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A Woman's Charms by Greapos

Page history last edited by Rob Classact 9 years, 11 months ago

A Woman's Charms


by greapos



Comments (welcomed) to greapos@yahoo.com

More stories and other such nonsense at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/greapos/


Disclaimer – This is a piece of erotic fiction. Some would find it very naughty. Please do not read it if either you or I would be fined, thrown in jail or generally yelled at if caught doing so. It is not intended for minors or the illiterate. Otherwise, enjoy.







Rich is not all too happy about having to move back home. It will really be the first time, since summers in college, that he’s relied on his parents for food and shelter. His five years since graduation have been spent in the city, getting his MBA and then a stint at a software firm that recently tanked. So, unable to afford living in the city for more than a couple months without an income, he's moved back, living in his parent's place where they stay now only through the summer. They spend much of the year in their condo down south, and have recently left for the winter. He's been hanging out with his old high school friends, none of whom really ever got out of town. They're content with their little jobs: landscaping, waitering, one guy manages a shoe store.


After he's been home a month or so, with no luck finding real work (and not much effort, to be truthful), he ends up going to a concert at the local civic center with a group of guys and a few hangers-on. His buddy Mark shows up with his kid sister Emily, who brought along a friend - Traci, he thinks her name is. He remembers the two girls from long ago, as kids, even before he went away to college. He knows they had long been friends. They had always been so pesty, always wanting to hang around Mark and his gang. Rich always felt that this one, Traci, had once had a little crush on him growing up. He, of course, never gave either of them the time of day or a second thought. How young they once were. He can remember them at, what, seven or eight years old? Could they really be seventeen already? Man, time flies.


He recalls being home over summer break one year, the two girls then in their preteens, playing with the ouija board at Mark's house. Asked about this, Mark replied that "Yeah, Em's new kick is trying spells and things. Witchcraft,"' he says with mock drama, "black magic...oooh! Scary! I think she's trying to put a curse on her English teacher for giving her a 'B', and she says she's going to turn me into a monkey. Funny, huh?"


"Yeah," Rich had replied, "don't they have better things to do?"


"I dunno...but you better watch out," Mark joked, "or her little friend will put a spell on you, make you her boyfriend..."


"Shut up, y'idiot."


He remembers seeing Traci with Emily again, a few years later, at some town picnic he grudgingly agreed to go to with his parents. Though still a kid, she had started to develop coltish good looks and had begun to carry herself more like a young woman than a little girl. She was dressed in the latest teeny-bopper styles, definitely a good looking thirteen year old - in contrast to Emily, who on the other hand was still a little bookworm at that point, pudgy with baby fat.


But nothing could have surprised him more than seeing the two of them today, at the concert. How they'd grown! Emily had sprouted, and thinned out, to a relatively attractive, long haired brunette. He knows, through Mark, that she is doing well in school, and she carries herself with confidence. He has to admit that Traci, however, is now downright hot. God, look at that body! Is that really little Traci? Blonde, probably five-six or so, she came to the concert dressed in a pair of tight, low-rider jeans and a white, clingy, button down blouse. Thin but curvy and ripe the way only a teenager can really be. And, though both girls are wearing make-up, Traci's is done expertly, accentuating her full lips, high cheekbones and big eyes. Though they came across as somewhat haughty at first to the group, as girls their age tend to do around those outside their usual cliques, Traci warms to Rich as soon as they recognize one another.


By chance, they end up sitting next to each other at the show. Little Traci, he realizes, certainly isn't very little anymore. He spends as much time as possible surreptitiously looking at her breasts in profile, trying to gauge their size, astonished at her development since he last saw her. He studies the outline of her bra band through the material of her shirt. Man, she is built, he thinks, watching the heavy mass of breast stretch her white top under her arm. And that's a considerably significant bra. I can't believe she's a seventeen year old and has that much weight to support. He finds himself trying to imagine, standing there next to her, what color this bra is that she’s wearing, what kind of material it’s made of - white, he figures, white nylon with some spandex. And the rest of her, he marvels, is near ideal as well. Though he has never really liked the low-rider jean look on girls, this pair did hug a plump, heart-shaped bottom that is obviously perfect.


Though Traci talks mostly to Mark's sister during the concert, he jokes around with her a little bit, trying to act funny and cool between stealing glances of her body. It is a guilty sort of kick for his ego, making this little hottie (who, if he was back in high school, wouldn't give him the time of day) giggle at his jokes. He feels pretty impressed with himself, actually. The concert, however, ends uneventfully, with Rich and his friends parting ways with the girls, who obviously can't go bar-hopping with them afterwards.


The next week, sitting at a local dive bar, tossing darts with his friends, he hears through Mark that Traci has been asking about him. Is he home for long? (positive) Has he found a job yet? (negative) Does he have a girlfriend? (definitely negative) Mark, of course, proceeds to bust his stones over this, playing it all up as his little sister's friend's girlie crush back for its revenge. "Though," Mark admits, sipping his beer, "I have to say she's got a kickin' bod, for a kid. She came with Em and I to the beach once this summer and...man!"


"And what?" Rich asked, not wanting to look like he is probing, or interested in the least.


"Well, she was somethin'..." His friend, more serious now, continues, "You’re not, like, going to call her or anything, are you?" Did he hear a hint of jealousy in his Mark's tone?


"Naw, no way," Rich replies quickly, throwing another dart, "I'm not a cradle robber." Still, the thought stays with him, and he spends much of the night thinking about her. He's never been too good with girls; a few relationships here and there - some serious, some not. But none, he admits to himself, with a girl that looked like Traci. To his chagrin he finds himself fantasizing, imagining her peeling off that clingy white top, imagining the two of them fooling around together. She seducing him with that hot little body. Jeez, that would be so cool. That's it, he decides as he lay in his bed, emboldened by the several beers he's had, I'm calling her tomorrow night.


The next evening, sobered a bit and definitely less brave, he resolves rather to call over to Mark's house, knowing full well his friend will be out working. "Oh, hey Emily," good, his sister answered, "it's Rich. Mark home?"


"No, he's bartending tonight at Steak & Sword."


"Oh, yeah, right. Hey, how'd you like the show last week?" God, he feels stupid. Why are his palms sweating?


"Pretty good. I just got their album."


"The new one?"




"You like it?"


"Yeah, it's okay. You want me to burn it for you?"


"No, I have all their music already. You want any of their others? Their first album?"


"Sure, give a copy to Mark..."


"Yeah, sure, whatever..." Okay, he has to get to the point. "Say, Em," he pauses awkwardly, trying to come up with the right words, "did...your friend...like the show?"




"uh, yeah."


A pause. "I think so. Why?"


"I dunno. she said she really liked the band and I just hoped she liked the show 'cuz. well, you know how bad it is if you like a band's music but then they put on a crappy concert..." he’s babbling, he realizes, and had lost the nerve to ask any more about Traci. "Well, whatever, you know what I mean."


"Uh, yeah, Rich, I think she liked the show." Did he hear a hint of amusement in her voice? He has to end this now, before he comes across like a total idiot.


"Uh, okay, just have Mark call me later."


"Later tonight? When he gets in?"


"Uh, no, it's not important. He can call, uh, tomorrow."


"Sure. Bye Rich."



The next night he comes home from an early night out, dinner with some friends, to find a message on his machine from Emily, but the caller-ID links it to "Graham"...Traci's house. "Hey, Rich," Emily's abrupt message begins, "Traci wants you to call her. Here's her number. Anytime tonight is fine." He writes her number down on his hand before he realizes that - duh – it’s on the caller-ID. Okay, his brain isn't working at full tilt, his heart racing a bit. Emily is obviously over at Traci's house. He realized he is nervous. What should he do? Call her? It is after ten...he didn't want to wake her parents. But, she did say anytime. God, what is he - back in high school again, playing these stupid games? Just freaking call her, dork.


She picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"


"Hi, uh, Traci?"




"This is Rich...from the concert? Last week?"


"Oh, hi! How are you! Did you like the show?"


"Yeah, it was good...real good..." a pause, "What's up? Emily said you wanted me to call you."


"Oh, yeah. Can you make a copy of 'Signs'? Em said you had it...It's the only album of theirs I don't have."


"Sure, no problem," he agrees, searching for small talk, a way to continue the conversation, "So, you really like them, huh?"


"Oh yeah, they're awesome!"


"And I thought you were just there to see the singer's abs."


"Shut up! I was not! I really like their music!"


"I dunno, Traci, you squealed pretty loud when Brandon took off his shirt."


"Shut up!" she titters with girlish giggles, "You jerk!"


Emboldened, he decides to take the plunge. "Hey, what are you doing this weekend?"


A pause. "Nothing much, really." Suddenly she is quiet, more serious "Why?"


"I dunno, you want to do something on Friday? Get something to eat, catch up on old times?"


"Like what old times, when you and Mark used to, like, totally ignore us?"


"Uh...yeah...oh, c'mon, you guys were just kids back then..."


"I know, I know, I'm just kidding...Oh, wait...I can't Friday. I'm going out with my parents."


"Hm. And I'm busy Saturday night," he says, remembering his old friend coming into town. Could he blow that off..? No way; Mark is coming with them. "How about Thursday?"


"Uh, sure…" She giggles, and pauses. Did he hear another voice in the room behind her? "That'd be cool."


"Okay, I'll come get you around seven. Do you still live over near the high school?"


"Yeah, white house."


"Great, I'll see you then. Bye." He puts down the phone and exhales a deep breath. So, he did it. Now, if only he can keep his friends from finding out. Yeah, right. That's pretty much an impossibility. Whatever. He doesn't care at that point. He’s going to dinner with a freakin' hot chick; so what if she’s technically jailbait? He'll be happy to take all the shit in the world from his friends just to have the chance to look at that body all night - and what if she wants to do more than just let him look? Though he knows himself: he has too much of a conscience, he'd be too polite, too big-brotherly to ever take advantage of any youthful infatuation on her part. Or, rather, is he just chicken shit? Nonetheless, his mind swims with the possibilities as he makes his way to bed, grabbing the box of kleenex on the way.


He's prompt to show up at her house on Thursday night - a little early, in fact, so he drives around the neighborhood a bit. Nice houses. When he finally pulls into the driveway, she immediately bounds out the front door, as if she's been waiting, looking out for him. His eyes widen as he watches the sight, her full chest heaving up and down in a tight, white, midriff-bearing top, sleeves off the shoulder. Her long, bare, well-fleshed legs carry her down the front walk quickly on thick heeled, black sandals. A short, floral patterned, black silk skirt flows midway up her tan thighs. She flashes a bright white smile as she waves to him on her approach, bending over slightly to look in the car window. Is that cleavage? Look away!


Bedazzled, he almost doesn't notice a woman - her mother, it must be - standing in the shadow of the doorframe, peering out apprehensively. He waves up at her and thinks of getting out to politely introduce himself, but Traci is quickly in the car beside him. Caught off guard by her sudden appearance, her mane of blond hair, her toothsome smile, he instead smiles to greet her. Gushing a little too eagerly, "Wow. You look great," he asks her if he should get out to say "hi" to her mother.


"No way. She almost didn't let me out of the house. She doesn't like the way I'm dressed."


"Really?" Well, I certainly like it, he thinks.


""Yeah, but when I said I was going with a friend of Mark's, she let me go. So, quick, just take off."


"Uh, okay." He is a little relieved, feeling a bit embarrassed to be out on a date with a girl ten years his junior. Having to meet her mother would have been awkward. He smiles wanly and waves again up at her as she drifts away from the doorway and he backed out of the driveway. He looks over at Traci as he pulls off down the street, careful not to speed too quickly in case mom is still watching. She is certainly dressed up for a Thursday night - that outfit, make up, hair done out to there.


"So, what is it your mom wants you to wear?"


"Oh, I don't know. I think she thinks…well, she doesn't want me showing off...my, well..."


"Your what?"


"My figure. She, like, thinks I'm still a kid. 'Don't you think that's a little too revealing?' she says, 'Don't you think that makes you look too busty?' Ugh! I mean, c'mon, mom, face it. I've got legs now. I've got hips. I'm built like a...well, like a woman." And, obviously, he thinks, she wants everyone to know it.


He swallows dryly. "Well, I think you look really nice," he says matter-of-factly - too shy, suddenly, to say anything that could be interpreted as even slightly lecherous.


He tries to keep his eyes on the road as he felt her smile broaden in the seat next to him. "Thank you, Rich," she says demurely, "that's nice." Who does she think she’s kidding? She knows she looks good.


As they banter he thinks seriously about changing his plans for dinner. Could he bring her to the restaurant at which he has reservations with her dressed like that? This is a place he remembers his parents taking him to on special occasions. White tablecloths and all. Most of the clientele will probably be senior citizens - he doesn't want to cause any heart attacks.


What's the big deal? he finally decides. Mostly because - with her sitting next to him - he can't think straight enough to come up with an equally nice place with a looser dress code. He is self-conscious, nonetheless, of the looks they get as the hostess walks them through the restaurant to their table. The sidelong, admiring glances of the men are painfully obvious, following Traci's figure as she saunters, seemingly oblivious, several paces ahead of him. He feels also the judgmental attention of the room pass over them, and for the first time in his life feels a bit like a dirty old man with his young date. He sincerely hopes there isn't anybody he knows here.


All apprehension quickly lifts soon after they are seated at their table in a dark, private corner. Dinner goes smoothly. She is much chattier than he and carries conversation easily. She talks about school, about starting her senior year, about running for class vice-president, about not getting into many of the AP classes she had wanted. She is surprised, she says, to learn that he hasn't had a girlfriend for quite some time. She also admits to not be seeing anyone, claiming to be "sick of boys, guys my age are such idiots." He takes this for what it’s worth - she isn't actually admitting a desire to date him, he has to tell himself. But is she hinting along those lines with her playful glances, by laughing at his corny jokes? He is a little befuddled, having expected this outing to be mostly him entertaining an overgrown kid. Rather, Traci is surprisingly poised for a seventeen year-old girl - and seems quite adept in the use of her feminine wiles. She is, he comes to realize in time, actively flirting with him. A bit dazzled by the attention, he catches himself beginning to respond in kind, however clumsily. It’s very hard not to, with those big, bright eyes batting their long full lashes, smiling at him across the table. And her skin is so smooth, so perfect - sun-kissed to a light tan over her long neck and bare, graceful shoulders. She;s so young, though.


They defer dessert, taking his suggestion to grab some ice cream at a local parlor. They sit outside on the hood of his car near an overhead light, watching kids and families file in and out of the store. As he licks at his cone he remarks on her extra-large milkshake. "That's some big ol' shake...Do you know how much fat that thing has?"


"Why, should I be worried it'll go to my hips?" she asks teasingly, taking a long draw at her straw and smiling, looking into his eyes.


"Oh, uh, no...I mean," he stammers, "You have very nice hips. Go ahead - drink up."


"That's right, I have to keep my curves, don't I?" With that she takes an exaggerated, long pull on her shake, moaning in mock pleasure as she sucks hungrily at its heavy, calorie-laden thickness.


"Wow...watch it, or you'll have more than just curves..." he jokes, feeling bold, talking about her body.


"Yeah, hopefully it all keeps going to the right places!" she giggles, obviously referring to her ample womanly charms.


They sit in silent thought for a moment before she speaks again. "So, Rich, you don't think this outfit makes me look too trashy?" she asks coyly, coquettishly swinging her feet, sandals dangling at her toes, and sucking again at her milkshake.


"No, no way. I think your mom's crazy," he responds, aware that this is perhaps the third time tonight she has sought his praise of her appearance, "You look fine. She shouldn't hassle you like that. I mean, you're a grown...well, you're seventeen and you should wear what you want."


"Yeah, well," Traci continues, "I think she's been uncomfortable, jealous maybe, since I got...bigger than her."


"Bigger? What do you mean? Taller?"


"No," she replies, lowering her voice furtively, as if to share a secret, "y'know what I mean..." She sticks out her chest to demonstrate the size of her impressive assets, "...bigger."


"Oh, uh...yeah...really?" Yikes.


She smiles mischievously, noticing how quickly he’s become uneasy, watching him stumble over his words. She loved how, if she wanted, she could make guys so nervous, so awkward. It’s always a thrill for her. And maybe this guy’s no different, she thinks, even if he is, like, almost thirty. She decides to try playing with him some more.


"Yeah. My mom, like, refuses to buy me new bras. She can't believe that I'm bigger than a 32-D. I'm like, c'mon, mom!" Her eyes twinkle eagerly, seeing that she has his interest. Rich, the older boy who once wouldn't give her the time of day, hanging on her every word. My, how things change! "But she's all like 'The one's you have are big enough, you just got them.' I mean, c'mon, look at this..."


With that she presses back her shoulders, tightening the already overstretched top over her breasts. The outline of her obviously too-small, halter style bra is evident, as is the swell of flesh rising over the top edge of its cups. "So, this is a 32-D, and I'm, like, bulging out of it," she states, smiling at his bashful stare, studying her chest. She can't believe this is the same guy! Times change...I'm not a little girl anymore, huh Rich? With mock exasperation, she continues proudly "I've been wearing a D-cup for a year, but do you see how small that is on me now?"


"..mmmm..uh, yeah, I guess...s-so...what, uh, size do you need now?"


How adorable, she thinks. He’s trying to act cool, almost clinical, disinterested. But he wants to hear more, she can tell.


"I dunno, I guess I'm a 32 double-D," she replies, and continues with extra emphasis "but that's like, so huge!"


"Uh, is it? I-I wouldn't know...couldn't you just be up to, like, a 33 or 34?"


"Oh no, no, no...Here, look," she begins to explain, as if correcting a small child, as she places her milkshake down on the car's hood. She draws his attention back to her chest by turning her large left breast to him in profile, while at the same time raising her arm and tossing back her dark blond hair. "Do you see the band here under my arm?" It’s plain to see, taut beneath her shirt. "That goes around my ribcage. I'm a thirty-two like that, it's thirty-two inches around my chest, underneath my boobs."


"Uh huh," he mutters dumbly, absorbed.


"Now, that fits pretty good, don't you think?" She finds this fun, tutoring this grown man on bra sizing. And she always liked talking about what she knows are her best assets. Guys, she found, would become rapt with attention whenever she mentioned her breasts.


"Oh, uh, yeah."


"And around the back?" she asks as she rotates at the hip and hunches her shoulders forward, turning the back of her shoulders to him and tightening her top about her. He studies the single, sturdy strap of her bra as it passed under her shirt and tautly across her back. That a girl her age would need a brassiere of this caliber excites him. He can see its clasp, admire her firm flesh and muscle tone.


"Mmm. Yeah. Fine." He can feel an erection hardening in his khakis and hopes to god she hasn't noticed.


"But now, look at this," she instructs, as she turns back so he can see the fullness of her left breast again in profile. With a touch of drama she sticks her chest out slowly, presenting it for more easy viewing. "My cup size is, like, how much my breast sticks out from my chest, at the farthest point, along the bottom." She arches her back a little more, for emphasis. "You see? That's big, huh?"


God, he thinks, look at that tit. So big, so round, so plump and firm…on that thin body. It looks so heavy. Oh, to squeeze it, to put a cheek up against it.


She tries to keep a straight face as she watches his expression, unabashedly intent on the weight of her left breast. "And you see how I'm, like, overflowing over the top, kinda coming out the sides?" To accentuate her point, she adjusts her shirt, pulling it more taut over her breast. She hears him swallow, nervously. "Do you see that?" Once again she feels like she is tutoring a dim child and tries to keep from smiling in amusement.


"Oh, uh, yeah...I s-see..." Though above all else he is still trying to act cool, he makes the conscious effort to try to burn this image to memory, as a photograph in his brain. So he can recall the image of her huge, young breast straining against her overworked brassiere. His mind and heart are racing, incredulous of the situation, the conversation he’s in with this overdeveloped teenage girl. He really had no idea how big she had become over the years. He crosses his legs, hoping to hide the erection which now presses hotly against his thigh.


"So, I think I'm a double-D now," she continues matter-of-factly, "which is the next size up from a 'D'. On a thirty-two inch bra." She straightens her shoulders, and moves to pull her hair up into a pony tail, raising her arms. Embarassed to find himself still staring at her chest, he looks away abruptly, taking a lick at his now-melting ice cream cone.


"I mean, I don't know anyone with cups this big, on a thiry-two inch band. Do you?" She is now acutely aware of him definitely not trying to look at her chest, of paying a little too much attention to his ice cream. How cute!


"Oh, I d-dunno...I don't really-"


"Old girlfriends?"


"Oh, uh...no....No way..."


"Hmm. Yeah, well, I guess guys don't really have to think about that sort of thing, huh? Just us girls," she comments, picking up her milkshake once again and taking a purposefully long pull at the straw. She sees his face redden. Why is it that guys always get sort of embarrassed talking about bra sizes? Seems sort of silly, to her. She looks at her watch and starts. "Oh, jeez, Rich," she says, hopping from the hood, “I have to get home. It's a school night and my mom will freak if I get in after ten."


The quick ride home is relatively quiet. She sucks at her straw distractedly, finishing off the remainder of her shake as he tries to make light conversation. She seems a bit lost in thought. Pulling into her driveway, he notices the car Mark's parents had given to Emily parked in the street. "Oh, uh, yeah..." Traci explains, "she had to use my computer for a project. Still here, I guess." She thanks him for a nice evening, apologizing that she had to be back so early. "But, hey," she asks, "it's s'posed to be nice weather this weekend. Do you want to come over and hang out by the pool?"


"When, Saturday?"


"Yeah, come over for lunch. And bring your suit!"


Oh boy, is he positive he wants to do this? But, if he’s going to wear his suit, maybe she'll be wearing hers..."Uh, sure."


"Great! I'll see you then!" As they both lean over to politely hug goodnight, he is aware of her breast pressing into his arm. "I should go," she says, parting from him, "my mom's probably looking out the window, checking her watch. But here, let me get this for you." She takes hold of a paper napkin sitting crumpled between the seats and surprises him by leaning in and dabbing his lips with it. "You had a little ice cream still, in the corner..." Flashing a brilliant white smile, she climbs out the door and waves goodbye, napkin in hand. That was sort of odd, he thinks as he watches her bounce up the front steps, but also curiously arousing. God, he is such a horndog!


Driving home, his heart is racing. Man, she is so fucking hot! He can't remember ever having any girl with even remotely as nice a body actually wanting to talk to him, let alone describing her damn bra size in intricate detail. Did she know what she was doing? Was she trying to drive him crazy? Jeez, if only he was younger, back in high school now. Because he doesn't feel right about actually pursuing this girl, starting any sort of relationship. She’s so young. He'd catch crazy heat from his friends, her parents would probably think he is a lech. But, if he could be seventeen again, oh man. Boy, that was ten years ago. And...what is he thinking? If he was seventeen she wouldn't want anything to do with him, of course. All that interested her about him is that he’s an "older man". "So mature". Yeah, he thinks, real mature, alright. Living in his parents' house, rent-free while they're away until the spring. No job. A bunch of underachiever friends. Does she realize I'm such a loser? Well, whatever, I'm going to get the chance to see her in a bathing suit, he thinks guiltily. God, those breasts. Still incredulous, he replays their conversation at the ice cream shop over and over, the image of that big breast vivid in his mind, until he gets back to his place.


Though trying to distract his thoughts with television, he finds himself unable to stop thinking about her. She is so immature in many ways, narcissistic as teenage girls tend to be, and obviously impressed with herself. But, man, does she have enough to be proud of! She’s becoming built like a wet-dream and she knows it, he thinks. She was obviously teasing him with her body all night, and he just ate it all up.


Soon he can help it no longer and is in his bed, jerking off to the vision of her heavy tits in that tight shirt, the line of bra. Oh, to see what was underneath that top, underneath that bra. To be underneath that bra. He guiltily imagines how firm, how warm it would be, to be small, up against her full, young body, her ripe softness, her big new breasts. Underneath her bra, the bra she needs to support, to contain, those teenage double-D's.


As he becomes more and more stimulated, closer to climax, he is dimly aware of an unusual feeling. Unsettling. Almost as if he’s being watched. The sensation becomes acute enough to make him look around the darkened room, checking if his shades are closed. Satisfied that he’s alone, he continues to stroke himself to thoughts of Traci's bosom. "Thirty-two double-D," he moans to himself, "thirty-two double-D." Sitting in the car next to him, pressed against his arm. Thirty-two double-D. God, that's so huge.


He imagines himself being tucked into Traci's bra, slid in next to her flesh. But as he feels the first hints of his orgasm shiver to the surface, another vision visits him alongside that of her body. Eyes. Feminine eyes, aware of him, watching him, studying him. Though not usual in his masturbatory imaginings, this feeling of being watched - though unnerving - arouses him even more. Not able to shake the image, he imagines it is her, Traci, aware that he is fantasizing about her, knowing it’s her that he thinks about when he touches himself. She would like that, wouldn't she? Knowing that guys jerk off to her, knowing the power of her body, knowing that he imagined himself helpless as a baby at her huge breasts? Oh god, she would like that, she would.


And suddenly, it’s too much, and he is overtaken by his orgasm. His loud moans echo through an empty house. He beats himself hard, trying to concentrate on the pictures swimming through his head of himself as a tiny little man trapped in Traci's bra, between her breasts, in her huge cleavage. Still those eyes watch him, narrowing, crinkling as if in...amusement?


Soon his pulses begin to wane, and the visions fade. He brings himself back to reality, breathing heavily. Lying in bed, he realizes that he is nagged by a faint hint of embarrassment, almost as if someone now knows something about him that would shame him. Don't be paranoid, he thinks as he cleans himself up and crawls back to bed, you're just overtired. Nonetheless, he hopes sleep would come quick.






"Ewwwww! So you could actually see him?" Traci squeals, with barely suppressed giggles, "As he...y'know...! Did it!?"


"Whacked off? Oh yeah...well, sort of." Emily's voice is hushed in the candlelit shadows of her friend's room. "I could kind of see what he was seeing, or more like what he was...imagining."


"Like, what he was...fantasizing about?" Traci's interest is keen, palpable.


"Yeah, I guess." Emily had used this spell several times before, on boyfriends of her own. Though always entertaining, its novelty had worn off a bit for her.


"What was it? What did you see?" Traci asks hurriedly, "Was he thinking about...me?"


"Oooooh yeah. That's an understatement." Emily replies dryly.


"Really!" Traci blushes as she continues her interrogation, "What was it like? Tell me! Tell me!"


"Well, how can I say this..." Emily speaks slowly as she searches for the right words, "he really....I mean REALLY...likes your boobs."


"Really? Really?!" Traci squeals, hugging a pillow to her chest, to the oversized t-shirt she uses as a nightgown, "He was thinking about my boobs?" She tucks a stray strand of hair behind one ear and continues "In what way? What about them? Tell me more!"


"All I can say is that...well, he likes them big...really big." Emily begins to fall into giggles herself, remembering the visions. How embarrassing for him!


"Okay, I can manage that!" Traci proclaims as she drops the pillow to her lap and playfully thrusts out her considerably healthy chest, demonstrating its bounty. "Here I am!" she announces, "Come to mama!"


"I don't know, Trace..." Emily adds, laughing, "maybe for this guy you should get implants!" The girls have to hush themselves in their laughter, not wanting Traci's parents to know they’re still awake.


"Omigod! Could you imagine?" Traci muses, "I'd be huge!"


"Face it, girl, you're already huge."


"Yeah, huh?" Traci looks down at her own chest, smiling in pride. Her friend, she can't help but think, looks flat in comparison.


"But I think I can maybe still help you out. There's a spell in here somewhere, I think, that can, like, bring his fantasies true, make it so you're like his...I dunno, his dream girl."


"What do you mean? It'll make my boobs...bigger?" Traci asks innocently, as if in disbelief. Incredibly, Emily notices, she didn't seem totally against the idea.


"I dunno, maybe..." Emily continues, "It's different depending on who it's used on. It's a powerful spell, I've never tried it. But I think it works mainly on him, not you. Here, it's in the book, let's see what it says exactly." Emily thumbs through the pages of a well-worn paperback. "Okay....this is it. In the section on Sex Spells. 'A curse to entrap him slowly in mind, body and soul: What he imagines of you to bring him to passion'," Emily recites, "'will become his reality in its own fashion.' Hmm. The rest is all in Latin. Do you want me to translate it for you?"


"No, that's okay..."


Emily's eyes scan over the spell as Traci looks on in silence. "I don't know what it'll do exactly. Sounds like it'll make him see you the way he imagines...bigger? Maybe?"


"Okay, well...do you think it's safe? It says it's a curse..."


"Who knows? I guess so...how bad can it be? Don't you want him to like you?"


"Well," Traci says, looking down at her chest, admiring its size almost shyly, "it sounds like he kinda likes me already."


"But don’t you want him to...y'know...really like you?"


Traci sits in reflection for a moment, with thoughts of Rich, the guy she had a crush on as a kid, as her boyfriend. Wrapped around her little finger, even...that would be so cool! He is so much older, more mature. She could make him buy her things. But could something bad happen? Does Emily really know what she’s doing? She’s been, Traci has to admit, always good at this witchcraft stuff in the past. Though very smart, Emily had, as she became more proficient over the years, come to rely on charms more and more, for landing boyfriends most of all. Though not unattractive by any means, Emily was never the most popular girl in school but always seemed to be dating the cutest guy in class, the best athlete, whoever she fancied. Traci, on the other hand - though at times using the benefit of a spell - needed to rely on magic less and less. Her natural charms, she was finding out, were becoming plenty powerful enough to attract the boys and generally get her what she wanted. So, her magic, such as it was, had fallen a bit into disuse. She never really had the discipline for it anyway, and would usually rely on Emily if she needed a simple charm or suggestion here or there. Though what Emily wants to use on Rich tonight, she knew, is much more serious. "Couldn't we just do a little charm..." she asks, "those work okay-"


"But this would be so much more fun!" Emily responds quickly.


Traci takes a deep breath, thinking things over again, and makes her decision. "Okay. Let's do it!"


"Excellent!" Emily claps her hands in delight, but then quickly turns serious. "Now, this is a new level spell for me...let me see..." Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Emily thinks carefully about what she is planning to do. Although the more powerful spells she's been using have been working well recently (the seeing spell she had used earlier to spy on Rich's fantasies is a good example) - she is about to try something even more forbidden. "Huh...it looks like this is a potion...no, it's some sort of powder. Yeah, a powder - each of you will have to get some of the batch. You can eat it or sprinkle it over yourselves. Do you think you'll be able to do that? Okay, good. I think I have all the ingredients here...is there still some of that napkin around? Great."




As Traci watches, Emily sets about putting together the concoction, which involves - among other things - ashes of the remains of the napkin that had been used to wipe Rich's mouth, a bit of Traci's hair, and a few more arcane herbs and such that she had brought over in her kit. For Emily, making the powder is easy; it’s going to be getting the incantations right that worried her. She can see, also, that Traci is tiring.


"Hey, Trace, why don't you go to sleep?" Emily suggests, "I can finish this up."


"Okay, good idea, I'm beat. Just try not to make too much noise. It's bad enough that it already smells like we've been smoking in here. If my mom finds out were not asleep she'll freak..."


"Yeah, okay...goodnight."





On Saturday he shows up around noon at her place, parking his Corolla in the driveway and walking around back to the pool. Mrs. Graham, a tall, attractive woman herself - if perhaps a bit prim and conservative, a bit matronly - is seated in a deck chair, reading the newspaper. She looks up from her paper as he rounds the corner of the house, and shields her eyes from the sun with her hand until she recognizes him. Rising from her chair, she removes her sunglasses and smiles a bit apprehensively as he approaches. He can't help but notice her figure - she's not built badly herself, for a woman her age, filling out her black one-piece bathing suit and drawstring white cotton shorts quite well.


Rich offers his hand in greeting, introducing himself politely. He makes sure to leave out the part about "I'm the one who's here to sit around your pool and ogle your daughter's body." Mrs. Graham is pleasant enough, reserved, certainly probing him with questions about college, his job situation, blah blah blah. He tries to make his recent "down time" sound less pathetic than it actually is. He doesn't want her thinking that her daughter is hanging around an unmotivated loser, certainly. She talks about her daughter like she’s a kid, he thinks, criticizing her frequently and making it a point several times to mention that "she is only seventeen, you know." He’s a little uncomfortable, the situation being a little awkward, and is relieved when Traci steps out of the house onto the sunlit patio.


Traci is barefoot, clothed up top in a cropped, zip-up hooded sweatshirt of thin cotton, black with white piping and form-fitting to her ample chest. Below she wears only a brief, powder blue bikini bottom, leaving her long, tan, shapely legs and hips nearly bare. He can't help but admire the muscle tone of those legs, the tautness of her flat midriff. Afraid of his gaze being caught in some place it shouldn't be, he struggles to keep his eyes on her face as they exchange smiles. Her dark blond hair, highlighted by a summer in the sun, is pulled up in a ponytail, exposing her long neck and delicate jawline.


"Hi, honey," her mom intones, "your friend Rich is here. We've been getting to know one another a little bit." She reaches her hand out to smooth a stray lock of hair on Traci's head.


Traci pulls away from her mother. "Great, mom," she says, rolling her eyes.


"So, it looks like you two have a nice day for a swim. Is that your blue suit you have on?" Her mother asks, with a hint of disapproval in her voice.


"Yes, mother," Traci replies curtly, not even trying to hide her impatience.


"What about the nice swimsuit I bought you? The one with the flowers? I never see you-"


"Mom! C'mon!" Traci nearly hisses, under her breath, embarrassed and exasperated.


"Okay, okay," her mother responds, backing away. She is obviously accustomed to being dismissed by her daughter, "I'll leave you two alone. Would you like me to make you some sandwiches?"


Traci's tone changes quickly. "Oh, uh, I already made a couple. Tuna. Tuna salad sandwiches. They're inside, on the counter..."


"Well, come help me bring them out, honey. Rich, why don't you make yourself comfortable - get yourself a towel, over by the shed - and we'll be right back with lunch. Is lemonade okay?"


"Sure, Mrs. Graham," he replies as the ladies turn and head back inside. Grabbing a towel and removing his shirt, he chooses a lounge chair by the pool's edge and sits back to enjoy the midday sun, strong for September. Feeling the rays wash warmly over his face, he can't believe his luck. He is, he hopes, about to see the body of this girl - a body to whose mental image he's been jerking off almost nonstop since Thursday night - in her bikini. He silently kicks himself for not bringing his digital camera. He could have, he thinks, found the excuse for a few snapshots somewhere. Nah - he figures he wouldn't have found the courage to actually try to take a picture of her, and the image of her mother grabbing the camera from his hand and tossing it in the pool made him chuckle.


Before long he feels a shadow fall over him, blocking his sun. Raisng his hand against the glare, he opens his eyes and sees Traci's hourglass silhouette, standing over him with a tray of food. "Sorry about my mom," she apologizes as she bends into a crouch to place the tray on a low side table, allowing him to admire the voluptuousness of her hips and fine bottom as she set up the plates. Her rear, because of the contrasting thinness of her waist, might be seen by some as a bit on the big side. To him, it’s perfect. A round, bubble-butt, firmly muscled. "She can be a pain."


"No, no, that's okay," he reassures her. She’s just being protective, he knows. "So, what do we have here?"


"I hope you like tuna salad," she says, as she sits on the edge of the adjacent chaise, facing him, "here's your drink, and some chips..."


"Wow, thanks," he says appreciatively, as he pulls his plate towards him, "You didn't have to do all this."


"No big deal," she replies, as she gingerly picks up her half-sandwich and takes a small bite. She swallows purposefully as he, in turn, takes hold of his own. She watches him carefully as he takes one bite, then another.


"Mmm..." he remarks, swallowing, feeling her eyes on him. "This is...good. Kinda...smoky. What's in it?" While living in the city he had prided himself on eating all sorts of foods, being a creative cook himself. He had never thought of doing...this...to tuna.


"Oh, some seasoning. Barbecue, I think? Cajun?" She takes another bite herself. He can't help but notice she seems a bit nervous.


"Hm. Spicy, too...almost tingly."


"Do you like it?" she asks, still watching him.


"Oh, sure..." he responds, trying to ignore the hint of burnt hair, "it's great."


As lunch goes on she becomes less apprehensive, more confident - relieved, likely, that he enjoyed her sandwich enough to finish it. She titters at his jokes, bats her long eyelashes at him as she finishes her half-sandwich but leaves most of her chips untouched. "You didn't finish your plate," he quips as he lay his head back again to enjoy they sun, beginning to shut his eyes, "and there's no ice cream. You're watching your figure a little more than Thursday night, huh?"


"Actually," she says, as he notices, through lidded eyes, her shifting position, off to his side, “I think it's your turn to watch my figure."


Yikes. What did she say? A strong man, a smart man, he thinks, would shut up, keep his eyes closed and ignore her very forward comment. She must be joking around. But he is neither a strong nor smart man. Ever so slightly he tilts his head towards her, allows his eyes to remain open a fraction, and watches her unzip her sweater. If he could see her face he would see her trying not to smile as she looks off to the distance, across the pool, seemingly unconcerned with the task at hand. Go ahead, she seems to be saying, look all you want, I won't notice.


As she is leaned over, slightly, towards him, he first sees the shadow of her cleavage appear as the zipper parts across her chest. God, that is beautiful. The shadows so dark, the swell of her breasts so full.


She pauses for a moment before undoing the fastener. I feel kinda weird, she realizes, taking off my sweatshirt, showing off my chest. He's been fantsizing about these breasts, she thinks, not without a touch of pride, Jerking off to them. My breasts. My really, really big breasts. But, she is interested in his reaction.


He allows his eyes to open a bit wider, thinking that her attention is turned away from him. As she peels the thin cotton material away from the curve of her chest, she begins to arch her back to remove her sweater, revealing the matching top of her blue string bikini, which struggles to cover her plentiful charms. How cute, she thinks, he actually thinks that I don't know he's watching.


As she presses her shoulders back to pull the sweater first off one arm, then the other, her heavy breasts stand out firmly from her chest and seem to swell before his eyes. She smiles, noticing him clamp his eyes tight and flush as she turns back towards him, dropping her sweater onto the back of the chaise.


As the moment passes in silence, he can feel her gaze on him, watching him. He opens one eye, squinting up at her seated form. She has leaned back in towards him, breasts gathered between her arms, cleavage spilling over the cups of her top copiously. A devilish smile is on her lips. He quickly looks up into her eyes, which are twinkling with merriment.


"Very nice," he admits curtly, as she begins to laugh teasingly and sit back. He hopes she can’t see the erection building in his trunks; he props his knees up just in case. He'll try to make a joke of this, too, he decides. "You're quite pleased with yourself, huh?"


"Oh, no," she giggles as she reclines, settling into the lounge chair and turning her head to look over at him, "it's just that I find it funny that guys can't help but stare, sometimes."


"I was not staring." He can feel himself redden, again, and turns away from her, pretending to be intent on his sunbathing.


"Oh, yeah, okay," she says, "you didn't see a thing." Is she actually mocking him? Well, he feels all of about two inches tall, caught ogling a girl, a situation which in most circumstances would cause him to just sit and stew in quiet embarrassment. For better or for worse, he instead tries to defend himself. This girl is just a kid!


"Well, with a suit like that...I, uh...I think I may agree with your mother. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, huh?"


"Oh really? You agree with my mother?" Her tone is skeptical, as she closes her own eyes and turns towards the sun, "So you think I should cover up a little more? Maybe a wetsuit would be more appropriate?"


"Sure. As long as it's not too tight."


"Right. Can't be showing off too much, can I?" She continues, joking with him, "So, now, what would I wear to school?"


"Hmm, I don't know, a parka maybe? And snow pants?" He likes this, having lightened the mood, his embarrassment eased.


"Oh, but it would be so hot...okay for the winter. How about a mumu for the rest of the year?"


"Sure, you can get them in several fashionable styles and patterns."


"Perfect. You and my mom can sleep easy, then. The world will be safe from my giant breasts." She giggles in amusement. "But, now, what if I just need a little something extra one day, like...I have to give speech next week, to the whole school, for the class election. Can I dress up for that?"


"What do you mean, something extra?"


"Well, who's going to want to listen to me talk in my mumu? If there's nothing to look at? If I wear a tight sweater, all I'll have to do is stand up there in front of everybody and smile pretty. No doubt I'll win, then."


He tries to sound appalled. "You mean, you think you'll win for class vice-president because you're, what? Prettier than the other kids that are running?" He knows her plan, of course, is flawless.


"Definitely! The two girls I'm running against are both field hockey jocks - nice, but kinda plain. And the guy is some chess club fatty. I could just, like, recite the lyrics from 'Circles' from the podium and still win. As long as I'm sure to take nice, long, deep breaths and stand up straight." Her confidence is bordering on arrogance. But that, kind reader, is the cruel reality of high school life. She learns quick.


"Why not just run for president, then, if you're so sure of yourself?"


"Who wants that? That job has actual responsibilities,” she retorts, "and, anyway, Emily's running for president."


"Emily, huh?" He sounds surprised. Emily, though doubtless a smart girl, is not the most socially active of teenagers and certainly doesn't possess the...qualifications...of her friend Traci. "How does she plan on winning?"


"Oh," Traci muses, "she has her ways." She obviously does not want to expand on this any further, and instead works for a slight change of subject. "So, Rich," she asks, "Why is it, why do you think that guys like boobs so much?"


"What? Why? What do mean?" He is a bit taken aback by her bluntness.


"I mean, why is it that, like - the bigger I get, the more I...fill out - the easier things get for me?" He looks over at her to see if she is joking. With eyes closed, her expression is flat.


"Uh, what do you mean 'easier'? Easier in what way?"


"Oh, you know. Like, just the other day, I didn't do so great on a history quiz. So I went in to see my teacher, Mr. Stevens, because I need to keep a higher grade if I still want to move up to the AP class."




"Well, I just told him how I really wanted to get into his AP class 'cause I know what a great teacher he is. And I sat up nice and straight in my tight little t-shirt and giggled at all his stupid little jokes. And he said that he'd look over my essay questions and see if he'd reconsider the grade. Next day, he gave it back. I got an A-."


"How do you know that it's-"


"Oh, c'mon...I didn't know what I was talking about in those essays! And he's constantly looking down my shirt in class, everyone knows that. So, now, I sit up front on purpose...betcha I'll be in the AP class by next month."


"That's...kinda creepy. He's an adult, and - your teacher...how old is he?"


"Oh, I dunno, forty-five? But, hey, it happens all the time," she says with a smile, "the only way I even passed Trig last year was because I stayed after school to help Mr. Phillips correct tests. He likes legs, too, so I always wore shorts or a skirt." Through slit eyes again, he looks over at her fine legs, imagining them crossed under a classroom desk, muscular calves shadowed and firm. "And I don't even remember that last time I wrote a lab report."


"Are you one of those girls that-"


"Oh yeah! Choose a smart lab partner in the beginning of the year. A boy. The dorkier the better. They're easy!"


"Hey...I think I was one of those lab partners, once..."


She giggles, and looks over at him to catch his eye. "Yeah, I can see that..."


"Hey! Be nice!" Though joking around easily with her, he is becoming aware of a subtle shift in the balance of power in their relationship, and isn't sure he likes it. She is supposed to be the kid, the little sister's friend, the girl that had a crush on him when she was ten. But he is realizing how confident she’s become in her abilities with boys. And not only boys; she seems to be coming full into the realization that the entire male race could be putty in her hands if she puts her mind to it. He doesn't want her thinking that he’s just Play-Doh himself.


"So, whatever. I mean, it happens all over the place. I've even seen the way my mom always gets my dad to do things. She still does it."


"Yeah, your mom’s hot stuff." She looks over at him quizzically as he says this, gauging whether or not he’s joking. "I mean, for a...lady. She looks like she keeps herself in good shape, for someone her age, I mean."


"Were you checking out my mom?!" she exclaims, incredulous.


"No, I just...well, y'know, I couldn't help but notice, 'cuz she was wearing her bathing suit, her, uh..."


"Her boobs? You couldn't help but look at my mom's boobs?"


"Well, uh, I guess-"


"God! Do you see what I mean? Guys are SO obsessed with breasts!" She sounds more than slightly annoyed. "Why is that, huh? Is it that...I dunno...bigger breasts mean more milk for a baby, would make a woman a better mother? Or is it that guys all just want to be babies again themselves? And big breasts remind them of mommy? They'd be a nice place to curl up? What do you think?"


"Uh, I don't know," he stammers. She could see that she’s making him uncomfortable, "I haven't, uh, really thought about-"


"Yeah, well, tell me: Are you, like, a boob man, a leg man, a butt man...what?"


"Oh...uh, I, uh-"


"You're a boob man, right?"


"Y-yeah, I guess..."


"So, then, what do you think about," she asks as she sits up and stretches her arms over her head, thrusting her chest out provocatively, "when I do this?" His mouth dries up, his eyebrows lift, as he stares at her display. "Or this?" He tries to keep his eyes in his skull as she leans in toward him. Striking a cheesecake pose, she presses her breasts between her arms and coos playfully, seductively. Forming what she knows must be a mind-numbing valley of lush cleavage, she purrs and mews softly, watching him gawk. A young girl playing with a woman's deadly weapons, she finds great pleasure in making him squirm.


To finish proving her point, she slowly pushes back her shoulders, causing her large breasts to blossom, burgeoning forward towards him, flowing through her arms. She turns her head away, pivoting it on her swanlike neck to allow him to stare unabashedly. Smiling devilishly, she hears him emit a low, stifled croak.


"I think," he replies, miraculously finding use of his tongue, "that, ah, I better close my eyes before my head explodes."


Meeting his eyes, she laughs mirthfully, lightening the mood. She had surprised even herself with the boldness of her display. He shakes his head in jest, as if to clear his vision, and notices that she hasn't moved. Her chest still hovers gravidly below the line of their gaze. Her smile becomes crooked, noticing that he hasn't closed his eyes, a smile daring him to look down again. Unblinking, she holds his eyes with hers for a pregnant moment until chuckling again and laying back into her chaise. Satisfied that he seems to have the proper respect for her body, she lets him off the hook and falls silent.


They sunbathe quietly for a bit, until Traci's mother appears with dessert. He is determined not to look anywhere near the vicinity of the woman’s chest, at least not while Traci could catch him. "Two bowls of ice cream," she chirps, "one for each of you. Rich, I gave you two scoops."


"Thanks, Mrs. Graham."


"Enjoy the sun," she quips, laying the bowls on the table and taking away lunch’s' detritus. As he turns to take his, Traci has already started eating. He looks at his bowl - one scoop of ice cream. He looks over at her. Sliding a heaping spoonful into her mouth, she grins broadly, her eyes glittering mischievously over her bowl - with two scoops. He shakes his head, smiling, and chuckles as he digs into his own dessert. She giggles herself, and takes another full spoonful. "What am I going to do with you?" he asks, making her laugh more freely.


He is at the pool several hours, chatting pleasantly with her, watching her get up every once in a while to cool off with a dip in the pool. What a vision it is, watching her dip under the water and then arise, water flowing over her flawless, lightly bronzed skin. Heaven is the few seconds between her breaking the surface, head back to straighten her hair, and the moment she opens her eyes. And watching her climb the steps out of the pool is like (forgive the hyperbole; our hero is not accustomed to such visions) watching the birth of a young goddess.


Eventually the day wears on, the sun a bit low in the September afternoon sky, and he decides it is time to make his exit. She seems honestly disappointed, telling him how much she enjoyed having him over. He explains his plans for the evening, that he has to get back home, straighten up the house and get ready for a night out with Mark and an old buddy who's passing through town with his new girlfriend. "But hey," he chirps as he's packing up, pretending as if the idea just crossed his mind, "I'm having a party next weekend. Should be a good crowd. Why don't you and Emily come on over?" She agrees noncommittally as she stands, donning her sweatshirt once again, zipping it up the front. They walk together out front to his car, waving goodbye as he pulls away.


His evening out at the few local bars around town with his friends is fun, though he spends much of the time trying to figure out if Mark has any idea that he's been spending time with Traci. Nothing is said, but Rich gets the feeling that Mark is being a little more quiet than usual around him, trying to avoid an uncomfortable topic. They do, however, discuss plans for next Saturday's party for quite a while before Rich tires out and heads home around midnight, a little earlier than usual.


The coming week finds Rich excited about the party less and less. Since Saturday night he's been feeling drained, unmotivated for most everything. It’s his group of friends, all of whom still seemed to live with their parents, who convinced him to have the party in the first place anyway. The only thing he's really looking forward to, he's embarrassed to admit, is seeing Traci there. He hopes she'll come, hopes that it'll be a big enough party to impress her.


On that front, he isn't disappointed. Saturday night brings a bigger crowd than he'd expected; the house fills quickly. It's amazing, he thinks, how many people will come out of the woodwork in a little town when word gets out on a few kegs. He's so busy, in fact, playing host, greeting old friends and acquaintances, meeting new people, that he doesn't get to do much serious drinking himself. He is, however, as the night wears on, more and more aware of his growing disappointment that the girls haven't yet shown up.


Finally, around eleven-thirty, he spots Emily across the room, amongst a group of high school kids he doesn't recognize. Must be friends she brought along...whatever. I just hope they don't do anything stupid, he thinks, not wanting to be caught feeding beer to a bunch of underage drinkers. He strains his neck, peering over the crowd, to look more closely. Nope. Traci is not with them. He is caught by surprise, then, when he turns around and finds himself almost bumping right into her; she has found him herself.


She's giggly, overly talkative, and openly flirty. Obviously she's been drinking before showing up at the party. Her breath smells of peppermint schnapps. Her hand on his arm, she stands a little too close to him. He's nervous, concerned that others will notice their rapport. She wants a tour of the house, she says, asks specifically to see his bedroom when they approach the hallway. He balks, pointing to his room down the hall, and steers her back to the crowd. He doesn't want to be seen spending too much time with her, but on the other hand finds himself getting protective when he notices other guys watching her walk by, feeling jealous when asked "wow...who's that?"


She does look good tonight, he admits. She is dressed a bit more conservatively than he’s seen her recently, in another pair of low-rider jeans and a tight red t-shirt with maroon, mid-length sleeves. Kind of styled like those old concert shirts. Hard to hide the body beneath, however. Her hair is straight, her make-up subtle. Once again he finds himself checking out the hips poured into those tight, faded jeans, wishing he was maybe five years younger, or she five years older, so he wouldn't feel so apprehensive about lusting after her. She catches him looking at her several times throughout the party; he notices her watching him also. Their eyes meet frequently across the crowd; they each smile and go back to their conversations.


Obviously enjoying herself, she's drinking quite a bit, he notices. Every time he turns around it seems there's a different guy handing her a new wine cooler or plastic cup or bottle of something-or-other. She and Emily are still around, in fact, into the early morning, hanging around with the night-owls and friends of his planning to crash for the night at the house. The high school crowd, thankfully, has gone. He realizes, finally, that most of these remaining people may be up all night, huddled around their drinking games. He, however, can't seem to keep his eyes open and asks Mark - finishing up a game of quarters - to keep a watch on things so he can go to bed. Mark agrees, though he plans on taking off soon himself. "That's fine," Rich says, "I'm beat...goodnight."


He is aware of Traci's eyes on him as he leaves the room and heads off down the hall to his room. Closing the door, shutting off the light, he is quickly out of his jeans and under the covers. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and waits. As he half expects, there is soon a knock on his door. His heartbeat quickens.


"Hello?" her voice calls in quietly as the door cracks open, "Rich?"


"Yeah?" he answers, "Traci?" He acts surprised, feigning half-sleep.


"I just came to say goodbye. Can I come in?"


"Sure," he answers, as she's already slipped through the doorway, "come on in."




She walks into the moonlit room, closing the door behind her. His heart flutters, he moves to sit up on the bed. "No," she insists, putting two fingers on his chest, "don't get up." She gently pushes him back down onto the bed and sits next to him on the mattress, to his right. His heartbeat quickens. "So," she says, peering down at him over the swells of her chest, "that was a really great party. I had a lot of fun."


Though his view is incredible, gazing up at her pretty face, her wide eyes, the curves of her hips and waist so close, he finds himself embarrassed to be staring up at the undersides of her plump, round breasts. Stop it, he thinks, she's just a kid. "Good," he replies, half turning modestly away, onto his left side, "I'm glad you liked it. Emily still here?"


"Yeah," she responds, reclining her weight on the mattress next to him, coming in close, "Mark is going to drive us home." He can feel her approach behind him, propped up on her left elbow, watching him.


"He's been drinking...is he okay to drive?" He asks.


""Yeah, I think he's fine," she replies, as she brushes a lock of his hair away from his right ear and leans in closer. His loins tighten in response as her voice appears, so close to his ear. He knows he should stop her, send her away, but he cannot. It all feels so good. "Thank you for being so concerned," she whispers, her voice now a breathy seduction, "you're always so nice." She hears him moan, almost inaudibly, and feels his hips shift next to her. In his boxers, his erection springs to life. God, man, this is bad.


She knows she's struck a nerve, that this feels good to him. Tipsy, her inhibitions relaxed, she breathes, exhaling into his ear a few times, feeling him try not to squirm. She's turning him on, she knows. "But, y'know," she continues softly, "I'd rather stay here." Her lips are closer now, almost kissing his ear. He can feel her breath, hear her lips parting moistly around her words. It takes all his strength not to roll onto his back, meet her lips.


"Uh, nobody's using my parents' room," he croaks, his voice strained, "You guys...can crash there."


He can feel her smile. "Mmmm..." she purrs, watching him shiver, "Oh...Rich..." She's playing him like a toy, she realizes with satisfaction; she has him absolutely quivering. "That's not," she breathes, hand coming to rest on the elastic of his boxers, "what I meant."


Suddenly there is a knock on the door. "Traci?" Damn it! Mark's voice, calling in, half-annoyed. "C'mon, we're taking off." Rich's heart sinks, he freezes. Oh god, he thinks, now he knows we're in here together.


Traci pauses, unmoving, and kisses the air between them with gentle portent. She sits up slowly, next to him, as he turns again to face her. "Looks like I gotta go," she says with a baby-doll frown, tenderly pushing a wisp of hair away from his forehead, "I'll see you later?"


His heart is heavy, he realizes, with disapointment. He knows that, deep inside, this illicit seduction was what he was looking forward to all week. Anyhow, it's probably for the better, he figures. Definitely for the better. "Yeah, okay," he says, as she rises to leave, "I'll give you a call."


She smiles over her shoulder as she turns to leave, giving her hips an extra sway as she walks out the door.


The next day he awakes late in the morning, feeling all sorts of lousy - hung over, sick, ashamed. How is he supposed to explain Traci's late night visit to his friends, those that are still there? He's sure at least some of them noticed her brief absence last night. What should he say? "Nothing happened? Nothing's going on?" He wouldn't believe that himself, even though it technically is the truth. Should he tell them she made a pass at him...but if that got back to her, she might be mad...and might not do it again. Jeez! He feels like an idiot ...why is he being reduced to playing these games?


Depressed, he stays in bed until well after noon, until the house is silent and he's sure everyone is gone. Dragging himself, finally, to the bathroom for a shower, he looks long at hard at himself in the mirror. Always thin, he looks downright skinny, out of shape. Stepping on the scale reveals...160. Yeah, he's lost weight. He should, he figures, start working out again. He looks drawn, pale already despite the past summer of leisure in the sun.


His shower reinvigorates him somewhat, but he is still nagged by the lingering embarrassment of being caught in his bedroom with a high school kid. He is able to forget his discomfort, if only for a short while, by allowing his hand to drift down between his legs as he stands in the hot water with his shame and thoughts of Traci. That voice, her breath in his ear. The round, plump undersides of those big breasts. Oh...god.





Somewhat embarassed for himself, he is unable to resist any longer and calls her a few days later to chat. Though he feels a bit uncomfortable, she's her friendly, bubbly self and their conversation is easy and light. She doesn't mention her visit to his bedroom or Mark's reaction at all until asked, when she dismisses it offhandedly. "Why, would he think there's something going on?" she asks him, "There's nothing going on, right?" Then why, he thinks, hasn't he called me this week? At least to go out for a beer? He must think I'm a loser.


As the week goes on he continues to feel increasingly crummy. After he describes his malaise to her on the phone, Traci sounds genuinely concerned and nearly insists that he goes to see a doctor. Though the last doctor he saw was his old pediatrician (and that's obviously not appropriate anymore) he agrees and sets up an appointment with the local internal medicine group for early the next week.


At the office he describes his symptoms - lethargy, weight loss, general weakness - to the doctor's assistant as she takes a brief medical history. He's always been relatively healthy. "So, let's get you weighed and measured," she says as she stands him up on the scale and takes her readings. "Five foot eleven, 153 pounds," she announces, writing in his chart, "does that sound right?"


"Yeah, that's what my scale said this morning," he replies, "but I've always been told that I was six feet tall. I must be, like, five eleven and a half or something..."


"Hm," she intones, checking her measurement again, "I dunno...maybe five eleven and a quarter...but that might be stretching it."


Weird. Somehow he has it in his head that he is at least six feet tall. But, the last time he was really measured was...what? Right before college? Whatever - it was a long time ago. Maybe he's getting senile in his old age, he thinks, chuckling to himself. Nonetheless, his exam is pretty uneventful, nothing too unusual. Though the doctor does want to run some bloodwork, he suggests Rich may be dealing with some mild depression. He is told to try exercising - which he knows he should do anyway - and cut back on the drinking. If he isn't feeling any better in two weeks, the doctor tells him, come back in.


Traci calls him several days later, asking if he has the results from his bloodwork yet. Secretly she's concerned that the spell she and Emily worked on him has gone awry, sickened him, and is partly relieved to find that everything seems normal. She encourages him when he mentions that he's trying to start running again, now that he has a new pair of sneakers. His old track shoes from high school, which he found in his closet, are falling apart and no longer fit well - kinda stretched out. What he doesn't tell her is that he was measured to a size nine at the shoe store, where he's used to wearing a ten, sometimes a ten and a half. That would explain why all his other shoes have been feeling a little uncomfortable recently. He has lost weight, he thinks, but can one actually lose foot fat?


Though he can handle little more than a mile or two at a time, a week of running makes him feel a little better about himself. The weight, however, continues to fall off him. Makes sense, right? he figures, as he's burning more calories and certainly drinking less (no one's really called him to go out since the party). Nonetheless, he decides to dig out his old plastic weight set from the basement; a little bit of lifting should help him bulk back up a bit. He's embarrassed, as he sits panting and wheezing during his first workout, at how little he can lift. He was stronger in high school.


On the phone with Traci that evening, however, he possesses a bit more braggadocio. He makes himself sound like quite the pro with the weight set, and shouldn't have been surprised when she invites herself over to join in on his workouts. Though apprehensive at first, he figures that she'll actually be a good motivator for him. A pretty girl to impress will make him have to get up to speed more quickly.


That Saturday, she shows up midmorning in white lycra and an obviously new pair of sneakers. Though they work out separately - she spotting him on several exercises, doing mostly aerobic stuff herself - he enjoys being able to sneak glimpses at her body. She is trim and fit and curvy in all the right ways, filling out her outfit admirably. She works lighter weights to tone and strengthen her already knockout form. The next day, however, they do squats together, and he is astounded by her performance. "Yeah, I've always had strong legs," she tells him as they add weight to the bar together, "but this is, like, more than I've ever done." He realizes that she's squatting nearly as much as him, with more reps - though this was never really his best exercise. If he doesn't spring back into shape soon, he thinks, this could get embarrassing.


As they finish their leg workout, he asks if she's alright, having noticed her constant fidgeting and adjustments to her sports bra. "Yeah, I'm okay," she replies, fiddling with it once again, "it's just a little tight...and this is one of my new ones."


"Uh," he offers, "maybe it shrunk in the wash?"


"Mmm...yeah, I dunno..." she answers dismissively, "maybe..."


For the next week they work out pretty consistently, in the evenings to fit her school schedule. He's not getting any stronger, for sure - though it is a little early to expect results - but he may feel a little better for the exercise. Nonetheless, he still goes back for a follow-up with his doctor and is measured again by the same assistant. "Five-foot ten...wait...that was different last week, huh? Let me remeasure. No, still five-ten...five-nine and three-quarters, actually...How...?" She sounds confused. "We'll have to have the doctor check this out."


He is confused himself, a bit scared, as he sits in the exam room, waiting for the doctor. He couldn't have actually shrunk, right? That just doesn't happen, does it?


The doctor remeasures Rich himself, but comes up with the same result. Trying to reassure Rich, to calm his obvious agitation, he says that it may have just been a mismeasure at the last visit. But, he agrees, it does seem unusual, and they should rule out any pathology. The doctor has trouble thinking of much which could cause actual height loss in an otherwise healthy twenty-six year old. Acute osteoporosis? Spinal problems? Nevertheless, he decides to run a full-body MRI, CT scan, a bone-density screening and a more extensive battery of blood work.


Rich goes home uneasy. This is impossible, of course. But, it would explain his ill-fitting clothes, certainly, his recent weakness. Well, he figures, there's worse things that could happen. Just as long as it doesn't continue.


He wants to talk to his parents down south, but they're away on their friends' boat, touring the Caribbean for the next six weeks. Though neither of them has a cell phone, he could probably track them down if necessary. But, he's not even really sure that there's a problem yet; he shouldn't worry them. Knowing his mom, they'd probably turn right around and head home. We don't want that, do we?


He doesn't really feel comfortable confiding in his friends about his worries, either, but does bring it up with Mark when they finally get together for a beer. "Dude, that's whack," Mark quips, "nobody our age gets shorter. It's got to be a mistake." He tells Rich not to worry, half-heartedly offering to do anything he can, but explains that he is going away for the next few weeks with his family. He'll be staying with a friend from college, hanging out at his beach house in San Diego while his parents tour a bunch of schools in California with Emily.


"That's cool," Rich offers, "I'm sure you'll have a good time."


"Yeah, man. Sun, suds and sexy ladies!" Mark says gleefully. "And you, buddy, better stay away from jailbait while I'm gone!"


"No, dude," Rich adds nervously, though in part glad that Mark finally broached the topic, "she's just a kid."


"Yeah, a kid with a huge rack!" Mark jokes, "I mean, Jesus Christ, did you see her at your party? Oh, yeah, of course you saw her...in your bedr-"


"Shutupnothinghappened! Shewasjustdrunkandwantedt-"


"Whoah, whoah, alright...sorry!" Marks laughs, calming Rich down, "But, I mean, I swear she's getting bigger, like, almost every time I see her recently..." Suddenly Mark sounded a little too enthusiastic, notices Rich a little too rapt with attention. "Well, uh...anyway..." he trails off, "I should get going...early flight tomorrow. I'll see you in a few weeks, after Halloween?"


After parting, early in the evening, Rich heads back to his parents' house. As well as he can, he measures himself at home, checks the fit of many of his clothes, anything he can do to maybe ease his mind. Some of his old pants, he reassures himself, still seem to fit fine. He has lost weight, he reminds himself, so it's normal for trouser legs to hang a little low. That he's down another hole in his belts. And he always liked his shirt cuffs a little long, the collar a bit loose, right?


Though he hasn't mentioned anything to Traci, he catches her looking at him funny during one of their weekend workouts. "What?" he asks, feeling her eyes on him during a set of standing barbell curls, "What is it? What's wrong?"


"Oh, nothing," she remarks, her eyes on the bar as she spots him on his last repetition, "you look different. Skinnier...shorter, kinda."


"Really?" He feigns ignorance, lightheartedness, breathing heavy as he places the weight back on the floor, "All this intense body building and nothing to show for it?"


She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder, bending down to remove fifteen pounds for herself as she continues. "I dunno...It must be," she says, standing with the bar and starting her curls, "my new sneakers...or this little growth spurt I'm having..."


Growth spurt? He watches her easily work through twelve reps, taking the chance to look her over and think. She has been lifting more recently...and looks taller. And her sneakers don't have that much of a heel.


"So, uh...a growth spurt, huh?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant, disinterested, as they clean the weight off the bar.


"Oh, yeah, recently....kinda weird, huh?" she responds, picking up a dumbbell, "I've started getting a little taller again." Putting one knee up on a bench, leaning over for a set of bent-over rows, she adds cryptically, "A little bigger all over, actually..." Trying to suppress a smile, she feels his gaze dart down her tank top. How predictable. "Why," she asks, "hadn't you noticed?"


"Oh, I, uhhh..." he stammers, caught off guard, yanking his eyes off her chest, "I didn't really-" She catches his eye as she straightens up, done with her set, waiting for him to continue. "I mean, I just thought, with all the workouts, the weight lifting, that..."


"That my boobs would look bigger?"




"No, no, that's okay..." she says, smiling with humor, "they're kinda hard to ignore. As if I needed to get any bigger there...It's going to be hard to convince my mom that I need, like, another set of new bras...and shoes..and pants..."


"Are you saying," he asks, trying to joke with mock wonder, settling into the next, his last, exercise, "that you don't want to go shopping for a new wardrobe?"


"Oh, no, of course not!" she giggles, "Maybe you should come with me!"


Yikes. The images fly through his head. "Oh, yeah," he has to refuse, of course, "that'd be fun...loads."


She laughs, dropping the subject, watching him finish his workout with interest.


Anxious after his shower, after she's gone, Rich measures himself again in his bedroom. Okay, he tells himself, face it. She noticed it herself. You're smaller. Probably an inch since last week. Upset, hoping that they'll be in this Saturday afternoon, he calls his doctor's office - again. He is reminded - again - that they're still waiting for some results from his blood work, that everything else so far looks fine, that he'll be seeing the doctor next week. Still nervous, he paces around the house, alone, until early that evening. She's probably gone out already, he thinks, and I just saw her. But I have to talk to somebody. He calls her.


"Hey Rich," she answers, "What's up?"


"Oh, not too much...how's life?"


"Uhh...Not too different since this morning..." Though their phone conversations had become more frequent, on account of his social life having dwindled and the fact that the sound of her voice is just so goddamn arousing, it is a little unusual for him to call on the same day of their workout.


"Yeah, huh." She heard him take a breath. "Say, Traci, y'know how you said I looked...like...shorter...earlier today?"


"Yeah. Why?"


"Well, I, uh...wanted to tell you, just so you'd know. I think I am. Shorter. A little."


"What? What do you mean, shorter?"


"I dunno...I used to be, like, five-eleven and I think I'm down to, about, five-nine." He may be, he thinks, even a bit smaller.


"How...? When..." she sounded troubled, "when did this happen?"


"Oh, I dunno...it's still going on, I think..."


"You mean you're...shrinking?"


"Yeah, I guess..."


"Oh, Rich! Have you seen the doctor again?"


He goes on to discuss the particulars, the battery of tests he's going through, how he's been feeling. She is genuinely concerned, and it's nice to hear a supportive voice. She insists, in fact, to come over the next night and cook him dinner, an offer which he accepts. He's glad, he thinks after hanging up, that he told her, that he has a sympathetic ear. At the same time, however, he's a bit embarrassed to be confiding in a seventeen year-old girl. Whatever...what harm can it do?


In the meantime, she is sitting in her room, alone, thinking. The spell, she muses, it has to be. She’d already figured that her little "growth spurt" was due to it, figuring that he liked his girls tall as well as buxom. Aside from the fact that many of her clothes were beginning to not fit, she didn't really mind; it's always nice to be a little taller. Tall girls always look prettier, right? Get more attention. And she had guessed that he felt the same - but now she knows it.


He must have fantasies about girls being tall - maybe taller than him? Is that why he's been shrinking, she growing? Just a little, so far, in each of their cases - but how long could it go on for? She should be worried, she thinks, but oddly she isn't. Instead she feels a little thrill that the spell has started to work - albeit in an unsuspected way. And to think, she hasn't even used half of the powder. She wanted to talk to Emily about this, but she’s away with her family until early next month. In the meantime, she'd have to keep a careful eye on Rich.


Thinking about him, she blushes to herself. So, he likes his girls big, huh? Tall, big boobs, big hair, she thinks, bringing her hand up to her full head of hair, also getting thicker every day. And, at the same time, him getting smaller, his shrinking must be a manifestation of that. He wants to be shorter, she thinks again, Does he want to be shorter than me? The thought is amusing to her. Maybe that way my boobs look even bigger.


Guys are so funny, she thinks as she smiles and stands, walking towards her closet to choose an outfit for dinner tomorrow night. Catching a look in her full-length mirror along the way, she poses for herself proudly. So funny, she thinks, scrutinizing her profile. So, so funny.





At his door, on his front porch the next evening with groceries in hand, Traci has a brief moment of doubt. Maybe these heels are too tall, she thinks. Am I being too obvious? Do I look stupid? As he opens the door, however, she beams a brilliant white smile, watching his dumbfounded expression.


"Hi, uh...Wow, god," he stammers in greeting, "you look...great." He steps back from the doorway, allowing her in, "so...tall."


"Yeah, well, I have help," she explains, showing him her spike-heeled, black leather boots. Stepping up into the house, she hands him her bags. She is easily several inches taller than him in these, her highest heels. His pulse quickens as they stand, for a moment, face to face. Little Traci...not so little anymore. He is looking up to keep her gaze as she smiles in thanks, leaving him with the packages as she turns down the hall towards the kitchen. Watching her walk in front of him, he looks her up and down in quiet admiration before commenting on her appearance. "Your mom let you out again, huh? In that outfit?"


"Well, she thinks the jeans are too tight," she replies, taking a bag from him and beginning to unpack onto the counter, "but she bought me this sweater, so she can't complain." Her white cotton sweater is indeed quite tight, hugging her curves.


They chat lightly as they continue unloading groceries, as she gathers the supplies she needs for dinner from around the kitchen. She has the flirt juice flowing, giggling girlishly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She makes it a point to stand extra close to him whenever possible, to emphasize her height. She enjoys his reaction; he seems nervous, a bit off balance. I think I'm actually intimidating him, she muses, and I think he likes it.


She lets him off the hook soon, however, insisting he sit down on a stool at the countertop island while she prepares the food. He admires her moving easily, confidently in her high heels as she flits about the kitchen. The meal she prepares is simple, something a teenager would put together. "This sauce is my mom's recipe," she explains as she spoons pasta onto his plate, "I hope you like it"


"Oh, uh...I'm sure it's fine" he says, looking over her tight pants as she turns from him. She seems to look better, he marvels, every time he sees her. Ah, the wonders of puberty. He digs into his meal, still watching her as she sets to scrubbing pots in the sink.


"Is it okay?" she calls over her shoulder, "is there anything else you need?" Her tone is positively maternal, and he has a momentary vision of her as a young mother, fixing dinner for her children. He almost chokes on a forkful of pasta as, turning at her thin waist and unwittingly emphasizing her full breasts in profile, she asks "Some milk?"


"Uhh...no," he sputters, his eyes shooting back down to his meal, "I'm fine." Stay on target.


Back to business, Traci turns once again to the dishes. Soon he has had his fill and pushes the bowl away.


"Hey, you didn't finish," she half-whines, drying her hands on a dishtowel, "You didn't like it, did you?"


"No, no," he apologizes, wiping his mouth, "it was really good. Really." Her doe-eyed disappointment begins to fade as he continues, "I just haven't been all that hungry recently." It is true; though her meal was fine - he just didn't have the appetite for it.


"Okay, well," she implores, taking the dish from him, "there'll be leftovers for you tomorrow." Putting the remains of his meal into a larger bowl of unused pasta, she adds "Y'know, you've got some bulking up to do, so you'd better eat."


"Yeah, huh?" he responds, looking over his shrunken arms, "that reminds me...I don't think I'm going to be working out anymore."


"Oh, no, really?" she says, concerned, putting food in the refrigerator and turning back to him.


"Yeah, it's just getting depressing, y'know, doing less and less weight every day." He looks at his hands, fiddling with a napkin. "I dunno maybe I'll try running again," he says, knowing very well he won't be doing that, either.


"Aw," she moans, sounding compassionate, "who's going to be my workout partner?"


"Face it, Traci," he says, "you don't need to work out."


"Mmm..." she agrees noncommittally, "well, I hope you do start running again. Something to make yourself feel better." Though still giddy from the success of the spell, she does have a little pity for him. Even if he did bring this on himself, even if it is some sort of fantasy to be shorter than her, she still feels a little bad occasionally.


And so, over the next couple of weeks as he continues to shrink, Traci makes it a point to stop by most days after school. To visit, bring some food, maybe a movie for them to watch together that evening. A bit frustrating for her, however, is the fact that - despite her best efforts at flirtation, despite all the temptations of her blossoming figure - he has not made any move towards her in the least. He just seems to stare at her when he thinks she's not looking. She, for her part, doesn't want to come across as too aggressive. He seems so depressed; she doesn't want to scare him away. Just let him look, Traci, she tells herself, let him ogle you all he wants. He'll be ready eventually.


Can this actually be part of his fantasies, she wonders, taking a glimpse of his dwindling body one day as she helps him rearrange his closet, being a helpless twerp? My, he's getting so small. It seems like just a few days ago, she thinks as she pulls clothes from an upper shelf for him, when we realized we were the same height. But what is he now, like, five feet tall? If that? And so skinny, so weak.


Traci, on the other hand, has never felt so good. So full of energy, full of life. Her figure, she’s noted proudly, seems to become better by the day. The changes are truly amazing. Not only her breasts - which have swelled their way through another set of bras and are becoming honestly spectacular - but indeed her entire body. Her legs, her rear, her hips. It’s like an extra blessing from puberty - always kind to her to begin with, this is like a bonus package.


Smiling, looking in the mirror, she basks in her own beauty. And, look at me, she thinks, I've grown three inches. I'm getting really tall. And so much prettier. And so...stacked. It's no surprise I won the school election, that I'm doing well in all my classes. She continues stroking her own ego as she reapplies her makeup, before heading over to Rich's for the afternoon. The boys, the teachers, all seem to follow me around like little puppy dogs, staring, hanging on my every word - or just drooling from a distance. I could have any guy I know, she realizes, putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, but it’s him I want. And if he's too shy, well, I'll just have to do it myself. I'll show him what he wants, she resolves, smacking her newly painted lips, looking herself over one final time, I’ll make it so easy for him. An unusually warm autumn afternoon, she had decided on a tight pair of brief, khaki shorts and a midriff bearing, grey cotton tee-shirt in which to flaunt her curves as she did her chores, cleaning around his house.


Look at the poor thing, slumped in his big easy chair, she thinks as she goes about her tasks, he can't keep his eyes off me. Strutting before him purposefully, she asks "do these shoes go with this outfit?" He shrugs, glancing down at her feet. She turns her back to him. "The high heels, I admit, might be a bit much. But," she continues nonchalantly, stretching to reach a top shelf with her dusting rag, displaying her taut muscles, "I like the way they make my legs look." She can just imagine what his view must be like.


"Uh, sure, and...you can really reach those high shelves, huh?"


"Yeah, but, give me a little while," she answers, lowering herself off her tip-toes and spinning to face him, "and I won't need the heels."


She notices him swallowing dryly, pausing before speaking. "So...you're still...getting taller, huh?"


"Yeah, it's weird, I thought I had pretty much stopped growing last year," she replies, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "guess not." She approaches, moving to clean the coffee table in front of him. "Not that I'm complaining, of course," she says, bending at the waist to dust off the tabletop, suddenly displaying her breathtaking rear, "I always wanted to be taller."


My god, he marvels, goggling at her rondure, it's huge. "Oh,yeah...?" he responds, struck nearly dumb, "Really?" He struggles to find his tongue. "How much bigger h-have you gotten?" he stutters, squirming a bit in his seat as he watches her firm flesh jiggle as she scrubs at a stain, "I-I mean...how tall a-are you, now?"


"Oh, I dunno," she replies, standing to her full height above him, blowing a wisp of hair from her face, "five-nine or so. Last time I checked." She notices him swallow again; he looks nervous.


With hands on hips, she peers down at him. Her expression changes, her head tilts as she puts down her rag and crouches down in front of him. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, trying to fill her voice with compassion, "how insensitive of me. Talking about how tall I'm getting, with you...still shrinking." She brings the back of her hand up to his face, rubs his cheek.


"S'okay," he mumbles, looking into her bright eyes, "no big deal."


"Oh, but it must be weird, watching me grow, getting bigger as you...y'know...get smaller." Her lips part moistly as her hand slips down to his neck, tenderly stroking his throat, a child with a pet.


"Well, yeah, but...no, I mean, I'm happy for you, I guess," he stammers, as he struggles to keep her gaze. He is so aroused; she is so young, so pretty. "If you want to be taller, that's...that's great."


"But, I feel so bad for you," she continues, her other hand coming to rest on his knee to comfort him. She watches his eyes flit downward, nervously, and then back to meet hers. "You're getting so small," she says, her hand moving up his leg, grasping his shrunken thigh through his sweatpants, as if testing it for size. "So very, very small."


He swallows, drawing a deep breath, dropping his eyes once again to his lap, watching her hand massage his leg, feeling her light caresses on his throat. He is hard beneath his loose clothes, stiff against his inner thigh; he prays she doesn't notice - but she is so close, and it feels so good. Unwittingly, his eyes drift up a bit to her full chest. Jesus, she's big.


"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she breathes, moving in closer to him, her hand slipping from his throat around to the back of his neck. "Anything at all? To help, to make things easier? To make you..." her hand inches up his thigh, "feel better?"


He looks away, to the side, his eyes roaming the room but aware of her slowly approaching body. "Oh, uh...no...I mean, you've been doing so much for me already," he says, trying to appear calm, trying to ignore her hand, so close now to his swollen, twitching member. He knows he should end this, ask her to stop. But he can't. "With the cleaning, the cooking...I don't want you to start feeling like, like, my maid..." his heart begins to race, his toes curl, as she moves nearer. He smells the perfume of her hair, feels her breath on his cheek. "...or..." he stutters, "...or..."


"Or what...?" she breathes in a low whisper, "...your mother?"


Oh christ. "Uh, yeah...y'know...uh..."


"Oh, that's okay, Rich," she replies, her hand now poised over his stiff erection, "I don't mind..." She grasps him once again, now squeezing his hardness into his leg through his sweatpants. Amused, she watches his shiver of pleasure, hears him gasp quietly, even as he tries weakly to back away from her. "I don't mind at all."


She smiles, having struck him speechless. "I like helping you out," she purrs as she squeezes him again, her mouth close to his ear, "I like taking care of you." Massaging him now, so very slowly, through the soft cotton of his clothing, she feels him tensing beneath her grip, trying to resist rolling his hips into her. "And anyway, did your mother ever do this for you?" She giggles, pressing him more firmly into his thigh, making him groan.


With the hand she has rested on the nape of his neck, she gently begins to turn his head, back again towards her. "You like big girls," she whispers knowingly, "don't you, Rich?" Her pressure on his swollen manhood becomes more rhythmic, running up and down its length.


He struggles half-heartedly, trying to resist, attempting to ignore the first hints of a looming climax. But he is entranced by her voice, her luscious, all-to-close body, and is slowly giving up his will to fight. "Oh...god...Traci..." is all he could muster as she turned his lips, against his half-hearted protests, towards hers. "We...we shouldn't."


"Come on," she breathes, her lips moving towards his, ”kiss me."




"Oh, why not, Rich?" she whispers as she inhales a swelling breath. He turns his face down, away, avoiding her kiss but finding himself staring directly at her inflated breasts. "Aren't I pretty enough for you? Aren't I big enough?"


His eyes goggle at her fullness, exaggerated by his shrunken size, her thin frame. That does it. His breath catches in his throat as he suddenly realizes he is over the edge, so quick. Overcome by the sight of her buxom curves and the ministrations of her insistent hand he comes, with a withering sigh, in his pants.


She feels him twitching and pulsing beneath her hand, and smiles to herself as she massages him gently into his own leg, proudly arching her back a bit more.


"Oh...christ...Traci..." he moans, nearly sobs, as he feels himself run hot and wet onto his thigh. He is embarrassed not only that it happened, but that it happened so easily, so quickly. His shame wells as he continues to watch her displaying her big breasts to him.


She milks him through his climax, leaving her hand upon him, hushing his protests, until she feels his pulses dwindle, his breathing slow. She leans in a fraction more, whispering once again, her question in his ear, "Did your mother ever do that for you, hmm?" She feels him shiver, speechless.


With that she draws back, taking her hand from his leg. They both look down at the wet stain, spreading slowly on his inner thigh. Unable to help herself, she giggles, hand covering her mouth, exclaiming in mock surprise "Oh, Rich! Look at you...!"


Readjusting his pants, grabbing a magazine to cover himself in modesty, he flushes and stammers "Uh...um...yeah...Traci, I, uh..." He could not bring himself to meet her searching gaze. "...better get going...I, uh, have to make dinner..." He couldn't believe he let this happen. He feels mortified, sitting there in his own sticky filth.


She looks up at him, from her crouch, still quite pleased with herself. "Oh, do you want me to fix something for you?"


"No, uh...that's okay...I have some, uh, leftovers. I'll be alright."


"Are you sure? It's no tro-"


"Yeah, it's okay, Traci..."


"Oh," she replies, sounding a little confused as she stands up in front of him, "okay, if that's what you want..."


He still could not look her in the eye. "Yeah, I'll, uh...talk to you tomorrow." He felt so embarrassed, so weak, so...small.


"Okay...bye, Rich. Call me if you need anything." Traci leaves quickly, climbing into her car with her thoughts. What is up with him? she wonders, Like, he's older than me and maybe not feeling all that great, pretty weirded out. But obviously he's attracted to me - I mean, I just made him come in his pants! But he's being so...shy, is it? I dunno. There's got to be a way, she tells herself as she pulls from his driveway, to find out what he really wants.


Rich, in the meantime, hurries to clean up. Berating himself as he strips off his soiled clothes, he curses his own weakness. How could he let this happen? He, a veritable recluse, sprawled out on his easy chair, had let the little girl with the crush on him feed him, clean up his house, and then jerk him off through his sweatpants. I am so pathetic, he tells himself as he wipes himself clean. And everyone else is going to know it, too, as soon as they find out about this. He imagines Traci on the phone to Emily, gushing over her conquest. Emily nonchalantly mentioning it to Mark. Mark whispering in hushed tones, over a glass of beer, to their friends, the other guys, "Did you hear Richie-boy is getting...serviced...by my little sister's friend? Yeah, yeah...they say he's shrinking...that he can't do anything for himself anymore...that she's taking care of him. I'll say she's 'taking care' of him alright!"


Mark's family, thankfully, is still away, he thinks, but, Jesus Christ, I'm going to look like such a loser. And all because I have absolutley no willpower. No power at all to say no to this girl, this girl who obviously just wants to see if she can score the guy she had a crush on as a kid now that she's a major hottie. Damn, she knows it, doesn't she? She knows what that body of hers can do. Did you see that outfit she was wearing today? he asks himself as he gathers his laundry. Man! Those legs, those gams! In all his fantasies about her breasts, he had nearly forgotten about her legs...were they that fantastic, that muscular, last time he'd seen her in shorts? At their last workout a couple weeks ago? Where'd she get those things? And that ass...holy smokes!


It probably makes her feel pretty darn good about herself, he thinks as he closes the lid to the washing machine, pumps up that ego of hers even more, to have me - the older boy, always so unattainable - fall to her charms just like everyone else. Well, this is going to be the end of it, he decides as he looks through the refrigerator, I can end up with some of my dignity intact if I can stop it here. Before Mark gets home. Then he could blow the whole thing off in some macho boast, he figures, a little conquest for himself. Or, if that isn't believable (how macho can a guy be at under five feet tall?), he could paint her out as some sort of predator, a psycho chick, preying on him in his weakened condition. That would be pretty embarrassing, too, though. Kinda emasculating.


Figuring out he's not hungry after all, he closes the fridge door. But, that's really what she is, he tells himself, right? She's trying to seduce me, isn't she? Against my will? With that bright, knowing smile, those curvy hips, those huge breasts. Just a kid, a vain girl seeing what she can do.


He catches himself, his mind conjuring images of her body, with his hand absentmindedly fallen to his member, beginning to swell again. No, stop it, he thinks, dropping to the couch with a glass of water and the remote. No more Traci tonight.


As the evening wore on in front of the television, however, he finds himself thinking about her more and more. God, he thinks, she did look good today, didn't she? That body's like a fucking wet dream...is he being an idiot, not taking advantage? How bad would it be, actually, if he let her seduce him, gave in to her? Let her win her little game? Imagine seeing her try to fight off that triumphant smile as he acquiesced, as she lays him into bed. As she shows him the body he's about to enjoy, crawls on top of him in her bra and panties. Or, or what if she's bought some silky negligee, her first, just for him? And...what was that she said, earlier today, about feeling like his mother? Oh god, what if she knew? What if she took him to her breast, as she sat above his shrunken body, cooing to him in the dark...pretending...Flipping the television off, he leaned his head back against the couch, closed his eyes, and undid his belt.




"Oh, god, Emily! I saw it! I saw it!"


"What do you mean...what's 'it'?" Emily has to speak in a whisper on the phone, her parents just in the other room of the suite.


"I saw it! What he's been...fantasizing about!" Traci's voice through the receiver is quick with excitement.


"Whoah, whoah...back up. What's going on?"


"Well, I've been a little, y'know, frustrated 'cuz, well...I mean, the spell seems to work...like...REALLY work..." Calming down, Traci goes on to describe the spell's effects since Emily's been gone: her development, his shrinking, and finally their episode together earlier today.


Emily, a little taken aback, is amazed at the spell's success, excited to hear what they've done to Rich. "You made him...come?!"


"In his pants!"




Both girls collapse into giggles before Traci continues. "But...but...he's still so...I dunno...resistant. Shy, I guess? Nervous? So I just thought that, well, if I knew what he REALLY wanted...if I could figure out what I could do to REALLY turn him on..."


"You didn't, did you...?"


"I did. I'm over your house right now...I cast the seeing spell, the one I saw you do, the one that lets me look in on him when he's...y'know..."


"Jerking off? You know that that can be a dangerous-"


"Yeah, yeah...well, I did it anyway...and.."




"And it worked...I saw him..."




"Well, it's kind of embarrassing..."




"I think he wants me to be, like...his mother."


"Huh? What do you mean?"


"Well, earlier today, when we were fooling around, I was teasing him about being like his mother, y'know - with all the cooking, the cleaning. He acted kind of funny about that...but I didn't really think too much of it. But then, tonight, when I watched him, in his fantasies..."




"Well, I saw him, lying on a big bed...looking up at this, like, huge woman. I mean, gigantic. Like he's the size of a baby."




"So, she leans in, to pick him up and - when he sees her face - it's me! Like, I'm this huge woman and he's this tiny little baby! And so, she...I...I pick him up and...and..."


"...and what?"


"And I, like, start breastfeeding him! Pull down my bra and start breastfeeding him! Isn't that gross!" The two girls fall into laughter again. "He's like," Traci explains between giggles, "sucking on my boob, looking up at me," she laughs, breathing heavy, "and I'm all, like, cuddly and smiley, hugging him like a baby."


"Oh, god, Traci! How funny!! What a little perv!" Emily pauses, her laughter quieted, gathering herself, "Do guys actually think about...that?"


"Yeah, obviously. Weird, huh? And, y'know what's even funnier..."




"Well, now I know why my breasts have been...leaking..."


"What? You've been...lactating?"


"Yeah, just started a few days ago..."


"A lot?"


"Not really, they just feel funny...really full..."


"Well, we know why that's happening, and why he's been shrinking..."


"Because he fantasizes about being...my baby?"


"Yeah, I guess."


"Is he gonna keep getting smaller? Cuz I only used about a third of the powder, like you said..."


"I don't know...maybe..." Emily trails off, sounding a bit strange.


"What? What is it, Em?"


"Well, I didn't really tell you, exactly, what I saw when I cast that spell on him, originally, at your house, after you two went to dinner..."


"You said he was thinking about me, about me being really...busty."


"Yeah, that, and..."


"And what?"


"Well, and him being really small..."


"Like, what do you mean, small?"


"Like, he was imagining himself, like, REALLY tiny. Tiny like, like a mouse tiny. Smaller, even..."


"Yeah? And?"


"And he imagined you were, like, slipping him into your bra..."


"What?" Traci exclaims, "My bra?"


"Yeah, y'know, tucking him into one of the cups..."


"You mean...while I'm still in it?!" She explodes into giggles again, incredulous of Rich's obsession with her breasts. "Oh my god..!"


"Yeah," Emily continues, trying to control her voice again, "I kinda thought, seeing that, that he just imagined your breasts really big, not that he would actually want to, like, be smaller...but obviously..."


"Obviously he's going to keep getting smaller, huh? Until I can tuck him into one of my E-cups. I dunno," Traci jokes, "it's kind of a tight fit already…We'll have to see what we can do..."


"Well, I don't know. If you only used part of the powder...who knows?"


"Yeah, huh?"


"Well, don't use anymore of it, of course. When I get back we'll see what we have to do."


"Yeah...hey, how's your trip going? I didn't mean to disturb you guys in your hotel room. Did you see Stamford yet?"


"Yeah, it's really nice..."







"Hello?" he answers the phone groggily.


"Hi, Rich, it's me." Her voice is far too perky for...wait...already nine in the morning? "Are you still in bed, sleepyhead?"


"mmm...yeah..." he mumbles. As he tries to clear his mind from sleep, his shame returns, shooting icicles down his spine. He can't believe how late he was up last night, thinking of her. He never knew he could...produce...that many times in one day.


"Well, I'm sorry to wake you...I just wanted to talk to you, after yesterday...I hope I didn't..."


Jeez, this is uncomfortable. "hey...no...don't worry..." he replies, trying to sound conscious. He wishes he could put two words together, knowing that if he really wanted to end things with her he should act angry. "...forget it..."


"No, well...Hey, I took the day off school, I thought I'd take you to your appointment-"



"OhMyGod!" He jumps from the bed, phone in hand, suddenly frazzled, "My appointment!"


"You forgot, didn't you?"


"Uh, yeah," he says distractedly, hurrying over to his closet, "kinda."


"Well, we have an hour before you need to be there, we have plenty of time to get into the city..."


"Uh...Traci," he stammers, dropping out of his makeshift pajamas, "I think I'm going to grab a cab..." At this point he is too short to drive. He is proud of himself, however, for this little victory of self control, declining her offer of a ride. "Listen, I gotta fly...throw on some clothes," he still stinks from last night, "grab a shower..."


"Uh, okay...at least let me call the cab for you."


"Fine, yeah," he agrees, heading for the bathroom.


"And, I'll see you when you get home...I'm going to bake some cookies for you today."


"Uh, okay, sure," he replies hurriedly. He can always call her later, to cancel, he thinks. "Bye."


Hanging up the phone, shifting into overdrive, he quickly cleans himself up, gets dressed and jumps into the cab waiting for him in the driveway. Amazingly, he makes it to the city, to the local teaching hospital, in time.


Today he is scheduled for another MRI, and there’s a group of doctors who’ve wanted him to be in on a video teleconference they were going to conduct today on his case. Though he is getting used to the constant stream of medical attention, no one had any definite diagnosis for him yet. He just seems to be shrinking.


Done early that afternoon, he is a bit surprised to see her car in his driveway on his return. Distracted all day, he had forgotten to call her, to call things off for the afternoon. She must have let herself in, he assumes, as he braces himself for their meeting. He is a bit apprehensive after his shameful performance yesterday. Stay cool, he thinks to himself, stay polite but get rid of her quick. Part of him, though, he realizes (the horny, blockheaded part) is definitely eager to see her again.


"Hello?" he calls into the house as he enters, "Traci?" His voice is weaker than it once was, and does not carry well. He is greeted by the pleasant aroma of baking, filling the air, but not her voice. He heads to the kitchen to find her, crouched in front of the oven, pulling out a tray of cookies. God! Those legs! he thinks, admiring her calves, her thighs in her tight, powder blue Capri pants.


"Oh, hi!" she beams with enthusiasm, noticing him in the doorway, "You're just in time!" Standing to greet him, she holds the tray in front of her, smiling at him brilliantly. Her hair is done up like he's never seen before, in loose curls. Under an apron she is wearing a starched white, button-down sleeveless blouse and looks every bit the happy homemaker. He is a bit speechless, with the feeling that he's just walked in on a scene from some fifties television show. "Do you want some cookies?" she asks, her voice bubbly.


"Uh, sure," he answers, moving to a stool at the countertop.


"No, no," she titters, "let's get you to the couch. You'll be more comfortable, after your long day."


Putting a plate of cookies on a tray alongside a glass of milk, she follows him into the living room, perching herself heavily to his right on the sofa. Her pearly white smile, he notes, seems innocent enough. "So," she asks, offering him the plate of cookies, "tell me, how was your day?"


Though not hungry, he accepts a chocolate chip cookie, warm from the oven, and takes a bite. "Mmm...delicious..." he says, swallowing.


"They might be a little...burnt..." she offers apologetically.


"Oh," he says, noticing a hint of...smokiness, "they're fine."


"Here, have some milk," she says, handing him a large glass from the tray. Being so small, he needs two hands to raise it to his mouth. A bit dribbles down his chin. "Oh, my, look at you," she reprimands, clucking her tongue, "let's clean that up." With the corner of her apron in hand, she leans in and dabs at the corner of his mouth, looking down her nose at him.


He watches her quizzically as she unties her apron from the back. "The apron," he comments, "that's a new look for you, huh?"


"Mmm," she agrees, matter-of-factly, as she turns to him once again and puts her hands, demurely, in her lap, her lips tight.


What look, exactly, is she going for? he thinks. She looks almost...matronly. Like she's practicing to be somebody's wife...or mother. Somebody's very hot wife or mother. He swallows rather noisily in the silence, trying not to notice the rise and fall of her heavy chest under her crisp white blouse.


"Would you like another cookie, sweetie?" she asks, with wide eyes and cocked head, eyebrows raised.


"Uh, sure," he replies, watching her reach over to take a cookie from the plate. Leaning in again towards him, she brings the cookie to his lips. A bit startled, he draws back for an instant but, looking up to meet her eyes, opens his mouth to take a bite.


"Mmm...there we go..." she purrs, peering down at him. He feels like a small child, suddenly, under a mother's watchful eye. Though not an altogether unpleasant sensation, he is a bit uncomfortable.


He knows he shouldn't let her do this, especially if he's to have a talk with her. Tell her that they shouldn't see so much of each other, that yesterday was a mistake. But, he thinks, looking at her pretty face, let me finish this cookie first.


"Oh, shoot," she says, brushing crumbs from her chest, "what happened here?" Sitting back a bit, she unbuttons the top few buttons of her blouse and pulls it away from her chest. "Did some of that just go down my cleavage?"


They both, now, look between her breasts, into the dark chasm between the round swells of her breasts. With pursed lips, she brushes at them attentively, pretending not to notice his gaping jaw.


Gathering himself quickly, he averts his eyes and shakes off the image, returning his gaze to hers as she leans in once more to him, another cookie in hand. Okay, he realizes, she's doing it again. She's trying to seduce me, or - at least - fuck with my head. "Uh, Traci," he says, trying to find his tongue despite the temptation of her full cleavage, calling him to look its way, "about...yesterday..." His mouth is dry, "...at my house..."


"Your house? You mean here?" She says, glancing over at the empty easy chair to her right.


"Oh...uh...yeah..." he stammers, as she draws in closer. God, look at those tits, he marvels, as he tries not to watch them swell with each breath. Big to anyone of normal size, of course, they are huge to him. Catching himself, he continues, "I don't think...I mean, what I'm trying to say is..."


Crossing her right leg over her left, shifting her hips in towards him, she gazes down at him sympathetically. Look at the poor thing, she thinks, he's so nervous. He can hardly speak. Here, let me do this. She brushes loose curls of hair away from each shoulder and readjusts her blouse, affording him a better view. Her eyes twinkle with merriment watching him struggle to keep his eyes off her chest. Somehow he manages to continue.


"..is that, uh..." Does he really want to do this? Discourage her? So young, yes, but so ripe, so full. A woman, right? And me, I'm...I'm just a guy. But no, he should resist, he knows. "...is that w-we..."


"Shhh...shhh..." she whispers, bringing a finger to his lips as her right shoulder rolled towards him, "don't worry...I know...I know all about it."


Stifled, his eyes widen as they look up into hers, watching her raise herself up slightly and throw her right leg over him. Settling her weight down on him, straddling his shrunken thighs, she brings her free hand up, now, to the next button of her blouse. With a finger still quieting his lips, she continues cooing softly to him. "I know, I know, sweetie...it's so hard..."


Trying to concentrate on something other than her burgeoning chest, he looks at her lips, painted moist and glossy. They move lushly over her words as she speaks "It's so hard, being so small." Having noticed him looking at her lips, she parts them seductively. He squirms, looks away.


"Oh," she exclaims, attracting his eyes again as she notices something on the sofa table behind him, "is this your mother?" Leaning into him to reach over his shoulder, she all but plasters his face into the couch with her chest. She feels him tense below her and smiles to herself, pausing for a moment longer than necessary to take hold of a small picture frame. Mortified, he is overwhelmed by her bosom, and succeeds in only mumbling a response.


"Ooooh! Sorry!" she apologizes with a giggle, backing off him mercifully, "are you okay?"


"Uh, yeah..." he replies, his face flushed red, turning his attention to the frame in her hands, "um, yeah, that's her..."


"She's so pretty," she remarks girlishly, looking at the photo, "how old is she there?"


"Oh, I dunno...soon after college...twenty-three?"


"She had a nice figure then, huh?"


"Yeah, I guess."


"Too bad she's, like, not around. Now that you need her. Now that you're not well." Though her comments sound innocent, she is testing the water, gauging his reaction. "Everybody wants their mommy when they don't feel good, hmm?"


"Well, it's not like..." he says defensively, trailing off. Swallowing dryly, he can't help but notice how close she's held the small picture of his mother to her own full chest, can't ignore the deep breaths she's using to inflate herself against her blouse, waiting for him to continue. "It's not like I'm helpless or anything." He can't help but think, however, as he sits practically pinned beneath her, how helpless he feels right then. "I can still, y'know, tie my own shoes."


She beams down at him, smiling generously at his attempt at a joke. "Yes, that's right!" she says with encouragement, as if speaking to a child, "and such cute little shoes!"


He nods his head, acknowledging with a wan smile the pair of kids' sneakers she had bought for him days ago; at the time he could never have imagined ever actually fitting into them. He struggles to keep the mood light. "And my hair...I can still brush my own hair..."


"Yes," she agrees, pushing a stray lock off his temple as she puts down the picture frame, "very nice."


"I can, uh," he continues, "still dress myself...I was thinking about a pair of Garanimals. What do you think?"


"Oh yes" she giggles, bouncing on his lap, "Very sexy!" She fiddles with the buttons of his shirt, adjusting his collar. "And Osh Kosh B'Gosh makes some hip stuff," she teases, "how about a nice pair of overalls?"


He chuckles. Though a bit uncomfortable with her belittling humor, he is finding this all rather arousing. She is a relentless flirt. "Yeah, overalls would be nice," he agrees, "very roomy."


She looks down at him mischievously, still fussing with his shirt. "They'd make changing diapers easier..."


"I, uh, don't..." he stumbles, unsure of what to say. It wouldn't come to that, would it? "I think, uh, I think I'll...be okay..."


"Well, if you ever need my help..." her eyes sparkle.


"Yeah," he stammers, suddenly embarrassed, "you wish...!"


"Oh, come on, Rich," she coos, smoothing his collar, "don't you think about it sometimes? Wouldn't it be nice, just for once, to let someone take care of you? I mean, like, really take care of you." Her voice is low, now, her tone more serious. His nervous smile fades as he watches her smooth her blouse over her right breast. He can picture its full, round shape, heavy and firm, under the starched white fabric. "To just sit back, relax, and let them do everything for you. As if, y'know...you were, like, a baby again." She presses her breast forward, towards him, stretching her blouse tautly over its weight. She smiles as he stares, as if struck mute. He's so small, she thinks, my boob must look so big to him.


"A little baby," she continues, "an infant again. And you had, like, somebody to take care of you. To clothe you, to change you, to feed you." She pushes her breast even closer towards him, undoes another button, and watches his jaw actually drop. He looks mesmerized. "Don't you imagine it sometimes? Wouldn't that be nice?" She feels him start to tremble beneath her. Unrelenting, she continues, "It'd be nice to have mommy again, wouldn't it?"


Looking down at his little face, so intent on her clothed breast, she is acutely aware of the building warmth in her bosom. Emboldened by his acquiescence, she continues unbuttoning her blouse, teasing him with her words. "Mommy again, taking care of you, making you feel all better?"


He stares, still speechless, into her deep cleavage, gasps at the sight of bright white satin as she reveals her bra. Pulled tautly over each big, firm breast, it stretches tighter with each breath.


She knows he is trying to resist, that his soft whines and whimpers are signs of struggle. Still she continues. "Mommy to cuddle you, to keep you warm," she says, slipping her sleeveless blouse, now fully unbuttoned, off her right shoulder. "Would you like that?" she asks, slipping her left hand behind his head, "would you like me to be your mommy?"


She hears his breath catch.


"Have you thought about that, honey? Hmmm? Have you thought about me being your mommy? Yes...yes...I know you have."


Still he is speechless. She is a little amazed herself, incredulous at what she is doing to him. She muses in thought for a moment. Though she's always known the advantages she's had over other girls, the weakness guys had for her nice body, her big set of tits, she'd never actually realized just what she could really do. What these big, round breasts she'd been growing, slowly but surely over the years, could accomplish. Look at this guy, Rich, the boy she dreamed about as a kid, shaking like a leaf for her. Do these make you think I'm your mommy, little boy? Hmm? Do they make you want to be with me? She smiles to herself as she drops the blouse from her other shoulder. Is there something else they make you want to do? What is it? Something you remember mommy doing with you? The blouse falls onto the couch's cushions. Well, Rich, that's what they're there for, she says silently, lowering the bra strap off her right shoulder, might as well use them.


"Okay, baby," she purrs, peeling her bra down over her enormous right breast and pulling his head in to her, "come to mama."


Despite his internal struggle, his instincts widen his mouth to take her nipple. He closes his eyes. Feeling her young, smooth, soft flesh press against his face in such abundance, his will collapses completely and he begins to mouth at her breast. He should stop, he should stop, he knows, but he is too aroused, too consumed to think clearly. Instead he listens to, obeys her sweet coos of encouragement.


"Ooooooh...that's right, that's good...now shhhh...shhh...relax. Mommy's here." She guides his mouth, keeping it at her nipple, and urges him to suck. As he settles in to her, her nipple in his mouth, she tightens her hold on him and - exhaling - lets down her milk.


As the first of her creamy flows passes his lips, runs onto and over his tongue, he starts in surprise. She sees his eyes widen, feels him stiffen and try to draw away from her. "Shhh..." she whispers, only to hug him more tightly, "it's okay...don't worry, baby. Relax."


Oh god, he asks in confusion, what's happening? He feels her push her nipple further through his lips, the milk still flowing from her. His mind is reeling as he thinks, No, not this. Anything but this. Despite himself, powerless to stop, he latches onto her like a suckling and closes his eyes again.


How is this happening? He thinks in bewilderment. She's....she's breastfeeding. Somehow she's breastfeeding me. Oh god. How is she giving milk? She's...so young, a girl, seventeen.


Nonetheless, her milk flows from her nipple, filling his mouth, dropping down his throat as he swallows. He fights with himself, knowing he should pull away, that this is beyond unnatural. But with every draw he takes from her firm breast, his struggle weakens. As much as he realizes how entirely wrong this is, it's as if suddenly he's living his deepest, most hidden fantasies. Suckling, nursing on huge, swollen breasts. Her breasts, wrapped in her arms. Forgetting his fight, he gives himself up to the luxury of her soft skin and whispered cooing, and allows her to hold him, so close, to her motherly bosom.


Reaching behind her back with one hand, she unclasps her bra and slides it from her shoulders. Look at him, she thinks, both arms again holding him to the swells of her now bare chest, he's nursing. Just like he's fantasized about. All his dreams coming true. What he thinks about, she mused with a smile, when he's jerking off. Suckling. Breastfeeding. From me. From my breasts.


Though she watches him with some detached amusement, part of her still finding this somewhat funny, she can't help but swell a bit with an almost maternal pride as she gazes down at him. Look at what I can do. Look at what a woman can provide.


Feeling him moan and squirm below her, she can tell how acutely aroused he is becoming, and lowers one hand down to his stomach. His loins clench as her fingers find their way underneath his shirt to caress his belly with a light touch. She meets no resistance in first unsnapping his pants and then lowering his zipper, and knows, as soon as she has him pulled out of his briefs and hard in her delicate hand, that he wouldn't fight her now.


His constant, low murmurs as he suckles rise to a groan as she strokes him once, with a slow but firm hand, and pulls him farther from his shorts. As she continues fondling him, caressing and pulling on him rhythmically, his sucking becomes more strained, sloppy. He struggles against coming too quickly.


"This is nice, huh?" she asks, smiling, petting his head tenderly, "but won't it be so good, won't it be even nicer, when you get smaller?" He moans into her flesh pathetically, obviously imagining it, a step closer to climax. Without mercy, she continues, "When you're smaller, so small, so I can pick you up. Hold you in my arms, just like a real baby. You'll like that, huh? Won't that be nice?" That's what you've always dreamed about, isn't it?


Milk runs through his lips, down his chin. She knows she has him pushed to the edge, senses his fight is almost lost. She is ready, almost, to allow him release. He swallows, breathing "oh, god" as she draws herself from his mouth and back, slowly, away from him. Still stroking his hard member, she sits back, now, on her hips. Letting him look up at her, letting him appreciate, finally, the full size of her bare breasts, she tries to imagine: What must he be seeing, what is his view like? What must he be thinking? What does this look like to him? With me, this hot, curvy young girl, with these huge breasts, sitting on top of him. This perfect body. His dick in my hand. He must be in fucking heaven. God, I'm so thin, my breasts are so big, I must look enormous. But...but...he's probably imagining me even bigger. Imagining himself even smaller, looking up at me, from way down there. Oh god, here...what if I do this?


Deciding to embellish the show, she arches her back, draws one slow breath and watches his eyes goggle as she slowly raises herself higher over him, pretending to grow before his eyes. His neck cranes, his gaze trying to follow hers, but all is soon eclipsed by the swells of her chest, the undersides of her full, round breasts. He disappears below her. With his hardness still in the grip of her hand's firm, unrelenting flagellations, teetering towards climax, she is leaned over him. Smiling, feeling so powerful, toying with this guy, she pauses for a moment and asks "ready?"


With that, she slowly lowers her breast onto his upturned face, squashing his nose, his mouth, his eyes into the underside of her soft, heavy swell.


That’s it. She knows from his sudden, twitching spasm that it’s over. He’s come. With a smile she feels his warm stickiness dribble over her hand as she milks him through his climax, purring encouragement. Dragging her breast down across his face, she sits back again and looks on as his orgasm wanes.


She watches his face, his closed eyes with interest as the look of peaceful detachment fades from him, to be replaced by one of worry, of embarrassment, a furrowed brow. Slowly his eyelids flutter open, his gaze meeting hers for a moment before dropping away.


"Oh, Jesus, Traci," he mutters, clearly confused, uncomfortable, "wh-what just happened?"


"Oh, my, Rich," she replies, giddy, "do you really need me to explain?"


He is obviously in shock, unnerved by her lithe, young body with its outrageously big, bare breasts, sitting on his lap in her tight hot pants. Though, at this point, her breasts are obviously overly big for her frame, she seems all-too comfortable, at home in her body. She smiles proudly down at him.


He can not find his words, ashamed, and rather just closes his eyes in silence and feels her warm, yielding flesh press against his cheek, envelop his face, as she hugs him once again to her chest.


Over the next several days - alongside his confusion over Traci - Rich's sense of disquiet grows deeper. He is beginning to shrink faster. Inches, it seems, are dropping off him by the day. With the amplification of the spell, after a week he is less than three feet tall.


This, it ends up, is just too much for our hero's already fragile psyche. He feels himself becoming unglued. Unable to contain his dismay, he does what he promised himself he'd never do. He breaks down one day in front of Traci, weeping pitifully.


"I...I can't believe...I don't understand...why?" he sputters, "I'm getting s-so s-small. E-everyday...smaller and smaller and s-smaller..." He is ashamed at letting her see him like this, so pathetic.


"Ohhhh," she purrs as she approaches to where he sits, legs dangling off the couch, "you poor thing."


"I-I mean...I used to be so...so...normal..." he sobs, casting his gaze down from her firm thighs. She stands, in a tight pair of jeans, right in front of him. To emphasize her size.


"And now, look at you," she says, drawing closer. The air is thick with her perfume; he can feel the warmth of her body.


"I...I k-know..." He is shaking, still crying. "What if...what if...?"


What if what? She thinks, What if this doesn't stop? She wants to see his face, and kneels down in front of him, fighting back a smile as she tries to catch his gaze. "It's okay," she says encouragingly, "It's alright." With her on her knees, so close, they are face-to-face.


"I'm just so p-pathetic," he blubbers, "I feel...I feel so..." Still his eyes are cast downward.


"That's okay, Rich," she says, unzipping the collar of her sweater to reveal several inches of dark cleavage, "you can tell me."


"Oh, god," he moans in despair, turning his face from her, closing his eyes. Despite himself, he is already aroused, grown hard in his drawstring pants.


"Tell me what you're feeling," she says as she lowers his waistband down over his thighs, gathering it at his knees. His naked member stands stiffly between his legs. "Are you afraid of getting smaller?"


He is breathing heavy, fast, opening his eyes once again to watch her throw her hair over one thin shoulder, intent on his hard organ as she bends lower. "I...I.."


"Shhh...shh...Let it all out..." she says, finally, as she drops her head into his lap and swallows him into her mouth.

Humiliated, he throws his head back, leans backwards onto his hands and continues to sob. Her mouth is wet all around him, his shaft hard as it slides between her glossy lips. His will utterly defeated, he resigns himself to watching her head bob in his lap, giving himself up to her mouth. Imagining her head growing larger and larger still, he comes easily, and collapses in exhaustion.



With Halloween approaching this weekend, he expects the return of his parents soon. He had reluctantly contacted them about the worsening of his condition, causing them to change the course of their cruise and head back north as quickly as possible. Though it will be good to have their support, he struggles with mixed emotions over their return; once they get back, Traci obviously can not continue her "visits". Since their last episode he has all but given up trying to resist her seductions, has given in to her smothering affections, has given her all she wanted - his acquiescent worship of her womanly charms.


As he has dwindled smaller and smaller, she had taken upon herself nearly all his needs for daily living. Putting him to bed. Changing his clothes. Bathing him in the tub. And, after his resistance to her first attempt at spoonfeeding him from a jar of baby food, she fed him daily from her breast.


While all the while caring for him like a young mother with her infant, she continues to flaunt her rapidly developing body to him. Despite his weakened state, his withered self respect, he spends most of their time together enthralled, in a state of obvious arousal.


Of this she takes frequent, full advantage with eager hand, girlish mouth, firm, enveloping breasts. He finds himself climaxing time and time again in the comforts of her ever-swelling body, each time falling deeper and deeper into her fold.


While he imagines it a trick of his new perspective, his reduced size, her body is actually undergoing astonishing changes. Since using more of the powder from the spell on them both through her cookies, she has begun to grow more quickly. Nearing six feet tall, her body is lithe, shapely and strong. She walks with elegant, stately confidence amongst her bewildered classmates, sways her womanly hips languidly before her leering teachers. She chuckles at her mother, who is beside herself having watched her daughter swell through two bra sizes in a week.


As if thinking aloud one night as she tucks him into bed, she muses over the upcoming weekend's Halloween dance. Her eyes dance as she asks, as if to no one in particular, "What, what, WHAT should I wear?" She pulls the covers up to his chin. "The dance is tomorrow and I still don't have a costume!"


Only minutes ago, she had him jerking himself off, his head squashed between her breasts, licking her flesh submissively.

He looks up at her silently, still mortified at himself.


"Hmmm..." she wonders, "how about a cheerleader? Or...a bunny? Or a kitty? Mmrroww!" She claws the air between them playfully, suddenly pretending to pounce at him. His eyes go wide, his face white. She giggles, drawing back. She forgets, sometimes, how she must look to him, with him being so small.


Straightening her shoulders, she gathers her hair up into a ponytail, calming him quickly with a display of her shapely profile, back in her tight sweater. She leans over, kissing him once, goodnight, on the forehead. "Well, whatever. Hey, with the dance and all, I won't be able to see you tomorrow, but maybe I'll drop by afterwards...okay?"


He agrees, smiling weakly up at her before she rises, turns off his bedstand light, and turns to leave.


The next day, Halloween, goes on uneventfully. The house darkened, he is able to ignore the handful of trick-or-treaters who nonetheless ring at his door. Though half-expecting Traci to drop by, he is exhausted and gets himself to bed early, only to be awakened just before midnight by a presence in his room. His vision focuses slowly as his head clears itself of sleep to find her, sitting on her knees, near the end of his mattress. She must have let herself in.


Traci is still in costume: a tight, one-piece black bathing suit is painted on her outrageous curves like a second skin. Her long, muscular legs are bare, tucked beneath her firm, generous bottom. A huge black wig, arranged in a familiar beehive, sits atop her head. Her makeup is pale, dramatically emphasizing her painted lips and eyes lined heavily in black. She sits, silent, smiling down at him in bemusement.


"Elvira, huh?" he offers, commenting on her costume.


"Who?" she answers, straightening her suit over her large breasts before returning her hands to her lap. She's obviously been drinking.


"Elvira...y'know...the chick with the...hair." He gulps, noticing her creamy cleavage, shadowed in the moonlight. "M-must be before your time." He is nervous. Not only a little drunk, she has an untamed air, an aura of unpredictability about her tonight.


"Hmm, yeah. Everybody thought I looked like a vampire..." With that she parts her mouth, widens it, exposing a set of costume-shop fangs beyond her moist lips. The effect is disturbing, erotic.


His heartbeat quickens; he can't shake the image of her as some sort of succubus, a demon visiting his bed at night.


"But I think I look more like a witch." She studies him. "Maybe I should have carried a broom. I had a long black skirt on over this at the dance…do you think I look like a witch?" Her eyes sparkle darkly.


He nods in agreement. He can't take his eyes off her; in the moonbeams streaming through his window, she appears to almost glow.


A coy smile on her lips, her fangs flash. "I am a witch, you know," she purrs, tipsy, peering down at him, "a great and powerful witch..." She swells with pride above him, drawing breath, straightening her back.


He smiles weakly, thinking he is playing along with her in a charade, her act for the evening.


"You know why you're shrinking, Rich?" She bites her plump lower lip sensually. "It was me...my spells."


Yeah, not funny, he thinks. Not something to joke about.


"I made you what you really, really want to be...so small..."


She is joking, right? She’s drunk, she must be...there's no such thing as...? A shiver of doubt passes through him.


"You want to be so small, with me..."


It was impossible. She couldn't...she wouldn't...she can't know...


"I know what you want. You want a girl, a girl so much bigger than you. A girl with big boobs, long legs." Her voice is soft, hypnotic. "You want her to pick you up, like a little baby. You want her to put you between her breasts, to slip you into her bra. That's what you've always wanted. That's why you've always looked at the ladies with big breasts. Imagining it. That's how you always looked at me, I know, even at first, even at the concert. You wanted to be in here." She brushes the fingertips of one delicate hand across her impressive décolletage, leans in a bit towards him, demonstrating the soft valley of her cleavage.


How..? How could she..? He is shaking, now, in shame and fear.


"And so, Emily and I made a spell...to give you what you want. To make you smaller..."


Omigod. It can't be, he thinks. It doesn't make any sense. Even so, he becomes more afraid, trembling, aghast at what she says she's done, terrified of what she still may do. If this is true, what else could she be capable of? That thought, though it filled him with fear, is intensely arousing. But...but...this is impossible!


"And I’ve been practicing my magic, getting more powerful, so I could do this with you tonight. Finally, to give you what you really want.” With that she leans in more, towards him, to pull the covers back from his body, smiling as she sees his eyes dart down her cleavage before she sits back again on her haunches. He wears nothing save a small pair of briefs, obviously fit for a child. His arousal is apparent.


Keeping his gaze with her crooked smile, she slips two fingers into her creamy cleavage, between her breasts, and pulls out a small vial, about half-filled with dark powder. “Can I be your witch for you?” she asks, in a teasing, baby-doll voice, “Can I do my magic on you?”


He is visibly shaking as he watches her uncork the thin glass tube. “What spell do you think I have ready for you, hmm?” She giggles drunkenly, amused by his expression, his obvious fright. “A love spell, maybe? How would that be? I could make it so you would, like, totally worship me...Or…or a paralysis spell…so I could freeze you,” her eyes glimmer, “do anything I want with you?” I have this guy completely, like, quivering, she thinks.


“That turns you on, doesn’t it?” she says knowingly, “that I have all this power over you?” She watches him squirm and shake. “You like it, don’t you? Thinking about what I could do. The idea that I could weaken all your muscles, so you can’t move. Or that I could turn you into my slave, make it so you would do anything just to, like, lick my feet. You like it…yes, you do…you totally like the idea of being at my mercy.” She looked him over, giving him the chance to speak.


God, yes, he thinks, still silent, do it…anything…


“Well, Rich…here we go…” she continues, dropping a small bit of powder into one palm, “Watch…I’m going to show you just what I can do…I’m going to show you what you really want.”


She pinches the powder between two fingers and - tilting her head back on her elegant neck, closing her eyes - sprinkles it on herself. The powder shimmers in the half-light, catching the moon, and glitters as it falls onto the smooth skin of her chest. She draws a deep breath, inflating herself voluptuously.


And then…she begins to swell. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but then more obviously. His eyes goggle in disbelief as he watches her - a wide, satisfied smile on her lips - grow above him. Her legs, her hips, her chest, indeed her entire body, burgeons anew. With a low, sensual moan she stretches, arching her back, reaching her arms above her head, as if to urge herself to even greater heights.


His jaw agape, his brain struggles in disbelief at what his senses are beholding. Traci, already so big to his smallness, becoming even bigger…right before his eyes. Unable to do anything but stare, he watches her thighs lengthen, rippling with firm, new muscle. He watches her breasts grow. He watches them stretch her suit thin, their pale flesh bulging over its seams. He watches her head rise further towards the ceiling. “Oh…god…” he thinks aloud, watching her ascend taller, “This can’t be happening…”


Her eyes flutter open, hearing his weak voice, and fall to him. “Oh, but it is, Rich, it is happening…” Her mouth is parted wantonly, relishing the look of abject fear on his face, “I’m growing…” she stretches more, “Watch…I’m getting bigger…” Savoring this indescribable sensation, this feeling of power which is filling her body, amplifying it, she puts her hands into her thick wig and enjoys the weight of his eyes on her.


With each breast now at least the size of her head, she is forced to lower her straps off her shoulders before her growth finally ceases. How big she is now, he cannot guess…she seems a giant. Breathing deeply but evenly as her body reaches its final, enormous size, her gaze meets his again. He is startled at the perfection of the newfound beauty in her face, shocked by the depth of her radiant eyes. “Did you like that, Rich…did you like watching me grow?”


She closes her eyes again, for a moment, basking in the sensations of her new body, her new beauty. She runs her hands down her sides, her eyes opening wide in giddy surprise. “Oh my god!” she exclaims, giggling as she looks down at her new figure, “Look at me! I’m…huge!” She laughs again, incredulous, evidently pleased.


“Can you imagine,” she asks as she leans in toward him, over him, a mischievously wicked smile on her lips, “what it would be like to suck on these?” Her enormous breasts, barely contained in her overwrought swimsuit, hover over him, so heavy. “Your face would be so little against them now…” He can not believe, can barely comprehend, their sheer mass.


His eyes widen, he whines in sudden fear as she reaches for him. “Shh…shh…” she coos, “don’t be afraid…we’re just getting started.” With him now the size of a small infant to her, she easily overcomes his struggles and lifts him from the bed, below his arms. Holding him before her face, she looks him in the eyes as his legs dangle helplessly. She studies him tenderly for a moment before drawing him in, slowly, for a kiss. He is mesmerized by the sight of her full, painted lips. As they draw nearer, her sweet smile begins to widen, causing his heart to rise in his throat, his breath catch, as she once again bares her fangs.


But soon he can see no more, enveloped in darkness as her mouth covers him with slow, wet kisses, smearing his face with her heavy lipstick. Her lips, her tongue runs themselves over him, sucking at him as she clucks at him in affection. Writhing in shame, fear and arousal, he feel her hands shift him in their grip, to cradle his body. “Oh, I could just eat you!” she purrs, growling as she mouths his face before ending their kiss, “eat you all up, little man…”


Slowly, she lowers him to her chest and holds him, like a mother with her baby, to her breast. Bouncing him in her arms, she presses his face into her flesh, her firm nipple still covered by the taut, elastic material of her bathing suit. He feels enveloped in her embrace, surrounded by her soft warmth. “Now, how does that feel, huh?” she asks, “Pretty nice?”


Already confused, he drifts further from reality, drowning in her lush, smothering comfort. “I’ve been watching you, y’know,” she whispers, as she repositions him at her breast, “seen you, all along, when you jerk off. When you’re in your house, all alone. I’ve seen you, thinking about me, thinking about my body.” She presses his face into her firm flesh, sliding the nub of her nipple to his mouth, urging him to take it through her suit.


“I know what you want. I understand.” He begins to mouth at her. “It’s not just about big boobs,” she continues, “It’s not just about me being your mommy. It’s about being, like, inside a woman. Inside her body. Surrounded by her. Under her. Under her breasts, under her power. Completely under her care.” She smiles, feeling him dry-suckling feebly at her. “Well, here we are, Rich. Here I am. A woman. A woman to take care of you. A woman to take care of everything for you.”


Looking down at him tenderly, she lowers the bodice of her swimsuit down, giving him her nipple. He takes it, and continues to suck.


“You won’t have to worry about anything,” she resumes, as her milk begins to flow, “anything at all. Not with me here. I’m going to go to college – yes, yes, I can be a normal size again, if I want – To an ivy league school. With everything I’ve got -my brains, my body, my witchcraft - I’m going to be so successful. I’m going to make millions of dollars. I’ll be rich…powerful…”


Still silent as he nursed at her, he opens his eyes and looks up at her, so beautiful. She has taken off her wig, removed her plastic fangs. Her dark blonde hair remains pinned behind her head as she peers down at him. He closes his eyes again.


“And all the while, you’ll be with me…I’m going to take such good care of you. You’ll be totally helpless, so weak, so very, very small. But you won’t have to worry, you’ll have me.”


As he listens to her terrifying, comforting words and suckles the milk from her huge, soft breast he thinks yes, how nice it would be, to give himself up to her, to whatever she has planned. To let himself be taken completely into her warm embrace. She would love him. She would take care of him. And she will be so beautiful.


“I understand, Rich, what you want. I know what you need. So, here, sweetie, here we go…”


He feels a shimmering, a tingling ripple pass through his skin as she sprinkles the last of her powder onto him. A familiar sensation, though more intense, more acute than ever. He feels himself, suddenly, beginning to shrink. Fast. Faster than before, faster than ever. A strange feeling, not altogether unpleasant, as her warmth envelops him further.


“You’re getting smaller, Rich….smaller and smaller and smaller…”


His briefs are taken easily from him. Gradually, the arms that hold him become hands, then a single hand. A hand which, through gentle, firm pressure, seems to guide his decline, squeeze him smaller and smaller. Soon he is little bigger than a few inches, and unable to continue nursing.


“It’s going to be just like you always wanted,” her voice is all around him, “just like you always dreamed.” Still holding him to her firm flesh, she pulls her bathing suit back up over her breast, trapping him beneath its elastic material. He is held fast, plastered against her smooth, milky skin. “There, now. How’s that, Rich?” He thinks he hears her giggle. “How does that feel?” Her fingers caress him from behind, pressing him into her breast. “Is this how you always imagined it?” she asks from on high, “trapped against Traci’s big breast?”


He licks and kisses at her skin feebly, rutting into her flesh with rhythmic thrusts. “And, look, honey, look how you’re getting even smaller…and smaller.”


As he continues to dwindle he feels her peel the suit away a bit, grasp him oh-so-gently between two fingers and slide him over until he is supported, once again trapped, between her two breasts. Now, in near total darkness, he is surrounded on all sides by her warmth, her flesh, her skin. Totally consumed by her cleavage.


“Are you afraid, sweetie? Afraid that I’ll hurt you? Afraid that I’ll crush you?” The softness of her flesh rolls over him in muscular waves as she squeezes him, pressing her breasts together with her arms, as if to force him even smaller. Smaller. Smaller. “Are you afraid that you’ll get too small? Afraid that you’ll slip, like a piece of dust, under my big breast? Afraid that you’ll just…disappear?”


Now just a fraction of an inch, he has shrunk to the point that – when she spreads her arms and arches her back – he slides downs, down, down, falling from her cleavage to rest against her firm, flat belly. Trapped in the hollow between her stomach and her bathing suit, he looks up – to him a great distance – at the undersides of her great, massive breasts. Huge, like mountains looming above him.


“No, no, honey,” she purrs, bringing her hand down to press him, hold him to her through the suit, “I would never let that happen.” She can barely feel him, a little bump on her belly, against her fingertips. She urges him lower, lower down her smooth abdomen. “I won’t let you disappear.”


The warmth from her skin is hypnotizing, her perfumed scent intoxicating. He closes his eyes and lays his head against her stomach.


“I’m going to keep you with me, baby, inside me. Just like you’ve always wanted.” As he shrinks smaller still, he can feel himself dropping, almost melting, into her skin. Being absorbed. Into her. “I’m going to keep you warm. Keep you safe. Inside me. Inside my belly.” She presses him in, down, deep into her flesh.


He can feel her womb pulsing, ready, waiting for him as he sinks into her.


“And someday, honey, someday I’ll let you start to grow again.” Her voice is disappearing to his ears; he feels her words now emanating throughout his entire, withering body. “Someday you’ll start to grow again, inside me, Rich. Like a baby. Grow and grow and grow. Until you’re ready, sweetie, ready to come back out.”


He is now in utter darkness, having lost the use of his eyes, surrounded by her flesh. He is soon a tiny clump of tissue, falling into the smothering embrace of her womb.


“And then, honey, then I’ll do it. I’ll give birth. I’ll give birth to you. My beautiful, new little baby. My little baby boy.”


He feels her walls grasp him, take him, imbedding him into her womanhood. He is now all but absorbed, a small bundle of cells, awash in her warm fluids, her heartbeat his own.


“Until then, baby, enjoy me.”


As he settles, losing the last hints of consciousness, into her womb, he smiles inwardly, looking forward to the day when he would finally, again, look up and see her smiling, happy face. His beautiful new mother, beaming down at him.






The end.


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