strength I could muster, “Denise!” She may have been drunk, but I was beginning to get angry at her insensitivity.

“We’re just having a little fun, baby, okay?” Denise explained, doing her best now to defuse me. “Now go on,” she said, urging me off my seat, “show Cindi your moves.”

“Yeah, come on, Rob,” Cindi chimed in, taking my hands in hers, helping me down, “Aunt Cindi won’t hurt you!” I rolled my eyes, trying to play along and find humor in the situation, feigning exasperation as she led me away. Cindi backed herself out - swaying that amazing rear of hers to the music, trying to get me moving to the beat – while all the while grasping my hands, locking her gaze to mine.

I began to forget my annoyance as I looked at Cindi. Cindi tended to have that type of effect on men, as most beautiful women do. Her smile was wide and white, unpredictable, her eyes glimmering. She buzzed with enthusiasm and was much more aggressively flirty than I was used to, demanding my attention. In fact, I couldn’t help but think that there was something…predatory about her.

When we made it to the dance floor, I loosened up as best I could and began to dance. I was, however, incredibly aware of Cindi and all the other dancers around me. Everyone was so…big, and probably had too much alcohol in them. At first I had concerns for my safety; I didn’t want to get an elbow in the head or whatever. But then, my concerns began to develop elsewhere.

Cindi was obviously in rare form. At first I thought she was just drunk, a little more uninhibited than normal. But, as she began to dance closer to me, at first clutching my arm every now and then, I began to get a little nervous. Her body was, shall we say, very distracting and her perfume very alluring. She moved expertly, and the designer bra she openly displayed below her nearly transparent top ensured that her animated C-cups kept catching my eye.

She was doing her best, I realized, to show off her body – that newly full chest bouncing, her famous hips and rear swaying lusciously. She would toss her hair behind her shoulders with both hands and stretch her neck to the ceiling, inviting me to look her over as she moved effortlessly to the music. And then, catching me looking at her, she would smile, as if in secret between us, and embellish her dance a bit more. I did have to admit, though not nearly as statuesque as Denise, Cindi had a fantastic body and clearly knew how to use it. I couldn’t help but have a few impure thoughts, which was obviously exactly what Cindi was after. Managing to direct my gaze to my feet seemed my only escape, which I had to do for only a little bit until the music changed to a slow track. I smiled up at Cindi, turned and began to walk off the dance floor.

But, before I could take another step, she grabbed the collar of my shirt from behind. “Oh no you don’t, little man,” she chastised me. I was suddenly turned around and engulfed by her body pressing against me as her arms reeled me in close. I tried to hide my mild sense of alarm as I looked up into her eyes, which fluttered their long, dark lashes tipsily.

“Come on, loverboy, hold me tight,” she whispered, “like you mean it.” My hands naturally seemed to be hovering around the tops of her thighs if I settled them comfortably around her, and her firm rear end slid into my hands as she shimmied up and down so that I was clasping its enticing curvature through her skirt. Man, this chick had an ass, and I have to admit I always secretly relished the infrequent opportunities I got to encounter it. Tonight, however, was a little different story.

I could see that she was really getting off on the fact that being so much bigger than me put her in control of this embrace. Her arms fell purposefully to my lower back and eased me into her so that my hips pressed into her thighs and my face rubbed up against her chest, the material of the thin top that draped over her bra a thin shield between my skin and hers. Her warmth against my cheek, I was suddenly surrounded by her strong perfume and, below that, another scent, even more sensual than the flowery bouquet that I usually associated with Cindi. Hard to describe, but it seemed to draw me towards her.

With my nose almost in her cleavage, I had an extreme close up of her nearly exposed breast and could even tell that the pattern of her silk bra was supposed to resemble waves. I looked up, feeling very conscious of my forced perspective, and Cindi giggled at me. She pulled me in tighter and rested her chin on top of my head, now absolutely plastering me into her cleavage as she motioned us slowly back and forth to the music. I flushed, thinking how we must look to the crowd, and worried that Denise was looking on and might be feeling a bit territorial. But, then again, with the mood that these two women were in, Denise would probably just be tickled pink by this display.

And, though I hate to admit it, part of me was actually sort of enjoying this. Cindi, always a relentless flirt, was being just so damn aggressive, turning me on, teasing me on purpose with her provocative dancing, her amazingly fit body. But she was my own friend’s wife, my wife’s best friend, and I had my lips less than an inch from her nipple! A nipple that, by the way, was proudly announcing its presence through her bra. Something about that nipple, as I gazed at it in extreme close up, was unnaturally enthralling, just like the underlying scent of her skin. I pulled back a little, uncomfortable with my developing feelings. She noticed me retreating and just pulled me back in close, forcing her body upon me once again.

There was nowhere safe to look but up at the underside of her chin, the tender flesh that plummeted down from her neck into that beckoning cleavage. As we danced, Cindi seemed tickled pink by my predicament and inhaled the fullness of her bust into my face in an exaggerated way, still holding me tight. By this point, her nipples had announced themselves even more and threatened to graze against my nose with each swaying of her hips. I again tried to move my face away from her, avoiding rubbing them with my face.

Cindi saw this and she giggled. “Oooh! Am I poking you in the eye there, sweeetie?”

“Uh, no,” I mumbled in complaint, raising to my tip toes to raise my mouth above her chest, “but…Cindi…”

“There, is that better?” she asked, helping to hold me higher, her hands nearly under my rear. My calves immediately began to vice their complaint; despite her help, I couldn’t keep up on my toes for long. But soon, just as the song began to end, I heard Denise’s voice behind me.

“Mind if I join you two?”

As the music changed tempo, the beat picking up to a faster pace, Cindi let go of me. I turned to see Denise’s flat stomach, and gazed up at her grinning face. Though I was at first thankful for the release, I had suddenly found myself between these two towering women, both of whom were obviously drunk as they began to gyrate, bumping and grinding me into one another with their bodies. On one side Cindi, looming over me with a delighted look on her face, and then my own wife who was just as eager, it seemed, to have her way with me as she sandwiched me between her taut stomach and her friends ample chest. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, because part of me certainly did, but I didn’t feel like much of a man between the two of them.

When the music stopped after one song, the DJ announced that it was time to raise a glass to the birthday girl. I saw my opportunity and tried to sneak past my dancing partners and make for the safety of my bar stool and the cold lager that awaited. However, Denise had other plans for me. No sooner had I turned to head for the other side of the room when I felt two large hands on my shoulders and a cascade of dark brown hair fall over me. Denise was so tall in her boots that she could lean over me from behind and look down to catch my face.

“Ohhhh no you don’t!” she insisted, turning me back around, “You’re staying right…here…with…us.” I found myself still in the crowd, held fast on the dance floor, standing amongst all the others as they listened to Peter’s uncle Joe, giving a little birthday speech for his daughter Jessica. I recognized the voice, but standing amidst all the tall people my view was just a lot of backs.

Denise, in the meantime, was standing guard on me, having made me turn around. It was fine for her to watch the proceedings as all six foot whatever of her rose well above all the people in our immediate area, but I couldn’t even see Jessica or Joe and felt like a kid among grown ups.

Cindi obviously saw my plight and snickered from behind me as she leaned into my ear and whispered, “Can’t see what’s going on from down there, hm little man?”

Denise heard the comment and giggled, moving a step to the side and pulling Cindi behind me. Soon I had the strange sensation of some weight pressing down on my head, and noticed a few odd looks from others near us in the crowd. I felt Cindi’s body warmly mashed behind my own, the heat from her stomach pressed against my upper back. I realized quickly that it wasn’t her hands or elbows that she had rested on my head, it was the weight of her breasts! Her heavy softness covered more than half my head.

“Oh, Cindi!” Denise chortled softly, trying to choke back a less-than-dainty snort, “Cut that out!”

“Oh, but Denise,” Cindi tittered, attempting a whisper, “he’s such a perfect height for this!” With her laughter, I felt Cindi’s breasts jiggle atop me. “You never warned me how these things can get so heavy!”

Denise and Cindi nearly dissolved into tipsy laughter, drawing even more of the crowd’s attention away from the speaker. I, for one, felt the jokes had gone far enough and – seeing the two women distracted - managed to slip away.

Eventually I was able to worm my way through the crowd back to the bar, where Pete still sat aside an empty barstool. “Man,” I marveled, as I climbed into the seat, eager for a drink, “those two are in rare form.”

Pete had just ordered a pint for himself but, always a true friend, slid it over to me.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said as I slugged down a huge gulp of my beer, “I guess Cindi is a bit happy on those cocktails. Do you want me to tell her to cool it?”

“Naw,” I replied, swallowing, “no big deal.” Though this whole evening was turning out to be reasonably humiliating, a small part of me actually enjoyed the attention, albeit a bit overbearing, from Cindi. Denise, likewise, was at her most aggressive, the wine slowly cooking her up into an absolute vixen. I shook my head and sighed, in mock resignation, thinking that this was going to be one long evening. Peter, in his usual way, had a good laugh and soon had me laughing with him.

Within a few minutes, as the two of us recalled some of our teenaged exploits, I once again felt like I had almost grown back to normal. That was, of course, until the two ladies came back for a breather and some new drinks.

“I’ll get them, ” I offered, feeling bold. I called out several times for the barmaid, who had replaced our original bartender, but she couldn’t hear me from our end of the bar. I decided to jump down from the stool and walked over to her, suddenly realizing I could hardly see over the bar. That, along with the beer pumps obscuring her view of me, I was unable to get the woman’s attention. I looked back to Pete and the girls, who were both giggling and pointing my way, obviously having a good laugh at my expense.

Thankfully Denise chose to come quickly to my rescue. She stood behind me and urged me forward, pushing me into the bar. As she was more than a little tipsy, she almost fell onto me, and began to laugh. This brought the bartender’s attention, who looked up at Denise. Instead of ordering, she pointed down to me, forcing the bar maid to lean over the bar to see me.

“You old enough to drink, are you love?” she asked, in a bit of a cockney accent.

I began to reply but Denise cut in and responded, “It’s okay, he’s with an adult.” She was doing all she could to keep from giggling.

We finally got our round of drinks. Pete and the women went through theirs, and several more, over the course of the next hour or so. Still cautious with my reduced size, I slowly nursed mine as best I could, trying to resist the pressures from the others (Denise in particular) to “drink up”. Pete, for his part, thought a good drunk would just help relax me, maybe help me to forget I was the size of some of his little cousins that were running around the place. I think Denise and Cindi, though, in their own ways, each wanted to see me lose my inhibitions.

All that was really happening from the booze, to tell the truth, was bringing on a need for the bathroom. I found my way to the men’s room, again working my way through the tall crowd. Alone in the lavatory, I had literally just finished my business and was at the sink when I felt the same heady rush that I had experienced before when I last lost several inches.

“Oh no,” I said to myself, starting to panic, dreading the inevitable, “not now. Not again.” I cursed audibly, trying to somehow prevent what was happening, but watched my reflection in the mirror start to change. I felt a wave of vertigo come over me, and closed my eyes, holding onto the basin for support. I felt it rise in front of me. I opened my eyes, and the room was suddenly different around me.

Oh god. I had shrunk again. How short was I now? I could now barely see the top of my head in the mirror. I looked down at my shirt, which sagged all around me. My pants, previously reasonably well-fitting, had dropped down to mid-thigh. I feared what pulling them up would tell me. Clasping them, I pulled what seemed now like a pair of clown trousers up my legs.

Thankfully, I was in an individual bathroom and didn’t have to suffer the indignity of others’ attention. I tried to gather myself, come to grips with my situation. I’d need to get Denise and call a cab to get us home. But first, I’d have to do something about my clothes.

Over the next ten minutes I made adjustments as best I could. I forced some new holes in my belt, which helped to keep my pants up, and rolled the legs up several inches. I tucked my shirt way in, and though it looked very loose, it would do for now. The only real issue now was my shoes. I decided to take off my socks and stuff them into the ends of each shoe, which tightened them a bit and at least allowed me to wear them.

All this time I still wondered: what waited for me the other side of the door? I figured I had lost at least another half a foot, and would be entering into a world of even larger giants. All these thoughts made me so nervous that I actually contemplated not leaving the men’s room, to force Denise to come find me. But that, especially in light of my wife’s current mood, could take a very long time.

I called a taxi from the bathroom, and finally gathered myself to reemerge to the outside world. I had only one focus now, and that was to find Denise and get the hell out of the party and back home where I could come to terms with what had just happened. Nonetheless, it was with great reservation that I hesitantly opened the door to the lively crowds and stepped out.

Everyone was enormous. Not just a few of them. Everyone. They all looked super tall. But, thankfully, no one seemed to pay me much attention, whether they were just looking over the top of my head, thought me a child, or drunk. Probably all three.

The first person to notice me was a small girl, who tapped me on the shoulder. “Wanna play tag?” she offered.

I turned around. Luckily, she was very young, and smaller than I. She couldn’t have been more than six years old, a pretty little girl with blonde ponytails and a sweet, freckled face. Initially she smiled upon me as a potential playmate, but then changed to a confused expression as she realized I wasn’t a boy of her age.

I was quite shocked to be almost face to face with this girl. Though more delicate, her arms looked not much different than my own and her feet just as large. Mistaken for a small boy…that was what I was reduced to now.

“How old are you?” her little voice piped up as she stared at my face the way only children can.

“I’m...” I answered, looking for the right words, “I’m a man.” What sort of a statement was that? I couldn’t help but doubt myself as I contemplated how short I had become.

“Aunt Jessica, look!” the girl said, turning to tug at the back of a skirt of a woman twice my size, “it’s a tiny little man!”

At first the woman paid her young niece no attention. Her tanned, shapely legs stood as tall as I was, and she did not need heels nearly as dramatic as Denise’s to achieve this imposing stature. She was wearing a white, A-line skirt, making maximum effect of those perfect pins. Above, her slim frame was clearly visible, as her tanned back was revealed by a cropped, lycra top. She was a sunny blonde, her hair fixed into a loose ponytail. From behind her long legs and curvy rear looked fabulous, but I was praying she wouldn’t turn around to pay attention to her niece, and started to turn away.

But, just then, she did turn around, and the sight made me pause in my tracks. The view from the front was even more stunning than that from the rear. Her profile was, especially from my vantage, almost cartoonishly busty in her clingy top, her exposed stomach and tiny waist trim and flat.

Time seemed to stop as she looked down at her niece and then towards me. There was a moment of silence as I stayed rooted to the spot, dazzled by her beauty, as she bent her knees and folded her frame to come down to our level. With her palms resting on her knee caps, she crouched in front of me, flashing a magnificent amount of cleavage that was bursting from her tight top. This woman was incredibly well endowed, perhaps even larger than Denise, and her display struck me speechless. Those large breasts formed a deep, dark line where her flesh pressed together, and were hovering directly in my line of sight. Even though she had leaned down, I had to look up into her eyes, the most intense green eyes I had ever seen. They were eyes that I recognized, but on a body that I didn’t. Her face suddenly held the same expression of surprise as my own.

“Rob!?”

“J-Jessica?” Pete’s cousin. All grown up, to say the least.

“Rob Carter? It…can’t be you, can it?”

I sort of felt the same way about her. Of course I heard the little girl called this beauty “Aunt Jessica”, but I didn’t think for one minute that those perfect legs and that voluptuous body belonged to little Jessica Rogers, the geeky little brat that used to follow Pete and I around when he was still at home. Skinny, short, flat-chested and the butt of many pranks in our youth, Jessica was the typical little pain in the ass. At least, that was the case all those years ago. Has it really been that long? Could someone blossom so…dramatically? Surely this couldn’t be the same Jessica who used to write me love letters and pester me to date her? My mind struggled to process the evidence before me. Her voice was recognizable and those eyes were the same, yet everything else seemed to have been flown in from babe central. How tall was she now? Even despite my condition, she was obviously very…statuesque.

Still I couldn’t believe it. “Jessica? Jessica…Rogers?”

“That’s me, Rob,” she smiled, lighting the moment between us with a brilliant smile, “in the flesh.”

“I…uh…wow,” I stammered. My broken speech laid bare how in awe of her I was, “you’ve…grown…”

Jessica’s eyes sparkled, savoring the moment as I stood dumbstruck by her appearance. “Not such a squirt anymore,” she boasted, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, “am I?”

“N-no…I…” Still I couldn’t put a sentence together.

“And, talking of squirts, I heard the rumor about you getting shorter,” she continued, her eyes narrowing, “but this is…amazing! You’re so much smaller than I heard.” She looked me over with interest.

“It’s…temporary,” I felt compelled to say, not knowing whether it was the truth. I had to regain some sort of confidence here.

“Oh really?” she asked, her smile broadening across her pretty face as those piercing eyes looked deeper into me. She didn’t seem to believe me. Did she seem to know something I didn’t?

“Well, Rob,” she continued, “you still look good, only a few feet shorter. Kind of like a super cute Mini-me.”

“Ha-ha,” I laughed drolly, “But speaking of looking different, you’ve certainly blossomed.” Eager for a change of topic, I tried to maneuver the conversation back to her.

“You think?” Her question was an open admission that she knew that she was hot and just wanted me to elaborate. As if to help, Jessica stood up and twirled around wanting to show off every inch of her perfection. “I grew a little since you last saw me, huh? And filled out a bit?”

“Yeah, I’d say,” I admitted. I kicked myself, hearing my own overly admiring tone. “How…how tall are you now?”

“I’m six-one,” she said, “without heels.”

Six one?! She was even taller than Denise! I pulled my eyes best I could from her overly ample curves, and quickly changed the topic once more. “Oh, uh…happy birthday, by the way.” I had nearly forgotten that the party revolved around her.

“Gee, thanks, Rob,” she said, looking down at me, “Does the birthday girl get a birthday kiss?”

“Sure,” I agreed, regretting it the moment I said it. For a few seconds we both stood there, waiting for the other. Jessica smiled. Her cheek, of course, might as well have been a million miles away she knew it.

“Oh, silly me. Here,” she knelt down again, tucking those long legs beneath her and bringing her face within tip toe reach. As I leaned in to kiss her, she unexpectedly grabbed me by the arms, long enough for me to feel the shape of her attributes brush my mid section. Also, she turned her face to ensure that my lips fell not on her cheek where I was aiming but upon her full lips. Her lips covered my own with ease and I was surprised at how good they felt. The kiss lasted just a little too long to be just a friendly peck between old friends, and our eyes remained locked afterwards.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time…” she purred, eyes flashing.

I was fighting, now, to retain my composure. She broke our gaze first as she slowly rose up inch by inch before me, making sure that I watched every bit of that body pass my view as she seemed to grow.

“You know, you are so adorable like this, Rob,” she said, looking down at me once more, “So, do you think you’ll be getting even smaller?”

Though she seemed very intrigued by this question, I was quick to palm it off and get out of here. “Boy, I hope not,” I answered. Anyway, I needed to get to Denise, get us out to the taxi. “I better get back to the others,” I said, looking at my bare wrist, as if at a watch, as I backed away, “it was nice seeing you, Jessica.”

“Bye, Rob,” she said, as I turned away, “See you soon.”

Shaking my head, still in disbelief over the changes in little Jessica, I made for the bar again. People had begun to look at me and a few whispered. They must have noticed I was shorter. All I wanted to do was get out of this situation and back home, away from the questioning eyes of strangers.

As I approached the bar, Peter was looking my way, a fresh beer in his hand. His eyes fell upon me and he nearly spat out a mouthful of beer in alarm. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed, “Rob!? What happened?”

Even before I could speak, I felt a pair of very large hands, reaching under my arms from behind. Before I knew it, I was lifted clean off the floor, suspended, my legs dangling free in the air.

“Look! The little guy’s even smaller!” Oh no, it was Cindi. “Here, sweetie, let Aunt Cindi help you up to that big ole chair.”

Holding me helpless, with a good crowd of gaping onlookers, she carried me over to the bar stool. I would have, I’m sure, struggled mightily to climb into it now that I was shorter. After seating me on the stool, she placed her hands straight down on my legs and looked me in the eye. She was visibly even more tipsy than earlier.

“Wow,” she remarked, almost slurring, “you are really short now.” She laid a hand on my cheek, brushed my face with her fingers. “Isn’t he small, Peter?”

“Cindi, leave him alone,” Pete said sternly, “Let the man have some peace. He doesn’t need some little bimbo rubbing it in, come on give the guy some air.”

“I’m more of a big bimbo, aren’t I little man?” she said drunkenly, giggling, “And I’m going to keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger!” I didn’t know exactly what she meant by that, but she obviously found herself quite amusing and snorted at her own humor.

“Thanks, Pete,” I said, trying to ignore Cindi, “I’m okay, I think… I just need to get home. Where’s Denise?”

“Uh,” Pete answered, “she’s still out on the dance fl-”

“Yeah!” Cindi chimed in, interrupting, “Why don’t you an’ I go join her?” The invitation wasn’t one that appealed in the slightest, it was obvious, and Pete rose to my defense.

“Here, why don’t I go get her,” he offered, dropping from his seat, “you two wait here.”

As Peter moved off to fetch Denise, Cindi immediately hopped up into his chair and turned towards me. She threw her two long arms over my head, behind my neck, and pulled us in close, as if to share a secret.

Our faces were inches apart, hers larger than mine. “You know what I wish, Rob?” she asked, her eyes a bit glazed, “I wish that my Peter was your size.” I could smell the alcohol on her breath, mixing not unpleasantly with the bouquet of her perfume.

“You…do?” I replied, not exactly sure what to say.

Leaning down further, she pulled me in even closer. I could sense a taste of the power in her arms, a hint of my weakness just obvious in this simple action. “Oh, yeah…” she continued, “I want my own little man to play with…to do anything I want with him.” She wobbled a bit on her seat. “I want to dominate a little man like you, dominate him without even trying, just <hic> intimidate him with my size, and see his little face….see that he knows Cindi’s the one in control…”

“Really…?” I began to feel very uncomfortable with the conversation and began to look around for Pete and Denise, but Cindi grabbed my face in one of her hands and made me face her again.

“Yes, really…” Cindi said, looking deep into me, her eyes suddenly bright and a little…dangerous. “All the little men…who used to just stare at my butt…soon…” she began, stumbling a bit in her speech, “more than just...Cindi with the big bubble-butt...soon I'll...I'll...". I was a bit confused, not knowing where she was going with this in her stupor, and was relieved to see Pete return. But he was…alone.

“Sorry, buddy,” he apologized, as Cindi let go of me and looked for her drink, “she’s…a little merry. I couldn’t quite get through to her. She said she wants you to dance with her one last time before leaving.”

“Oh, jeez,” I said, exasperated, “I don’t need this right now. Our taxi will be here any minute….I guess I’ll have to go get her.” I jumped down off the bar stool to the ground, which sent Cindi into a fit of giggles. She was about to follow me out to fetch Denise, but Pete thankfully caught her arm and held her back, knowing it wouldn’t help matters.

I had to squeeze through the dancing masses as no one seemed to see me until the last minute. I was having trouble seeing past them and around them, searching for Denise. Finally, however, I set eyes on Denise. She was dancing in a small clearing with a few other women; all of them had cast off their shoes and heels and were dancing barefoot. Though she no longer towered over the other dancers, Denise was still the tallest of the group. Her boots had been cast off to the side with her handbag, which would at least bring her down to a level that was less of a shock for us both.

As I came close she spotted me and a massive, tipsy grin spread over her face: not the reaction I had expected at all. I had hoped for a little sympathy. She danced towards me, leaving the other women behind and soon I was very aware that, even with her barefoot, the gap between myself and Denise had not decreased.

“Denise!” I yelled up at her, trying to raise my voice above the droning music, “we’d better go!”

Denise either couldn’t hear me or chose not to listen. Nonetheless, she obviously didn’t want to leave just yet. I was confronted with the black wall of my wife’s sensuously swaying hips as she danced close to me.

“Having fun, baby?” she called down to me from up on high, obviously trying to get me to dance with her. She wasn’t quite at the point of slurring her speech, but clearly very drunk. While this was normally a stage I loved when Denise drank, when her guards all came down and she was normally pretty amorous. However, now was not the time.

“Come on, Denise,” I reiterated, as loudly as possible, having finally caught her ear, “let’s go! The taxi is waiting!”

“Oh, trying to get me home, little man?” she asked wantonly, taking my hands in hers, smiling at their small size, “So you can have your wicked way with me?” She drew me towards her, pulling my arms about her hips, resting my hands on her firm rear. I was immediately struck by just how substantial it was.

“I just want to get home Denise, please,” I said, taking another approach – pleading. “I’m a lot shorter than before, I’ve…I’ve shrunk again.”

“Oh, I can see that, my tiny little lover,” she said, seemingly unconcerned, continuing to sway to the music. I could see she wasn’t in the mood for logical discussion, and her comments made it clear that she wasn’t quite as alarmed at my recent change as I was. I was actually beginning to wonder if she was actually getting some sort of a thrill out of my condition. Maybe – hopefully - it was just the wine talking.

Needless to say it wasn’t easy persuading her off the dance floor. I tried to take command of the situation and grabbed her hand with some force. I looked at her hand as mine attempted to contain it and instantly saw the large size difference between them. Nonetheless, I proceeded to pull and felt her resist.

Denise wasn’t budging. I pulled again, a little harder, but she still stood firm, and had actually begun to giggle with glee. Again I tugged, this time with both hands, with my full force. But, apart from extending her arm, my wife remained still, countering my attempt to pull her with effortless ease.

“Awwww, sweetie,” she said in a baby-doll voice, “are you really trying to move me?” Again she laughed at me and I felt absolutely stupid and suddenly very conscious of other dancers around us slowing in their movements to watch the presumably hilarious sight of this man, half the size of his wife, tugging on her hand like a little child. At my normal size I would have just swept her off her feet and thrown her over my shoulder. But looking at her now, that would be like trying to lift four women simultaneously.

“Denise…” I pleaded.

“Say ‘please’,” she insisted playfully, now being stubborn just to test me, enjoying her dominant position.

“Denise!”

She merely looked down on me with a thin smile and cocked eyebrow.

I was getting a little irritated, and knew that a little compromise was in order. She did have the upper hand.

“Denise, please.”

“Now there’s a good little boy!” she praised, “Just fetch my boots, will you darling?”

She was really pushing my patience, but I could see the look of mischief in her eyes and knew that if I didn’t comply things would just get harder for me. If this was a test, a battle of wills, she was winning. Taking a deep breath, swallowing what little pride I had left, I walked over to her boots. Each one was so big! The boots were taller than my own waist! Of course I had handled shoes and boots for my job so I was used to carrying them, but this pair was large enough to make them difficult for me to manage due to their sheer scale. I ended up dragging them slightly as I walked with Denise, finally, towards the coatroom.

“Careful, sweetie,” she admonished me, “don’t scuff my new boots. I’m going to be wearing them later.”

What did she mean by that? Where did she think we were going that she would wear her boots again? If she put those boots on again….my mind tried to picture it. Yikes.

She skipped down the corridor, a bit ahead of me. My current state of irritation was mollified a bit by looking at her…that seemed to happen more often than not, come to think of it. Though it was hard to stay mad at a beautiful woman, I was determined to hold onto my grudge as long as I could. Her body was fantastic and I couldn’t help but stare at her fine legs in her stockings, stretching up into that short, clingy dress. In the cloak room I put the boots down and searched for her coat as Denise leaned her back against a wall.

“Find my coat, baby,” she said in her best sultry voice, “and I’ll make sure you get a nice, big reward when we get home.” Okay, she knew how to get back on my good side.

I looked at Denise, striking a very provocative pose in profile against the wall. Obviously for my benefit, she arched her back, pushing her large breasts out as she stretched her long legs and smoothed her skirt over her legs with her hands. It was so hard to be off with her for long. Though I felt like she was taking advantage of my size, ordering me around, and I wasn’t happy with her seeming lack of compassion to my recent shrinking, I knew she was very much under the influence and…dammit…she was jut so damn hot. She was using this to her best advantage, which I must say was beginning to work on me. Despite myself, I was beginning to lighten up.

“Do you think I’m your little slave now, Denise?” I mumbled, half in jest as I walked down the large coat racks trying to spy her coat.

“My little slave,” she answered, contemplating the idea, “I like the sound of that. Now that I’m twice your size, you’ll have to behave, and do whatever I tell you…”

“Or what?” I responded, humoring her, still searching the racks.

“Or I’ll have to spank you over my knee!” Her laughter echoed around the cloakroom as my mind pictured her draping me across her lap and doing just that. The unnerving thing about it was that she probably could do just as she described if she so desired.

“Let’s leave the spanking until later, honey,” I commented as her laughter trailed off, “now where’s this coat of yours? Oh, here.” I looked up at her full-length coat which was towering casually over me. The hook it rested on might as well have been fifteen feet high. I ended up grabbing the base of the garment and swung it left and right until the plastic hook allowed the coat to fall free, promptly covering me in the process. I lifted the abundance of heavy material off of me and saw Denise shaking with mirth, trying to hold back laughter, hand to her mouth.

“Yes, yes,” I said, “Verrrry funny. Hilarious.” I found myself almost rolling her coat up in order to walk with it comfortably. It was extraordinary to appreciate these simple objects, like her coat and her boots, at this large scale.

I brought the coat towards Denise, who promptly turned around, expecting me to assist her with it like a proper gentleman. Her shoulders were, of course, well beyond my reach. Helping Denise into her coat, such a normal gesture that I used to do without thinking, was now a challenge that I couldn’t meet unless she knelt down.

“What’s up, honey,” she teased, looking down at me over her shoulder, “can’t you reach?”

I wasn’t beaten yet. I noticed a nearby trash can, sturdy enough for me to climb up on.

“Hold on a second,” I implored.

Within a few moments, to her apparent astonishment, I placed her large coat over her smooth shoulders from behind.

“How did you do that?!” she exclaimed, twirling around, “I’m far too…” She confronted me as I looked up at her from her chin level. She looked down, further, smiling as she noted the trash bin below me. “Very cute but…” she straightened her back and looked down her nose at me “Ha! I’m still taller than you!” It was as if it was some sort of competition to her.

After securing her coat she looked at me again nudged the trash can below me with her foot, causing me to teeter on top.

“Hey!” I protested.

She giggled, seeing my distress, and nudged the can a bit more. I really began to wobble. “You know what they say, honey. What goes up,” she tittered, “must come down!”

With that she kicked the trash can one final time, causing me to topple, crashing into her body.

“Whoops!” she hooted, grabbing to catch me in a drunken attempt. I, likewise, tried to clasp around her but fell, clumsily, sliding over her ample curves, down her slim form, to the ground. Somehow, though, I managed to land on my feet.

“Denise,” I whined, “that wasn’t nice.”

“Awww,” she consoled me, still giggling as she straightened her dress, “is the little hubby being picked on by his big wife?”

I finally managed to get Denise into a taxi. I won’t soon forget the driver’s face when he first set eyes on us; we must have made quite the couple. He continued to eye us in the rearview mirror as, during the ride home, Denise began to make the most of our time together. She hadn’t sobered up one bit and, as I had guessed, was feeling quite amorous. For one thing, she insisted on taking up most of the back seat and pressing very closely against me, turned in to me as I sat. I felt a little uncomfortable, uneasy under the eyes of our driver, and tried to resist her advances.

“Honey, please,” I whispered, watching our cabdriver’s eyes in the mirror as her hands moved up my diminished thigh, “he’s watching…”

“Oh, baby, who cares?” she replied, placing her hand on my already stiffening crotch. Man, every time I shrank I seemed to become less and less in control of my libido. A bit alarming to me, but it certainly didn’t seem to bother Denise. Rather, she seemed to take pleasure in how easily she could draw arousal from me and moaned in approval, feeling my erection grow under her hand.

I fought my instinct and took her hand from me, placed it back on my knee. “C’mon, Denise,” I implored further, “not right now.”

She took my hand in hers, and placed it on her full breast. “But Rob…” she continued, relentless, “I just want to comfort you.”

Though her breast felt so good, so firm and enormous under my palm, I slipped it away. “What are you talking about?” I hissed, hoping the driver didn’t catch that.

“You know, baby,” she said, consolingly, moving in closer to me, bending to kiss my neck, “comfort you…” Her lips explored my neck, my throat. I knew I should push her away, but…it all felt so good. Her lips on my skin, the smell of her perfume and the wine, the sight of her breasts stretching the material of her dress where her coat had been pulled away.

“Denise, no…” I murmured halfheartedly, “you’re drunk…”

“Yes, but…You got so small tonight, baby,” she purred, moving up my neck, near my ear, “so very, very small…” Her lips grasped my earlobe, which she kissed before moving to my ear. “And it must make you so very, very frightened. But your wife,” she whispered, her low voice so loud in my ear, “you wife is here to comfort you…” I could almost hear her smile as her cleavage came more into view, drawing my eye down into its taut, dark recess.

My toes curled, my eyes fluttered shut as she explored my ear with her lips and delicate, practiced tongue. I could feel the cabbie’s eyes on us, but I didn’t care. She took my hand in hers again, placed it on her thigh.

“Let me make you feel nice,” she whispered, again in my ear, arousing me further, “let me make you feel so nice.” She turned my head gently towards her with two fingers of her left hand. Her mouth moved from my ear to my cheek, drifting over it with light kisses until it found my lips. Her mouth was so much larger than my own, and nearly eclipsed it.

Before I knew it we were making out with abandon, like two teenage kids in the back of a car. I opened my eyes again, looking down to watch the marvel of her deep, inviting cleavage as we kissed. The big swells of her flesh looked so soft, so smooth, so warm as they rose and fell with her building, passionate breaths.

Feeling, I think, my eyes on her chest she moved a bit, straightened her shoulders, affording me a better view. Still we kissed, wetly, my lips surrendering to the will of her larger ones.

“My poor little baby,” she whispered, breaking our kiss for a second to clear her hair from her shoulders, take a deep, inflating breath, “my poor, poor little baby…”

We kissed again, more lightly this time, and her hand moved behind my head. Looking down at her full, maternal chest was comforting, made me forget myself, the world around me. I was aroused, certainly, by her attentions, her body, but even more so she was just making me feel good. Even if it was in her own, drunken way, she was at least giving me what I needed, acknowledging my recent loss, offering me womanly solace. She kissed the tip of my nose, its bridge, up to my forehead, holding my head in place. I stared, now, unabashedly, down her cleavage.

“We’re going to get you home,” she said to me, still sounding tipsy, “and we’re going to take such good care of you.” Her chest rose and fell with great, filling breaths. “Such good care of my tiny little husband.” She hugged me now, to her neck, kept my eyes on her proud bosom.

I rested there, content despite myself, enjoying the sight, the smell, the sound of her. She let me lay there as she redid her hair, putting it up once again as she had released it earlier, dancing.

“Right up here,” I heard her tell the driver, hiccupping, “next driveway on the left.”

I raised myself from her, sitting up straight in my seat, gathering myself again. We were pulling in to home. The driver looked me over in the rearview; I smiled sheepishly back.

Getting out of the cab and into the house was a bit of a chore. Denise, still three sheets to the wind and in her own happy little place, sung a little song I recognized from the dance floor (“…these boots were made for walkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do…”) while I tried to find my money for the driver. I fumbled with the cash I had shoved in the pockets of my makeshift pants and managed to pay him with a ball of crumpled bills. My wife groped blindly through her handbag, as she had our keys, while I had my hands full with her boots, which she had still refused to put back on. I guess I could have dumped them and not lowered myself to the task, but they were expensive boots and she wasn’t in her normal frame of mind. Finally finding our keys, she handed them to me (whether because she felt too drunk for the task of unlocking our door or merely because she wanted to see me faced with a doorknob that was now at my eye level I guess I’ll never know).

I let out a great breath of relief as I finally stepped through our door. I was glad to be home and away from the outside world that had seemingly just grown around me. Maybe now, here, I could get a handle on what was happening. But the interior of our apartment, I soon discovered, was no greater comfort. Walking about, dropping my wife’s boots near the couch and heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water as Denise used the bathroom, I looked around as if with new eyes. The dining table was eye level with me, the armchairs looked oversized, sumptuous, like they would swallow me up. The doors and door frames all towered over me and just looked way out of scale until I saw Denise return, walking through the entry into our living room. I was abruptly reminded that it was me who had shrunken, while the world remained the same.

Denise cast her coat over the couch and walked, a bit drunkenly, over to the cabinet in the living room that served as our bar. She opened a new bottle of vodka and poured herself a drink.

“Denise?” I asked, watching her with a wary eye. She usually didn’t drink vodka, and certainly not straight. “You’re having…another, huh?”

“I’m just enjoying myself, shorty,” she replied licking her full, painted lips before sinking the double measure in one shot. “And, speaking of enjoying myself,” she continued, in the low, breathy voice that she knew worked so well as a weapon of seduction, “I want you tonight, little man.”

With that, she placed her glass down and ran her hands languorously down her body, tracing the womanly curves packed tightly in that little black dress. I took a swallow of water, my mouth suddenly dry. Did I feel confident enough, now, to make love to her, short as I was? What would that be like? I felt, alongside my doubt, a good deal of excitement and - if anything - a touch of fear.

“Did you have a nice time tonight, sweetie?” she asked, beginning to walk across the room to me. Slowly, very slowly, she approached, an exaggerated sway to her hips. “Did you have a nice time watching the ladies dance?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I answered, taking another sip, eyes on her slinky silhouette.

“Mmm…” she purred, still stepping closer, pausing at the couch, “all the pretty ladies…all of them so tall…” She smiled, and sat on the edge of the couch, taking hold of her boots which lay at her feet. She began to slip them on. “But I was the tallest, wasn’t I, Rob? I was the tallest one there?”

I gulped. This water was doing nothing for me.

“I was taller than all the men, too, Rob,” she continued, smoothing the leather of the boots over her calves, “taller than everybody.” With that, she began to stand up, slowly, once again in her boots with their eight-inch, spiked heels.

Those few seconds, it seemed, took a lifetime to unfold as she dramatically stretched her body to its full height. The word ‘tall’ didn’t seem adequate to describe her anymore, as I looked at her from across the room, from my newly diminished stature. In fact, I still can’t find the words. My eyes stared in disbelief.

In the dim light, her smile lit the room as she took another slow step towards me. This seemed like a moment for which she had been waiting a long time.

“Did you like that, honey,” she asked, moving in on me once again, “seeing me taller than everybody there?”

Of course I did. Of course it turned me on, along with every other guy there, watching this outrageously beautiful amazon towering over the crowd, drawing all eyes to her.

“And did you see everyone looking at me, Rob?” she asked, her voice belying a building excitement, “Did you see everyone staring at me?” She was now only a few feet in front of me, and stopped. “Everyone staring at the giant freak with the big boobs?”

At that, she reached behind her back and undid her dress, letting it slip to her feet. She stepped out of it, and let me look at her standing there, in her boots, stockings, panties and black satin bra. There was a palpable tension, almost electric, in the air between us. We were both, I realized, nearly shivering with excitement.

“Y-you’re…not a ‘freak’, Denise,” I said, as she moved towards me again, her hips swaying slowly, “you’re not…that tall…” Looking up at her, towering over me, my statement seemed ridiculous.

“Oh, but I am, honey,” she said, closing the space between us with her nylon-covered legs, “Look at the size of me. I’m a big, huge freak, the biggest, hugest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.” She seemed to enjoy the idea, and appeared to be playing into some fantasy of her own. “And tonight, little man, you’re going to experience every fucking inch of her.”

Mere inches, now, separated us. I craned my neck back to look up, way up, into her big, beautiful brown eyes as she peered down at me, bent a bit at the waist to peer at me over the swell of her immense bosom. She raised her hands to her head and released her hair, slowly shaking its mass down her neck, behind her back.

“God,” she marveled, her voice low, amazed, “I love towering over you like this.” Her true feelings, it seemed, had begun to emerge with the help of the wine. Her soft hand fell to my cheek, ran through my hair. “You’re so…vulnerable, so small,” she said, a small trembling moan betraying a growing arousal, “it’s…it’s turning me on. Sooo much…”

Her hand behind my head, she redirected my gaze down. Her boots reached up to my waist, putting her knee somewhere around my stomach level. and her thighs stretched up before my face and placed her hips over my head. I stared straight ahead, at her huge, firm thighs, at the very seat of her womanhood. Her next move was to place those outlandish boots of hers around the sides of my own feet and pull my face towards her, until my face touched against her upper thighs, feeling their warmth through her sheer stockings, taking in her scent. I closed my eyes and felt…dwarfed, enveloped.

I knew, of course, she had sex in her plans. But how could I offer any pleasure to a woman of such proportions? I wondered. “H-honey…” I stuttered, “maybe we…shouldn’t.” Even as I doubted myself, however, I felt my stiff inches swelling between my legs.

“Oh, you’re not scared, are you Rob?” she purred, petting the back of my head, “Scared of making love to such a big woman?” Rather than be upset, take offense to her questions, I tried to take comfort in her voice, her body, her warmth, and nuzzled my face deeper into her. I knew she was drunk, knew she was saying and doing things she would never do sober. But it was allowing me to do things I wouldn’t normally do, act on feelings I would usually repress or deny.

“Because if you’re afraid, honey,” she continued, “if you’re afraid of how big I’ve become, don’t worry.” She held my face firmly to her thighs, and stepped me backward. I felt the wall behind me, pinning me to her nylon-sheathed legs. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. I’ll be gentle and make it feel so nice.”

Denise slipped her hand away from behind my head and pushed me into the wall with her thighs, pressing my head with her hips. Slowly she gyrated into me, rutting against my face, little moans escaping her. The warmth, the scent of woman was all around me. As she was becoming more and more aroused, I felt a growing bit of fear, for her hips and thighs were very strong, and my head, now, was very small. If she lost control of herself, in her drunken state, she could make it hard for me to breathe - or worse.

To help protect myself, I put my arms about her, holding her by the hips with my hands – but this only served to excite her further. She pressed at me more strongly, bending her knees just a bit, using her sex to drive my head into the wall. “Oh, god,” she moaned, “it’s going to be so nice. So, so nice.” If I didn’t know better, I might think that she was trying to fuck my head, imagining herself sucking me into her, into her womanhood.

Just as things were threatening to get perhaps a bit too heated for my safety, a bit uncomfortable, she relented. “Oh, baby,” she said, nearly breathless as she bent down, squatting in front of me, “I’ve got to watch myself.” She teetered, a bit, on her heels. Her eyes, I now saw, were just this side of wild, and flashed hungrily. “I don’t know my own…strength.” And just as she said that, she yanked down at my pants. They held little resistance, having become so baggy, and fell to my feet. Before I knew it, she was also at work on my shirt, swiftly popping the buttons.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said, looking deep into my eyes, studying me, “you are so perfect like this.” I could smell the wine, the vodka as her face closed in on mine. Suddenly our lips were locked, more violently, more forcefully than earlier in the car. She seemed to want to consume me, and her lips drove my head, once again, back into the wall as they covered my face. “I feel so in control of you,” she breathed, and wrestled her tongue into my mouth.

As we kissed, I felt her large hand reach into my boxers, also very slack about the waist, and grasp my stiff manhood. I started, a bit in shock, my eyes opening wide. Both she and I looked down, her big brown eyes and my smaller blue ones settling on the sight of her left hand totally engulfing my shaft. She smiled, delighted, and moved her fingers over me as her other hand pulled my shorts down the rest of the way. I had felt nothing like this before, ever; with a single hand Denise contained my manhood in its entirety.

“Not such a big boy down here anymore, are we?” she asked, looking into my eyes as she gave me several slow, tingling strokes. I moaned, watching her hand engulfing me. “Does that feel good, honey, with my big hand holding everything you have?” She continued to stroke me, watching my face twitch in pleasure, my jaw sag. This felt incredible. “Hmm?”

“ohhh…” I murmured, “yesss…god….yes.” My eyes fluttered close as I began to lose myself under her touch. I was aware of her moving, doing something.

“Look at me, honey,” she whispered, still working my shaft firmly with her palm and fingers. I opened my eyes, meeting her intense gaze. She smiled, and spoke, “Do you like this, little man?” I noticed she was pulling down her stockings, as best she could in her squatted position, revealing the smooth skin of her curvy hips and thighs. “Do you like how big I am to you now?”

“I…I love it,” I found myself admitting, causing her eyes, suddenly, to blaze. This was exactly what she wanted to hear, and she shivered visibly.

“Oh my god, Rob,” she said, her voice trembling with exhilaration, “Okay…That’s it.” Finally, she had snapped, had given up the reins. She could no longer control herself and suddenly did something that I will never forget. Dropping my shaft abruptly, she slipped her hands under my armpits and began to rise. I gasped a bit in surprise as my feet left the floor and my loose shoes fell free as she raised me, sliding my back up against the wall. My wife was picking me up to fuck me.

It was quite a shock, to say the least, to find myself so abruptly under her power, so effortlessly suspended in the air, against the wall. I knew what she was doing as she leveled us together, still murmuring under her breath “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” She was a woman possessed, and there seemed no stopping her. I felt all but helpless.

My rigid member rubbed up against her soft inner thighs as she positioned us together and brought my manhood to her sex. Quickly, in an instant of wet rapture, I found myself sliding into her, effortlessly, swallowed up with ease. She took in my every inch and demanded more; it was a rush to feel so completely within her, but also clear that she was so much bigger than me at my fullest. I was lost in her.

Held like this, my face fit perfectly beneath her chest so that I could kiss her bare skin while her bust, the heavy weight of those jutting breasts still in her bra, rested on my head, bouncing gently as she began to work a rhythm up between us.

“Oh, god, that’s it,” she sighed, “that’s it, little man. Give it all to me. Give me everything.”

She was moaning, more and more, as our excitement grew. I must have been so inadequate, with my utter failure to fill her, but she was getting off purely on the whole experience. The sheer thrill of her overpowering me, holding me this way, the feeling of my feet literally dangling in the air as we made love aroused both of us in unimaginable ways.

“Oh, Rob,” she groaned, sandwiching me against the wall. “Oh, god. I am going to fuck you,” she growled, “I am going to fuck the living shit out of you…” Her firm, muscular body overpowered me completely, controlled me as it surrounded me, rammed me into the wall. Holy Christ. I felt like I was being raped.

“yyyesss…” I moaned, despite myself, into her, “oh, Denise, yesss…”

“Oh, god, you like this?” she asked, her arousal multiplying it seemed, by the second, “You like this, do you, little man?” She began to crush me to the wall with renewed vigor, almost brutally. “You like feeling your wife fuck you? Fuck your little body like a little toy?”

“oh, y-yesss…” I mumbled, knowing my acquiescence, my weakness, fueled her even more, “p-please….”

“Please what?” she nearly snarled, “Please fuck you? You want your giant wife to fuck you hard?”

“y-y-yess…h-hard…” I could barely speak under the abuse of her giant frame, the weight of her heavy breasts.

“You want her to fuck you good, little boy?”

“unh…unh…” I moaned, battered, “yesss…g-good…”

“You want your giant wife to fuck you,” she said, “Make you feel like tiny little thing?” She was building, I could tell, towards an earth-shaking climax, one which should make me fear, I knew, for my safety. “Is that what you want, Rob? For me to make you feel so small?”

“y-yes…” I groaned, using what was left of my strength, I felt, merely to stay conscious.

She gasped, absolutely overcome. “Oh, god,” she moaned, “I’m going to make you so…very…small…” We were both, now, at the edge of orgasm. “…and I’m going to get so…very…big!”

“yes!” I grunted, beginning to lose myself to climax.

“I’m so huge!” she cried, finally coming, “So fucking, fucking huge!” The timbers in the wall behind me shook with her efforts as orgasms overwhelmed us both. She cried out loudly in pleasure - I’m sure waking most of our neighbors – bucking and grinding me with abandon as my own climax burst into her. I would like to say I erupted, exploded, came like a torrent, but at my reduced size I’m sure she didn’t feel it as such. Nonetheless, we were both lost in rapture for what seemed like minutes before we began to come down, panting and huffing, sweating. My orgasm past, I felt suddenly dizzy and faint.

Denise was the first to speak, as I struggled to orient myself. “Oh my god…” she murmured, as she gently lowered me, allowing me to slide down the wall to my feet. I was fading fast, my legs felt like jelly, and I felt the world darkening around me. She crouched, to look in my eyes, visibly shaken. “Rob?” She was coming to grips herself, it seemed, with what had just happened, almost in disbelief. Her incredulous eyes searched mine, looking to read me as my lids drooped. I heard her voice speak, even as the sight of her face faded, “My god, Rob…Oh my fucking god.”

I passed out.

The next thing I knew, it was deep in the middle of the night. I had awoke, in our bed, spooned from behind by the encompassing body of my wife. She held me close as she slept, cuddled like a child to her. She had obviously taken me to bed and then passed out herself.

The world around us was dark and silent. I felt her breath, still redolent of wine, on the top of my head. Her body was warm, strong, soft and tender around me. She protected me with her comfort. It felt nice, but as my mind woke I was haunted by confusing thoughts.

What had just transpired, just a few hours ago? I had never seen Denise, in all my years with her, worked up to such a fervor. She seemed, as I said before, a woman possessed. As if under a spell, having let some deeply hidden fantasy - one where she was some huge, giant woman - have its way with her in her drunken state.

And what had I done? With my powerlessness, my acquiescence, I had shown her exactly what she wanted to see. My part in her fantasy was obviously that of a weak, helpless male, a husband utterly under the control of his wife, tiny to her immensity. And I had filled my role well. Did I play into her fantasy, say all those things I said, just to please her, to provoke her arousal? Or did I actually enjoy the fantasy myself? Was I actually excited by the thought of such feebleness, such subservience to my wife? And, in the end, just exactly how far from ‘fantasy’ were we?

These disquieting thoughts swirled about my head, filled me with angst even as I began to drop off again to sleep. As if aware, in her slumber, of my anxiety, Denise hugged me tighter, pressing her soft, heavy breasts into my back. Despite myself, I took comfort from their warmth and fell asleep.

I woke again, finally, in the morning as the sunlight began to inch its way across our room. Denise hadn’t closed the shades last night before falling into bed with me. Though I had, luckily, been able to pace myself well last night and had kept myself from drinking too much, I still had a touch of a hangover. As I rose I looked over to where Denise’s larger form lay, cocooned in our sheets, and knew that she, on the other hand, would be in for quite a ringer of a headache. She was in rare form last night; I hadn’t seen her drink that much for quite some time. Hopefully, I thought, she wouldn’t be in full recollection of all the night’s events – especially our time alone together in the living room. I sort of wished I could have been lucky enough to forget parts of that myself. As mind-blowingly awesome as the sex was, what transpired between us was more than a little humiliating.

Denise would obviously need her sleep today, so I didn’t want to wake her and gathered some clothes quietly before heading into our bathroom for a shower. But what to wear? At my newly reduced size, everything again was too big. I was able to settle on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which I would be able to tighten with a drawstring and roll up in the legs.

The shower served to freshen me well, get me going a bit more. I tried to use it to wash away my worries, my feelings of unrest, but they still nagged at me. I hoped that Denise would not awake a changed woman, the woman who all but raped me in the other room last night. I tiptoed back out into our bedroom, dressed, to find her awake, just barely, propped up on some pillows.

“Hey, pretty lady,” I whispered, “How you feelin’?” I tried as hard as I could to sound casual, not betray my concerns.

“Unnnhhh…” she moaned groggily, managing a smile, “not so hot. How could you let me drink so much last night?”

“Hey, you’re a grown woman,” I joked, raising my hands in defense, “I was just along for the ride.”

“Well, I obviously wasn’t acting my age, huh?” she said humbly, “And now I have the head to show for it. Ooooo…” She put a hand to her temple. “Honey, would you mind getting me an aspirin?”

“Sure,” I replied, turning again to the bathroom to search our medicine cabinet. With my luck, of course, the aspirin was on the top shelf, and I had to climb up on the sink top to reach it.

“What are you doing in there?” I heard her call to me.

“Just a minute,” I responded, hopping back down to the floor with aspirin in hand, running the tap to draw a glass of water. As I walked back into the bedroom, Denise was looking at me a bit strangely, squinting through hangover-addled eyes.

“Honey, did you…shrink again?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, handing her the aspirin, “at the party.” How much, exactly, had she forgotten about last night?

“That’s right, I remember…” she recalled, taking the water glass. She swallowed the aspirin, one at a time, with a sip of water.

“Drink the rest of it,” I said, “you’ll need it.” I watched her finish the glass. “I think,” I added, holding my hand out for the glass, “I think I lost about six inches.” I knew it was more.

“Six inches, huh?” she said with almost clinical interest, taking my hand in hers, flattening them against one another to measure them palm to palm. The contrast was remarkable. “We’ll have to measure you later.” She gave me the empty glass. “But for now, honey,” she continued, her voice sweet, “I think I have to sleep some more. Be a peach and close the shades, will you?”

Instead, as she dropped back into sleep, I pulled the drapes to darken the room, as I couldn’t quite reach the raised shades. I struggled, also, in the kitchen, trying to fix myself something to eat, having to be content with what I could find in the lower cabinets and shelves. It was personal victory, however small, to manage myself a cup of coffee, grinding the beans and all.

Following my trials in the kitchen, I settled with a small plate of toast and mug of coffee in front of the television, hoping to enjoy a quiet Sunday morning as normally as possible. I could face the realities of a suddenly larger world later on today.

After catching up on news, music videos and cartoons by flipping through the channels for a while, I came across one channel playing the old “Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman” movie, the black and white version from the fifties. I sort of chuckled to myself, noting the dark humor of the moment. It was always a movie, I guess, which had peaked my prurient interest in some ways, but it now held quite a bit more significance for me. I watched for a little bit, until some commercials came on and I surfed around a bit more.

I looked up to see Denise shuffling herself into the room with small, slow steps. She looked beautiful - even with hair astray, makeup smudged, in her old shorts and worn t-shirt that she used for sleeping – but she looked miserable. Her hangover sat on her like a train wreck. Somehow, though, she managed a little smile as she approached me, a thin blanket about her shoulders.

“She walks!” I exclaimed softly, smiling, putting down the remote, moving a bit on the couch to clear space for her to sit.

“No, don’t move,” she insisted, her voice weak, as she dropped to the couch, “I’ll just lie down. Right. Here.” She reclined on the couch, took up the remote and lay her head in my lap, gently, to face the television. “What are you watching?”

“Oh, nothing,” I admitted, “just flipping around.”

“Mmm,” she replied, satisfied, growing quiet, jumping through a few channels herself. The move from the bedroom to the living room was obviously an exertion for her.

We sat there, the two of us together, for some time in peace. I ran my hands, absently, through her dark hair, enjoying its thick softness. Her head felt heavy in my shrunken lap and I couldn’t help but marvel at its size. It nearly completely covered both of my thighs. I thought a bit about last night, how this woman alongside me seemed so much different than the dominating vixen I came home with.

“Rob?” Denise’s voice asked, softly, interrupting my reverie, “about last night…”

“Yeah?” I responded, still petting her hair with affection.

“Did I…hurt you?” she asked tentatively, “At all?”

“What?” I responded, once again trying to sound casual, “Oh, you mean…last night. Yeah, uh, no…no. I’m fine.” I felt myself flush, a bit mortified.

“Because we got, a little, y’know,” she continued, obviously trying to be careful of my feelings, “hot and heavy. And you…well…you’re so little now. I just hope I didn’t hurt you.” She flipped through a few more channels, to a cooking show.

“No, no, I’m fine,” I reassured her, beginning to hope she’d drop the topic. I was loathe to talk about it in depth, at this point, and hoped her memory was a bit fuzzy.

We settled in, watching the cooking show for a few minutes until another set of commercials. Denise flipped around a bit more, and found “The Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman.” I was hoping against hope that she would surf on by it…but no luck.

The movie was at the part where Allison Hayes, as the statuesque femme fatale, is walking around town as a giantess, looking for her wayward husband. Sort of cheesy effects, of course, a B- movie in every way, but Denise was obviously interested. Watching it with her brought me, on the other hand, nothing but unease and – to my great dismay – a growing arousal.

Between the striking images of a 50-foot blond traipsing through a small town, the lingering knowledge of our changing marriage, and Denise’s warm, heavy weight on my lap, my manhood began to stiffen. I fought against it, with all my will, to no avail. The situation was out of my control. It began to press up, against Denise’s ear and upper jaw.

If she noticed me hardening through my sweatpants, she gave no response at first. I began to hope that, by some miracle, she had fallen asleep. I did not want Denise knowing, at least any more than she possibly already did, how much her dwindling husband was actually aroused by these images of huge, dominating women.

But, of course, no luck. As I stiffened further, watching Allison Hayes break through the thin wooden walls of the local saloon to retrieve her husband, Denise moved her head, raising it a bit. My breath quickened, but I remained silent – as did she. And then, with one hand, she pulled down at the waistband of my sweatpants and freed my member. I gasped, I think, and considered telling her to stop, but before I knew it she had taken me into her mouth.

The silence between us was broken only by my low groan of pleasure as she began to slowly, gently, with utmost affection work my stiff erection with her warm, wet, skilled mouth. At my reduced size she was able to take in so much of me; her tongue and lips felt unlike anything I had felt before. On the television I watched Allison Hayes grab her little husband in her hand before closing my eyes and falling into my own fantasies. I heard the tiny man’s screams as I pictured myself, now, in the hands of my giant wife, as she brought me towards her immense bosom.

I looked down, at Denise’s head bobbing in my lap as she sucked at me tenderly. I felt my orgasm building and knew it would be quick to come, even at this slow pace. The thought, the knowledge that she knew that these images of an utterly huge woman, one absolutely overpowering her husband sparked my arousal, caused me to shiver, both in excitement and humiliation. Nonetheless, it was effective, and as I closed my eyes I was back again in my fantasy where I was held in her hand, bringing my eyes away from her deep, massive cleavage and up into her huge, beautiful eyes. She smiled at me - a loving, knowing smile - and I came, with a wave of warmth, into her mouth.

She eased me through, letting me pulse, my small dick throbbing in her warmth, until I faded. She held me there for a long moment afterwards, allowing me to enjoy the bliss of her wet, surrounding mouth, and then swallowed, drawing my seed down her throat.

Without a word she withdrew her lips, pulled up at my pants and tucked me back in again. She lay her head back in my lap, feeling my hardness diminishing below her and my breath slow back to normal. We went back to watching the television, with Denise flipping about again with the remote during commercials. Thankfully, she settled on an innocuous home-improvement show and began, I could tell, to drift off to sleep, so much left unsaid.

I lay my head back against the couch and let out a long, thoughtful breath. Through what she had just done - the tender blowjob she had just given me as I watched the fifty-foot woman - Denise had told me a lot, though not a word was uttered. All hopes, I knew, of her having forgotten the events of last night, my behavior, were gone. Our relationship, I knew, had changed irrevocably.

I began to doze off myself after a few minutes, my thoughts again troubled.

I was roused a bit in my slumber by the sound of Denise’s voice, in the kitchen. She had apparently risen from the couch some time before. I was groggy, more than half asleep, but could just barely make out the conversation.

“…sleeping in the other room,” I heard Denise’s voice say. A Pause. She was obviously on the phone. “Yeah, yeah…he’s okay.” Who was she talking to? I wondered

“No…he didn’t say anything, not yet.” Pause. “Y’know, you did act like a little tramp last night…well, okay, we both did!” She must be talking to Cindi, comparing notes on last night’s shenanigans, I deduced, even in my murky state.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right….big tramps!” Denise laughed, trying to stay quiet, obviously not knowing I was at all awake.

“MmHmm…right…” Denise continued, growing more serious, listening to Cindi on the other end, “I started it up again last week….I know, I know, I’m pretty excited…the doctor says the program should start working quickly, seeing as I’ve been on it before…Yeah, according to Valerie, within the next few days, maybe…” Was she talking about my doctor? Doctor Valerie Richards? I was more than a little confused. “I think I can maybe feel it a little bit already,” she added.

Denise was quiet for a bit as she listened to Cindi. “Yeah, Yeah, I can’t wait...Oh! Don’t be jealous!” Denise chirped in reassuringly, “You’ll catch up!”

What in god’s name were these women talking about? I think it would have intrigued me, bothered me a bit more, were I any more conscious. As it was, this all seemed a bit like a dream.

“I know, I know,” Denise said, beginning to titter with glee, “We’ll have to go out shopping together…” Another pause as Denise listened, dissolving again into giggles, “Oh, stop! Cindi! You’re terrible!” Denise said, trying to control her laughter. She was beginning to move out of the kitchen, further away, to bring herself out of earshot, concerned about me hearing her. “Yeah, yeah….” she continued, as she drifted down the hallway, “I know…” She was now in the den; I could barely make out what she was saying, and was beginning to nod off again to sleep. “I know, I know….” she said, just as she closed the door for privacy, “the poor little guy doesn’t know what he’s in for..!”

I slept, I think, another hour or so, until a bit after noontime. The rest of the day went on like any other lazy Sunday. Denise was at her sweetest, her most endearing, in attempts to draw my sympathy for her hangover. I took care of her as best I could, with water, food and aspirin, just to see that pretty smile of hers twinkle at me. Though I thought a bit about the conversation I overheard earlier between Denise and Cindi, for some reason I didn’t ask her about it. I told myself that it was because I didn’t want to pry, but in actuality, part of me didn’t really want to know. And, anyway, I was half asleep during the whole thing and was probably not remembering it well.

Basically, I was in a big, fat, stage of denial. The real world, I figured, could wait, at least until tomorrow. Tomorrow I was supposed to be at work.

I started the next day with as positive an attitude as I could manage. It was a beautiful morning, and I wanted to make it a good day.

“Honey?” I heard Denise ask, from where she lay in bed, “You’re not actually thinking about going to work today, are you?”

I was moving about the bedroom in the early morning, starting to dress myself. I was trying to be quiet, to not wake Denise. Obviously, I had failed.

“Well, uh, yeah,” I replied, turning around to face her. She smiled blearily at me and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Gorgeous. “I thought I’d…try…”

“Oh, Rob,” she said, stretching her back, waking up. As usual, my eyes were instinctively drawn for an instant to her heavy chest, braless in the tight tank top she wore to bed. She stretched it to its limits. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” By the tone of her voice, it was clear that she didn’t think it was a good idea at all.

“I dunno…” I answered, suddenly unsure of myself, “I just figured-”

“But you just shrunk, honey,” she reminded me – as if I had forgotten – in a voice a little more stern than I was used to, “you’re so little, now…” She sat up in bed, cleared some covers away from besides her. She obviously wanted me to sit down next to her.

I moved over towards her, walking to the bed, still in my boxers – which, being loose on me, I had to hold up with one hand. “Yeah…I guess…” I said, “it might be kind of tough.” I had thought getting to work today would make me feel better about myself, prove that I could still be productive, accomplish things despite my ‘condition’. But, then again, it would be easier…

“Yeah, just give Gloria a call,” Denise said reassuringly, “She’ll understand.” She patted the space beside her, urging me to sit. “I can do it for you, honey, if you’d like…”

“No, no, that’s okay,” I replied, a little surprised by her maternal tone. I had to hop up onto the bed to sit down next to her. “I’ll call her. I guess I have some…adjusting to do.” I was starting to believe my own logic. “Besides, once again, I don’t have any clothes that fit. At least, nothing I can go to work in.”

“Right, right,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair off my forehead, thinking. “And I’ll call the club,” she continued, “tell them to cancel my classes for today.”

“No, no,” I said, “you don’t have to stay home just to look after me. I’m not…an invalid.”

“Okay, then,” she agreed, “we can go out to the mall, get you some new clothes.”

Ugh. I liked that idea even less, recalling my last trip shopping. “No, really, Denise,” I insisted, “you should go to work. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, alright,” she said, with some trepidation, “but I’ll try to stop somewhere to pick a few things up for you on my way back.” She looked me over, as if eyeing me for size.

“Anyway, if I’m going to be staying home,” I said, half in jest, “we’re going to need you to keep working to afford all these new clothes of mine.”

She smiled, reflecting. “That’s probably true,” she said thoughtfully, “I may be the only one around here making any money soon.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I agreed. The thought had never really occurred to me, but we were likely going to be finding ourselves relying on Denise’s income more and more.

“Well, don’t worry, shorty,” she said teasingly, rustling my hair with a grin and purposefully flashing me some cleavage to placate me, “your wife can bring home the bacon.”

I watched the flesh of her upper breasts jiggle to a halt and tried to chuckle, to let that last comment roll off my back. I took a breath, resigning myself.

“And, honey,” Denise asked, approaching the topic carefully, “what about calling Va-…the doctor? Do you think you should see her?”

I thought for a moment. “I dunno…maybe I should take a day or two, let me get used to being like this,” I replied, convincing myself in the process, “then I’ll call her. It’s not like she can do anything anyway. She said so herself.”

“Well, okay,” she agreed, “you know what’s best.” I looked at her, and she at me.

“Denise,” I asked, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure, honey,” she replied, sitting up straight, adjusting her posture. Man, what a…torso. “What is it?”

“Do you still find me…attractive? The way I am now?”

She looked at me with bemusement and smiled. “What, in your cute little boxers? Of course, you little hunk…How can I resist?”

“Denise, I’m being serious.”

“Oh, honey,” she said consolingly, seriously, “didn’t the other night prove anything to you? I practically raped you up against the wall there.”

“Hold on,” I concurred, trying to smile, “I don’t know about ‘rape’…”

“Well, yeah, it seemed like you were enjoying it yourself,” she said with a wry smile, “but I’m not sure I would have stopped even if you had objected, with all that wine in me.”

“Oh, I could have stopped you,” I said, a bit defensively, my pride rearing itself, “if I wanted.” I wasn’t sure if I believed my own words.

“Could you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “I don’t know, honey.” Seeing my face, she recanted a bit, trying to mollify me. “I mean, I’m sure you’re very strong for your size, sweetie,” she said, “but you’re so very little…”

Call it chauvinistic pride or just plain foolishness, I refused to let this rest. “Hey, I’m not defenseless,” I said, “and I am, y’know…a man.”

“And?” she said, her smile a little less than amused at my stubbornness.

“And…you’re a…a woman?” I stated. Shit. I was digging myself in deep here, wasn’t I?

“And women are the ‘weaker sex’, is that right, honey?” she asked, her voice businesslike, looking down at me. Despite her tone, I think she was actually enjoying this, eager to see where I’d go with it.

“Well, that’s not…” Where was I going to go with this? “That’s not exactly what I, uh…mean.”

“Rob, face it,” she said, finally, “I’m probably twice as strong as you are now. If I remember correctly, you couldn’t budge me off the dance floor at the party, even with all your might.” Seeing me start to bristle, she shushed me, put a finger to my lips. “Now, I think you’d do best if you swallowed some of those macho male instincts,” she suggested, her eyes twinkling, “and come to realize that your ‘little wifey’ can plain ol’ kick your butt anytime she pleases.”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, as Denise began to laugh. She knew she would get a reaction out of me with that last line, and was asserting herself half in jest. But she was also half serious, and seemed to like the idea of being the stronger of the two of us. “C’mon,” I added, still not willing to let it pass as a forgotten joke, “I’m stronger than I look!”

“I’m sure you are, sweetie.” The sickly sweet condescension was maddening.

“And I can still take a woman!” Oh crap.

She eyed me, her smile fading a bit. She looked, if anything, a bit annoyed at my pride.

“I can!” I insisted peevishly, not knowing when to quit.

“Okay, okay, little man,” Denise said finally, her eyes flashing, “Prove it.” With that she took one hand and pushed me, on my chest, hard. Hard enough that I toppled backward, falling fully onto the bed.

Before I could react, she was on top of me. What a show I had as Denise, springing into action on all fours in her skimpy nightclothes, crawled over my body. I should have used that brief second to try to escape, but I was caught gazing at her huge breasts as they hung inches above my face, restrained by her tank top. They looked, somehow, larger than ever and I couldn’t help but gawp at them. Man, I thought, she is big.

“Like the view?” Denise asked, obviously noticing my reaction as she quickly used the distraction to exert her power over me. I felt her hands descend on my own. Back into the action, I tried to struggle, fighting hard against her grip to break free - but it was too late. Denise had both my arms above my head and held fast. I bucked my body upwards with force, hoping to shift her balance and throw her off me, but it did no more than bash my body into hers and cause her to restrain me further. She tightened her thighs on either side of my legs, closing my legs together. Her legs were always strong, and certainly too much for me to resist now; I was held motionless.

She switched her grip on my two hands and now used just one of hers, spanning across and restraining both of my wrists. I was suddenly, I realized, at her mercy. I tried to move, she handled both my arms with one hand easily, and had my legs and hips clamped between the vise of her thighs. I was really straining now, panting, struggling in vain. I couldn’t move unless she decided to let me.

“Finished, little man?” she asked, her voice serene, “Give in yet?”

“Never!” I cried, in my most heroic voice, “I will not…oof!…Relent!” I figured, at this point, if I was going to get out of this with any scrap of pride left, I’d better find what humor I could in the situation. I defied her with one last effort and managed to elevate the hand that held me perhaps an inch or so before she pushed back with a force that was overwhelming and unstoppable.

“Are you sure?” It was maddening…she was not even breathing heavy.

“Arrr!” I grunted, at my most macho. Denise merely rolled her eyes.

As I tried to catch my breath, she used her free hand to tickle me, under my arm, where she knew I was vulnerable. I immediately started to squirm and cry with laughter, unable to stop her.

“Okay! Okay!” I sputtered, trying to talk in between spasms of laughter, “I surrender! Please stop!”

“You surrender, eh?” she asked, relenting her torture, looking me in the eye, “Let me hear you say ‘I am weaker than my wife’.”

I frowned at her gloating face. “Denise, please…”

I was immediately tickled again.

“Okay! Okay! You win!” I panted, as she looked at me once again, grinning broadly, “I am weaker than my wife.”

“Good boy. You’re learning. Now say ‘A woman is stronger than I am’.”

I paused, looking her in the eye. She was not going to let me out of this. “A woman is stronger than I am.”

“Very good,” she said playfully, “now we know who’s boss, huh?” She was clearly elated.

“Yeah, whatever,” I replied, taking stock of my wounded pride, “can you let me up, please…boss. You’re…squashing me.”

With a giggle she rolled off, and lay there next to me. We stared up at the ceiling for a bit, allowing me to catch my breath. She was quiet, and obviously thinking about what had just occurred.

After a few moments she spoke again. “You kind of like me dominating you, don’t you Rob?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?” I had heard her question, but it shocked me so that it just needed repeating.

“You enjoy it when I take control, don’t you?” she asked again, her voice calm, “You like being helpless, helpless to me. To a big woman.”

“Uhhh…” I paused, trying to think how to answer this. How did I feel? Did I enjoy this?

“It’s okay, honey,” she said, turning her head to face me, “look between your legs.”

I looked down and there I was, my boxers having slipped down, hard as ever. “Yeah, uh…” I started, in my own defense, pulling my shorts up a bit.

“Shhh..shhh…it’s okay…it’s okay,” she said reassuringly, “I understand, I don’t mind.” I could see the gears working full speed in her head. She wanted to explore this issue with me more, I could tell, but saw I was uncomfortable with it. She smiled warmly at me. “Well, I should be getting up,” she said, mercifully changing the topic, sitting in the bed, “get myself cleaned up for work.” Before rising to her feet, however, she placed one hand, gently, on my swollen crotch and gave it a meaningful squeeze.

I smiled, still a bit uneasy, and watched her stand and walk into the bathroom. I lay there for a bit, hands behind my head, thinking. What was going on? My life was changing so fast around me. I felt that every day, in some way, I was relinquishing a little bit of control over my life. I was on a slippery slope and couldn’t keep myself from sliding down, down into a world where others around me were so much more…significant. Where they looked at me less and less as a man and more and more as a - I don’t know - helpless little…thing. And my wife, Denise, was becoming less and less my equal, my peer. She was becoming, more so every day, my superior, my caretaker. And, I had a hard time dealing with just how little this bothered her, how easily she fell into this new role. Rather than trying to bolster my confidence, get me to resist my shrinking any way I could, she seemed to want me to accept these changes, embrace our “new life together.”

It was, I had to admit, easier to do it her way than fight it. Instead of waking up every day to a new set of disappointments, why not rather let it all slide by, let myself fall into whatever pathetic little thing I was destined to be? Denise would be there, to take care of me.

But, despite this apparent logic, my pride gnawed at me. I could not wilt so quickly, so easily.

I was interrupted from my reverie by Denise, coming back into the room after her shower, a pink bath towel wrapped tightly around her curves, another about her head, gathering her thick, wet hair.

“What’s up, honey?” she asked, catching me deep in thought. She scrubbed her hair through her towel.

“Oh, nothing,” I answered, “just thinking about everything I’m not going to accomplish today.”

“Honey, don’t be like that,” she said, shaking her hair free, running her hands through it, “You said it yourself, you need a few days to acclimate to things. To relax.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I agreed. My voice sounded dejected.

“I’ll be back this afternoon, with some new clothes,” she reminded me, “and you’ll be feeling better. In the meanti-“ She winced, as if in pain, and brought her hand to her chest.

“Are you okay?” I asked

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied thoughtfully, “just a little…tender.” She lowered her hand, and continued. “As I was saying…in the meantime, you just relax, maybe catch up on some reading.”

“Hanging around here naked?”

She smiled. “Well, if you’d like!” she said “But, here, I must be able to find something that’ll fit you…”

I ended up spending the day in my too-big boxers and a shirt that, on Denise, was a tight little crop-top. On me, however, it was, if anything, big and baggy. Nonetheless, I didn’t have to suffer the indignity too long as she returned from work and a trip to the mall late that afternoon with an armload of clothes for me. Children’s clothes, clearly, marked by the brightly colored bags of the stores from which they were bought.

None of them fitted me quite perfectly, as my dimensions were different than that of a child, but they seemed adequate. Denise had managed to get plain, solid colored clothes, saying that she’d resisted the urge to buy some cute dungarees with bright yellow tractors on the front. I thanked her for her restraint, and she giggled. She did, however, admit to buying me a few other clothes, still out in the car, in a smaller size. When I began to argue with her, insisting I wouldn’t need them, she merely ignored my protests and said someday I’d thank her.

How right she was. No sooner had I spent a few days at my new height, just starting to get used to it and come to some degree of peace, than I shrank again. Denise returned from work that day to find me a dejected mess, and I sobbed the evening away in her arms. Before putting me to bed, however, she insisted on measuring me, against my protests. I didn’t want to know how small I’d become, how much height I’d lost, and she – at the very least – honored my wishes in that way.

Things were changed now more than ever. I struggled to open doors. No longer could I see comfortably over any counters in the entire house. Going to the bathroom was also a new experience as I had to climb onto the seat and sit down, no longer able to stand. It was even a challenge to hold on, to keep myself from falling in the toilet as my backside was too narrow to fill the seat. Eating food was noticeably harder, with regular cutlery feeling oversized in my hands and uncomfortably heavy. Denise pointed out herself the portions I was consuming had dramatically dwindled from normal.

My wife, in general, was beginning to get very practical in asserting herself, in informing me what was best for my own safety and well-being. She decided that it was totally impractical for me to cook or perform most of the household duties, after watching me struggle through too many futile attempts. I had to ask for her help for practically everything beyond my reach, bringing me to resign myself to not do much of anything. I was, it seemed, no longer able to be independent.

I continuously wrestled with the idea of calling Dr. Richards, but for my own stubborn reasons kept putting it off. I called work a few times, obviously concerned about the status of my position. Miss Monroe, for her part, seemed very intrigued how things had progressed with my shrinking and assured me the shoe department was getting along fine without me. She had promoted Sabrina to help manage things, assuring me the move was only temporary when I protested the decision. I was placated, I guess, but still felt like it was just another responsibility on a very long list that I was forced to cede to a woman.

In fact, when I thought about it, the whole state of affairs was a little disquieting. Besides just my tasks of daily living, which Denise had seemed to assume so easily, women were in charge of just about everything in my life at this point. In fact, all around me, I saw women as a growing force of power. Perhaps I was just being paranoid, but I noticed the same thing even in the news and media. For the first time a woman – a former Hollywood starlet, in fact - had just been chosen Speaker of the House – soon after a female majority, again for the first time, was established in Congress. Two of the major networks, for the first time, were run by women; one had just replaced their longstanding, male news anchor with a woman. For the first time a woman had put in the best time in the Boston Marathon only months ago. Was there some sort of conspiracy afoot? Something brewing just under the surface of society that only I was aware of? These, of course, were the musings of a madman. Confident I was still in full control of my sanity, I shook these ideas off as delusional, a symptom of my obviously stressful situation.

Another peculiar detail, which I couldn’t shake off quite so easy, was that there seemed to be something different about Denise. She seemed…bigger. Not just bigger in attitude, confidence, the self-assured poise she had seemed to develop around me. Not bigger just in the importance she held in my life, which was, truth be told, increasingly significant. Not even just in her comparative size to me, as I had shrunk. She actually seemed, in relation to the world around her, bigger.

I first noticed it, as much as I hate to admit it, in her breasts At first I thought I was imagining things until, watching her undress one day, I became convinced. As she pulled her tight, long-sleeved t-shirt over her head, being careful of her breasts which had been recently so tender, I goggled at what I saw. Her breasts were absolutely straining against her black satin bra, overflowing its cups on the sides. She absentmindedly adjusted it around her, fiddling with the straps, oblivious of my gaze. Was this an old bra? I wondered, something she hadn’t worn for a while? No, I realized, it was not. I had an intimate knowledge of her lingerie collection and knew she had worn this bra, at the very most, only two weeks ago. And she didn’t look like this in it, I was sure.

I didn’t say anything about this to her, reveal my observations. No woman wants to be told that they look like they’re gaining weight, right? I started, however, to take note of other little differences I saw. Were her jeans tighter on her as well, their hems - as well as those of her shorts and skirts - shorter? And she had taken, almost exclusively, to wearing a pair of open, summer sandals which didn’t restrict her foot. Could her feet have grown, as well? Had she just gained weight or was she actually getting…bigger?

Again, trying to remain confident that these concerns were just blips to my sanity as a result of stress, I buried my anxieties as deep as I could within me. I convinced myself that it was all just an illusion of my new perspective on the world. But, sometimes my state of ignorance was hard to maintain as I watched her cutting a pair of jeans – which had once fit fine but had, as she claimed, “shrunk in the wash” - into a pair of sexy cut-offs. Or when I found a pair of her nice sneakers in the trash, and a new pair of size nines now in her closet. Nonetheless, my powers of denial were becoming very well developed and somehow I managed to stave off a serious state of alarm. Because the ramifications of the whole thing were, to put it bluntly, terrifying.

And I didn’t need anything more terrifying in my life, to say the least. It was enough to have to deal with my own diminishing significance in the world than to have to also come to terms with an even more ascendant Denise. The mere fact that she was already my near-total caregiver was disturbing enough. What was more disturbing to face, however, was what she potentially visualized as a reality in the future.

Let me illustrate this by describing an episode which occurred late one night, long after we had fallen asleep. During the night I was woken up, as I had been on a few other occasions recently, by Denise shifting around in bed. At my reduced size, even small adjustments in her position seemed like great movements to me. This time, she had rolled over onto her side and one of her thighs was laying across my lower body. I guess it doesn’t need to even be said that her leg was very heavy. I eased it up in my hands, as best I could, and started to push it back, not wanting to disturb her too much from what seemed to be a pleasant dream. She was smiling deeply, mysteriously, and looked relaxed, even a bit euphoric.

“Tell me, Rob…” I heard her mumble. She was talking in her sleep. “Tell me how big I am…”

I remained quiet, listening to her, a hint of dread settling about me.

“Oh, baby,” she continued, still with that enraptured smile, “tell me how big…tell me how big…”

Even as she slept, her breath quickened a bit.

“Come here, come here,” she murmured, “I want to hold my little baby. I want to hold him in my arms.”

Her lips pursed, a look of joy washed over her face. “Yes, that’s it, that’s right. Oh baby, don’t you see how nice this is for you? Can’t you see how big I’m getting? That’s it, sweetie, come up here. Come up here and feel them.” What, exactly, was she imagining? “Oh yes, that’s right,” she continued, “Do you feel how big they are? How much they fill your little hands up? Oh, you can’t even hold them, can you? They’re just too big….”

The imagery, at this point, was all too clear. My wife was dreaming herself holding me in her arms, like a little infant – and it certainly didn’t seem like a nightmare. She seemed transcendently blissful, even in her sleep. Wasn’t I sufficiently small, in the real world? Wasn’t my helplessness complete enough for her already?

Evidently not, for the scene she was describing became even more disturbing. “Oh, baby,” she cooed, her voice high and sweet, “that’s right…that’s right…just nuzzle in there…just nuzzle in. Your wife will take good care of you.” Though it was strange to hear Denise sounding so…maternal, I couldn’t deny the effect it was having on me; an erection had grown hard and stiff between my legs.

“Just nuzzle in and…ooooh…that’s right,” she continued, “Take it in…good. Ooooh, baby…that’s good. Does that feel nice, hmm? Does that make you feel better? Mmmm…yes, yes it does…oh, good boy, good baby.” What she was obviously doing now in her dream appalled me even more – yet held me rapt with attention, excited me even in its deviance. “Oooo! Look at you! Look at my sweet little man! That’s right…that’s good…mmmm…does that taste good, sweetie? Does it..?”

“Denise!” I whispered, “Denise!” I could take no more. The imagery was absolutely too much for me to handle and I had to rouse her. To my chagrin I was finding myself becoming even more incredibly aroused and couldn’t let this continue; it was all too unsettling.

Still she slept, though the satisfied smile on her lips was beginning to fade into a frown. “Denise!” I continued, hissing, “You’re dreaming!”

Her eyes fluttered she moaned a bit. “Mmmm…” she murmured, “Rob…?”

“Yeah, Denise,” I said, suddenly sort of feeling guilty for waking her, “You were…having a nightmare.”

She opened her eyes a bit, looking at me dreamily. Her smile returned, wide and content. “Mmm…I was dreaming…”

I squirmed a bit under her beatific gaze. What was she seeing, looking at me? Me as I was, or the husband she held in her dreams?

She blinked a few times, and closed her eyes again, finally moving over to kiss me on the forehead. “G’night, baby,” she murmured, and fell back to sleep.

I lay there, trying to ignore my arousal for a long while, but the imagery would not leave my head. Eventually I found myself, dick in hand, trying not to wake my sleeping wife as I beat myself off, images of her looking down at me as I nursed like an infant at her breast. I was shocked, appalled at myself, but unable to stop. Though the climax came quickly, naturally, it served only to deepen my sense of foreboding for my future and my state of mind.

Anyway, I did my best to stay positive during the days ahead, mainly through denial and self-imposed isolation from reality. Denise, taking on more classes and more responsibilities in general at the club, was away most days. I was still at adequate size, after some adjustments around the house, to fend for myself at home.

Nonetheless, there wasn’t too much for me to do during the day but sit, nap and watch television. It was doing exactly that late one morning – watching Oprah talk with an “empowering” group of female CEOs as I dozed in and out – when I heard the doorbell ring. I felt a slight panic…who could it be? Someone coming to visit? Some sort of delivery? It turned out to be both.

I walked to the front door and, being to short to look through the peephole, called out, in the deepest voice I could manage, “Who is it?”

“Rob?” I heard back, through the door, “It’s me, Sabrina.”

Sabrina? What was she doing here? I felt uncomfortable about letting her in; she hadn’t seen me for some time and my new height would be a shock. “Oh, hey Sabrina…” I called out, “What’s up?”

“Uh…” she answered, “Can you…open the door?” A reasonable request, of course. I guessed I should.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, “hold on.” As I mentioned earlier, it was a struggle, now, to open doors. But, with a little determination I was able to force down on the handle and pull back on the heavy door with my hands.

Squinting, a bit, against the noontime sun, my eyes first made out a pair of long, bare, nicely toned legs in a short but conservative skirt. I looked up to see Sabrina, previously my pretty little assistant, looking down at me with the wide eyes and open jaw of astonishment.

“Wow,” she said, doing her best not to be rude, “look at you.”

I looked around her, checking for others about the yard or street. “You had…better come in.”

I opened the door a bit wider and stepped aside to let her enter, hoping I hadn’t been seen. I swung the door back closed but this one had always needed a little shove to latch it completely. I had pushed on it several times, and was ready to give up until Sabrina’s arm appeared above me and pushed it closed easily.

I looked up at her, a bit sheepishly as I felt that familiar, internal pang of inadequacy. She was smiling down at me with sympathy and, dare I say it, pity. To see that in her eyes made my pride squirm. Why did she have to be here?

“Thanks,” I mumbled, noticing she carried a package, “is that for me?”

“Oh, uh, no,” she said, fiddling with the box in her hands, “it’s for Denise. She called me yesterday, asked if I’d put aside a new pair of heels for her.”

“Oh,” I said, “Another pair, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” she responded, “It’s the same type she chose out last month, just a size…uh…bigger.” Sabrina seemed a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound casual but knowing my fears were becoming confirmed, “her feet have, uh, swelled up a bit, recently.”

“Oh…yeah..?” Sabrina said guardedly. Did she know something I didn’t? “Anyway, I thought I’d bring them over for her, pop over on my break, give me a chance to see how…you were doing.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” I said, trying to smile, “you can put them down over there.” I caught myself watching her bend. “And, hey, where are my manners?” I said, a bit reluctantly, “Come on in.” I gestured down the hall, to the living room. She smiled in thanks and turned to walk. Her legs looked fabulous in a smart pair of four-inch pumps. I had to avert my eyes to keep them from following her pert rear as I walked behind her.

I climbed up onto the sofa and she sat in a chair opposite me, leaned in towards me. We both smiled at each other, not really knowing what to say.

“So, uh,” I started, breaking the silence, “congratulations on the promotion.” I couldn’t help but notice there was something different about Sabrina.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” she replied, a touch self-conscious, “it’s really nothing...”

“Yeah, well, good luck anyway,” I said, trying to sound positive, “I’m sure you’ll do great. Is Miss Monroe treating you okay?” What was it about her? She looked more…mature. Was that it?

“Oh, sure, she’s happy,” she responded, a bit vaguely, “with, uh, y’know…”

“No,” I said, still trying to maintain my relaxed smile, getting the feeling I was about to hear something that would alarm me, “With what?”

“With, uh, everything…” she continued, still evasive, “You know her…as long as sales are up, she’s happy.”

“Really?” I said, my face blanching, “Sales are up? In the shoe department?” Another shot to my reeling self-respect.

“Oh, yeah,” Sabrina replied, unable to hide a bashful pride, “In shoes, in lingerie…well, everywhere since…”

“Since..?” I was a little confused. What was she hiding? Was this about to get worse?

“Well, since she replaced all the managers with women,” she said finally, “She saw sales were up in shoes when I came on, said it was a change she wanted to make anyways, so all the guys in the other departments kinda…got the boot.”

“Hmph…No pun intended, right?” Holy crap, what was happening?

“Yeah,” she said, smirking at my joke, “but…I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure, when you come back, she’ll, uh…”

I looked at Sabrina, who was struggling to find the right, most tactful words.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be back in shoes, she likes you,” Sabrina continued. She didn’t sound a bit convincing. “Maybe we can, y’know, be…co-managers?”

“Yeah, maybe…” I said, finding it hard to hide the dejection in my voice, “If I ever get back to good ol’ Harold’s.”

“Hera’s.”

“What?”

“Hera’s,” she corrected me, “Miss Monroe renamed the store ‘Hera’s’ last week.” Again, Sabrina looked a little uncomfortable, like she didn’t want to be the one breaking all this news to me. “The way she figured it,” she explained, “is that the store’s not owned by a man any more, so why does it have a man’s name?”

“Yeah, but it’s been called ‘Harold’s’ for, like, sixty years or something,” I said with disbelief, “and she renames it just like that?”

“I guess…” she responded, distractedly, looking about the room. “So,” she continued, eager for a change of topic, “how are you…y’know…coping?”

“Well,” I replied, putting on my most resilient voice, “every day is a new challenge.”

“Yeah, I heard you had shrunk a little more from Gloria, but I didn’t expect you to be…” she trailed off, “How, uh, tall are you now?”

“I…don’t actually know,” I responded truthfully, “three feet or so?”

“Wow,” she said, nodding, “It must be like being a kid again, living in a grown-up world.”

“Definitely a new perspective on things,” I said, “Kind of a reminder of how much we for granted.” Again, I got the feeling something was different about Sabrina. And not in her bearing, or looking more mature.

“Yeah, huh,” she said, looking me over, “So…what do you do for clothes? Are those…?”

“Kids clothes?” I said, answering her question, “Yeah. Too bad, if I knew you were coming over, I would have dressed up. Put on my ‘Spongebob’ shirt.”

“Oh, very cute!” she giggled, the tension slowly easing between us. “Well, I dressed up for you,” she said coyly, almost flirtatiously, “Did you notice the heels?”

I blushed a bit, recalling her walk down the hallway. “Hmm? Oh, yeah…” I responded.

She stretched a single, tan leg out towards me, spun the heel with her delicate foot and narrow ankle. “You like that, hmm?” she said with false seduction, wagging her eyebrows, a private joke between us. She saw I wasn’t laughing and drew back her leg. “But I guess you’ve kinda lost your love for high heels, huh?”

“Mmm..” I agreed, now the one anxious for a change of subject.

“Makes sense,” she concluded, “ladies are big enough for you already, huh?” I squirmed in my seat, and didn’t respond, my discomfiture obvious. “But, hey, I guess that brings me to one of the other reasons I’m here. Can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Well, uh, I’m not sure how to ask you this…but I thought you’d, uh…be the right one to talk to about…this…” she was clearly searching for the right words. I just looked on, encouragingly. “It’s just that, uh, well, my new boyfriend…have you met him?”

“No, I don’t thi-”

“Well, he asked me a little while ago to, uh, get…surgery.”

“Surgery?”

“Well, yeah…y’know,” she said, raising her brows, lowering her voice a little, “implants.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. Silly men. “Anyway…I looked into it. Talked to my doctor. And she suggested…” At that Sabrina paused, in thought, and furrowed her cute brow a bit.

“Yes..?” I urged, genuinely interested. Of course you’re interested, you stupid, predictable little man. She’s talking about her breasts.

“Well…I don’t know if I should be telling you this…”

“Why?” I asked

“Well, it’s supposed to be ‘confidential’,” Sabrina explained, rolling her eyes again, “ ‘experimental,’ the doctor said. But I can trust you, right?”

“Of course,” I insisted, now more than just interested.

“Okay,” she continued, drawing in a little closer, conspiratorially, “Well, she suggested a new thing, besides implants. A ‘program’.”

“Program?”

“Yeah…medicine. An inhaler, actually, to…y’know…”

“Uh…make your breasts grow?”

“Yeah, basically…” she trailed off, suddenly a bit uncomfortable again. She fell into a pensive silence.

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Does it…” I didn’t quite know how to ask this, “…work?”

“You tell me,” she offered dryly, suddenly throwing her shoulders back and pulling back at the collar of her blouse with both hands. A surprisingly full display of cleavage blossomed into view, the upper flesh of two very healthy-looking breasts, causing my eyes to goggle before she quickly tucked herself away again.

“Whoah…” I remarked, blinking my eyes. When, I thought, did she get those? She was hiding, under that conservative blouse and jacket she wore for work, a nice pair of what must certainly be C-cups.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “Did I hurt your eyeballs?”

“No, no…” I said, smiling, shaking my head, half in jest, as if to clear my vision, “I’ll be okay, I think…”

Sabrina giggled. “Good, I figured you’d be fine, seeing as your wife is…”

“…yes?”

“Well, huge,” she said, emphasizing her point with wide eyes, ballooning her hands off her chest.

“Yeah…” I agreed, swallowing audibly, “she is a…big girl.”

“Yeah, huh?” Sabrina chuckled, and then paused again. She took a deep breath, deciding if she should continue. “Well, anyway…that’s what I wanted to ask you about, ‘cause I know – at least before – y’know…you and heels…”

“Yeah, yeah…” I encouraged her to continue, get to what she was trying to say.

“Well, okay, here goes,” she took another breath, steeling herself, “Do you think, Rob, that guys, in general, like their girls…big?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a touch puzzled, “big…boobs?”

“Well, duh,” she answered, with mock exasperation, “Of course we know that…What I’m wondering is if guys usually, like you, think it’s hotter when a girl is…I dunno…bigger…”

I didn’t really know what she was getting at. Was she still talking about her chest? “Well, I guess, as they say, ‘the bigger the better’.”

“Yeah,” she replied, a bit obtusely, “but I’m getting…’better’ all over the place.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, “Is the medicine making you gain weight?”

“Well, no…I mean…yes…kinda….” She was really confusing me now, “Y’know, forget it. It’s stupid.”

“No, Sabrina,” I urged her, “tell me.” My interest was peaked. What was going on with her? And did it have anything to do with...?

“No, Rob,” she said flatly, “I really can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“Okay, okay,” I agreed, but still hungry for information. I paused, looking at her. She was deep in thought. “Whatever’s going on, it sounds like you should be careful with…whatever it is you’re doing. So, uh,” I asked, again trying to sound casual, “who is your doctor, anyway?”

“Oh, uh, a doctor in town. Doctor Richards is her name.”

“Doctor Valerie Richards?” I said, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.

“Yeah, why?” Sabrina responded, eyeing me a bit warily.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, “It’s just that…well…she’s my doctor too.” I did my best to ignore the alarming coincidence.

“Oh,” she said blankly, “Huh. Weird.” Sabrina looked at me, smiling wanly. “Well, I, uh…guess I should be going.”

“Yeah, uh, okay,” I said, as we both stood up at the same time. Again I extended my hand, ever the gentleman, directing her back to the front door. I followed the click-click-click of her heels to the foyer, where, after I opened the door, we stood for an uncomfortable moment facing one another.

“Well, bye,” Sabrina chirped, suddenly leaning down to kiss me on the forehead. Despite myself, I blushed. “Good luck,” she said, backing out the door.

“Yeah,” I responded, “You too.” There seemed to be something in the air between us that was being left unsaid. “Drive safe.”

“Okay,” she said as she turned, and skipped out to her waiting scooter. I closed the door as she was hopping on her bike, securing her helmet. My back to the door, I heard her engine rev, and then pull away. I released a deep breath of relief as I walked back to the couch and flipped the television back on again.

I settled into the couch to find that Oprah was still talking with the female CEOs. It seemed that the show had escalated into some sort of pep rally for female muscle in the workplace, with the studio audience cheering in near hysterics. Though the executives were all, I had to admit, remarkably hot women despite their business prowess, for some reason the whole scene made me a bit uneasy, and I flipped around the channels.

Ah! There was something to make me feel better! Wow…Look at the tits on that chicita. My eyes goggled at the strikingly gorgeous news anchor currently on the Spanish channel. Sitting behind her news desk, this luscious, latin lovely of long, raven hair and olive complexion was presenting, alongside the news of the day, a magnificent display of deep, dark cleavage and the upper, fleshy swells of an extraordinary bosom. Man, you just don’t see racks like that so obviously flaunted on a news program. I felt myself stiffening slowly as I watched her. Though I could not understand a word of her reporting – English being my first and only language - that bright, blindingly white smile seemed to be saying “Look at me.” As my hand drifted down my pants, I imagined what else that gleaming smile would be saying to me if it could. “Look at me,” it would say, “Look at my breasts. That’s right, don’t think about anything else, don’t think about anything else in the whole world. Just look at my breasts, little boy, and you’ll feel better.”

And she was right. As I jerked myself off, my pants now down around my knees, I did feel better. I wasn’t concerned about possibly losing my job to Sabrina, or my wife cuckolding me into near total dependence. I wasn’t concerned about what I was seeing more and more on the news everyday, about this new wave of female empowerment. I wasn’t even concerned about my own uncertain future, if I would eventually shrink away to insignificance. All I was concerned about, as I stared at the television screen, was this chick’s tits. My god, they were beautiful. She was beautiful. And she knew it. She knew no men watching this channel right now were listening to the news. They were staring at her chest. They weren’t worried about whether the situation in North Korea was cooling off, or about the falling difference in payscales between men and women. They were happy just to watch her breathing. “Look at me, silly little boys,” her dazzling smile insisted, “look at my big, big breasts and forget all your troubles.”

I came with sudden force, my mouth agape and legs akimbo, spattering onto the couch’s cushions. When I finally recovered, I sat there for a long moment, the dark, intelligent eyes of the news reporter still gleaming, still on me. I shook myself back to reality and looked about the room. Denise could not catch me like this.

Without another thought I pulled up my pants, sprang from the couch and set to cleaning things up. It would, if nothing else, occupy my mind and keep me further distracted from my worries. I scrubbed at the sofa’s upholstery, doing a good job of removing any evidence. I picked up other detritus around the living room and, feeling a bit inspired by my own productivity, set to clean up as best I could around the house. As I’ve said before, many tasks were getting beyond my capabilities, but I still found things I could do to make myself useful. A little dusting. Emptying the smaller garbage pails around the house. Neatening the place in general.

I was straightening out some laundry in the bedroom, putting a pair of Denise’s workout shorts away into the tall dresser she had “adopted” from me since I had grown too short to use it. I noticed the topmost drawer was slightly open. I should close that for her, I thought.

As the dresser was very tall, just under six feet, I couldn’t reach the drawer without help. Determined, I pulled over a small, low seat that Denise used when sitting at her makeup table, which would give me another foot and a half or so of height. Standing on that, in front of her dresser, I was just able to push in the drawer. What else did she keep in here? I wondered, now that it was no longer mine, and I had the opportunity to look. I pulled open, with a bit of effort, the second drawer from the top. I wasn’t quite able to see into it, so I reached my arm up and around and grabbed what felt to be some type of silky lingerie.

I began to pull it out, and noticed that I had obviously found where she now kept her bras – I had grabbed a strap. A bit curious – well, I should admit it…a bit aroused – I wanted to see the rest of this large bra. I pulled the bra the rest of the way out of the drawer and was surprised how big it seemed. It draped most of the way to my feet on the stool where I stood.

I used one hand to push open out just one of the soft, white bra cups. My god, Denise packed more up top than I thought. This undergarment, this thing that was designed to support her, was massive. I could have sunk my head inside one cup and still had room.

Fascinated, and feeling maybe a little furtive, I searched the bra for its label. For some reason, the statistics printed on a woman’s bra always held some sort of powerful meaning to me, and I would often find myself reading through my wife’s lingerie drawer for a quick, cheap thrill. 34-E, 34-E, 34-E. It just never got boring.

But what I saw today was certainly not what I expected. This was a new bra, I surmised, and its label read “Goddess 34-EE”.

My heart skipped a beat. Didn’t I sort of expect this? Hadn’t I noticed she had looked bigger recently? Yes, but I had been living in denial, and seeing the actual proof in black and white was a bit of a shock. I had just begin to process this new information, and started to actually justify it to myself – maybe she’s just putting on a bit of weight…didn’t her jeans look tight, too? – when a familiar, disorienting feeling came over me. Oh no…not again.

And there it happened. Standing on Denise’s makeup stool, her giant bra in my guilty hands, I began to shrink. The world rushed around me and, before I knew it, I was a smaller man yet again. One might think that, after as many similar episodes as I had been through, I would have gotten used to this. No luck. I still panicked, my heart racing.

Not knowing exactly what to do, I tossed the bra – now even bigger in my hands – up into the drawer – now high over my head. I gave a half-hearted attempt at closing the drawer, but it tended to stick and I could not close it completely.

I jumped down off the seat and looked around…once more, the world was new. How much height had I lost this time? When would this ever end? I really started to stress out. I couldn’t take it…I had to speak to Denise. Using the phone by the bed, I dialed up her cell phone. Luckily, she was between classes at the gym and answered. I explained what had happened and – sounding genuinely concerned this time – she told me she was coming right home.

I spent the next twenty minutes in a state of nervous anxiety, fretting about the bedroom, not wanting to step outside it and have to deal with the rest of the world just yet. I rustled around the low drawers I used to keep my clothes, looking for the absolute smallest stuff I could find, something I could change into. But, before I knew it, I heard her downstairs, coming through the front door.

“Honey?” I heard her call, “Rob?”

I moved to the door of the bedroom and, taking a deep breath, stepped out into the hallway. I could hear her putting her keys down and moving towards the stairs, so I headed out to greet her. When I reached the top of the stairs she was at the bottom, looking up at me, smiling warmly.

“Hi handsome,” she said, “What’s up?” The look on her face was one of concern. She was obviously trying, at this point, to be extra sensitive, remembering what had happened last time I shrank.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, trying to sound strong, “obviously not me.” I sat at the top of the steps, and smiled wanly back down at her. She was still in her gym clothes, a white, body-hugging lycra top, skin-tight black shorts and sneakers.

She smiled again, took a deep breath, and started to climb the stairs. As she approached, she began to look bigger and bigger and bigger. Thankfully, she did not stand over me but came to sit, on the top step, beside me. She took my hands into hers and lowered her head. We sat in silence, our foreheads touching each other in communion, for a long moment. I would like to say that I was bonding with my wife, trying to take strength in our love, but in reality all I was doing was staring down her top. Her skin looked so dark, her breasts so tan, against the bright white of her stretchy top, which squashed her big breasts together into a deep, taut cleavage. Did she know I was looking at her chest? I don’t know. Probably. But at that moment I didn’t care.

Thankfully, Denise was consoling, sympathetic, and listened to me as I voiced my fears. The sound of her voice, the warmth of her hands around mine, the view I had of her dark cleavage all served to calm my nerves. She gave me strength, helped me bring things back in perspective, and managed to cheer me up a bit.

“So,” she said, finally, straightening her back, “we should go find you something to wear.” It was true…for all my rummaging, I hadn’t changed my clothes since I shrank, and it showed. My shirt and pants draped on me comically.

With that she rose to a crouch, looming over my shrunken, seated form, and offered me her hand. I took it and she stood, helping me to my feet. I stood, and watched my wife continue to rise…and rise…and rise. Whatever good feeling she had managed to engender in me quickly dissolved as I faced her, not much above her lower thighs, feeling absolutely, totally dwarfed. Rooted to the spot in awe, I watched her giant, voluptuous body – as if in slow motion, the effect was so dramatic - turn and walk down the hallway to our bedroom, her muscular rear swaying to and fro in her lycra outfit.

Shaking myself back to reality, I followed her, quickening my pace a bit to catch up. In the bedroom I found her standing, hands on hips, surveying the scene, weighing the options. “What to wear, what to wear, what to wear for my little husband?” she mused, as if to herself, looking over to the closet, at the dressers. Something about the tall dresser, my old chest of drawers, caught her eye, and she walked over to it.

“What do we have here?” she asked, noticing the top drawer lay half-open, a piece of lingerie dangling over its edge, “Has someone been looking through my undies?” Oh no! Her bra drawer! I had forgotten. I hadn’t been able to close it after I shrank!

She pulled the white, satin bra out of the drawer and turned to me, a wry smile on her lips. Looking down, she noticed her makeup stool at her feet. “What have you been up to when I’ve been away, hmm?” she asked, and started to walk slowly towards me.

“Oh, yeah, uh…” I replied, trying to come up with an answer, “I was just, uh, just putting away laundry…”

“But honey,” she said, a playful pout on her lips, “this bra wasn’t in the laundry. Why is it out? What were you doing with it?” She continued to make her way across the room to me, slowly approaching.

“U-uh…n-n-nothing…” I stuttered, flushing red, casting my gaze down to the floor.

“Nothing, huh? You must have been doing something with it,” she persisted, still moving towards me, fiddling with the bra as she neared, untangling its straps, smoothing its cups, “It was hanging right out of the drawer.”

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, unable to find words for even a meager defense.

“Were you trying it on for size? Hmm? Were you trying it on to see how well it fits?” she asked, standing now right in front of me. I faced her tan, powerful thighs like scolded child. Despite her stern, almost disciplinary words, her tone was mischievous. She was obviously finding some amusement in the situation. I looked down at her feet, not able to do the same. “Is that what you were doing?” she continued as she leaned down towards me, trying to draw a reaction, “Do I have a husband who tries on his wife’s things while she’s away?” Still I remained quiet, mute with shame. “Well, then, let’s see how it fits.”

With that she opened up the bra and, before I could protest, dropped one of its huge, white cups over my head, which it all but covered. The soft, satiny, slightly padded material was smooth, cool against my hot cheeks. Despite the shock of sudden shame, it felt nice as she rubbed it into me, massaging my face soothingly with her bra, the light of the room filtered dimly though it.

“You know, Rob,” she said from above me, playfully, “I don’t really think we share the same size, do you? In fact, I think this bra is even a little bit too big for your head.” She tugged down gently on the edges of the cups, pulling it more tautly over my face, plastering my hair to my head. “How does that make you feel, hmm? Knowing your wife’s breasts are bigger than your head?” she asked, smoothing the bra over my face with her hands, “Does that turn you on?” Seeing that - despite her teasing - I was not in good humor, she changed tactics. Her voice had dropped lower, became more seductive.

“C-c’mon Denise…” I stuttered, humiliated but shamed into arousal, “c-cut it out…”

“Oh, I think it does,” she insisted, “I think it turns you on, looking at my bra, realizing how big my breasts must be. I think you probably do this a lot, when I’m away.”

“N-n-no…” I tried to protest, weakly, my voice muffled with material, “D-Denise…”

“Because it can be a long wait, can’t it honey?” she continued, ignoring me, “So frustrating, just waiting for me to get back, hmm? Waiting for your wife to get back home? So, you sneak into her dresser. You pull out her bras, like a little boy looking through mommy’s things. You imagine the size of the breasts it takes to fill these cups, these big, big cups. And it turns you on, doesn’t it? It turns you on, knowing she has such big breasts.”

“D-denise…” I whined, my voice so small, “s-s-stop…”

“Oh Rob,” she whispered, as if disappointed with a child, at the same time stuffing the smooth, soft material of her bra into my mouth with her fingers, effectively gagging me, “Is that what you do? Do you play with yourself here at home, when I’m off work? Do you take out my bras and play with yourself, looking at them, imagining how big my breasts must have to be to fill them up? You do, don’t you? You jerk off with my bras.” I tried to argue, but my voice was stifled still. “And you read the labels, too, don’t you? Read the labels on my bras, telling you just exactly how big I am.” Though nearly choked, I managed a brief gasp as I felt her tug down my already slack pants, leaving me in my loose, child-sized briefs, obviously hard with an erection. “You jerk off here, in our bedroom, reading the labels of your wife’s bras, don’t you?” she continued, as I felt her large, warm hand cup my turgid manhood, “And, so…are they impressive? Hmm? Are you impressed with your wife’s size? I mean, I’ve always worn a big cup size, ever since high school, but…well…you must have noticed some…changes in me recently, haven’t you Rob?”

With her bra still stuffed in my mouth, I could not answer, but uttered a small croak in response.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she ungagged me, pulling the material of the bra from my mouth, freeing me to talk again, “I can’t hear you, honey.” With that she took the bra from off my head, allowing me to breathe in the cooler air. She stood before me, bent over at the hip. Her enormous breasts swelled in my vision, stretching at her white lycra top. “There, that’s better,” she continued, “Now, what were you saying?”

“h-huh?” I uttered, my head confused, my mind preoccupied by the ministrations of her hand at my crotch, which had begun a gentle massage through my shorts.

“Oh, you poor man,” she cooed, “you were just going to tell me if there was another reason, maybe, why you were checking out my bras, if you’ve noticed something different about me recently?”

I remained quiet, muted by the attentions of her skillful hand.

“Hmm, honey?” she pressed, taking me into a firm grip, between her fingers, through my shorts, “Have you noticed? Have you noticed my breasts getting bigger?”

I stayed silent, loathe to speak my suspicions, which I felt would make my fears all too real.

“Oh, come on, honey, tell me,” she continued, as she began to stroke me slowly beneath the thick cotton of my briefs, all the while allowing me to stare at the display of deep cleavage she had presented for me, appreciate her size, “have you? Have you noticed?”

“…y-y-yes…” I whispered, acquiescing finally.

“That’s right, that’s right, sweetie. You’ve noticed how my breasts have been getting bigger, haven’t you? You’ve seen how they’ve gotten even bigger than before. And you wanted to check it out, make sure for yourself. You wanted to look at my new size, didn’t you?”

“y-yes…”

“You were curious, weren’t you Rob? You just couldn’t help yourself,” she purred, “isn’t that right?”

“y-y…y-yes…”

“You tried so hard not to, but you couldn’t resist, could you? You’ve gotten so…so…fixated, so fixated on my breasts, since you began to shrink, that you just couldn’t resist.”

“nnnhhh….” I groaned, as her hand’s efforts were beginning to have more of an effect.

“So you snuck up here,” she said, her tone flat, matter-of-fact, “while I was away at work, and you looked at my bras.”

“y-yes…” Speaking was becoming an effort.

“You looked at the labels, right?”

“yes…”

“You looked at the labels of my bras.”

“yes…” Despite the humiliation, I was looking now only for release, and fell into her rhythm as she slowly built her pace.

“And it turned you on, didn’t it, looking at those numbers? Looking at those letters?”

“yes,” I panted, gaping shamelessly down her top, watching as her flesh rose and fell with each breath, jiggling with her efforts.

“And seeing it? Seeing that I had gotten bigger?”

“yyyes…”

“Seeing that I was growing, seeing that label, right?

“yyyes…”

“Seeing that label, seeing those numbers, those letters, and imagining, just imagining what they mean. Imagining the size of the breasts that that bra supports. It was just too much to take, wasn’t it, honey?”

“oh…oh…yes…”

“Seeing those letters, those double-E’s, that really turned you on, didn’t it?”

“yesss…yesss…”

“Yes it did, didn’t it? Double-E…Double-E…” she repeated it like a mantra as she continued to jack me off through my shorts, “Double-E…Double-E…” Her hypnotic voice was bringing about its desired consequence, and I felt my climax approaching. “Oh, Rob,” she whispered, her voice low, conspiratorial, “I never knew you had such a bra fetish. I never knew that about you. You want to know everything about my bras, everything about my size? You want to imagine those numbers when you play with yourself, when you come? Is that it? Okay, well then…I’ve got something I want you to see.”

With that she got down, in front of me, on her knees. As short as I was, my view was still no higher than her chest. I gasped as, with her free hand, she took my hand and drew it between my legs. She placed my hand inside my shorts, on my own stiff member and, together, her hands over mine, we stroked it anew. Though I resisted at first – never had I touched myself in front of her – I was so aroused, and her grip so insistent, that soon I relaxed and fell into her rhythm.

“Look at me, honey,” she began, inflating herself with a deep breath, “look at my breasts.” She allowed me a moment to appreciate her abundance before continuing, slowly withdrawing her hands from mine, lowering my loose briefs. I gawked and continued beating myself off to the view. “I have big breasts for a woman, baby. Really. Big. Breasts. You see, honey? I even need to wear a bra to support me under my workout top, I’m so big.” It was true; I could plainly see that she wore a bra under the thick material of her top. “Now, Rob, the bras in that drawer were all double-E cups,” she explained, speaking slowly, lowering the strap of her lycra top down, off her right shoulder. “Now, that’s a size bigger than I used to wear. A size bigger than I used to wear before I hit my little…growth spurt.” She was watching me, I could tell, from above, watching my eyes goggle at her curves, watching me jerk myself off.

“But, now,” she continued, slowly lowering her left strap, “now even those are getting tight. Now I think I need something even a little bigger.” With both of its straps now lowered, she peeled her top down from the front, revealing her taut, white bra. The sight itself, of her big, soft breasts in that formidable bra, was nearly enough to finally bring me over the edge; I teetered there. “This is a brand new bra, honey. This is the right size for me, now. And look,” she instructed, as she gathered her hair from behind her and rotated, spinning a bit on her knees, showing me her back, “look at the label of this one.”

She waited, watching me from over her shoulder, waited for me. Waited for me to make a move. I looked at her trim, tan, well-muscled back. Still I stroked myself, quickly now, close to orgasm. “C’mon, honey, look,” she urged me, “Look at my bra label. You know where it is, under the strap…”

Though now so close to climax that I could barely stand, I managed to take a slow step forward, facing her back. With my free hand I grabbed the strap of her bra, for my own support as much as anything, and noticed that – if anything – it was digging a bit tight into her. I took a deep breath, feeling the heat of her eyes upon me, and flipped the strap, revealing the label.

The world swam, centered on that little tag of blue.

Goddess – 34-F

My knees buckled as I came, finally, in a withering heave. I collapsed against her back, moaning weakly, holding myself up by her bra strap, jacking myself through my climax and dumping my come onto her lower back and tight, muscular rear.

“Oh, Rob,” came her voice from above, “Oh my little, little man…”

I spent the better part of the next week quiet, cowed, uncomfortable whenever I was around Denise, trying to let my ego and dignity recover from our last episode together. Luckily, she had been spending more and more time away at the health club, and when she was at home she really didn’t treat me too differently than before. But, it continued to gnaw away at the back of my mind, no matter how much I tried to forget it, that she knew a little bit more about my fixations than I’d like her to. I know, I know…husbands and wives should be totally honest, totally open with one another. I just couldn’t get over the fact that I viewed it - my obsession with breasts, bras, my own growing submissiveness – as a weakness, a failing in myself. One that had been, since I began with my “condition”, slowly increasing, slowly becoming more debilitating. Was that an effect, also, of the chemical, the same thing that was causing my shrinking? Or just a character flaw becoming more pronounced with the stress I was under, opening up like a wound?

That I was under stress was a given, very apparent in many ways. One of its manifestations was an increasing frequency, and increasing vividness, of the bizarre, disturbing dreams I had started to experience…

“Rob? Rob?” Denise’s voice called to me, rousing me, “Wake up honey, you’re dreaming.”

I woke with a start, pulling myself from the confusion of a nightmare, to find Denise leaning over me, standing beside the bed where I lay. She must have just emerged from the shower, a white towel wrapped tightly around her curves. Her hand was on my shoulder. Reflexively, I pulled back from her, the images of the dream still fresh in my head.

“Shhh…shhh..,” she continued, squatting down closer to me. Her eyes were warm with concern. “It was just a dream, honey…you’re awake now, you’re safe.”

As reality began to coalesce around me, my heartbeat slowing from its racing, I looked about the room. At first I felt a wave of relief…everything was normal size, closer to the scale I remembered, not monumental as it was in my dream. But then, dread began to replace my relief as I realized that maybe they weren’t exactly the same…in fact, things looked…different. Oh no.

“Uh, Denise,” I said, my shaking voice betraying my fear, “I…I think I…uh…”

“Shrunk again?” she said, finishing my thought, “Yeah, I know.” She placed her hand on my cheek, cupping my face to comfort me. “I watched you, just a moment ago, in your sleep. While you were dreaming.”

“Y-you saw it?” I asked, “You saw me shrinking?” I felt a ripple of embarrassment in the indignity.

“MmmHmm,” she replied, “I came out of the bathroom, after my shower, and heard you talking in your sleep.” Her eyes were kind, warm, but also seemed to be trying to mask an exhilaration. “You were obviously dreaming,” she continued, “dreaming about me, I think. And then you started…you started to shrink.”

I merely looked up at her, at her kind, compassionate, beautiful face. She looked…bigger.

She went on, describing the scene. “I wasn’t much, I mean, I could barely tell, but it happened. I watched you get smaller, right in front of my eyes.” She smiled a bit, petting my face. “It was…wild. I’d never seen anything like it.” I tried to ignore her sense of wonder, that there was eager interest in her voice where there should have been compassionate sadness. “And then, you started to whine, to whimper a little bit. Like you were afraid. You kept saying ‘No, no no…Denise…no.’” She studied me a bit, searching my face. “What was I doing to you, honey? In your dream?”

“Uhhh…nothing…” I stammered evasively, recalling the frightening images, “I m-mean…I don’t…I don’t remember…”

“Oh come on, honey,” she implored, drawing in a little closer, “try.”

“uhhh…I don’t-”

“Don’t be afraid, baby,” she entreated, pressing on, “You can tell me.” Her animated curiosity betrayed her enthusiasm.

“W-well…” I started, sitting up a bit in bed, under her alert gaze, “I…I don’t know...” I was definitely smaller, I realized, noting the heft of the sheets around me, the pillow behind. Denise took the opportunity to sit aside me, perching her shapely behind on the mattress, listening intently. She really wanted to hear this.

“I, uh, guess I was…really small…in my dream,” I explained, trying to be as general as possible, “and you…you were…Well, you couldn’t see me…because I was…so small.”

“Mmmhmm,” she said, urging me on, “And...?”

“And I was, like, uh,” I said, hesitating, loathe to continue, “I was…”

“Yes?”

“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath, steeling myself, “I was…trapped in your shoe.”

“Oh? Really?” Denise said, her eyes lighting up with new interest, “In my shoe, huh?” She couldn’t help but smile, though just a glint. “Wow, you must have been…really small, huh? To fit in my shoe?” She paused in thought for a moment. “What shoes were they?” she asked.

“Oh, uh,” I responded, pretending to struggle in my recollection, “a pair of high heels, I think…your blue ones, maybe?”

“My pumps?”

“Yeah, I think,” I replied, eager to drop the subject. But she was relentless.

“High heels, huh? You were trapped in a pair of high heels?”

“Uh, Y-yeah, I guess…”

“So, then…” she urged, “then what happened?”

Do I really have to do this? I wondered. I didn’t want to tell her any of this, as I was understandably ashamed of it, but her eyes pressed me for more. Again I steeled myself, recollecting the horrific visions of the dream, “Well, then…then you…uh…you put your shoes on.”

“Oh no!” she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, “With you in them?!” It must have sounded comical, I admit, but to me the imagery was still fresh, raw, upsetting, and I didn’t find the same humor in it.

I recalled the sight of her absolutely monstrous foot bearing down on me from above, its shadow blotting out all light, as if it had just happened. “Yes,” I responded simply.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said, as if apologizing for my dream, trying to force the delight from her voice, “That must have been terrible.” Still, however, she seemed intrigued. “I must have squashed you like a bug.”

“Yeah, I guess…” I agreed, my voice trailing off. I felt myself start to stiffen. Crap…why was I getting excited by this?

“So,” she continued, “that was where you screamed, huh?”

“Screamed?”

“Yeah, screamed, yelled. In your sleep,” she explained, “That’s when I woke you up.”

“Oh,” I answered.

“Well, you know, honey, that I would never do anything to hurt you. It was just a dream,” she said reassuringly, “I love you more than anything and, even if you did get that small, I would still take care of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” I concurred, “I know it was just a dream…it would be impossible for me to…to get that small.”

Denise leaned in closer to my face with hers, so that her thick, dark hair surrounded both of us. My stomach fluttered in arousal. “Oh, of course it would, honey.”

I looked at her, at her huge, gorgeous face, and breathed in the perfumed aroma of her shampoo. Though something inside me didn’t like the tone in her voice, her beauty absorbed my apprehensions.

“So, tell me,” she beseeched me further, obviously still eager, “how did I look in your dream? As a…a giantess.”

“You were, uh…you were…very big.”

“Just big?” she asked, probing. Her smile widened. “Because, I’m very big compared to you now,” she said, bringing her face closer to me still, emphasizing her size, “in case you haven’t noticed.”

I swallowed audibly. “Well, uh, yeah…okay, you were…you were, like, absolutely gigantic. The size of a…of a building, I guess. All I could see was your feet, you were so…enormous. And I was…I was smaller than one of your toes.” I was beginning to get even more aroused, talking about this. What was wrong with me?

“Like, this big?” she asked, with prurient interest, using her thumb and forefinger to demonstrate an inch or so in height with the space between them.

“uhhmm…n-no…smaller,” I said weakly.

She narrowed the space between her fingers a bit, to about a half an inch. “This big?”

“….smaller.”

She narrowed her fingers even more, a scant fraction of an inch separating them. Her thin smile curled crookedly, one eyebrow arched.

I nodded.

Her face was surprised, her mouth dropped open a bit. “Wow…” she marveled, as if imagining it, “Now that’s small, huh? No wonder you were scared of me, you poor baby.” Denise kissed me with those large lips of hers and flicked her hair back over her shoulders as she sat up a little. I looked at the swell of her chest under the soft terrycloth towel. “Now, what kind of fun could we have together,” she asked her question full of portent, “if that was for real?” Her voice had dropped, and had begun to take on the husky tone of arousal.

“Well,” I answered quickly, looking for an escape, despite my own growing excitement, “I’m glad it isn’t.” I sat up straighter, and would have tossed the covers off to jump out of bed, but she had them held fast, effectively pinning me in. “I’m going to go put some clothes on, okay?”

She sighed as I broke the topic and moved to release me, obviously a bit disappointed. I knew she was getting a little too much into this situation, although I had to admit part of me liked talking about her being so big, so powerful, the size of a giant compared to me. I was really confused with it all, and figured it was best to just avoid the topic.

I leapt from the bed as soon as she rose to head back into the bathroom. Looking around me, at a room bigger than the one in which I fell asleep last night, I thought better about changing my clothes. The thin t-shirt and shorts I wore to bed, though now very baggy, still seemed adequate. I just needed to tighten the drawstring on the bottoms. I didn’t know exactly how small I’d become – my eyes still cleared the top of the mattress, at any rate - and frankly didn’t want to.

As Denise readied herself for work, I headed downstairs. I wasn’t ready to tackle trying to make a breakfast for myself, not really knowing if I could and not very hungry anyway, and settled into an easy chair to read a magazine.

Within twenty minutes I heard Denise descending the stairs with the familiar “click-click-click” of high heels. When I looked up I was a little bit shocked.

“So,” she asked, standing in the entryway to the living room, “How do I look?”

Stunning was the first word that came to mind. Though she was headed to work, the health club, she had on a tight, dark blue skirt cut just above the knee and a crisp blue blouse beneath a form-fitted, short, dark blue jacket. A formal suit, obviously new, and a look in which I had rarely seen her. Despite the fact that she looked like she meant business, her appearance almost severe, her every curve was accentuated – perhaps even over-emphasized – by this perfectly tailored suit. There was no denying that she looked every inch a woman. Aside from just her outfit, every other detail was also obviously done up to impress as well. Her hair was pulled back smartly, elegantly, to show off her swan-like neck. Her lips were outlined and pronounced in a dark pink shade, her gorgeous eyes highlighted by her makeup.

“Well?” she asked, waiting for my answer, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Wow…sorry…” was all I could come up with at first, a bit bedazzled. “You look…great. What’s the occasion? Teaching aerobics to billionaires?”

Denise grinned, beaming a perfect, white smile. “No…” she answered, smoothing her skirt, catching a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror, “I have that meeting today, with some of the owners.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, vaguely remembering her telling me about this last week, “what was it about again?”

“Well, the restructuring, the renaming,” she explained, walking over towards me, “my promotion.”

“Promotion? Really?” Had she told me about that?

“Well, after today,” she said, “that’s why I need to look my best. Some of the owners are still men, so I thought I’d – y’know - sex it up a bit.” She emphasized this with an exaggerated sway of her impressive hips. As she approached closer, watching my eyes roam her curves, she smiled secretly. “You always did like me like this, didn’t you honey? It’s sort of my ‘power’ look.”

“Sure…” I agreed, admittedly aroused by her confident, self-assured appearance.

“And these,” she added, lifting her foot to demonstrate her tall, spiked heels, “these should get me noticed, huh?” They were at least five inches in height, and looked dangerous. “I call them my ‘man-crushers’” she said, in jest, “No offense, of course.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you know, I checked to make sure there were no little men hiding in them before I put them on,” she said, explaining her joke, “but I can’t promise I won’t use them to step on some on my way to the top.” Her smile was mischievous.

“Very funny,” I conceded. For some reason, I felt a bit uneasy that she seemed so excited, so energized by the opportunity to use her appearance, her womanly charms, to help her get ahead at work. My old self would have been excited along with her, cheering her on; the new me felt, if anything, sorry for the poor guys at this meeting. They didn’t stand a chance.

“So,” she said with a sultry purr, walking towards me again, “would you like me to step on you with them?”

“Okay, Denise,” I said, putting my hands up, “enough’s enough.” She was still hooked on this dream of mine, I could tell.

“Oh, come on, Rob,” she implored, her sexy curves oozing their way closer still, “I have a little time to kill before I have to leave, and I want to show you a few things.”

I didn’t know if I liked the sound of this, but my libido, already awake, was becoming intrigued. “uh…okay…”

“I want to show you that getting smaller doesn’t have to be scary,” she said, her magnificent body now towering above me, where I sat, “That even if you got as small as you did in your dream, that there could be some…advantages. Some fun we could have.”

“oh…yeah…?” I gulped, suddenly dumbstruck by her body, looming over me.

“Yeah,” she answered, grinning, “Come here, little man.” With that she reached down and, with one swift motion, lifted me from under the arms up into the air. My mouth gaped as she looked down into my face and carried me over to the couch, smiling the whole way with those brilliant, pearly white teeth and sparkling eyes. I was amazed she was carrying me so easily.

She sat down on the sofa, placing me on my back across her skirted lap, the arm of the couch supporting my head and shoulders. I felt like a small child as she positioned me, making sure I was comfortable. Especially in this outfit, she conveyed a strong sense of authority, and I felt very submissive.

After she had settled us into position, she arched her back to remove her jacket, being certain to demonstrate the fullness, the size of her bust in her silk blouse. She brushed her hand across the jacket and placed it safely to one side before turning her attentions once more to me. I was engrossed, gawking at her profile, the swell of her huge left breast, when I felt her hands ease my shorts down my legs. I was, of course, very hard at this point and becoming eager for her ministrations.

“Now, honey,” she began, as she clasped my hardness in one hand and gently began to massage it, “as I was saying: I want to show you that not everything about being with a giantess has to be scary.”

“Denise, I…err….” I sputtered, suddenly having second thoughts, “I don’t know if we should…”

“Sssh…” she hushed me, placing a finger to my lips and undoing several buttons on her blouse as she inhaled, expanding her chest and pushing her white bra into view.

Whoah. She’s so big.

“Hush, now, honey. Just look at me.” By this point she knew quite well what the sight of her bosom could do to quiet me down, and it worked. My gaze became fixated on the white swell of her enormous breast, supported tautly in its tight, silky bra above me, and I quickly lost all interest in protest.

After I had settled she continued, her hand working my member once again. I began to lose myself in the vision of her chest, the feel of her hand, the sound of her voice. “Let’s imagine, baby,” she said, her voice calm, “let’s imagine that you’re only a few inches tall, and I’m your giant wife, sitting here, with you on my lap. Dressed like I am now.” She paused, watching my face over the swell of her chest. “Can you do that, honey? Can you imagine that?”

“Y-y-yeah…” I answered, aghast at the arousal I heard in my own voice, “s-sure…”

“Good…” she continued, “good…So, honey, you can feel my legs underneath you, can’t you? They’re huge, they feel so strong. And you can see me towering, way up above you, looking down at you. I’m so enormous, Rob, so…vast, so gigantic.”

“y-yes…” I murmured, allowing myself to become lost in the image as her fingers continued stroking me.

“And can you see my breasts, honey? Can you see them swelling out, so huge over you?” Her voice was becoming hypnotic. “Oh god, they’re so big, aren’t they, baby?”

“oh…yes…”

“You feel me grab you, grab you gently with my hand, just like I’m holding you now.” I looked down at my own lap, where her hand held my stiff, naked member, pumping it slowly. “That’s right, Rob, you’re no bigger than your dick is now, you fit right in my hand. Just like a little dick.”

“oh god,” I mumbled, watching her huge hand tenderly overpowering my shaft, imagining myself a tiny man in its place, “oh…g-g-g-god…”

“And now, baby, now I’m picking you up, picking you up and bringing you closer to my chest,” she said, plainly aware of my arousal, the state she had worked me into, “You look out and all you can see are my big, enormous breasts, in front of you, everywhere around you. Can you picture that, honey? Can you see my huge, huge breasts?”

My eyes back on her chest, my will was collapsing under her attentive hand, her mesmerizing voice. “Oh…oh…y-yes…” My climax was quickly becoming imminent.

“I bring you closer, Rob, closer to me,” she continued, “with one hand I bring you closer to my chest. I peel my blouse away a bit for you, so you can see them. And you do see them. You look all around, at these giant breasts, the breasts of your wife in their huge, huge bra, and realize you are nothing to them, that you are absolutely puny compared to my huge, double-E’s.”

“…d-d-double…d-double E’s..?” I queried, weakly.

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right,” she corrected herself, smiling, “F-cups….F-cups now, baby. They’re F-cups, now, and they’re so huge to you, honey…”

“oh…oh…nnnhh…”

“You watch me, honey, watch me breathing, watch how I seem to grow bigger and bigger with each breath, how my bra tightens. You look into my cleavage,” she said, tracing a single finger up the tight, dark line between her breasts, “you look into my deep, dark cleavage, and you’re not able to believe just how big I am, how big I’ve become. And still, I move you closer, closer to me. My breasts are looming all around you, you’re nearly between them. I’m all that you can see.”

I groaned, now unable, even, to form words. So aroused was I that I did not even notice the look of exhilarated marvel in her face, or register the excitement, the thrill in her voice. This was more than just a hand-job fantasy for my benefit, this scene she was describing. This all had some sort of far deeper meaning for her.

“And then, honey,” she continued, “then I take a really, really deep breath, swelling myself up in front of you, growing. They almost overcome you, almost draw you in between them. They are so, so big…and you are so, so small, honey. You’re like a tiny little thing, a tiny little bug, and they are so big. They are my breasts, baby. My big, huge breasts. A woman’s breasts, honey. A woman’s big, huge breasts.”

My whole body tensed, quivered, shook – on the edge of climax. But I fought it back, tried to fend it off, anticipating her final assault.

“Can you see them, baby? Can you see my gigantic breasts draw away again, as I exhale? Yes…yes…they look so soft, don’t they?” she asked, knowing I was almost there, knowing what I was waiting for her to finally say, what I finally wanted to hear. “And then, then I draw you in, a little closer towards me, holding you in my hand, between my fingers, and I breathe in again, deeply, fully. And this time, honey, this time my breasts surround you, envelop you, trap you between them. Can you feel them around you? Smell them around you? Oh yes, yes you can…and I push you farther in, deeper…deeper...deeper. You can feel my finger on your back, pushing you in deeper, leaving you there. I’m all around you now, honey, my breasts are all around you. You’re in between my breasts, Rob, you’re in my cleavage. You’re a tiny little man, nestled between the big, soft breasts of his wife. Exactly where you’ve always wanted to be. Right between my breasts, honey, right between the breasts of a big, busty woman.”

I came, then, in a crippling burst, bucking and moaning on her lap as her hand squeezed from me all I had, capturing my fluids in her fist. My eyes clamped shut throughout my climax, I wanted to prolong the image of this fantasy as long as I could, this fantasy where I had become an insignificant little nothing, where I had all but disappeared. It was so easy there, everything was so simple. I wanted to prolong the fantasy because leaving it would bring me back to a far more complicated reality.

But soon I could deny it no longer. My pulses fading, I opened my eyes, sheepishly, and looked up. Denise smiled beatifically down at me, still palming my softening member rhythmically, gooey with my own fluids. I flushed in shame, and looked away.

With one finger to my cheek, she turned my head back her way and spoke. “You see, honey? Getting smaller isn’t so bad after all.”

As it turned out, Denise ended up getting the promotion in a restructuring of the company, which was a good size chain of health clubs. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to feel the need to talk about it too much with me after the first day; it was a little emasculating, discussing my wife’s great new job, her new responsibilities, her fantastic new salary, while I idly slothed my days away in uselessness. True, I wouldn’t have to worry about our finances, as Denise made more now than I ever did. But I was sort of used to being the breadwinner and tried to appear committed to the fact that I had every intention to return to work as soon as I could. Was I delusional? Just trying to kid myself, or her? Perhaps. But it made me feel better…by a little bit.

Though Denise did not make too much of an issue of her promotion to me, she did want to celebrate it, she made clear, with some friends from the club and around the neighborhood. Though she knew I was loathe to appear in public, apprehensive about any sort of social life in general, she asked me anyway if I’d like to hang out with “the girls” she’d invited over for drinks that Friday night. I didn’t decline at first, wanting to at least appear bold enough to brave the evening, but knew full well that when the time came I’d jap out. I’d been an absolute recluse recently, and didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

After dinner on Friday, as Denise was readying the house for her friends, anticipating their arrival, I feigned a few yawns and told her I was feeling too tired to hang out. I thought, instead, I’d go to bed. Though she put on an outward show of disappointment, I knew that she never really expected me to make it. She went through the motions of trying to convince me otherwise, but soon she had me upstairs, readying me for bed like. Usually I could take care of myself okay in this department, but tonight she seemed intent on getting me into down as quickly as possible, and watched over me like a mother hen. Finally, she had me tucked in and sat on the mattress next to me. As she finished fussing over me, I looked at her wistfully, all dressed up and made up for the night. She looked beautiful.

Noticing me admiring her, she smiled and put her hands in her lap decorously. “Well, honey,” she said sweetly, “good night.” With that she leaned in to kiss me on the forehead and rose to walk out the room. I turned to my side and closed my eyes, my head on the pillow. Lights already out, I heard her close the door behind her and then noticed another “click”, like a lock being set. Did our bedroom door even have a lock? And, if so, wouldn’t it lock from the inside?

My curiosity piqued, I extricated myself from the taut covers holding me in bed, and crept, trying to stay quiet, over to the door. As I approached it, I heard the doorbell ring downstairs and soon the muffled sound of voices signaled that Denise’s friends had begun arriving. Confident I would be unheard, with Denise distracted by her guests, I reached up to try the door handle. Far above me as it was, I was still able to manage a grasp, but was unable to turn it. Huh. She had locked it. From the outside. The room was dim, with little light, so to inspect the mechanism took a little work, especially at my height.

Soon, however, I was up on Denise’s makeup stool, penlight in hand (which I had always kept in my nightstand), scrutinizing the door handle. Jeez. It looked…new. Had it been replaced recently? And when? I had not been out of the house for a while…and I certainly didn’t do it…why would she have? And why put the lock on the outside, unless she wanted to...lock somebody in. Maybe it was a mistake?

No, something was going on. Part of me argued loudly for just ignoring it, going back to bed. But the festive voices I heard beyond the door, downstairs, the voices of women chatting, celebrating, seemed to mock me. My pride, hobbled as it was, motivated me to get this door open.

I quickly found one advantage to being the size of a little child…little hands. Within a few minutes, with the assistance of a few bobby pins, I had the lock popped. I almost laughed out loud with my accomplishment, victories like this few and far between recently, but stifled myself in the name of stealth. Quiet as a mouse, I hopped down off the stool, opened the door, and snuck out into the hall. Seeing as Denise obviously didn’t want me out of the bedroom for some reason, I was determined to find out what was going on downstairs.

Crouched down by the stair railing, I was just able to overhear the conversations of the women gathered in the kitchen, hovering like a little boy excluded from the world of adults. There must have been nine or ten of them; some of the voices I could place, some I didn’t know. After following their banter for a short while, I quickly began to feel stupid, spying on them, as their chat was the typical banal and superficial crap heard from groups of women everywhere. As they got louder and louder with the relaxing effect of their cocktails, their tongues looser, I almost turned back, headed towards my room. But then I heard something which caught my interest.

“So, Ladies,” I recognized this voice as Sandra’s, a trainer from the health club, “I think we should toast to the reason we’re all here tonight, don’t you?”

“Yeah! Congratulations on the promotion, Denise!” I heard one voice chime in, followed by a chorus of good wishes, hoots and hollers, a clinking of glasses.

“Woo Hoo!”

“You go, girl!”

“Yeah, Dee, I heard they really cleaned house,” said a voice I thought I recognized, a former employee of the club, “You got Joe’s job with corporate, Sandy got Eric’s. Are there any guys left in management?”

“Nope,” Sandra answered, “No guys left at all, anywhere.”

“Even members?”

“Even members.”

“And…what’s the new name?”

“CurvePower,” Denise replied, putting on her best exaggerated, corporate spokesperson voice, “New Curves. New Power. New World.”

More cheering, more laughing, more toasting of glasses.

“So, Denise,” asked Angela, a friend of Denise’s from High School, “this is a big move for you. More money?”

“MmmHmm, tons,” Denise replied, “which is good, with Rob out of work.” Hearing my own name, my ears perked up.

“And he won’t be going back anytime soon, right?” said another voice, one I didn’t know, “especially with the restructuring Gloria did at the store.”

“Yeah, looks like I’m bringing home the bacon from now on,” Denise replied. I felt a ping of pride.

“Speaking of Rob, Denise,” inquired Sandra, “how is he?”

“Oh, him? The big guy?” I heard Denise reply, causing the women to titter, “he’s fine.”

“Where is he tonight? Will he make an appearance?” Angela asked, “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Yeah, do we get to see him?” This voice I didn’t know.

“And is he still staring at your chest?” asked Angela, “I mean, is he still boob level? Marcie said she heard he was even shorter now.”

“Yeah, he’s certainly littler,” Denise responded, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t stare at my chest!”

The group of girls erupted in tipsy laughter.

“Well, jeez, can you blame him!” said Sandra, “I mean, look at you, Denise! I can’t keep my eyes off those things myself!” More laughter.

“Well, Sandra,” Denise continued, “I hope I don’t find you looking through my bra drawer…” Oh no.

“What?”

“Oh yeah, I caught him red handed, a few days ago,” I heard Denise explaining, her voice conspiratorial, “up to who knows what.”

More laughter rang throughout the house. “What a little perv!” I heard someone say. “Gross!” came another. Why would Denise be divulging these things, I wondered with distress, feeling my face flushing red.

“Oh, go easy on him,” Denise said, as the laughter settled, “he can’t help it. It’s just natural for him.”

“Natural!? Come on!”

“No, it’s true,” Sandra interjected, “all men are the same way. I mean…the way they look at our chests, they’re all such…babies. I think we should just get it over with and breastfeed the whole lot of them.”

This comment caused even more mirth downstairs, which was broken by a high-pitched voice I recognized easily as Cindi’s.

“Well,” Cindi said, “that’s what I do with Peter.”

“What are you talking about, girl?” someone asked.

“Well, you know him,” Cindi continued, “He’s always been such a boob-man. You’ve seen the way he stares at Denise.”

“Omigod, like, he’s done that since high school!” commented Angela.

“Oh, stop,” I heard Denise say. Despite her humble words, I could almost hear the self-satisfaction in her voice, see her rolling her eyes in false modesty.

“Anyway,” Cindi continued, pressing on. Was that a little competitiveness I heard in her voice? “I started on the program a little while ago and, well, besides sending me out looking for new bras…my milk just came in.” A pause; for the moment, everyone was quiet. “Now my little Peter’s got mommy all to himself!”

“Omigod!” I heard Angela chortle, as incredulous laughter immediately consumed the rest of the group, “Cindi! No way! You’re lactating?! From the program? Is that how you grew those enormous breasts?”

What?! I thought. Was Cindi joking? She had to be.

“Yeah, Cin,” someone said, “I didn’t want to say anything before, but look at that rack on you! You look so hot tonight!”

“We all thought you got implants, and wouldn’t cop to it.”

“No,” Cindi admitted, giggling girlishly herself, “it’s all me here.”

“Wow,” someone commented, “I can’t wait to start it myself…Valerie’s going to see me next we-”

“Hey, ladies,” Denise interrupted, “you know, before we talk any further, Rob’s just upstairs…I think I should go check on him, make sure he’s sleeping.”

My eyes widened. I may have to make a run for it soon.

“Here, Denise, you sit,” Cindi chimed in, “let me do it. I have to pee anyway.”

“Thanks, Cindi. He’s in the bedroom. You don’t need to go in, just make sure the door’s locked.”

Yikes. What was I going to do? I didn’t want to be discovered, I didn’t want the women downstairs to know I’d been eavesdropping on them like a little spy. Without time to think, and little time to act, I turned from my outpost at the top of the stairs and ran, as quietly as I could, to the bedroom door. If I went inside to climb back into bed, I deduced, I wouldn’t be able to lock the door from the inside. That would look suspicious. No, there was only one thing I could do.

Quickly I reached up, straining on my tiptoes, and set the lock to the bedroom door. I could hear Cindi’s footsteps in the hallway downstairs, approaching the steps. Frantically I looked around for a hiding place, and darted under a display table at the darkened end of the upstairs hall. There, I figured, I could hide in the shadows.

I saw Cindi’s head appear first as she climbed the stairs. It was dark all throughout the upper floor, which would help keep me out of sight, but kept her in shadow as well. When she reached the top of the stairs, about fifteen feet away from me, I watched her dark outline pause and turn, checking herself momentarily in the hallway mirror. Her silhouette, in profile, caused my eyes to widen in surprise: Cindi had certainly continued to blossom, even since I last saw her just a short while ago. Though she seemed to be wearing a platform pair of beach sandals which granted her a few extra inches of height and accentuated her already astounding rear (you could serve drinks off that thing, I mused), there was no denying that she was beginning to actually appear…statuesque. And, as she straightened her back and tucked in her tummy with a deep breath, I was immediately struck with what the women downstairs had been commenting on. Cindi was stacked. With that ass, that hair, that tiny waist, and those new knockers, Cindy’s silhouette was almost cartoonish. I couldn’t help but think that she could be a model for truck mud-flaps (You know, that girl you see in profile, on the back of…aww, forget it).

I was roused from my reverie when Cindi turned again to walk down the hall to the bedroom door. As she was a bit more in the light, I was able to make out what she was wearing beyond her sandals: a pair of tight, white Capri pants and a form-fitting tube top of bubblegum pink. Stopping, she took the doorknob in hand. Rather than just checking to see if it was still locked, insuring for herself I was still inside, she turned the knob until the lock clicked, and then pushed the door ajar to step inside.

My heart raced. What was she doing? Why hadn’t she just checked the lock, as Denise had asked? She was soon, no doubt, going to realize I was not in bed, in fact not in the room at all. She was sure to come and look for me…or, worse, go downstairs and tell the others.

Before I could think, my flight response kicked in. I scampered from my hiding space under the table to the extra bedroom, which was sparsely furnished but at least held a bed under which I could take cover. Above the sound of my own labored breathing, I could hear Cindi’s footsteps enter the hall. “Rob..?” I heard her whisper, “Where arrre you?”

She crept down the hall, approaching the bedroom in which I hid. I scurried further under the bed, somehow hoping she would – What? Not find me and forget the whole thing? I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly, in a bit of a panic.

Peering out from under the bed, I saw the silhouette of her feet enter the room. “Rob?” she called out quietly, “are you in here?” I clamped my hands over my mouth, trying to quiet my breathing. I watched her enter the room slowly, trying herself to be as silent as possible. I couldn’t help but think of a cat stalking a mouse.

She closed the door behind her, sealing off the outside world. The only light in the room, now, was a faint glow of moonlight through the one small window. I could still make out her feet, in her white rubbery sandals, in the dim light as they approached the bedside, where I knew a nightstand stood. “It’s just you and me now, cutie. You can come on out,” she appealed, her voice gentle, “I’m not going to bite.”

Suddenly the room was filled with light; she had switched on the bed table lamp. Her feet were right next to the bed. I knew there were not many places in the room to look and soon…

“Well hello there!” she chirped brightly, as her huge face suddenly appeared under the bed, “Were you hiding from me?” She had crouched down to search under the bed, and had spotted me easily.

“Oh, uh…Hi, Cindi,” I managed, surely red with embarrassment, “How are you?”

Though her face was in shadows, I could see her wide, amused grin drop open in amazement. “Oh, my god…pumpkin!” she squealed, obviously startled by my size, “Is that really you under there?”

“Yeah, I, uh-”

“C’mon honey,” she commanded in a lively voice, “let’s get you out of there.”

Before I knew it I was being dragged out from under the bed and held aloft in front of her for inspection, at arm’s reach. At my size, she managed this easily.

“Look at you! You’re so tiny!” she cooed, as I was getting my bearings, shaking my head to clear my head after this abrupt motion, “You’re like a little doll!”

I tried to reply as Cindi’s face began to settle into focus, but was struck dumb by the sight of her. Wow. She was…beautiful.

As I’ve said before, my best friend Pete’s wife, Cindi, was no doubt an attractive woman. Blonde, bubbly, with wide, bright blue eyes and a stunning smile. I had always found her cute and, admittedly, quite sexy in her own overly animated way. But, at that instant – and maybe it was just a matter of the new difference in scale – I was absolutely staggered by her. She was beyond gorgeous. I shook my head again, thinking it some type of illusion, but the fact remained. Cindi Rogers was…magnificent.

Her skin was tanned to perfection, her hair a brilliant, sun-kissed blonde of soft, full curls, her lips done up wetly in a maddening gloss of pink. Glimmering sparkles accented her makeup, which was painted on perfectly. A wry smile began to creep onto her face as she took in my reaction, as she realized I was held literally speechless because of her.

“So…” she began, breaking the silence, “who here looks a little guilty? You naughty little boy…have you been nosing around? Eavesdropping on the ladies downstairs?”

Struggling to find my tongue, I stuttered in response. “W-what? O-oh, uhhh…no…” I lied, “I just, uh-”

“Ohhhh, you’re embarrassed, aren’t you?” she cooed, “You poor thing…”

“N-no, I just…got locked out. On…my way…to the…bath...”

“Rob, are you alright?” Cindi asked, still with that crooked smile. Her eyes widened; she was obviously enjoying the effect she was having on me. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Y-yeah…” I replied. I had to settle down quick; I was playing right into Cindi’s flirtatious hands, and this could spell trouble. “It’s, uh…”

“What, Rob?” she asked, curious.

“I-it’s just that…” I struggled, trying not to say something I knew I shouldn’t, “Well…Wow, Cindi…you look…beautiful.” Too late.

Her eyes flashed, her smile – almost a bit shy, if that was possible for Cindi - grew tenfold to light the room. “Oh, pumpkin!” she purred, noticeably a bit overcome, “that’s so nice of you to say that!” The relationship between Cindi and I, to this point, had always been lighthearted. I enjoyed teasing her, tolerating her coy games. But, faced with her the way she looked tonight, I had trouble being anything but utterly serious. The effect she was having on me was almost…unnatural, unsettling.

Our gazes were locked. She looked at me deeply, intently, her breath coming a bit fast, smile fading a bit. I had obviously said too much; she seemed…flustered. She blinked several times, shook her head as if trying to get herself under control.

“Oh, god…Okay,” she said, gathering herself, taking a deep breath. We were both struggling with something, it was clear, something unspoken between us. “Okay. Let’s get you back to bed.”

With that she drew me in to her, held me to her bare shoulder like a toddler, and turned to leave the room. With one hand on my back and one cupping my bottom, she pressed me to her body. I could not help but be aware of the firm softness of her newly full bosom, pressing itself into my lower body. I hoped that, in her current state, she wouldn’t notice how aroused I was by her, that she would not feel the evidence pressing into her breast. Making matters worse was that, with my first breath, I was immediately struck by the same smell, the same perfumed scent, that I noticed on Cindi during our dance at the party. Stronger, however, this time, even more alluring.

If she did perceive my arousal, she made no mention, and seemed – atypical of Cindi – all business as she marched us back to my bedroom. She closed the door behind us, pushing aside the makeup stool I had left near the doorway earlier, and brought me to the bed. Before sitting down on the mattress herself, she tucked me under the covers, smiling benignly down at me all the while, as if keeping herself in check. With my nest all arranged once more, we looked at each other, her hands demurely in her lap, shoulders back. God, she was gorgeous.

Unlike our last encounter, where Cindi’s inhibitions were drowned in a sea of alcohol, tonight she seemed to be actively trying to restrain herself. But, as she drew a purposefully full breath (whether to compose herself of show off her new figure, I don’t know), my eyes drifted helplessly to her chest, the hint of cleavage between the two swells of her now impressive bosom. I couldn’t help but think about what I had overheard her say earlier, to the other women downstairs. Could she really…nurse…with those?

Seeing me look at her, a spark of the old Cindi I knew suddenly came to life in the glint of her eyes. “Now, pumpkin,” she said to me, mischief back in her voice, “you weren’t really listening to us downstairs, were you?”

“N-no, I w-”

“You were just trying to sneak a peek of me, right?” she continued naughtily, “Just trying to see what sexy little number Cindi was wearing, hmm?”

“Hunh? Wh..?”

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, tossing her lustrous hair back over her shoulders, leaning in a bit towards me, “Nice?”

As her upper body approached me, I was forced to appreciate the impressive changes Cindi had recently experienced. That is, her huge new tits were nearly in my face. Bound tightly in the stretchy pink material of her tube top, her breasts looked to have swelled well beyond the C-cup I last guessed her at. Though maybe not yet the E-cups Denise once sported, Cindi was quickly nearing Double-D territory. And, of course, to me in my shrunken state, they looked absolutely gynormous.

Low and behold, I was struck mute again. Thankfully, Cindi continued to uphold her end of the conversation and then some.

“Now, Rob,” she stated frankly, “I don’t see why anyone downstairs has to know about this. I think that this can be our little secret, on one condition…”

With an anxious, puzzled expression I looked up at her, making eye contact over the swells of her formidable bosom. Was she actually going to let this go? Not report me for my clandestine behavior? As relieving as the idea was, I felt cornered.

“…I just want one kiss goodnight.”

Yikes. Did I have a choice?

Apparently not, for before I could answer, she had leaned in to kiss me, her mouth on mine. I first felt the supple plushness of her larger lips eclipsing mine, but within an instant I was assaulted with sensations that went well beyond the physical. As her beauty had entranced me before, something about this kiss was mesmerizing, took some sort of uncanny hold of me. Whatever it was, she felt it too, I’m sure, as she moaned a bit despite herself as our kiss evolved from a mere smooch between friends to something more…heated.

As her big lips played over mine succulently, her tongue lapping at my mouth, I was assaulted with a surge of conflicting thoughts. Most importantly: What the fuck was I doing?! Making out with my best friend’s wife, my wife’s best friend, in my own bedroom? Cindi?! Guilt, shame, self-reproach and plain-old, out-and-out fear of being discovered threw me into a state of alarm. I had never been unfaithful to Denise - had never even had much of a temptation to be - and the thought that I was now doing just that set my heart into palpitations. Well, that and the overpowering arousal that was quickly overtaking my every logical thought. I was being consumed, but it felt so good.

We made out, the two of us, ardently, an electricity between us despite how wrong it was. Though I can’t deny I was swimming in rapture, I felt helpless, under her control, both on account of her larger size and her hypnotizing beauty, mouth, and scent. Perhaps this was just playful, flirty, mischievous Cindi, I thought, trying to convince myself. Maybe this was just her way of, I don’t know, showing me some new sense of authority. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. But, there was no mistaking the honest passion in her voice when she somehow found the strength to break our kiss and look down at my face.

“Oh, god, Rob,” she said, breathless, “look at your face…it’s…it’s covered in my lipstick…” Overcome, she attacked me again, devouring my mouth with new vigor. As she kissed me she moaned, breathing over me sweetly, “it’s all over you, Rob…it’s like I’m…smothering you…Like I’m smothering you with my lipstick…”

I groaned, fighting the urge to tear off my clothes, becoming more aroused by the moment.

After another bout of impassioned kisses, she broke from me once more, catching her breath and grabbing one of my hands, so small in her own. Drawing it to her mouth, she pulled one of my tiny fingers in through her lips as her eyes locked onto mine. “Oh, Rob,” she all but gasped, “just imagine the things I could do to you.” With that she sucked my finger back into her mouth, passed it through her lips, in and out, in and out. “You…you know I’d never be unfaithful to Peter…and you would never cheat on Denise…” Again she sucked on my finger, in and out, in and out. “But just imagine the blow job I could give to you now…”

“Cindi!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking, my mouth dropping open in surprise at her bluntness.

“Oh, come on, Rob,” she purred, placing a finger of her own in my mouth, resting it against my lower lip, “don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Though her tone was teasing, it held tantalizing implications. “Peter must have told you how good I am.”

I thought back to that drunken teenage night many years ago, sitting on the hood of my car, listening to Pete in a rare moment of beer-fueled eloquence as he described the experience, his first blow job under Cindi’s skilled hands. I remember his exact words: “When I was in her mouth, buddy, it was like seeing the face of God.”

Nearly quivering with excitement, I looked at her as she said, “Just think about it.” With that her eyelids drooped seductively and she formed her mouth, painted and glossy, into a plump “O” of promise. Looking at that, at that dark, alluring tunnel of pleasure, its undeniable suggestion of supreme gratification, I was pulled once again farther into her fold. Oh my god…what did she want out of me?

Unable to pull away, but too timid to act, I took her finger, already on my lower lip, into my mouth. Looking, still, at her mouth, the wet, wanton circle of her lips, I played with her long fingernail with my tongue. It was my one sign of encouragement to her advances, aside from my own submission.

“Oh, Rob…” she breathed, pushing her finger, gently, a bit more into my mouth, “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” As big as it was, I began to suck on it, her fingertip, sucking on it like a baby would his bottle. I watched her big chest come into my vision as she propped herself up, a little higher, above me.

“And you’re thinking of something else, aren’t you Rob?” she asked, her voice a whisper, “You’re thinking of something else I can give you, something that Denise can’t yet.” I watched her chest swell, inflating with a deep breath above me. “You heard me earlier, didn’t you? Saying what I’ve been doing with Peter? Hmm?”

Her finger in my mouth, I could not speak, but acquiesced to her by sucking more fervently, more rhythmically. Nursing on her fingertip, staring at her breasts.

“Oh, god,” she moaned, as she cupped my face with her other hand, “Rob…what are you…doing…” My eyes goggled as she brought her chest in nearer still, the pink swell of her enormous right breast closing in slowly. The erect nub of her nipple showed through its taut material. Still I sucked. “Rob…”

The smell of her was everywhere; my sense of reason had all but abandoned me. I didn’t know what was about to occur in that next moment but I knew I would submit to her, whatever it was. She drew closer still.

And then she stopped. “Christ, Rob,” Cindi said, her voice a hoarse whisper, “you’re…you’re going to make me soak through my top.” With that she sat up, away from me, and crossed one arm over her full chest. “And…oh, god…I’m so full…Peter has been…so stubborn…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming herself. She looked like she was concentrating. I knew what she was doing; she was trying to hold back her milk.

After a long moment, a number of relaxing breaths, Cindi opened her eyes again. I lay below her, still quivering, my mind racing with the thoughts of what could have possibly just happened.

“Oh, pumpkin,” Cindi cooed, her voice sweet, her eyes bright as she looked down at me affectionately, “You know we can’t do that. You’re Denise’s. And Peter’s mine.” Cryptic as they may have been, I was thankful for her words, her presence of mind. Who would of thought it would be Cindi turning out to be the sane, levelheaded one of the two of us?

We sat there, the two of us, looking at each other for a long moment. I didn’t know what to say…I felt guilty and ashamed of what had just happened, but – as beautiful as Cindi still looked to me at that instant - ultimately relieved that it hadn’t gone any further. I closed my eyes, knowing it was safer for me, not looking at her newly voluptuous figure, her dazzling face.

I felt her weight leave the bed and her hand brush my cheek once more. I opened my eyes and looked once more at her.

“Goodnight, pumpkin,” she said, eyes sparkling. She was leaving. Going back downstairs. What would she say? Would she…tell? Whatever her intentions, I knew they were out of my hands. Nothing I could say would change things. I smiled wanly up at her as she left.

Christ. What is going ON?! I lay there in confusion for many long minutes, going over so many things in my head. Denise: the club, her new job? Cindi and Pete, some “Program”? And that…body…on her, the way she looked tonight, the effect she had on me. What was happening?

Faced with all this turmoil, my brain began to do what it always did in these situations: weave a nice, soft, comfy blanket of denial. It was much easier to just not think about these things as opposed to considering the possibly unpleasant implications. And there were a lot of them.

One thing I knew, however, was that I had to get straightened up. On the chance that Cindi didn’t say anything, I wanted it to at least appear nothing had happened. First, thankfully, I had heard Cindi lock the door on her way out, so at least that was taken care of. Second, after wiping my face with my hand, I realized what Cindi had said was true. My face was smeared with her pink lipstick. Had to clean that off, that was for sure. I extricated myself from the bedcovers and climbed down from the mattress to the floor. Luckily enough I could still manage to reach the tub faucets and get my face scrubbed off. I also dragged Denise’s makeup stool back to where it needed to be. Finally, looking about the room, everything seemed in order. I climbed back into bed (a feat in and of itself) and lay myself back down.

I realized very quickly I was tired. Thankfully so, because the images of Cindi, sitting there in bed above me, her lips all over me, kept creeping into my head. I did not want to let my arousal return to take hold of me, force me to jerk myself off – that would just be something else I’d have to clean up. Sleep came mercifully within a few minutes, though not without its dreams.

“What…what time is it…?” I asked groggily. I had awoken to the feeling of Denise’s weight climbing onto my side of the bed. Lying on my back, I opened my eyes in the dim light to find her kneeling on her haunches, down at my feet, faced my way. A beautiful woman in my bed…the second one that night, I thought with some guilt. She had peeled the covers off of me.

“About two o’clock,” she responded softly as she smiled down on me warmly. I noticed she was wearing her white teddy, which I had always loved. It had a way of flowing over her curves to show them off to their fullest advantage. A few crisscross strings laced up over her cleavage to hold her large breasts together tautly, and were certainly stretched even more tightly than usual.

A little more awake, now, and seeing her in this outfit that usually meant she had more than sleeping in her plans, my head began to clear. “All your friends gone?” I asked. The nagging thought that maybe she knew something about what had transpired earlier with Cindi lurked at the back of my mind.

“Yep, it’s just you and me, now…” she replied with a lively voice, “nobody left to bother us.” I could tell she had had her share of wine, and had begun to walk her fingers up my leg playfully. She certainly didn’t seem angry.

“Was it a fun night?” I asked, taking the opportunity to glance at her large chest. She was watching her fingers saunter their way towards my upper thigh, so my eyes stayed tenuously on her cleavage. Though at first I wasn’t in the mood for fooling around, having been roused from slumber in the middle of the night, the sight of her like this was beginning to change my mind.

“Oh, sure,” she retorted, tugging at the drawstring on my pajama shorts, “You know us ladies. We had a lot of fun…a lot of wine…”

“Oh yeah?” I responded, trying to sound casual. I was a bit concerned that, if we started fooling around, she might somehow…I dunno…smell Cindi on me…if she didn’t know already, that is.

“Yeah…” she answered, pulling at the knot on my shorts until it opened, “and you know what wine does to me.”

From there she began to undress me, pulling down my shorts to reveal my firm, stiffening member. She smiled crookedly, glancing to meet my eyes for a moment before returning to the task at hand.

Knowing I really didn’t have a choice but to acquiesce to her advances, I began to sit up a bit, to remove my t-shirt. I was stopped, however, by Denise’s large hand, with fingers that stretched to cover the width of my chest. She pushed me back down onto the pillow. “Relax, baby – I know you’re tired, let me do the work. Just let go and let Denise take care of things.”

“Uh…okay…” I replied, settling back, my arousal from earlier in the evening materializing again in anticipation of her indulgent attentions.

“Goooood…” she cooed, pleased with my compliance, “You’ve been such a good boy up here, all night, all alone. You deserve a little treat,” She leaned in over me to help me out of my shirt. “Now you just sit back and let your wife pamper you. How does that sound?”

“I-it…sounds good,” I answered.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” she confirmed, as she pulled the shirt over my head, “Now, were you lonely up here, all by yourself?”

I goggled at her big, creamy breasts as they swayed heavily above me with her efforts, and felt a little nervous in answering her, remembering Cindi’s visit. I paused a few moments before speaking. “You look gorgeous,” I commented, redirecting her question as she backed away from me and tossed my shirt to the floor. Her smile was lighthearted but almost sardonic; of course I would say something like that when her breasts were nearly in my face.

“Why thank you,” she purred, settling again on her knees, looking over my now-naked body. Denise let me look at her, and seemed to be posing for my benefit: shoulders set back squarely, chest thrust forward, hands on her knees. She had an awe-inspiring figure and sat like she knew it. She still wore her makeup from the evening, more dramatic than was typical for her, and somehow it still appeared flawless. Her dark, lustrous hair was done up, with loose strands falling softly down her elegant neck and shoulders. Wow. What a vision, this towering, outrageously good-looking woman who sat before me like some sort of monument to feminine splendor. Almost a goddess herself, I couldn’t help but think.

Denise widened her smile as she took in my adoring gaze, and raised her chin to display her long, graceful throat, still allowing me to drink in her beauty. She could see what the sight of her was doing to me; I had begun to fidget as I grew visibly harder still, gazing at her. Parting her glossy lips wantonly, she moved to put her hands on my knees, settling me. “Shhh…” she whispered, “now you just lay back, honey. Enjoy the view and let your wife make you feel nice.”

With that she leaned in, scooting back on her knees a bit, to bring her head down towards my lap. I was hard as a rock by now, nearly twitching with the portent of her approach. I exhaled in pleasure as she rested her cheek against me, pressing my erection tenderly into my own lower belly. “Mmmmm…” she sighed, as she rubbed her soft skin against the underside of my shaft, caressing me delicately with her cheek. The sensation was so wonderful that it took all my might to resist the urge to rut upwards into her face.

“Oh, Denise…” I breathed.

“Ooooo, baby, you’re so hard,” she spoke in a high voice, as she began to anoint my turgid skin with little kisses, “Did I do this to you? Oh, I’m so sorry...” Kiss, kiss, kiss….Each one brought a little spasm to my loins. “Here, sweetie, let me make you feel better.”

Suddenly I found myself engulfed in the warm wetness of Denise’s spacious mouth. I gasped as I was taken in, and groaned in contentment as she played with me inside her. A throaty moan of approval rolled from the back of her throat as I began to whisper her name worshipfully.

“That’s right, honey, let Denise take care of you,” she urged, looking up at me under heavy lids, “let your wife bring you some pleasure.” She took me again into her mouth, sliding my shrunken member between her lips, in and out, in and out.

Still I spoke her name as she lavished attention on my sex, fussing over it tenderly, licking, sucking, kissing. So wet.

“Yes, Denise is a good wife, isn’t she?” she asked as she slid me from her mouth, cupping me in her hands gently, keeping me hard, “She takes good care of her husband, doesn’t she?” She moved up towards me closer, positioning more of her body over mine. Her massive chest, held taut by the strings of her nightgown, hovered near my hips.

“Oh…oh…” I sighed, seeing her huge breasts so near my small, stiff member, looming over it, dwarfing it below them. My hips bucked weakly upwards, towards her suspended bosom, in impatient hope of the imminent pleasure they could bring. I stared unabashedly at their soft, creamy skin.

“C’mon, say my name again, honey,” she commanded sweetly, positioning my erection, pointing it upwards, towards her, “say it for me again…”

“Oh…Denise…” I moaned, “Denise…Denise…Denise…” Again, I sound practically reverential.

“Mmmm…that’s right…” she cooed, as I continued breathing those two syllables, like a mantra. “Now, here we go,” she purred, maneuvering my shrunken shaft finally, into her cleavage, “this is what my little husband likes, isn’t it?”

I gasped and shuddered as I watched my dick disappear, headfirst, between the strings of her bodice and deep into the tight gap of her dark cleavage. Suddenly I was swallowed up, surrounded by the warm, pliant, enveloping warmth of her bosom. I slid easily into her breasts; she held me taut between them, and then slid slowly out. My skin crawled in pleasure as my hard shaft passed over her soft, smooth skin and rubbed against the white cords of her nightie.

“Oh, this is what he likes, hmmm?” she said again, slipping me deep into her cleavage again, “This is just heaven for a little breast man, isn’t it?” Once more she drew me out, nearly all the way, and began to stroke me slowly, steadily with her encompassing cleavage, bringing me in and out, in and out, in to her tight darkness and back out again. “There’s nothing a breast man likes better than this, is there?” she said, as if talking to a toddler, “Nothing better than a good tit fuck, hmm? From a pair of big, big breasts, from breasts as big as this?”

She knew my weakness, that was for sure. Nonetheless, I could not deny that the feeling was incredible, rubbing against her flesh and the strings, the material of her top, and was only heightened by the view and her enthralling voice. I watched as she swallowed me so easily into her, over and over, and I murmured her name again and again. My hips were now moving, thrusting up into her a bit faster now, as she held her breasts tautly around me, squeezing them together a bit between her arms.

“Do you see how small you look down there?” she asked, knowing it would turn me on; oh, she had me pegged. “Do you see how tiny you are compared to me?”

I moaned in assent, driven wild by her words and indulgent ministrations.

“You like that too, don’t you? You like seeing how small you are next to me? Oh, Rob…that really excites you, doesn’t it?”

“mmmnn…mmmnn…mmmnn…”

“Oh, honey, your dick is like a tiny little thing, sliding in and out,” she commented, watching my labored efforts as I had begun to pump with all I had up into her, “You’re like a tiny little nothing down there, aren’t you?”

She considered my exertions, seeing me struggle, sensing my orgasm near approaching, and moved to quiet me. “Shhh…” she whispered, as she put a hand onto my hip and pressed down heavily on my hips with the weight of her overpowering chest, “shhh…” Her breasts squashed into me, pinning me to the bed with their mass. Satisfied she had me stilled, she slowly rose up off of me and crawled further up the bed. I attempted a throaty moan of arousal, but it came out as more of a whine.

As she moved, her face hovered for a moment over mine. She looked down at me tenderly, her eyes crinkled in a compassionate smile, blinking several times before she began to crawl further up the bed, whispering “Okay, honey, here I come…” We both knew what was about to happen; she saw the anticipation in my eyes.

“Oh, god…” I whined, awaiting her approach, “Oh, Denise…” My eyes dropped to her breasts, two huge, round swells above me, looming closer and closer.

“That’s right, baby,” she purred, “say my name.” Finally she hung, still held taut by the cords of her nightie, over my face. I stared up at them, her enormous breasts, my mouth gaping, and felt her hand grab hold of my twitching member; it seemed like she needed only several fingers to grasp it.

“There we go…You like that? You like the view?” she cooed sweetly, as she began to pump me, slowly at first, with her hand, “You like how big I look like this? Ooooo…baby. Now I can really take care of my little man.”

Still I repeated her name, over and over. My voice sounded pitifully worshipful, and if anything even more fanatic as she brought one hand to her chest, taking hold with two fingers of one of the strings which laced up her cleavage. Oh, god, would she...? My speech began to fade in expectation.

The laces were done up in a small bow, the only thing holding back her burgeoning bosom, the only thing which kept her bound. “Say my name, honey, say it,” she said again, pausing for me. “C’mon, sweetie, just like this…” Finally she tugged on the tie, releasing the knot, and whispered, “Denise…”

And then, with one great, inflating breath, her bosom swelled powerfully against the confines of her top, stretching the crisscross of unbound laces. Overmatched, the strings slipped through several eyelets, freeing her cleavage to loom assertively, bulging lewdly over her bodice.

My eyes goggled as her massive breasts threatened to fall out onto my face, still inflated with a lungful of air. Aside from my weak, rapid panting, I lay mute below her, waiting.

She exhaled, breathing that one word again: “Denise…”

I knew it was coming, another breath, swelling her up fully again. She seemed to expand, to grow right in front of my eyes. Even more of the laces gave way, even more of her immense bosom emerged from its captivity. Her breasts were beyond big, as I struggled to take in their scale, they were – at that moment – eclipsing my whole world.

I gazed at her as I still enjoyed the work her hand was performing between my legs. Though still slow, her strokes were becoming more insistent, and I could sense she had plans to bring me to climax soon.

“Denise…” she breathed once more, as she repositioned herself slightly over me, moving her huge right breast directly over my face. I could see the nub of her engorged nipple through the white, silky material of her teddy, still stretched so tightly over her chest despite the slack from the loosened strings. Another deep breath tightened it even more, demonstrated her true, impressive size. She brought a hand to the thin strap which held the top to her shoulder, and lowered it down her arm. Her right breast threatened to explode from its confines. Her fingers came to rest on her right breast, near her bodice.

“Denise…” she said, one final time as she peeled her nightgown down off her right breast, freeing it to drop heavily, down towards me. I gasped, and saw her other breast soon follow suit, spilling forward as it, too, escaped her top.

I gazed up at her, in her full naked glory, her massive white breasts hovering over my face with authority. They heaved with her deep, even breaths, and jiggled faintly as her efforts between my legs became more persistent. The nipple of her right breast faced me head-on, and drew closer as she lowered herself gradually towards me.

I realized that, gradually, a tension had built in the air. Something had changed; no longer was her mood simply tender, pampering. She intended to prove something to me, to show that, soft and warm as it was, the monumental bulk of her massive breast above my small, fragile head held power, potential. And I knew, looking up at it, that it could bring more than pleasure.

The hand which had been pumping my shaft slowed slightly, just a little, easing me down a bit. We were both quiet for the moment, and she brought her nipple down, even closer. I could feel the body heat from her skin. Something bad was about to happen.

“So, pumpkin,” I heard her say calmly from above as I stared at her overwhelming breast, “am I still bigger than Cindi?”

Oh crap.

The hand between my legs began to slowly beat on me more fervently as she lowered her nipple down, rubbing against my nose, brushing my lips. What was I to do? What did she want me to do? In my current state, I was in no position to even form two syllables, let alone discuss what her best friend was doing on my bed earlier that evening.

She pressed down on my face, just a bit, mashing my lips against my teeth and flattening my nose with her soft weight before letting up again.

My breath quickened, from both anxiety and arousal. I had to think quick. Should I put up a defense? Or just..?

As she came down on me again I received her, this time, with my answer. As her nipple squashed itself against my lips I began to kiss at it, feebly, as if asking for mercy. She lifted it again, as I shook in trepidation, allowing me to gaze at her nipple. It was so big, and it stared at me with casual disdain.

She lowered herself once more, her nipple moving straight towards my lips, and I opened my mouth to take it in. Soon I had it between my lips, firm, swollen and so, so large, and began to suck. I wanted to show her my shame, repent for what I had done. I had never meant to stray from her, I was just so…weak.

I sucked on her nipple like a baby to its mother, gently, with fealty. I gurgled and cooed, bringing my hands up a bit to meekly knead her firm breast, an infant nursing. I knew I was being pathetic, wretched, that I must quickly be earning her disgust. But, as pitiable as it seemed, I hoped that I could show her, with my submission, that I was sorry. I hoped, maybe, that if I played my part as the infant that she might find it in her to play the compassionate mother.

But still she pressed down on me, on my tiny head, mashing me firmly into the pillow. Her soft flesh spilled all about my cheeks and face. And her fingers continued to assail me, to pump me with more and more vigor, intent on bringing me orgasm. I felt it creeping my way.

Soon, my nose crushed by her breast, my mouth full of her nipple, I began to fear for air. I could draw only the most shallow of breaths, and as she applied more and more pressure, even those became more difficult. Before long, my suckling became labored and she sensed me starting to struggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I heard her voice say coolly as she backed away a bit, freeing my face, “Am I smothering you?”

My eyes bulged as I gasped for breath and felt her hand make its final assault on my member. Our gazes met as she sat up again, across my shrunken thighs, and sped up smoothly to an efficient, rapid pace. I quickly felt my arousal looming towards climax. Thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap were the sounds, skin on skin, coming from below as she flagellated me, competently, gazing down on me all the while with indifference.

My orgasm teetered on the brink, and I knew I hadn’t the strength to keep her gaze when it fell. I saw her smile, ruefully, as my eyes dropped to her breasts, her big, round, high, full, perfectly gorgeous breasts.

And then I came, in a burst, clutched between her fingers as she worked me into the moment. Though my whole body was thrown into spasm with each satisfying jolt, she handled me expertly, knowing my body like it was her own. She coaxed from me wave after wave of warm, wet delight, which landed on my stomach in hot splashes. I continued to goggle at her breasts, like a man obsessed, my mouth agape. The minute of bliss was an escape, a distraction from the humiliation of reality…but soon it began to fade. My gaze lingered on her chest, I think, a bit too long and I looked sheepishly away, closing my eyes, as my pulses became twitches, my hard shaft becoming less turgid.

I felt her drop my firm, spent member down, landing on my belly with a “slap” into its own sticky mess. My rapid breathing began to slow and I squeezed my eyes more tightly, flushing with self-reproach.

“Rob?” I heard her say, from where she sat above me, “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

I did as she asked, and gazed up at her shame-facedly. She had her hands up, behind her head, in her hair. Her breasts stood out proudly on her chest.

“I’m not mad at you, Rob, I’m not angry,” she said, as she released her hair from atop her head. With a practiced, expert motion, she tossed her head, shaking her dark, glorious mane behind her shoulders. “I know that Cindi was up here, I know what she did.”

I looked up at my wife, understanding enough to stay silent, feeling my manhood shrinking away, deflated where it lay between my legs.

“I blame her, of course, more than I blame you,” she continued, “She should have known enough, knowing what’s become of you. You’re not the same anymore, Rob. You can’t be expected to control yourself, be responsible for your own actions.”

Whatever pride I still had left at that moment roiled around in my belly, strained in my throat…but I knew she spoke the truth. Since I had started shrinking I had become progressively more and more a slave to my own ever-increasing libido. What were previously innocent, secret fantasies had become crippling obsessions, and I was powerless in the face of them. Day by day I was weakening, physically, emotionally and mentally.

“But still,” Denise said, her voice matter-of-fact, “I don’t think I was ready for this. I think I still expected more from you.” She looked down at me, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I guess I just have to come to realize that things have changed, between us. I still love you more than anything else in the world, Rob, but I know you’re less of a man. There are so many things about you, now, that are just like a child, a little baby. Your needs, your emotions. I can’t expect you to live in the adult world anymore, act like a grown man.”

As I listened to her words I felt something inside me…let go. Rather than merely further humiliating me, what Denise was telling me actually made me feel almost liberated. Deep down I had known these things about myself for some time now, and it brought me some degree of comfort to realize that she knew it too.

“And honey, I know what you need from me. I know what I have to do,” she explained, “I have to take care of you. I have to keep you warm, keep you safe, keep you fed. It’s why I’m getting bigger.”

Though exhaustion had begun to creep across me, I looked up at her, my face a question mark.

“You know, of course. You’ve seen me. Getting bigger, getting taller, so I can take care of you,” she said. She shifted her weight on the bed a bit and began to lean in, towards me. “I’m on a program, Rob, a program I was on back in high school, before we started going out.” She settled forward, propped up on her forearms, laying on her stomach atop me, her face above mine. Her soft, lustrous hair fell about us, making the moment more intimate. I was dazzled by her size, the splendor of her beauty, so close.

“It’s a medical program, Rob, experimental…” she said cryptically, her huge, pretty face so close. Her voice was warming, becoming more animated, “And it’s making me bigger again, like it did before.”

She looked me over, almost whimsically, as a smile began to grace her lips. “Only this time,” she continued, “this time I won’t have to stop, because of you. Because now, well…now you’re on it too.”

Of course, dear reader, I should have felt baffled, bewildered, maybe a bit panicky at this point. What was she telling me? But, after all I’d been through, I felt…nothing, really. I was kind of confused, I guess, but I also felt that Denise was here to protect me, that she was doing the right thing. I knew that she loved me, and – for better or worse – knew more about me now than ever. She knew my needs, my weaknesses…she understood me and would always take care of me, whatever was happening. At that moment, I trusted her and the fact that she would do everything in my best interest. Maybe I was deluded, on the edge of madness or a deep, deep depression. But was I wrong? You be the judge.

“Rob?” I heard my wife’s voice calling me, as I blinked the sleep from my eyes, “Are you up yet?” Her voice came from far away, downstairs. Sunlight already flooded the room; I guessed it would be mid-morning already as I sat up in bed. Denise was obviously up and about already, as her side of the bed was neatly made and she had laid some clothes out for me atop it.

“C’mon, honey,” she continued, as I heard her heels hurrying up the stairs, clack-clack-clack-clack-clack, “we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on…”

“Wow. Nice legs,” I commented as she appeared in the doorway of our bedroom. I saw that Denise was wearing the shortest of white short-shorts, into which she had tucked a tight, pink, long-sleeved t-shirt. The woman had some major gams, and the whole effect was “hips” with a capital “H”.

“Ah!” she exclaimed in dismay as she moved into the room, ignoring my remark and not giving me time to peruse her curves, “You’re not even dressed yet?!” After our affair late last night, we had stayed up talking a bit, thankfully not about my shrinking, or the changes in her body, or anything really serious at all. I guess my mental defense mechanism kicked in and we ended up just sort of joking around about Cindi’s little visit to my bedroom before finally falling asleep. And so, the mood between us this morning was light and easy again…at least on the surface.

Why did I have to get up? What was she talking about? I wondered. “Why do I have to get up? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Your doctor’s appointment, silly,” she explained, approaching the bed and looking at the bedside clock, “in…twenty minutes!” Pulling the covers from me, her eyes widened a bit in surprise.

“W-what?” I asked. I was thoroughly confused. I had an appointment this morning? Did I remember that? And, what was she lo-? Oh, shit.

“Rob…you…”

“Shrank again?”

“Yeah.”

I paused. “Yeah, huh?” Oddly, I felt none of the panic I usually associated with these episodes, and took this morning’s turn of events as sort of a matter of course. Hm. Was that a bad sign?

Denise seemed a little incredulous at my relaxed attitude, and shook her head with a wry smile. “Well, anyway,” she continued, still in high gear and prodding me along, “get yourself out of bed, get dressed, I’ll get your seat set up in the car…now move, move!”

“Yes ma’am,” I chirped reaching over for the shorts and shirt on the bed next to me as Denise turned away. What was that she said about the car s-

“And, hey,” she quipped, turning to look at me over her shoulder in the doorway, “thanks.”

“About what?” I asked, as I was stripping off my nightshirt, getting into high gear myself.

“About the legs,” she said cheekily as she gave her hips an embellished sway on her way out the door.

I smiled as she left and continued dressing. What was this appointment again? I thought I remembered her mentioning…something…an appointment with Dr. Richards, if I wasn’t mistaken. Nonetheless, I resigned myself to it, figuring it was a good idea to get checked out as loathe as I was to appear in public at my present height…which was obviously a few inches less than it was last night.

Within a minute I was dressed and hopped off the bed, making my way downstairs. I guess I’d have to live with the terminal case of bed-head I was undoubtedly sporting, given our time constraints. All in all, I was more than a little proud of my self-sufficiency in readying myself so quickly.

Thankfully Denise had left the front door ajar for me, and – after checking to see if the coast was clear, no prying eyes - I closed it as I walked outside. Denise was over by the car, with the back door wide open, leaned into it as if arranging something. Rather than wonder what she was doing, I took the moment to admire her long legs and ample rear in those tiny shorts. Every tendon, every muscle stood out, nicely defined by her well-tanned skin and high-heeled white sandals. What a vision, I mused, as I approached.

She saw me eyeing her as I neared and smiled wryly again. “Enjoying the scenery?” she asked, still fiddling in the back seat.

“Yeah,” I joked, “for a minute there I thought Cindi was back for some more action.”

“Ha Ha,” she snickered, laughing drolly at my backhanded compliment, referring to our friend’s celebrated rear view and her obvious interest in me. “Okay, Mr. Chuckles, stop staring and hop in,” she commanded cheerfully as she finished what it was she was doing, “I just had to make some adjustments seeing as you’re a bit littler today…”

With that she stepped aside, showing me what she was working on in the back seat of our sedan.

“No way, Denise,” I exclaimed, putting up my hands and taking a few steps backward, having seen what she had been preparing, “Nooohoho way. Nuh-Uh.”

“Oh, c’mon, honey, it’s for you own safety,” she contended, hands on hips

“I am NOT sitting in that,” I insisted, trying to make my voice as firm as possible.

“If you carry a small person in a car, they need a seat made for a small person to be safe,” she asserted, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“A small person?” I sputtered, “It’s a baby seat!”

She leaned down towards me with her hands on her knees. “And are you really any bigger than a baby, honey?” she cooed in a saccharine voice, as if talking to a child, “C’mon, let mommy put you up in your car seat.”

Suddenly my mouth went dry. Something about her sudden change in demeanor had struck me, caught me off guard. Maybe she was just joking around, but the look in her eyes flashed me back to last night, bringing about the uncomfortable memory of me lapping at her nipple in submission.

Seeing as she had hit a nerve, she continued, “Oooo…baby wants to go for a ride with mommy, doesn’t he? Come here, sweetie, let’s-”

“Stop it!” I exclaimed, trying to stay firm. I was not about to let her bully me into this by babying me. But, I had to admit, there was something in her voice…

“Okay, okay, fine,” she acquiesced, standing to full height again, “but I’m not driving with you without it. I would never forgive myself if something happened.”

“The doctor’s office is only five minutes walk away,” I said, “We have plenty of time.”

“Five minutes for regular people, Rob,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I’ll manage…’cuz I’m not riding in that thing.”

“All right, we’ll try,” she conceded, turning to grab a bag from the back seat and close the car door, “but we have to hurry.”

And suddenly she was off, walking in swift strides down the sidewalk, a large nylon bag swung over her shoulder. I took off in a jog to catch up, and settled into a pace beside her as well I could. Her long, muscular legs covered the ground quickly and smoothly, even in her high-heeled sandals, and I struggled to keep up. Soon I was lagging behind, watching her firm rear in those bright white shorts rocking back and forth with every step.

“Denise!” I called, causing her to pause, “Hold up! Don’t walk so fast!” I had started to pant with exertion. In addition to my small size, my endurance was no longer what it once was.

“I’m not walking fast,” she said with a sigh of exasperation, “You just have to keep up, or we’ll be late.” As I neared, she took off again. “I knew this was a bad idea, letting you walk,” she murmured, as if to herself, “and this is the only day off work I have to go with you.”

Her gait had not changed, and soon I found myself in her wake again, by nearly twenty feet. Finally, I saw her long, brown hair twirl around as she looked back over her shoulder to find her husband trailing well behind. She stopped and walked back my way, glancing at her watch.

“Your struggling to keep up with me, aren’t you?” she stated plainly, watching me huff and puff in reply, hands on my knees. She glimpsed again at her watch, looked around the streets to find them empty, and considered me for a moment before looking to her bag, unzipping it. “Okay, turn around.”

She was fishing around in the bag for something. “Denise, wh-?”

“Just turn around,” she demanded quite sternly, obviously annoyed. Feeling a little like a problem already, I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation and did as I was told.

I felt her presence behind me as she knelt down. Not being able to see what she was doing, I felt something pass between my legs. Then her hands took two thick folds of padded material around me. I had little time to react to her swift actions and suddenly found myself contained from the crotch upwards in a strange blue garment that she fastened firmly with a “click”.

“What the-?” The next thing I knew those large hands of hers came around my sides and lifted me upwards as she stood up. I was still facing away from her, and this thing I was now wearing had a thickly padded cushion behind my head restricting my head from turning around and seeing her. I quickly started to panic. “Denise! Put me down!” I cried, “What is this?”

She turned me around in her hands to face her, my body hovering at her head level. Her plump lips smiled ruefully, a bit amused. “Keep still, darling.”

I quickly realized what was happening. Denise slipped her arms through two loops and suddenly I was fixed vertically to her front, held in an infant carrier!

“Perfect!” she remarked, checking the straps as she began to walk again.

I was paralyzed in utter disbelief at what she had done to me. I was strapped into a baby carrier and fixed to the front of my wife’s body, my legs flopping free and my weight resting on the padded material running between my legs. I was trapped, effectively immobilized, and the ground was some distance away.

“Denise, Denise,” I pleaded, craning to look up at her chin, trying to get her attention, “honey, you can’t be serious! Let me down!” My panic increased tenfold as she pretended to ignore me and I began to imagine people’s faces, perhaps people I knew, seeing me strapped to her. It was beyond humiliation. “Denise! Listen to me! This isn’t right! It’s so embarrassing!”

I felt her firm chest rise underneath me as she sighed in exasperation. “Now, Rob,” she said, like she was talking to an impudent child, “If you’re going to act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby. And, besides, we’d never make it to the doctor’s on time at your pace.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to go anymore,” I begged her, “Please, Denise, just take me back”

She just smiled down at my head that was just under her chin level. “No, honey, this is too important,” she insisted, “so just pipe down and enjoy the ride.” She tousled my hair and I found myself jostling along with her body.

I have to admit the sensation was extraordinary, with her warm, soft chest supporting me, cushioning me, the sweet scent of her all around. I felt so protected, but continued to whine, nevertheless. “Denise I feel so humiliated…can’t we just-”

“Hush, now, honey,” she interrupted, “that’s enough, Rob, or I might just take you over my knee and spank you, right here.” Her voice was both mischievous and serious at the same time. “And that would be a lot more humiliating, don’t you think?”

She had my silence, for the moment. I didn’t know if this was a idle threat, or something she was actually willing to do. I knew she would never hurt me, but I was obviously annoying her with my pleading. We walked a number of paces before she spoke again.

“Here, baby,” she purred, happy with my quiet submission, “maybe this will make you feel better.”

She had paused in her walk, almost to a stop, and I saw one of her hands rise before my face. I followed it down to the neckline of her pink, v-neck t-shirt. Her fingers pushed the material down, tugging it lower, to reveal a sizeable display of tan cleavage. I looked in wonder at the sight of two firm curves of her bare breasts creeping into the open in the middle of that v-neck plunge. So soft, so large.

“There you go, little man,” she cooed, back in baby-doll voice again, “that should quiet you down. You’re at just the right level to check out mommy’s big boobies while she carries you, hmm?” She walked a few more paces, speeding up her gait again. “Now, you just watch mommy jiggle. That’s right…isn’t that nice?”

I would have protested to her teasing, motherly tone, but I was hooked on the motion of her bust as it shimmied in front of me. Her cleavage was so deep, so dark, so inviting. Her breasts so round and soft. She could obviously tell that her maternal posture was accomplishing her goals, calming me, making me more docile. Did she know it was beginning to arouse me?

“Ooooo, sweetie,” she said tenderly, after a minute or two of her walking and my ogling, cupping the back of my head with a huge hand, “I could nearly lose that head of yours between them, it’s so small.” With that, Denise gently tipped my head forward, pressing my face into that perfume-scented cleavage as it quivered with her every step.

I ended up laying my head there for the rest of the entire trip, it felt so good and so calming. She was right. I slowly forgot all my anxieties about being seen like this and before I knew it, we had reached the office building.

When we entered the lobby, Denise found a quiet corner and knelt to unstrap me. “Wow, that certainly kept you occupied, didn’t it?” she mused, removing me from the carrier, “I certainly know what powers of persuasion to employ next time, hmm?” She smiled down at me with good humor, reading my expression with interest. Did she know what she was doing to me, infantilizing me like this? “Then again, you always did have a weakness for my boobs, and there’s a lot more of them for you to get excited about nowadays, huh?” Putting the carrier back in her bag, she stood. “Okay, well, we’re here. Let’s take the elevator.”

“Uh…Denise…” I implored, “Wait a minute…”

“Wha-? Ohhhh…” she said, noticing what held me up.

Standing down beside her great legs, my loose shorts were pitched forward, still in appreciation of the journey and its scenery.

Denise knelt back down next to me, bringing our faces closer. “I think someone liked being in the baby carrier next to his big wife,” she teased, her voice low and sultry, not really helping the situation, “Now, be good and you’ll have an even nicer ride home.”

I closed my eyes and took some long, slow breaths, trying to ignore her, waiting for my erection to fade.

Denise sniggered when I finally opened my eyes and smiled wanly up at her. I did my best to stretch the material out around my manhood and we set off. I felt like a tiny child following his mother around as we waited for the elevator and rode it up to the third floor.

Entering, finally, the reception area, I kept my head down as the waiting room was unusually full and I didn’t want to be recognized. Perhaps, hopefully, the other patients would think me a child along with his mother. We approached the counter and Denise announced our arrival to the receptionist.

“Denise and Rob Carter, here to see Dr. Richards,” Denise said efficiently, “I hope we’re not too late.”

“No, Ms. Carter, you’re fine. Let me just have you sign in,” I heard a pleasant, female voice say from above, beyond the countertop window, “And…where’s your husband? He should sign in, too.”

Before I knew it, Denise had knelt and swiftly whisked me off my feet, sitting me down four feet or so off the ground on the counter, facing in to the reception office. I flushed in embarrassment, not eager to be the center of attention.

“Ooooo…is this him?!” exclaimed the receptionist, a young, bubbly blond, “Is this the famous Rob Carter?” I couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was, wide-eyed and fresh-faced, with a more-than-healthy chest herself.

“In the flesh,” Denise pronounced, smoothing my hair down with one hand from behind, fussing with my shirt.

“I’ve heard stories about you, little guy!” the girl said as she scrunched up her nose and cheeks, “have you been a good boy for your wife?” What was it with women today? Why were they all set on coddling me so? And why did she know who I was…I certainly didn’t recognize her.

“Yes, he’s been behaving,” Denise responded, as the receptionist took hold of one of my little feet in her hand, giving it a playful shake. She seemed very interested in me, I noticed, as I looked her over more carefully. Wow. She was beyond just cute. Her bright blue eyes sparkled alluringly above high, wide cheekbones. Her hair was straight and golden, falling behind her in a long wave. And, in that tight, black shirt…that chest. “And,” Denise continued, “he seems to like you, Sherri!”

Obviously caught staring, I shot my eyes away from her.

“Oooo!” the receptionist cooed, straightening herself in the chair, drawing my attention back to her overly full top, “Look now, you’ve made me blush!” My eyes, I know, must have goggled as they took in the huge, round shapes underneath her tight turtleneck. She might nearly rival Denise in size, I thought, and looked away again.

Fixing my gaze safely in the distance, in the inner office behind the desk, I noticed a few other women I saw milling about their duties. They all looked very attractive as well, with drop-dead gorgeous figures. For as long as I had been a patient of Dr. Richards, I had never thought of her staff as looking so…healthy. And I, admittedly, tend to notice these things. This looked more like a plastic surgeon’s office than a general practitioner’s, I decided.

“Well, Ms. Carter, I think they’ll be taking you in soon,” the receptionist – who I now knew as Sherri – said, having composed herself, “but promise you’ll bring him back after the appointment so the girls can all get a look at him.”

“I will, I will,” Denise agreed as she turned her attention to the sign-in sheet. What was up with these women talking about me as if I wasn’t there? As much as it dented my pride a little, it did save me from the effort of acting cheerful and partaking in conversation.

Denise having checked us in, I was thankfully hoisted back down and led to a seat in the waiting room (which I needed help climbing up into). She left me sitting as she perused the reading rack, returning with a magazine for us both. Mine she dropped in my lap, and sat herself down next to me.

“‘Highlights’??” I remarked, aghast at her choice in periodicals for me. She merely smiled down at me, amused at her own little joke. “Very funny,” I mumbled, and proceeded to thumb my way through to the word games. Maybe it was for the best, I figured, as I ducked my head down behind its pages, so I could keep up my ruse as a child waiting here with his mother.

A couple of minutes passed before one of the assistants appeared in the doorway separating the exam rooms from the waiting area. Hopefully, I thought, she would call my name so I could put this ordeal behind me as quick as possible. No luck, as I heard her call out another patient’s name: “Jenny?”

I returned my face to my magazine but was distracted by a pair of fabulously long, tan, shapely legs walking past me towards the exam wing…obviously “Jenny”. Man, those legs, in a pair of tight, khaki shorts, with ankles so thin…so lean, but so muscular, they went on for miles. I had to take a peek…

Yikes. “Jenny” was not anyone I should be looking at like that. “Jenny” was about fourteen years old, and followed in tow by her mother (not an unattractive woman herself). But, to my chagrin, I could not help but notice that “Jenny” had other things going for her than her legs. Young as she was, she had obviously blossomed in other ways as well, and boasted a figure most grown women would kill for.

Must be something in the water these days, I thought, or the hormones in the chicken these kids are eating, because look at everyone else in the waiting room. Emboldened for the moment, I took a moment to glance around at the other patients sitting, waiting their turn to see Dr. Richards or one of her partners. Every single one of them a woman. And every single one of them hot as hell. This was certainly not the same situation I encountered at my last visit here…which seemed like eons ago.

I suddenly felt distinctly like a minority, not the typical state of affairs for white males around these parts…though something I guess I should expect for a white male just a touch over two feet tall. Nonetheless, I hid behind my magazine once more and thought, well, hey…I guess its better than a waiting room full of rheumatic old duffers.

Every once in a while I would glance away from my magazine, and try not to get caught staring while admiring the walk of a new, young lovely as she made her way across the waiting room to or from her appointment. I began to notice a trend as the minutes wore on. Most every woman leaving the office, after their appointment, was carrying a small, white, paper bag. A bag not unlike one would take home from a pharmacy. Medications, no doubt.

“Denise?” Suddenly I heard my wife’s name being called, signaling they were ready for us.

Good…let’s get this show on the road, I thought, as I put down my magazine and prepared to hop off my chair. But, before I could move, I was stopped by my wife’s large hand on my chest, keeping me in my seat.

“No, honey,” she said to me as she began to rise, her voice low, “you stay here. My appointment’s first.”

I looked up at her questioningly as she stood. She smiled, promising me she wouldn’t be long, and walked her way into the exam wing. I shrugged, figuring she had booked a check-up or a physical on the same day as my appointment for convenience’s sake, and went back to my reading. Deliberating with myself, I could read through the news magazine Denise had left on her chair, but opted to stick with ‘Highlights’.

Another few minutes passed before I heard my name, though not being called from the doorway by an assistant. Someone was right in front of me.

“Rob?” she said again, and I looked up…and up…into the astonishing figure I recognized from several weeks ago, at her own birthday party.

“…J-Jessica?” I mouthed, my voice weak with shock. As I had mentioned earlier, Jessica Rogers – a onetime teenybopper admirer of mine – had blossomed from my friend Pete’s skinny little flat-chested cousin to this…this…wow. The word “statuesque” does no justice to this teenager, nor the words “voluptuous”, “beautiful” or “god-damned-hot”. This girl was a young goddess, curves on top of curves on top of curves…in a package over six feet tall. She had left me flabbergasted last time we had met and today looked, if anything, even more amazing. What were the chances that we’d meet here?

Thankfully she bent down immediately, crouching before my chair and sparing me the indignity of craning my neck at such an angle. Still, I had to try to ignore the immense swells of a firm young bosom held tautly constrained in her blue halter top as her face was still well above my own.

“Boy, Rob…look at you,” she said as she looked me over with interest, both eager and incredulous at once, “you’ve…”

“Yeah,” I stopped her, saving her from voicing the obvious, “I know.”

“So…” Jessica continued, her brilliant green eyes flashing, a bright, pearly white smile lighting her face, “Catching up on some reading?”

“Oh, yeah, this…” I muttered, tossing ‘Highlights’ to the side. Wow. I was struggling. This girl quickly had me stupefied. She was so stunning, so dazzling, and her figure so magnificent that I was at a loss for words. The effect was unsettling, sort of similar to what came over me with Cindi the night before. In fact, did I recognize a perfume…?

“Fun,” she stated plainly, “my little niece reads the same thing.” Her smile arched mischievously and she nonchalantly tossed her mane of sunny blond hair over her shoulder.

“So,” I asked, finding my tongue, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, the doctor-”

“Dr. Richards?” I interjected.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, “Dr. Richards.” Somehow, I figured as much. “She checks me out regularly, seeing as I’m…uh…still going through my growth spurt.”

“Oh yeah?” I responded, feeling oddly discomfited.

“Yeah,” she explained, “I just keep growing. Bigger and bigger and bigger.”

My heart skipped a beat or two, and I felt strange fascinated, hearing her say those words. “Must be nice,” I managed to joke.

She smiled warmly, as if in sympathy, making my heart flutter anew. “And you’re here..?”

I returned her smile, mine more wry than warm, and finished her sentence, “…for sort of the opposite problem.” It was odd, confiding like this in Jessica, who used to be such a little pest, an annoyance. But now, her presence was ultra-feminine, riveting, not easily ignored. Just like any beautiful woman, she had a way of making men saying more than they maybe should.

Jessica reached out one large hand and put it on my bare knee, as if in comfort. Rather than taking solace from her gesture, though, I felt a flicker of arousal. Her touch…her eyes…those breasts…

“Hi Jessica.”

Both she and I looked up to see my wife, Denise, standing above us. Jessica withdrew her hand from my knee and I fidgeted in my seat guiltily. Denise had returned from her appointment quite quickly; I hadn’t done anything wrong, but my thoughts had begun to stray.

“Hi Denise,” Jessica responded confidently, still crouched in front of me, “Rob and I are just catching up.”

“That’s nice,” Denise said, her voice friendly, relaxed, “he’s had an exciting few weeks since your party.” I noticed Denise was holding a small, white paper bag, the same package with which all the others left the office.

“I can certainly see that,” Jessica said, eyeing me once more with those glimmering green eyes and pretty smile, “he’s lucky he has you around, huh?”

“Yes, that’s true,” my wife confirmed, “he’d have a hard time managing himself.” There they go again, talking about me like I’m not even here. “That reminds me. I was going to get Cindi to ask you, but since you’re here…would you mind looking after Rob a couple of days a week, if we need you?”

“Wh-wh-wh-?!” I sputtered, trying to cut in.

“Shhh, honey,” Denise continued, not casting me as much as a glance, “seeing as how he’s gotten so little, I’m starting to feel uncomfortable leaving him home alone. We’ll see how he does over the next couple of days, but me with my new job-”

“Yeah, I heard, congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Denise deferred, “anyway…I’ll be out of the house a lot, and I thought that, with you done for the summer, maybe you’d like to…husband-sit.” What was she doing?

“DeniseIdon’tneedababysi-” I stammered, trying in vain to make myself heard.

“Oh, I’d love to!” Jessica responded enthusiastically, both women ignoring me completely, “I have lots of free time, and I was planning on spending it down by the beach anyway…”

“Sure, we live right across the street,” Denise concurred, looking down at me in thought, “you guys can hang out on the beach, as long as you try to keep him away from…prying eyes.”

“Of course, I get it,” Jessica said, “Can I maybe bring a friend or two along?”

“Girlfriends?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jessica consented, “of course no guys.”

“Sure,” agreed Denise, “as long as they know…the way things are.”

I stared up at the two women wide-eyed, a bit in shock as to how blasé they were being regarding my feelings. I felt like I was being treated like an infant, like Denise was arranging daycare for a young child. I also felt that there was something unspoken between these two, that they were avoiding being perfectly frank with one another on account of my presence.

“Y’know, Denise, I’m so glad you asked me to do this,” Jessica said, returning one hand to my knee, “I’m so excited for it, I can’t wait. This is going to be like a dream come true for me. I had such a crush on Rob when I was a kid, and now I’ll get him all to myself!”

The two women tittered, sharing a laugh. “Just as long as you two behave yourselves!” Denise chuckled.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good,” Jessica assured her, and dropped her gaze to me, raising one eyebrow laconically, “how ‘bout you?”

I started to speak, to interject my opinion, to try to put a halt to this arrangement if I could, but Denise talked right over me.

“Oh, he’ll be a perfect gentleman,” promised Denise, looking down at me also, “won’t you, honey?”

I looked up at these two smiling women, feeling the weight of their gazes on me, and tried to find the strength to protest. But…they were both so beautiful. Their eyes sparkled so. What could I do?

“y-yeah…sure,” I complied, “whatever.”

Their smiles widened, pleased with my easy acquiescence, and they turned their attention back to one another. Jessica stood so they could finish discussing details of the deal; I tuned them out as best I could and looked off into the distance dolefully.

“Okay, well,” Denise said, as she interrupted my reverie with a single hand on my head, tousling my hair, “I’ve got to get this one in for his appointment. They’re ready for him. It was nice to see you, Jessica,”

“You too,” Jessica agreed, as the two women gave each other a quick hug, “and thanks.” After breaking their embrace, Jessica bent down quickly towards me. “And you, mister,” she chirped, tapping me gently on the nose with one finger, “you I’ll be seeing real soon.” She beamed a broad, contented smile, full of both mind-numbing brilliance and sly, subtle portent, before standing and all but bounding away, waving once more to Denise as she left.

Both Denise and I watched Jessica leave, her bouncing step full of energetic glee. What a body, I marveled once more.

“She looks…healthy,” Denise commented with dry understatement, watching my eyes follow her from the room.

I made no response, a bit self-conscious of being caught staring, but merely looked up at my wife. Rather than any hint of jealousy in her face, I saw only a wry expression of amusement. Was she laughing at me?

“Now, c’mon, kiddo,” she instructed, offering me her hand, “lets get you in to see the doctor.”

Soon we were in an exam room together, a female assistant instructing me to remove all my clothes save my underwear and climb onto the exam table. The clothes I managed myself, heaping them in a corner, but with the table I needed help. Denise lifted me up and there I sat, feet dangling off the edge, in my loose but skimpy children’s briefs, feeling all but totally emasculated as we waited for Dr. Richards.

Within a few minutes came a “knock-knock” on the door and the pleasant voice of my doctor. “Mr. Carter?” she called, as she pushed the door ajar, stepping into the room with my chart. Dr. Richards’ eyes widened a bit when she first caught sight of me, and I could almost swear she was fighting back a smile as she nodded, looking down to my chart.

As I may have mentioned earlier, Dr. Richards is not an unattractive woman. About my age, with a pretty face and cute smile, she thankfully dressed conservatively to hide a figure I knew would distract her male patients from focusing on their health issues. It was almost a relief seeing her in her shapeless white lab coat, a reprieve from the string of bombshells I’d been faced with that day.

“Hello again,” she nodded in greeting to Denise, who stood against the far wall. Denise nodded back, smiling thinly.

“So,” the doctor asked me, putting my chart aside, “how are we feeling?” She was looking me over with concentrated interest, which I took as clinical but nonetheless made me a bit uneasy.

“I…feel okay,” I stated, trying to find the right words, “but, as you can see…things haven’t improved.” Though I was trying to sound strong and confident, I felt a little embarrassed with my situation, especially as I sat there, tiny and shrunken, nearly naked in the room with these two huge women. Dr. Richards usually had a way with making me feel immediately at ease, but there was something different about her demeanor today.

“I can see,” the doctor agreed, as she took a few steps towards me, approaching me where I sat on the exam table. “Any thing else new? Different?” she inquired, “Any other symptoms?”

“Well, he’s been hornier,” Denise interjected, from across the small room.

“Denise!” I exclaimed, aghast, “Wh-”

“No, no, that’s fine,” the doctor said, trying to pacify me, “that’s okay…increased libido. Good to note. Anything else?”

“Well,” I continued, “I have felt a little weak, I guess. I get tired easy…but that all kinda goes along with it, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dr. Richards agreed noncommittally, making a few notes, “well, my assistant checked your vitals, took your measurements.” Standing now right in front of me, peering down objectively, Dr. Richards took my face in her hand, palpating my throat and jaw. “Everything seems normal, except, of course, your height and weight,” she remarked, turning my head this was and that, “which are both dramatically reduced.”

“Yeah, huh?” I responded, trying not to focus on the full, round swell of bosom which had appeared at eye level as the doctor’s jacket had fallen open. Below her lab coat, she wore a tight, thin, high-necked sweater of ginger-colored wool.

“Well,” she continued plainly, as she drew an ophthalmoscope from its holder on the wall, “your blood work has continued to turn up negative despite any testing we’ve done, and it’s been to all the top labs.” As she approached me more closely, to look in my eye, I couldn’t help but think there was something almost rehearsed in her speech. “Now, just look straight ahead,” she instructed me, as she drew in to peer through my pupil. Her large face was so close, that bright light in my eye. I breathed in the wispy, floral scent of her perfume and my heartbeat quickened.

“Looks fine,” she told me, as she returned her instrument and removed a stethoscope from her pocket. Positioning it in her ears, she placed its metal disk on my bare chest. I shivered once. “Chilly?” she asked, looking down at me with a thin smile.

“A little,” I replied.

“Sorry,” she apologized, as she moved the drum over my heart, listening intently, her gaze distant. Again my eyes drifted to her full chest as she drew a deep breath, causing her jacket to open a bit more. “Deep breath, please,” she instructed me, to which I complied. I watched her chest rise and fall, her large breasts stretching the sweater over them. “Mr. Carter,” the doctor asked, dropping her eyes to mine, “you’re not anxious, are you? Your heart’s racing.”

“M-maybe a little…nervous,” I admitted, watching her remove the stethoscope from my chest, replace it with the palm of her large, warm hand.

“No reason to be nervous,” she assured me, pushing on my chest gently, urging me to lie back. The thin, white paper covering the cushioned table crinkled noisily below me as I reclined. “Scootch up,” she appealed, helping me further onto the table by sliding me upwards, hands under my arms. Denise looked on from across the room, silent. I don’t remember when the last time was I felt so vulnerable, laying there in my underwear, on my back, under the doctor’s detached, clinical gaze. I looked up at the ceiling as her skilled hands began to probe me, about my neck, my shoulders, my ribs. I was aware of her breasts above me, obscuring my view of her face. Her hands felt warm and, despite their impassive, diagnostic intentions, their touch was causing me to stir. Her fingers pressed themselves tenderly into my side, my stomach, my lower abdomen, probing me gently but firmly. I began to fear that evidence of her stimulations would start to show in my thin, cotton briefs.

My fears multiplied tenfold at the doctor’s next statement, as her hands rested on the waistband of my shorts. “I’m going to remove your underwear now, Mr.Carter,” she informed me, as she tugged down on them. Though my breath caught a bit in alarm, I instinctively raised my hips to help, allowing her to pull my briefs down, past my knees, off my ankles. I now felt totally, utterly exposed. Dr. Richards had, of course, done full physical exams of me in the past…but today was a different experience altogether. For one thing, Denise was watching. But beyond that, the nagging feeling that something else was afoot kept me ill at ease. The cool air of the exam room washed over me, but I felt like it was a hundred degrees.

I shut my eyes, trying to put myself in another place, trying to inhibit what I dreaded would soon happen. But, it was all in vain as, when I felt her strong fingers pushing into my loins, where my lower abdomen meets my thigh, I felt myself begin to stiffen. Oh no, god no, I thought, not here, not now. On the right side, and then the left, she prodded my flesh gently, repeatedly. Still my eyes were closed but there was no mistaking what I felt…I was hardening.

“I’m going to check your testicles now, Mr. Carter,” the doctor’s informed me, her voice low. I flushed with shame as I became rigid, feeling her tender palm cup me from below. So sensitive, I squirmed under her touch, my shaft lifting itself from my belly. How utterly embarrassing. “Shhh…” I heard her voice whisper from above, trying to calm me, “don’t worry…this happens. It’s only natural…” Despite her reassurances, the humiliation was crippling. What must Denise be thinking, seeing me stiffen under another woman’s hands? Would she be angry? Offended? Or maybe…amused?

The doctor’s expert hands palpated my sac, appraising it, examining my testicles. She palmed me confidently, gingerly squeezing each tiny orb, causing my stomach to roil. I gasped as I felt her fingernails graze beneath me, my eyes shooting open. I immediately regretted opening my lids, for what filled my vision was the underside of the doctor’s immense bosom, firm and full above me. Try as I might, I could not close my eyes again, and lay there enraptured at the sight, my mouth gaping open.

My sac now fully turgid in her clutch, my shaft stiff and twitching, the doctor spoke again. “This all looks normal,” she said frankly, as she removed her hands from me, “Now, Mr. Carter, please turn over.”

I did as she asked, and lay on my front as I watched her jot down a few notes. My hard erection pressed noisily down into the paper below me, and up into my belly. I must have been ten shades of red for, when I looked over at Denise, she wore a crooked smile of amusement.

“Okay,” the doctor said, moving away from my chart to where I couldn’t see her, behind me, “let’s continue.” I heard her opening a drawer and, seconds later, the “snap” of something elastic. Denise’s eyes were wide and bright, watching the doctor. The doctor approached me from behind, over me, and asked “On your knees, please.”

I complied, raising up to a kneel on the table, still facing away from her. I felt the back of her large hand on my shoulder and upper back, and she pushed me gently forward, down, until my palms, and finally my face, met the cool surface of the cushion. She slid her hand to my lower back and there I knelt, naked, erect, ass up in the air, my cheek on the thin white paper. As you can well imagine, if I had felt vulnerable before, this was much worse, and I knew something bad was about to happen.

I closed my eyes as I braced for the inevitable. “Now, Mr. Carter, I’m going to use my little finger,” the doctor assured me in a soothing voice, “but this may be a little uncomfortable.” My heart raced as I felt her probe me from behind, and I gasped as she slid her finger in.

“Ahhnnnngggghh…” I moaned pitifully, my stomach clenching in response as pressed in farther. Her finger felt huge inside me, working its way in.

“Just try to relax,” she whispered, as she withdrew a fraction, and then slid back in, “relax…”

I clamped my jaw together, trying not to scream. I had never had a prostate exam before, young as I was, and felt…violated. I opened my eyes, looking to Denise for aid, but she was rapt, watching the spectacle with an enthralled expression, her mouth open. I tried to take no notice of the faint hint of a smile I saw in her eyes. The doctor’s finger slid out a bit.

I closed my eyes again and gritted my teeth as her finger pushed itself in again. She pressed against me from inside, spinning her hand this way and that. On my lower back her other hand had me under control, braced me, kept me from moving away. That’s it, I decided, this had gone beyond a regular exam. I was being raped, emasculated. I kept quiet and let it happen, my pride disintegrated in full.

In and out her finger slid, in and out, probing, prodding, for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. I stayed silent, my breathing labored, until she withdrew herself, finally, for the last time. I opened my now watering eyes, and looked over to Denise through a veil of tears. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, as the doctor told me to sit. My wife’s smile was warm and sympathetic and, despite the look of prurient fascination I saw on her earlier, I tried to take some comfort in it. I looked to her for solace, and she returned my gaze with compassion.

“Well, Denise, he looks fine,” the doctor spoke, no longer addressing me but my wife, who nodded in response. My gaze was cast downward, in shame, as I sat on the edge of the exam table again, my feet dangling. At some point, thankfully, my erection had subsided, so I didn’t have the indignity of dealing with that added mortification as well. I heard the “snap” of the doctor’s rubber glove being removed, and the lid of the garbage pail opening for its disposal. “From here, we have two options,” she continued, now facing Denise completely, having turned away from me, “we can refer him out to the university hospital in the city, to their scientific unit. There he’ll probably be quarantined, housed there, subjected to an intensive battery of tests. He’d receive the care of the top people in the field, but will no doubt be the center of a good deal of possibly unwanted attention from the medical community and, of course, the media.”

I took a deep breath, my mind numb. Let these two figure this out, I thought, I don’t want to.

“Our other choice is, of course, to keep doing what we’re doing. Waiting.” Dr. Richards continued, “There are a few more tests I’d like to run. Maybe they’ll tell us something.” No one spoke for a moment. I raised my eyes to find both women looking down at me. I looked from one, to the other, and back again.

“Well, honey, what do you think?” Denise asked me, eyebrows raised, “What do you want to do?”

I looked down again, my head hanging, and shrugged.

“Do you think we should just wait it out?” she prompted, “See if things change?”

I shrugged again, vaguely.

“Or do you want to go to the city, go public with this?” she continued, looking for an answer. She paused, waiting for me. “Hmm, honey? Is that what you want? Do you want everyone to know? To see how small you’ve gotten?”

I shook my head weakly, blinked back a few remaining tears, and looked up to my wife.

She smiled.

“Okay, well then,” the doctor said, moving over to a cabinet, “we’ll just stay the course. In the meantime, let’s get a semenalysis, see if that shows us anything.”

“A…what?” I asked, as the doctor pulled a small cup from the cupboard.

“Semenalysis. A sperm sample,” she replied, handing me the plastic cup. Taking hold of it, I gave a little laugh.

It looked so big in my tiny hands. “You don’t expect me to fill this, do you?”

Indulging me, both women tittered at my little joke. “No, no, no, Mr. Carter…but we’ll give you some privacy,” the doctor said, “There’s some…reading material under the sink, if you’d like.”

“Can I stay?” Denise asked, piping in. I was about to protest but she talked over me. “I’d like to help,” she chirped obligingly.

The doctor chuckled, and moved towards the door. “Well, you can stay, to…offer encouragement,” she said, “but…his hands only, if you know what I mean. We don’t want to contaminate the sample.”

“I think we can manage,” Denise said coyly, looking my way. My heart skipped a beat, anticipating the coming situation. What was I expected to do here, exactly? Jerk off into a cup while my wife watched? Just something else to add to my growing list of indignities. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to this at all, and had actual concerns that I wouldn’t be able to perform under the pressure.

With that the doctor left, leaving the two of us looking at one another. I decided that if there was any time to try to get out of this, that time was now. But I needed to express myself to my wife. “Denise I d-”

“Ah ah ah…” she tutted, quieting me immediately, “Doctor’s orders…”

My objection stifled, I watched as she walked over towards the sink, bending to one knee to look in the cabinet below. “Now, let’s see what we have here,” she said brightly, pulling out several colorful magazines. She stood, an amused smile on her lips as she looked over the mags and approached me. I felt particularly naked and exposed – which, I guess I was, completely – as Denise sat down aside me on the padded examination table.

“So,” she chirped with good humor, crossing her long, bare legs next to me, “let’s let mommy read you a story.”

My throat caught at her words. Even if it sounded half in jest, her mothering tone struck a nerve with me, as it did earlier today. Moreover, with the experience I had just undergone, I felt like I actually needed a little nurturing, some protective care. Instead of objecting, I yielded, effectively encouraging her maternal affect.

She sensed a change in me, felt me settling into acquiescence, and consequently maintained her tone. “Now, let’s see,” she said gaily, looking over the three magazines with me, examining their covers one by one, “what do we have here? ‘Barely Legal’…mmm, I don’t think so. ‘Snatch’…yuck, right? Ah…here’s one you’ll like, baby.”

Denise slid the first two magazines to the side, and placed the third between us. ‘Busty’ read the large, lurid yellow letters across the cover. Below, the image of a shockingly endowed model, all pout and wanton promise, enticed the reader to look further.

She began to thumb through the magazine, slowly, page by page, showing the photos to me. Picture upon picture of absurdly enhanced women, with breasts like taut beach balls or hanging udders graced its pages, most in ridiculous positions, outfits and situations. “Oooo…! Look at this one!” Denise would coo, as if impressed, showing me one particular shot or another, “And look at her! Do you like her?” All this was being done with the intention of inciting an arousal in me, so I could bring myself to orgasm and produce a sample for analysis. But, it was apparent to both of us I had nothing to show for it, so far.

Denise pressed on, seemingly entertained by the whole thing. “Wow, baby,” she continued, showing me a picture of a model licking her own nipple, “look what that lady can do.” Still, physically, no reaction out of me. The magazine, the women inside it, in fact the very situation I was in, were all so artificial. The only thing which was causing me to stir in the slightest was Denise: the closeness of her body, the maternal cadence of her voice. My gaze drifted from the photos, through which she continued to leaf, to her legs. So long, so smooth and muscular. Stretching, straining against her tiny pair of white shorts, her tan thighs were so big, her feet bobbing distractedly at the end of her narrow ankles. I stared at her legs, ignoring the magazine completely now.

“Are you looking at mommy’s legs?” Denise asked unexpectedly, an amused lilt to her voice. I looked away for a moment, caught staring, but with a single finger to my chin she redirected me back. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she cooed, “I don’t mind.” She crossed her legs towards me, accentuating the musculature of her calf. Her white summer sandal hung from her foot casually, and she spun it with her toes. God, what legs…

“Mommy’s lap looks nice, doesn’t it honey?” she continued, casually dropping the magazine behind her, forgotten, “Makes you want to just curl right up into it and go to sleep, hmmm?” I looked at her tan, heavy thighs, at the dark line separating the two, and had to admit that I would have loved to bury my face right there, where it would be so warm, so soft. I could feel the pride emanating from her as she realized she had replaced the magazine as my point of interest. If I was going to come here, today, in this sterile, clinical office, into that stupid little cup, it would be solely because of her, not some picture in a lurid photo shoot.

“Ohhh, sweetie, do you want mommy to make it hard?” she asked, twisting at her trim waist to face me more directly, putting one hand behind me, “Is that what you need?” Her shift of position had turned her large breasts toward me, and they stretched tautly against her pink shirt, suspended heavily just above my head.

“Denise…” I said weakly, “you’re…you’re talking to me like…like I’m a…a baby…” Immediately I didn’t like the way that came out: it didn’t sound like a complaint. Rather, my voice reflected my arousal, my anticipation…how far would she take this?

“Oh, but honey, you are like a little baby,” she said, her tone becoming, if anything, even more maternal as she realized this was more than a joke to me. My face registered my obvious agitation. “C’mon, cutie,” she continued, inhaling a deep breath, shifting her impressive hips a bit closer, “Look at me. Wouldn’t you like to be my baby? Wouldn’t you like me to be your mommy?” I gazed at the smooth, tan skin of her extraordinary thighs, her heavily muscled legs, and contemplated it…what would it be like to be the child of this formidable woman, so beautiful, so faultless? To be the object of her undivided attention, her doting care?

“Wouldn’t you like to cuddle up into this every day, every night?” she asked, presenting her curves by smoothing the bottom of her shirt taut with her free hand, then tracing down her long thighs languidly with the back of her fingers, “Wouldn’t you like me holding you, keeping you warm, keeping you safe?” I was beside myself with hesitancy; my breath was coming in short, shallow pants as I thought: should I give in to this?

“I’ve got the hips, sweetie,” she stated proudly, “I’ve got the curves. Everything a mother needs. Everything to be the perfect mommy for you.” Images began to form in my head, images of Denise holding an infant in her arms, to her huge, matronly chest. Images of a baby nestled into her lap, nuzzling between her soft thighs, pushing its face into her loins, trying, aching to get back…

“So, you like my mommy talk, do you?” she said, noting my captivated gaze, seeing the evidence between my legs as I had started to harden. She seemed a little surprised herself, but it was true; ashamed as I am to admit it, this new, motherly persona of hers aroused me in ways I hadn’t thought possible. What was wrong with me? Why did I…want…this? “You like it when I talk to you like a baby, hmm? I’ve noticed it all day,” she continued, still in that baby-doll voice. I looked up at her pretty face, causing her to smile. “You like my ‘kitchie-kitchie-koo?’” she tittered unabashedly, scrunching up her nose, “You like my ‘cootchie-cootchie-cootchie’?” I stiffened further but, though I held the plastic cup in one hand, I had not yet dared to take myself with the other.

But she persisted, and I knew the inevitable would come to pass – I had resigned myself to it already. “Well, sweetie, we can do that, if you like,” she said with syrupy sweet compassion, “we can pretend I’m your mommy. Will that help get you off? Hmm?” With that she slid down from the table, to stand on the floor in front of me. She leaned down towards me, to bring her face close to mine, locking my gaze with hers. Though I squirmed a bit under its gentle - though focused - intensity, it held me rapt.

“So, my little baby likes his mommy, does he?” she cooed, “He thinks she’s so pretty, doesn’t he?” She saw me looking at her, watching her full, painted lips as she spoke. And, as she tilted her chin up, displaying her elegant throat, she saw my eyes drift down. “Oh, yes! Oh yes he does!” she cheered as my gaze coasted across her chest. Her hands on her knees, she squeezed her breasts voluptuously together between her arms. My mouth went dry as I goggled at her, feeling my loins lurch and tighten, my shaft twitching. I was now fully erect.

“Oooo…I’m sorrrrry, baby,” she said with a mock pout, sticking out her plump lower lip. “Is mommy making it hard? Here,” she directed me, reaching towards me to take the plastic cup in one large hand, my free, smaller hand in the other, “let me make it all better.” With that, she guided my hand to myself, wrapping my fingers gently around my own stiff manhood. I flushed and looked away, ashamed I would have to do this while she watched. “Shhh…” she whispered consolingly, as she began to move my hand up and down my own length, “it’s okay…don’t be shy…let mommy show you…” I looked down, to see her huge hand wrapped over mine, directing it up and down, up and down. The tip of my head showed itself on the down strokes, disappeared inside her fist on the ups. Nearby, her other hand held the plastic cup, waiting.

“That’s right, baby, that’s right,” she cooed approvingly, as I began to take up the rhythm myself, “there you go…” She sounded like a mother giving confidence to a dim, though treasured, child. She removed her hand, and smiled in delight as I continued jerking myself unassisted. As aroused as I was, as much physical pleasure I was enduring, I whined audibly in shame and apprehension.

“Ohhh, poor baby,” she consoled me, bringing her free hand to her chest, “here, maybe this will help.” I watched as, with one finger, she pulled down on the neckline of her tight, pink, long-sleeve shirt to reveal again for me the deep line of her cleavage, the upper swells of her amazingly full breasts. I reacted immediately, my eyes diving into the darkness between her breasts. Despite myself, a moan escaped me as my strokes began to quicken on my shaft, up and down, up and down. “Oh, there you go,” she said, her voice brightening, “that’s better, isn’t it? Oh, yes, mommy knows…mommy knows how much you like her big boobies...” I stared at her unabashedly, flagellating myself now with vigor.

“That’s right…keep going, honey, keep going,” she encouraged me, letting my eyes roam over her bosom as she peeled down her shirt a bit more, “just look at mommy and think…think about how nice it will be. Think about how nice it will be when we’re done, when I take you home. Where it’ll be just you and me. Where we don’t have to pretend anymore. Where I can really make you my little baby.”

Oh, god…the images poured into my head…blankets, cribs, the comfort of her arms, her breasts. The feeling of her dark nipple against my cheek.

“Ooooo…good boy, gooooood boy….just keep going, sweetie, keep going,” she urged, “soon it’ll be over…soon I’ll have you home, all to myself, where I can just mommy you…and mommy you…and mommy you…”

I knew she was right – soon it would be over - as I felt my release approaching. She brought the cup near to me, in anticipation of catching my seed, as I stared into her cleavage and the visions continued to surge through me. Denise. Mommy. Mommy’s breasts, Mommy’s hips, her legs. I continued to beat myself, faster and faster, as I watched her doing things to me in my mind. Holding…feeding…nursing…cleaning…changing…

“Come on, baby,” she cooed, bringing me to the edge, “come to me…let me mommy you…”

“oh…godddd….” I groaned, as I began to come, “oh…m-m-mommmmmy…” Looking down between my legs, I aimed myself to the cup, and watched my fluids start to bubble and spew from my head before closing my eyes, aghast at what I had just said, what I had just done. I felt myself spitting out load after load of hot come, as I continued to stroke myself firmly, insistently, trying to ignore my blossoming shame. I opened my eyes once more, to insure I was still filling the cup, but saw that Denise had things well in hand. As my orgasm continued to shiver through me, she deftly collected my fluids, and together we made certain to gather as much as possible.

Holy christ…what had just happened?

“Good boy…good boy…” Denise cooed in praise, as I stroked and stroked, firmly, trying to draw every last bit of ooze from within me, my pulses now beginning to slow.

“Oh, god, Denise…” I murmured, ashamed at myself, beginning to actually shake in apprehension.

“Shhh., honey…shhh…” she consoled me, scraping at the edges of my head with the rim of the cup, harvesting every last drop, “it’s okay…it’s okay…”

As Denise removed the cup and replaced it with a tissue with which to clean me, I closed my eyes and began to sob. I tried to stifle my heaving breaths, feeling her dabbing and swabbing tenderly about my privates, but could not wholly contain myself.

“Oh, baby,” I heard her whisper, trying to calm me, “don’t cry…don’t cry, baby…” She had finished her ministrations and, my eyes still closed, I heard her toss the tissues aside. Next thing I knew, her hand was on the back of my head and she had drawn me in to her chest. Still weeping, my face was plastered, now, into one of her huge, heavy breasts, her hand petting my head. She stroked me, slowly, tenderly, as I sniveled against her, absorbed in the softness of her mammoth tit. I wiped my face against her, nuzzled into her, and thought…is this what my future is going to feel like? Between her huge hand and the mass of her supple breast, I felt enveloped, cocooned. Would the rest of the world fade away, leaving me with…this? Though it was the epitome of physical comfort, perhaps everything I’d ever dreamed of, the thought left me frightened. I continued to cry.

Dimly I heard a knock on the door of the exam room. “All done?” came Dr. Richards’ voice, as I heard her step into the room. Humiliated as I was, shrunken and naked, having just masturbated, it would have been far more humiliating to attempt to turn around to face her, in tears. I kept my face planted where it was.

“All done,” Denise responded, still holding my head to her breast. The doctor approached, taking the sample from my wife. “Though someone’s a little upset…”

“Mmm, I see,” the doctor commented, obviously seeing me trembling as I blubbered into Denise’s breast. “Here,” she continued, as I heard her open a cabinet to the side, “I think I have something to calm him down.”

A moment later I felt a pinch in my right buttock. I opened my eyes, and tried to turn my head to see what had happened, but Denise’s hand held me fast to her. “Shhhh….” she whispered, stroking me like a pet, “shhhh….”

“It’s a short acting dose,” Doctor Richards explained, “something I use with difficult children.”

Quickly the world began to feel heavy around me as I was overtaken by a profound drowsiness. The doctor had injected me with a sedative. Unable to fight my fatigue – and, in fact, welcoming it as a release from my shame – I closed my eyes again and sunk into Denise’s warmth, the pillowy embrace of her breast. I fell to sleep.

The next thing I remembered might as well have been a dream, my recollection of it is so foggy. I recall coming to under a bath of bright, fluorescent light. Too bright it seemed, like the whole world was white all around me, but that may have very well been a visual side effect of the tranquilizer, now that I think back on it. I was laying down, that much I knew for sure, flat on my back and looking up. Still sedated, my mind was clouded and my limbs all felt heavy, as if made of lead. Just as I started to become aware a group of large figures circled around me, their voices and faces began to slowly drift into focus.

“Oh, look!” I heard a cheerful woman’s voice exclaim, “I think he’s waking up!” Immediately the figures drew in closer about me.

I was laying on a hard, flat surface, I realized, a desk perhaps, which was surrounded by a number of women. They all began to coo and giggle, fussing and fawning over me like a gaggle of mother hens. There must have been six or seven of them around me; I could not see Denise among them though somehow I sensed her in the room. The women were gazing down at me, and all leaned in closer as they watched my eyes struggle to open. As disoriented as I was, I was cognizant enough to watch as they approached, their upper torsos looming over me. My eyes panned across them, staring at their long graceful necks, their gorgeous faces, and their bulging tops.

Each and every one of the women was unnaturally well-endowed, and my jaw must have been gaping as I surveyed them all. Some in sweaters, some in blouses or silk shirts, but all full, ripe, huge to my shrunken form. My gaze fell naturally on the two biggest breasts of the group, a huge pair painted tightly into a thin black sweater of soft wool, hovering straight ahead in front of me. As did most of the others as they squeezed in around one another to get a look at me, this woman had her breasts pressed together between her arms, emphasizing their fullness. My gaze drifted up from her bosom and I recognized the smiling face beaming down at me as Sherri, the blond receptionist who had greeted us earlier. She scrunched her nose up at me as the look of recollection lit my face and pursed her lips to make little kissy noises down towards me.

Still in a daze, my vision floated around the circle of women. My eyes didn’t know where to stare as they were all so beautiful, all looking down at me with wonder in their eyes, clucking praise. As I basked in their attention, comprehension began to dawn over me…I was still at the doctor’s, in the back office. Denise had obviously brought me here to show me off to “the girls”, the receptionists and secretaries who worked in Dr. Richards’ practice.

Though not feeling strong, I tried to sit, to stand on the desk. The circle of women backed up a half step, watching me tentatively. However, I was still drugged, weak, and ended up falling before even getting to my feet. Immediately the circle closed in around me and a deep “awwww” ran though them. As I fell once again to my back they were nearer than ever and had begun to giggle in warm laughter at my failed efforts. Breasts bobbed and jiggled all around me. They pressed in closer, drawing in smotheringly.

“Oh, Denise, he is so adorable!” I heard one voice chirp. From which woman it came I didn’t know; all I was aware of, with their surrounding closeness, was their chests. I could see no faces, only breasts. Everywhere: big, round, full, soft breasts, straining against tight blouses, stretching sweaters tautly. Breasts, breasts, breasts.

“You are so lucky!” came another, “He’s already so small!” Once again, I sensed Denise in the room, but did not hear her voice. My vision began to fade, my eyelids becoming heavy as a new wave of fatigue suddenly washed over me. I struggled to stay awake, blinking my eyes several times, focusing in on Sherri’s huge jugs, noticing that firm nipples had begun to poke through her sweater.

Despite my efforts, the voices, all sound began to fade as the drug pulled me again towards unconsciousness. “Now that you’re starting the inhaler,” I heard one last woman say, presumably to Denise, right as I sank into oblivion, “it won’t be long before…”

Ring Ring.

I woke again, this time in my own bed.

Ring Ring.

I looked around…it was still daylight, early afternoon, perhaps. I was alone.

Ring Ring.

And the phone was ringing.

Ring Ring.

Recently I had taken to not answering the phone, more out of a dwindling desire to talk to others than a physical inability, and wondered if Denise was home to answer this call. Nonetheless, I looked over to the nightstand where our small cordless phone stood, and saw a note from my wife stuck to it: “Gone out shopping with Cindi. Picking up a few things for you. Be good! –D” Looking next to the caller ID, I recognized the number as Pete and Cindi’s. If Cindi was out with Denise, it must be…

“Pete?” I answered, picking up the phone just before the answering machine downstairs. My small hands struggled with the receiver but I managed to hold it to my ear adequately.

“Yeah, hey…buddy,” came Pete’s voice. It seemed ages since I’d heard his voice; last time we’d talked was at Jessica’s birthday party.

“Hey,” I responded. Neither Pete nor I were big phone talkers. Get us on the line together and a full sentence may never be uttered between the two of us. I decided to go for broke. “Awesome to hear from you.”

“Yeah, you too,” he replied, “How’s the life?”

“Ah, same old same old,” I answered, feigning nonchalance. Suddenly I remembered what I’d…learned. What I’d heard about…what the two of them had been doing together. That he’d taken to breastfeeding off of her. Could it actually be true? Did he know I knew this kinky little secret of his? And, in another rush of guilt, I remembered my episode with Cindi, his wife, last night. I remembered kissing her. He wouldn’t be calling about that, would he? She wouldn’t have mentioned anything to him, would she? Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. I pressed on, trying to sound casual. “How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah, y’know, same shit, different day.”

A moment passed; neither of us spoke. I could have volunteered information, I guess, about how I’d been, how much smaller I’d become since I’d last seen him. But I didn’t. He’s the one that called me, I figured.

“So,” Pete said finally, breaking the silence, “you guys are coming over tonight, huh?”

“Huh?” I responded, confused, “Really? That’s, uh…news to me.”

“Yeah,” he explained, “the girls want to get together over here. ‘Margarita Night’, they’re calling it.”

“Huh,” I offered. Denise was obviously not above making plans for us in my absence. “Just the four of us?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan, I guess.”

Did I want to go out again into the world, after my humiliating morning? Did I have a choice? Anyway, I didn’t want to sound like a pussy. “Cool, sure,” I said. Could be fun, Denise, Pete, Cindi and myself, relaxing. As long as he didn’t know.

Again another pause, a break in conversation had grown between us.

My turn, I figured. “Can we…bring anything?” I asked.

“Naw, we’re good.” Though, like I said before, neither one of us was a sparkling conversationalist on the phone, things were a little more tense than usual. Pete was acting a little weird, I thought, and I guess I was a little off-base still thinking about last night. Even so, Pete seemed like he was trying to get something off his chest. I just hoped it wasn’t anything to do with Cindi’s and my kiss…I’d hate to have my best friend looking to beat the crap out of me; I couldn’t put up much of a fight, at this size.

Nonetheless, I figured I should help the poor guy along, for better or worse. “So…” I ventured, “What’s happening? What’s up?”

“No, nothing really,” he replied, a bit evasive, “well…yeah. Yeah. There is something I, uh…wanted to talk to you about. Before you guys came over.”

“Yeah?” I waited.

“Well,” I could hear Pete steeling himself over the line, “y’know how, uh…uh…I’ve been on this…diet?”

I squirmed a little…did he mean…? “Yeah?” I thought back to the party, how he had looked like he’d dropped a few pounds.

“Well…I’m still on it,” he continued, but then became silent.

“Good,” I said, prodding him along, “How’s it working?”

“Well…good, I guess,” Pete replied, “but…that’s what I have to talk to you about. It’s working…a little too well. I just didn’t want you to be surprised, before you came over…” Another pause.

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah…I guess…” This was obviously hard for him. He was struggling. “I guess…I’ve lost a little more weight. Well…a lot of weight. I…I didn’t want you to be freaked out…”

“No, no, don’t worry buddy,” I reassured him, “remember…you’re talking to the incredible shrinking man, here.”

This got a little laugh out of him, a chuckle. Then another pause, less lighthearted. “Yeah.”

“Seriously, don’t worry,” I continued, my tone changing. He obviously wasn’t interested in anything about last night. “So…this diet…your weight…is everything okay?”

“Well, yeah, kinda…I guess…” he offered, again evasively.

“I mean…you can stop this…diet, right?” I asked, becoming honestly a little concerned about my friend, “If you wanted to?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s…it’s not that easy. But…it’s okay. Everything’s…under control.” Somehow, I didn’t quite believe him. Was he…what? Not eating? He had said Cindi had started him on the diet. Was she keeping food from him? All sorts of bizarre scenarios went through my head.

“Alright, buddy,” I said, “but…y’know…if there’s anything…I can d-”

“Yeah, thanks,” Pete responded, obviously eager for a change of topic, probably hoping to get off the phone. Once again he seemed nervous, almost like he didn’t want to be caught talking on the phone to me.

I wasn’t going to let him go that easy…I wanted to feel him out a little more, see if he knew anything about Cindi and me. “So,” I said, “I saw Cindi last night, real quick.” I felt terrible, underhanded, that I had done this to my best friend. “She was here, with the bunch from the club,” I continued, pressing on.

“Oh yeah,” Pete responded, “They had ladies’ night at your place, right? You were around for that?”

“Yeah…well, I just popped in to say hi,” I lied, again feeling guilty, “I was in bed for the night.”

“Good thing for you,” he continued, “away from all their yammering.” He sounded like he honestly believed me, like he didn’t suspect anything. “Cindi didn’t hassle you, did she? Like…at the party?”

“No…no…” I answered, flushing a little in shame, “She was fine.” Another awkward pause. “She looks good.” Ugh! Why did I say that?

“Yeah,” Pete replied, obviously feeling like he suddenly had to explain something, “She’s…well…y’know. I guess I told you, at the party, that she had just packed on some weight. But…she’s been on that new medicine, for, like, I dunno…six months, I guess. It was experimental.” Wait, what was he talking about? Was this the “program” I’d been hearing about? Pete was not the most articulate guy, and was confusing me more than anything. “And now it’s that new inhaler, the same one all the other women have started getting.” He hesitated for a moment, as if in thought. “Is Denise on that yet?”

I was baffled. That was the second time today that that inhaler had come up…I remembered it vaguely being mentioned as I was passing out in the receptionist’s office at the doctor’s. What was it? “Uh…I don’t know,” I answered, not wanting to sound ignorant.

“Yeah, well, it’s doing a number on Cindi…you probably noticed,” he deferred. Again, I answered noncommittally, feeling myself now eager for a change of topic. Any of this talk about our wives, or any women in general, getting taller, bigger, was deeply disquieting to me. Getting smaller and all the while watching women around you getting bigger, curvier, bustier can be very unsettling, make you feel even smaller. As if they didn’t hold enough power over me already. My natural reaction was just to ignore the whole thing, act as if it wasn’t happening.

And so, Pete and I ended our conversation quickly, figuring we were going to be seeing each other that night. I was still a bit groggy, anyway, from the lingering effects of the drug, and was happy to get back to napping.

When I awoke again it was to the sound of Denise and Cindi outside, voices through the open window. Shaking the sleep from my head, I jumped from the bed and headed to the window, where I had set up a chair into which I could climb to look outside. The two women were out front, unloading a few big boxes from Cindi’s large SUV in the late afternoon sun. What had Denise bought on this trip out? Certainly not just clothes. I watched as Denise, with Cindi’s help, moved the boxes inside, through our front door.

Well, whatever. I figured she was a grown woman, making all the money in our household anyway, and could buy what she wanted. Curiosity would only get me in trouble, right? As she finished unloading, and waved goodbye to Cindi, I hopped down from the window and looked around the room. Man. Everything was so big….would I ever get used to this? And, anyway, any time I did get used to things, it seemed like I would shrink again anyway and I’d just have to do it all over. Depressing…best not dwell on it.

I was still dressed in the clothes I’d put on this morning…not a terrible fit. Denise must have reclothed me herself at the doctor’s office while I slept after my exam, I figured. So, what should I do now? I was getting hungry…

“Denise?” I called, having made my way out of our room to the top of the stairs.

“Hey honey!” she beamed, as I watched her push one final box into our downstairs closet. She stood, wiping her hands on her thighs, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Whatcha buy?” I asked, as she kicked the closet door closed behind her.

“Oh, a few surprises for you,” she said cryptically, smiling. “I’ll get them set up tomorrow. How are you feeling?” she asked, looking up the stairs at me.

“Fine, I guess…” I replied, “that shot really knocked me out. How long have I been sleeping?”

“Well,” she said, peering around the corner at a clock in the living room, “it’s about 5:30 now. So…more than six hours, at least.”

“Wow,” I said, rubbing a hand through my hair, as she peered up at me, hands on hips. I tried to push the memories of this morning out of my head, remembering our time in the exam room. “So…I talked to Pete.”

“You did, did you?” she remarked plainly, her eyes narrowing a bit, as she adjusted her long, dark hair in its ponytail.

“Yeah. We’re going over there tonight?”

“Yeah, hope that’s okay,” she replied, “We thought we’d have margarita night. Cindi’s making some empanadas, I thought I’d bring some chips.”

“So, we’re eating there?” I asked, as I felt my stomach rumbling, “What time are we headed over?”

“Well, I still have to shower, get ready…” she answered, “I figured around seven. Why? Are you hungry now?”

“Kinda…I haven’t eaten all day…”

“Here, come on downstairs. I’ll fix up something quick for you. You can eat while I’m showering.” I liked this, I couldn’t help but think, as I slowly made my way down the steps. I was conversing to my wife like an adult again. It was almost like being our old selves once more. But, there was something in her voice that kept me from feeling like we were talking as equals, and as I made it to the bottom and watched her move about the kitchen, towering over me like a giantess, I felt smaller than ever.

Within a few minutes I was seated at our table, precariously perched on several phone books, half a ham sandwich lying on a plate before me. I wrestled with a glass of iced tea, nearly spilling it over myself as I tried to drink. It was with a wary eye that Denise watched me as she put away the loaf of bread, the mustard, almost as if she was watching me for a misstep. Did she not trust me eating for myself anymore? She winced as I picked up a knife to slice the sandwich, having insisted I could do it myself. Admittedly, I struggled to do it, but I considered it a small victory when I had it cut into pieces I could manage with my shrunken hands.

“Well, okay, I’m going to shower,” she announced, having cleaned up what she could, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

After I assured her I wouldn’t maim myself or set fire to the kitchen, she reluctantly left me to my own devices, finishing my snack. Though I teetered on my seat, I was able to climb down from it myself, and made my way into the living room to await Denise. I figured I didn’t need to change; nothing else I owned would fit me as well as the stuff I had on now. Anyway, I felt much better, my head clearer, after having eaten something.

As I waited I flipped through the channels on the television. While surfing, my eye was caught by a campaign ad for some congressional candidate, a mature woman. What grabbed my attention was her profile, as she stood in front of the camera, some government building behind her. Obviously very tall, she cut a striking, statuesque figure, longs legs, full ch-…wait. Was that…? Holy crap! It was! Gloria Monroe was running for office?! My former boss, the owner of Harold’s - excuse me, Hera’s - department store was running for U.S. Senate! Flabbergasted, I sat rapt in front of the television. Having already missed most of the spot, I didn’t quite get her whole message, but it seemed to be centered around women’s rights. To tell the truth, I was distracted from what she was saying by what she was wearing, her posture.

Her suit was cut impressively, accentuating her inspiring curves. She was always a good-looking woman, with a fabulous body, and was using it to her full advantage here, even in as staid a situation as a campaign ad. The camera sat slightly low, looking up at her to create an air of authority about her presence. As the camera panned in, one could look at her attractive face, watch her full, smiling, glossy, painted lips or listen to her confident voice as she delineated her plans for the furthering of “women’s interests”, but it was much easier to just look at her breasts. She obviously had every intent, in this TV spot, to put them on full display. Though conservative, her suit jacket was fit tightly, and it was impossible to miss the size of her formidable assets. She could be sure, I thought, to rope in a whole slew of votes from the portion of her electorate who just want a senator they can whack off to. Christ! What is this world coming to? I thought, even as I felt myself stiffen slightly in my shorts.

“Gloria Monroe: Woman for the Future” was the final message, in bold mauve letters against a white field, closing the ad.

Well, I thought, as a nicely mind-numbing MaidenForm commercial came on, good luck to her. Who’s her opponent? Obviously the incumbent…some old guy…what was his name…? He didn’t stand a chance.

I flipped around the channels distractedly, waiting for Denise to get herself together. Every so often, my thoughts would wander from the television, thinking about the previous events of the day. What, exactly, had been going on at the doctor’s office? Why did I feel more like a guinea pig than a patient? And was there some new medicine, some inhaler, Denise was using now? Was this the same medicine she had told me about late last night, that made her grow back in high school? And…what was that about? Why hadn’t I heard about that before now? Was this “The Program”? And…wait…did she say something last night about…about…about me being on it, too?

All this thinking, this confusion, was making my head hurt. It was too upsetting. I tried to focus, to draw my attention away, back to the TV. As was becoming more and more typical for me, nothing really caught my interest as I tried to watch music videos – unless, of course, the singer looked something like this blond latina gyrating her luxuriant hips like some fertility goddess, covered in what looked like motor oil. Nothing in the news was appealing – unless read to me by a perfectly coiffed, former beauty pageant winner with tan, muscular legs on display. Sports held little to no fascination for me aside from the busty cheerleaders on the sidelines or buxom women in the beer commercials.

In all, I was feeling a little bewildered by all the blatant, aggressive female sexuality around me. It was becoming pervasive, omnipresent, a factor in just about every aspect of my life. Did I actually want it to stop, to end? No…I was finding it, I have to admit, more than just arousing, but in a way comforting. In my present, weakened state, it was nice to imagine that women – those in the media, my wife, my friends and acquaintances – all seemed know what I liked to look at, how I liked to be treated, how to lull me into a peaceful acquiescence. Perhaps I was delusional, imagining these things in some sort of narcissistic fantasy, but I felt all the women around me becoming more dominant, using their sexuality in some sort of power play and likewise awakening ever-growing submissive desires in me. Was this happening to other guys, elsewhere? Or was it just me, a function of my obvious inferiority, now that I was so small, becoming so dependent?

Again, I was above all else just very confused, and my anxiety was not eased in the slightest by my wife, Denise, suddenly appearing in the room, having dressed herself up for the night. This, dear readers, was WOMAN.

“Hey…h-honey…” I sputtered, a bit taken aback, surprised, roused from my musings. It was as if, out of the blue, all my anxieties about this ascendant sexual power of women had taken physical form in front of me. My eyes must have goggled at the sight of her; she had done herself up, and then some. “Is…is that what you’re gonna wear?”

“Yeah,” she chirped, smiling at my reaction, straightening her posture, “don’t you like it?” Denise was wearing, aside from a tall pair of heels and a tiny pair of cutoff denim shorts, a shirt I hadn’t seen in years. A shirt that, I think, deserves some explanation.

As I’ve mentioned before, Denise, Cindi, Pete and myself all went to school together, from some point in grammar school. I didn’t start dating Denise, however, until early in our senior year, and until that time she had achieved a sort of notoriety around school as being all at once the absolute hottest girl in the class and yet the hardest to date.

Young Denise Stevens had begun to “blossom” around the same time as other girls, but continually seemed a step or two ahead. Never did she seem to go through that awkward stage other kids always endured, and from the very beginning appeared destined to be blessed by puberty. In middle school she was already tall, and had achieved those long, coltish legs for which she was becoming famous. Her curves were there, becoming more womanly every year, and she carried herself with a grace and posture that caused others – students and, eventually, teachers – to turn heads and notice. Early in high school she had achieved the beauty of face and figure which allowed her luxuries others did not enjoy: the rapt attention of boys and men when she needed it, the ability to flirt her way through just about anything.

But nothing could prepare the male students of Middlesex High School for the Denise that returned from summer vacation into her junior year. No longer was she the cheerleader that would just occasionally draw the eye because of the longer legs or brighter smile, the shapelier rear or thinner waist. She was now stacked. She drew more attention from the crowd, it would sometimes seem - shaking her pom-poms, swinging her hips, than Pete or I ever did on the football field. Though never small, always bigger than average, her chest was now a full, firm, ogle-inducing phenomenon in and of itself. A bosom even the most well-blessed of women would envy. And, on that body, the whole effect was awe-inspiring, especially to the horde of hormonal teenage boys that populated Middlesex High.

Now, one would imagine, I guess, that a young girl fortunate enough to be so gifted by puberty, so genetically (as it was assumed…) privileged, could turn out to be either a pretentious, self-satisfied bitch or a downright slut. Denise was neither. Always popular, she was a friendly, seemingly modest, at times even reserved girl. And, though always sociable with guys, she rarely dated and never once had a serious boyfriend before me. All that added up to her being silently lusted after, at an ever-increasing volume as her body developed, unbeknownst to her.

With my friend Pete, this fascination grew to a fever pitch during junior year. As I’ve said before, he was obsessed with this girls charms, her assets…her tits. He was a dyed-in-the-wool breast man even at sixteen years old, quietly worshipping her from afar, confiding only in me. He even told me, once, of spotting her in a department store with her mother, browsing the lingerie, watching as she chose herself new bras off the rack, all the time unaware of him lurking behind a display. After she had made her purchases, he told me, he surreptitiously checked out those she had passed over, decided not to buy for fashion reasons. “Thirty-four double-D, buddy!” he exclaimed to me, “Thirty-four double-D!” I remember just smiling, shaking my head bemused response. I mean, I’m a breast guy myself…but what a goon.

Where were we..? Oh yeah, the shirt. Well, with all the talk amongst the guys in school regarding my future girlfriend and her ever-burgeoning curves, she began to develop a nickname, again unbeknownst to her. No longer was she merely Denise the girl from Multon Street, Denise from French class, Denise the cheerleader. She was now Denise the Body. Denise “The Body” Stevens, the object of glances, stares and outright gapes. Denise “The Body” Stevens, the girl whose figure no doubt fueled the masturbatory fantasies of a large proportion of the boys of Middlesex High School. I look back on it now and kind of laugh, but I remember being one of those frustrated teenage boys. I just ended up being the lucky one who was fortunate enough to take “The Body” off the available list and, eventually, down the aisle.

The insight I have into the rest of this story I received from Denise, well after we had been dating, when we had become comfortable enough around one another to talk about the immature stupidities of my fellow males. Eventually, of course, Denise caught wind of what guys were calling her behind her back. Not an insult, certainly…but she seemed to be the last one to find out and I guess it kind of surprised her. At first, she claims, she was a little embarrassed by the clandestine, behind-the-scenes attention she was obviously attracting. Her best friend, Cindi, who found the whole thing comical, was actually the one who told her…by buying her the shirt.

The shirt was a simple enough thing. A gift. A joke, really. A tight, white, cotton t-shirt with baby-pink three-quarter sleeves and collar. Cut and fit, by some luck, to accentuate Denise’s curves in the most dramatic of fashions, to hug her body perfectly. I mean, the girl was big even at sixteen years old, but this shirt made her look enormous. Her huge breasts, on her thin frame, were emphasized by this shirt to the point where one couldn’t help but look anywhere else. Which drew attention, of course, to the lettering Cindy had had printed across it at a local t-shirt shop, as a joke: “The Body”. Cindy had never really intended Denise to wear it, but just thought the whole thing would be funny. Y’know…a shirt with your own nickname on it, a nickname surreptitiously, unwillingly imposed upon you by the frustrated, hormonal male student body of Middlesex High School. Hilarious.

But, after her initial bout of embarrassment, her initial surprise at the news that she had a certain level of notoriety around school as the class hourglass, the local brick house, she decided to turn the tables. She decided to wear the shirt. To school.

That day, the day that Denise Stevens wore “The Body” t-shirt, is a day which has become legend in the annals of Middlesex High. She strode around the halls proudly, in a pair of short denim cutoffs, high heels and that chest-hugging shirt, embellishing her figure for all the world to consider. The whispered conversations that would form as she passed, swinging her hips defiantly, brought a secret smile to her face. They all seemed in awe of her body, or rather, at what her body could do. This was not just a pretty high school girl trying to draw an eye or two. This was a woman becoming finally aware of the power of her god-given gifts. “The Body”, as her t-shirt announced, was a force to be reckoned with.

There was no shame in being “The Body”, Denise quickly discovered. Let them all look, let them whisper behind her back. It was empowering, this ability to draw eyes when she wanted, steer attention to her figure, become the focus, the distraction. Suddenly all the boys around her looked silly, childish. How easy it was to play with them. She had realized this finally, she told me, on that day, though she had inklings of it before. She always knew she was considered pretty, that guys liked the way she was built, but it was never made so perfectly clear as it was on that day. And it was never so perfectly illustrated just what she could accomplish, the effect she could have, before she took matters into her own hands and wore that shirt.

Afterwards, for the sake of modesty, she went back to her normal wardrobe, sticking the shirt in the back of some drawer. But, while she was back in her stylish though generally conservative skirts and tops, she knew in the back of her mind what boys were seeing when they looked at her, something they somehow wanted but could never have. She owned that name now, she had taken it from them.

Someone, though, who would never forget that shirt, of course, was Pete. His fascination with her chest multiplied tenfold following that day…and it was just about then that I decided I was tired of his hesitation to act on his secret admiration and asked her out myself. Turns out, she had always sort of fancied me, and – as I’ve described before – we’ve been together ever since.

I somehow knew, however, that Pete never really got over his fixation on “The Body”. With as good of friends as we’ve all become, through all these years, I’d still catch him sneaking glances of her; my relationship, and future marriage, with Denise has only driven his obsession underground. I know and realize this about Pete but I still love him…it’s sort of an unspoken thing, at this point, between us. I try to find it amusing. Nonetheless, I always knew that he would kill to see her in that shirt again.

“I…” I stuttered, trying to find the right words, addressing Denise as she stood before me in that shirt again, like a vision from the past, “I think you’re going to give poor Pete a heart attack.” Truth is, since she last wore that shirt, things had changed. The male race may have survived a teenage Denise in this outfit: a young, overdeveloped teen advertising it with the declaration across her chest. But this Denise was even more fully ripened, and the words “The Body” were stretched to new limits in more ways than one.

“I know,” Denise agreed, almost apologetically, as she glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror. “I know. I know this shirt makes my boobs look fucking huge, but I thought it might cheer him up a bit, bring back some memories.” Denise knew, of course, of Pete’s admiration for her figure, and mostly found it amusing herself.

“Why?” I asked, marveling at her body myself as she tugged down at her shirt, trying to stretch it a bit, still looking in the mirror, “Does Pete need cheering up?” God, her breasts were huge.

“Well, you know,” she responded distractedly, turning her profile this way and that, “after losing his job and all…”

“Pete lost his job?”