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ran-orimoto · 1 year ago

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{I’ve…Forgot to crosspost my Junzumi one-shots here again. Sorry🥲. I just feel embarassed sharing my writing here, but I know you asked me to, so I’ll learn to feel more comfortable lmao💕}

[ NOTE: Junpei and Izumi are respectively 26 and 25. The one-shot from this month is sillier than usual and it features a hc I have got about older Izumi liking sewing. Even if my adult Izumi is into cooking, I love imagining her still retaining a love for fashion she can express in her own ways. I like Izumi modelling, ok, but I’m not a fan of it, especially if I take in account the …Creepy scenes she, 10 y.o kid, got in the past. You know, it’s hard to see it in a good light⭐️.]

•Il vento e le sue innumerevoli sorprese•

When he stormed into the bedroom with a note of nervousness accompanying the drumming of his steps, it had just dawned on her she had exhausted her attention and focus on the boring book she was reading. Due to that haste he had stepped out of the bathroom with, he had accidentally left the door opened and now a generous crack was inviting her to stretch her neck and spot some hints of the tempest he had created in there: a crumpled carpet pushed against the tiles of the wall, a pile of familiar clothes abandoned on the floor as if they were nothing more than rags, tired towels peeking out from the edge of the bathtub and being about to slip off it, the most disparate objects scattered on the flooded surface of the sink.

Oh well, she would be the worst kind of hypocrite if she decided to scold him because of that mess: she couldn’t absolutely lie about the fact an hour before that poor bathroom had had to go through another hurricane, making both discover in awe they could add another personality trait in the list of…Lovely flaws they shared.

“What’s the matter? Che c’è?” She couldn’t help bursting in gusts of laughters, but the defined sight of a stout young man in elegant attire froze the dance of those bursts in the chilly atmosphere of their bedroom.

She wasn’t that certain about what she could say, what she wanted to say and she wasn’t when it came to him, either. She didn’t know if he had imagined she would squeal at him and throw herself in his arms, cooing at how handsome he looked, but he should know her well by now, shouldn’t he? He should know she wasn’t that kind of woman and yet…

And yet…

Tossing her book aside, she crawled to the other edge of the bed, near to where he was regulating the strap of his watch. He checked how tight it felt on his wrist, proceeding to repeat the ritual again, and unexpectedly ignored the curious green of large cat eyes inspecting his figure with an enchanted caution.

After a year spent following his bustling tenor career from such a close perspective, she had grown used to seeing him dressing up for special occasions; to observing him shifting from his usual scruffy appearance to an utterly alienating and refined look. She would often get the destabilizing sensation of being in the company of someone else whenever that happened, her voice and sarcasm evaporating in thin air, her wary hand remaining suspended in the air until he would grab it.

However, she had soon realized it would take a simple, goofy smile in her direction to make that illusion vacillate and eventually break. Obviously, in that room with her, standing next to the foggy windows of the incoming venetian winter, there was no one else but the awkward Junpei she had always known.

“This looks so bad,” He muttered to himself with a head shake as he passed his palm down the fabric of his tie. “No, no, it isn’t just bad. It terribly sucks. Definitely.”

She was feeling way too cold to stand up, as at that time in the morning the radiators were still heating up and slowly warming the apartment, but her voice could have the same effective power as her persuading caresses on his shoulders.

“How can you say that? That misted window hardly looks like a good mirror.” She raised an eyebrow in amusement at the way it seemed he was really trying identifying his reflection in there, in the thickest grey of a glacial weather. “Besides…I was thinking you actually look nice.” His back straightened all of a sudden in response. “You look really nice.”

Then, he surrendered to the urge to turn to her and he showed her his blissful face, -because it was really enough to compliment him with the most ordinary and driest existing words to make him feel like the luckiest man on Earth-.

“I look nice,” He repeated in disbelief, the chocolate in his eyes seeming to be melting and being about to stain his pail blue shirt. “I guess I can’t do anything about it: if Izumi says so, it’s because it’s true.”

It is , That whisper prudently advanced through her most inner thoughts, gaining self-esteem at each surpassed millimeter. It became way too cheeky at the end of its fast journey, though, and Izumi found herself smirking, complacent.

Junpei greatly appreciated that feline expression on her porcelain face and probably started feeling a bit more confident about his outfit, just like that whisper of hers had. Actually, he accumulated enough self-esteem to hop in front of her, spread his legs and arms and theatrically put his black waistcoat and brown trousers on display.

“Ta-da!” He chirped at her, as he made his fingers vibrate like if they were sparklers without fire and light, and she spontaneously applauded at that improvised, silly show to exchange his playful mood.

Still, while her pupils were taking a more careful tour down his robust silhouette, focusing on those details she hadn’t been able to catch at first, she started feeling like something looked off. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was until she got onto his feet. That was the reason why her gaze wasted a whole minute of embarassing silence repeatedly going up and down, -from his neck to his knees-, making her fantasy go wild and brainstorm in the most different ways: did he need a hat? One of those Fedora hats that could turn any man in a perfect dandy? Could it be she needed to see him with shoes on well? And now that she thought about that, what kind of shoes had he picked? Don’t tell me he’s chosen to wear trainers!, She sweated at the only imaginary draft of such a horrid decision.

But she fortunately pushed her irises further, down onto the wood floor.

“Uh, have you changed your mind?” He murmured, confused but also slightly anxious. His hands still in the air, he glued his spheres onto her pensive features as his legs started creating a more and more evident distance between each other.

“No, no, it’s just that…”

“It’s just that…? Don’t tell me you want me to wear a bow.”

“No, Junpei, it’s just that your trousers are too long,” She pointed at the mass of linen falling on his socks. “Or your legs are too short,” She let out a chuckle at that teasing remark and ,as if on cue, as if they had been offended by her, Junpei’s legs ceased to his bizarre position by gliding in a painful split.

Izumi didn’t pay attention to the first time of the day he had fallen and hurt himself. At that moment her ears were only listening to her unbridled rambling, no matter Junpei’s whining was covering half of it and turning part of her plans into a mash of incoherent sounds.

“That hurts so much,” He complained, massaging his backside. “These trousers are so uncomfortable even during falls. They have got these stupid buttons on the butt. How will I be able to si-“

“Junpei!” She turned to him again, flames of an excitement he couldn’t interpret at all burning the grass in her eyes. “ Torno subito”.

“ What does it mean torno subito?!” He exclaimed in bewilderment, his jaw dropping at her blonde hair flying away from him, at her taking off at the speed of a butterfly beat. “Ohi, Izumi!” He called her, still struggling to walk properly and slowening down the pace of his brief march to the corridor. From there, he could hear her searching for something among a bunch of objects, opening and closing old drawers and making the stuff inside of them vacillate in the process.

She returned to him after not even a minute with a lovely-looking box in her arms. It was covered by a layer of colourful drawings featuring shapes Junpei couldn’t immediately recognize. By the time he did, -and he sent a chill down his spine right in that instant-, Izumi had already opened the box and had already revealed its content without explanation.

“Iz-Izuzu,” He stuttered as he joined her on the mattress in comical shock. His orbs seemed to enlarge before the view of that tidy kit or, more precisely, before the one of a pair scissors, a bunch of needles and pins, a traditional tape measure, a series of motley fabric rolled on themselves and, finally, also an object he thought he had never seen before.

“This is a thimble,” She pulled the cylindrical item out of its dug nest and showed him the easy way her index slipped in its empty cavity. She allowed him to try mimicking her gesture, but it wasn’t a surprise his fingers, -each of them, not only his index-, were too big and thick to fit in such a small spot. However, he kept on weighing and holding it in his palm to analyze it properly, gradually finding himself being ensnared by its minuscule engravings.

“A thimble keeps you from hurting yourself while sewing,” Izumi promptly clarified, getting silent yet vivacious nods from him. “My mother bought this one from Sardinia. We also have got a very old one whose top is totally pitted.”

His head continued swinging at every single letter her lips would weave. One after the other, they were making his heart drown in an endless stream of admiration, even though he wasn’t actually absorbing that treasure of knowledge she was sharing. And she did know it.

Actually, at a certain point, it became impossible for her not to begin giggling once more because of all that eager agitation next to her.

“You seem to have never seen a sewing kit in your life.”

“It’s kinda true, though?” He woke up from his dreamy trance and looked up at the ceiling, in search of possible memories he had buried somewhere, without actually wanting to. “My mother has always been too busy with her job to think about this stuff. If she happened to spot a hole in my clothes, she would throw it away and buy me something else. La Signora Orimoto is just another kind of mother, completely different from mine. I kinda…Envy you sometimes.”

Izumi wished she could bite her tongue with aggressiveness and punish her lack of tact with an unpleasant taste of blood in her mouth. Nevertheless, for her frustration, her coward teeth remained still on the scared muscle, convincing her to cross another route; one she surprisingly dived in without hesitation. Indeed, at the very first step she took in that direction, she felt a a beautiful sense of release.

“Well, now you have got a girlfriend who can sew and will hem your pants.”

”And-And-“ That name she had used to label herself made him gulp so loudly he almost got scared. “And I can’t just believe my-my-my girlfriend is as unpredictable as the wind for real.”

“I started learning from Mamma after I got into modelling. It would make me so satisfied to fix those dresses they would give me as presents. Most of them were so ugly, hideous, and they would have remained in my closet, if I hadn’t done anything about them.”

“You could become a stylist too!” He highlighted enthusiastically with a clap. “You can really be anything, Izumi. You aren’t only the most talented, charming, beautiful cook in the world! Now you’re also the most talented, charming, beautiful seamstress in the world!”

She bended forward to crack a smile at his delighted wonder.

“All this encouragement is making me want to fix your outfit too,” She reached out to fiddle with his tie. “I like this outfit but I can change some little flaws I’m not that convinced about. Or I could mind my business for this time, what do you think?”

“Again, what I think is that I hope you don’t want to replace my tie with a bow…That would make me look like an emperor penguin. Takuya and Kouji would laugh at me for the whole night, even Tomoki would. And I don’t want that.”

Making her attention land on her kit again, she picked a needle and her scissors, and put them near to her thigh. Once chosen the tools she would use, her hand kept on absently hovering over the opened box, but it wasn’t because she had just got a new idea out of blue.

“Where are you all going?” She asked him after having defeated a pang of jelousy and suspect. Discovering her closest friends, her family, were going to hang out without having invited her was incredibly demoralizing. She prepared herself to cross her arms and pout at Junpei for a whole day as a reaction to a predictable “It’s just a boys’ night”. In reality, though, she had already begun glaring at him. She couldn’t just help it.

“Well, y’ know,” He stood up to clearly avoid the mistral she was summoning over him. He fairly grew bashful, -oh if she could understand why he would!-, and even started finding it difficult to look at her in the eye, -otherwise why would he show his back to her and not face her like he was supposed to? “A dear person to me is starting working in a restaurant this Saturday night and we all are going to cheer for her during her first night there, eh eh.”

Her grip shaking a bit, she threw herself against his chest and grabbed his cheeks between her palms.

“You bought this outfit to impress me that night ?”

“And to impreff your magnificent food,” He merrily joked, his silver tongue weakening because of her affectionate pinches on his puffy skin. Then, it passed from sounding like a frail autumnal leaf to plunging in a thunderstruck mutism.

“You’ve dug your own grave, Great Detective Shibayama. Do you know that?” Her mint fused with her chocolate to give birth to the most distinctive flavour they both had ever tasted.

”Uh?” Dazzled, he protruded his lips in a restless expectation. He risked to lose his balance for a second time when she abruptly let him go.

“Listen: go to the toilet before I start, because I don’t want to hear you saying you need to go peeing while I’m at work. I don’t know how much it will take, ok?”

A change of heart told her she wasn’t going to keep her promise to mind her business any more.

#junzumi #junpei shibayama #izumi orimoto #digimon frontier #digimon #junpei #izumi #zura writes #people say I gave Junpei fanservice here and it makes me laugh ahahah #he’s just a potato 🥔#and he is her big potato #weww

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kareofbears · 1 year ago

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A B D J and K, would you kindly?

If it's too many I'm sorry, just pick whichever of them you feel like doing. Have a good night/day Bear, got it memorized?

I missed my Fucking BUS so I’m answering this now so I don’t have a mental breakdown HAHAHAHA if there’s typos it’s because my thumbs are freezing fyi

A: Of the fanfic you've written, which is your favorite and why?

Hmm I think this answer changes all the time. My instinct is always to say my longest one since it’s often times the most difficult one, but for the most part I think that fic has just really grown away from me, so that’s not my answer. For today, my answer would either be ‘desperate as that sounds’ (akiryu, persona 5) or ‘I never gave a warning sign’ (newtmas, maze runner). I always loved desperate as that sounds because I think my characterizations for that fic is just really strong overall. For warning signs, it’s probably my best argument fic to this date, and I really like the conflict and dialogue I gave those two.

B: What was the first fandom you read fic in?

Which was the first you wrote fic for?

Oh my god ok true Alex stans know that i pretty much learned to read and write via my sisters reading fanfic to me when i was 3 💀💀 so probably my first fandom is whatever they were into. I think it’s either Tekken or YuYu hakusho? But the first one where I CHOSE the fandom, I think Percy Jackson when I was 10? The first fic I wrote is an unfinished unpublished Glee fic, I don’t even wanna talk about that 💀 first POSTED fic is MCYTs, mindcrack HAHA The RPF ran strong in me.

D: What's the most personal fanfic you've written?

The answer will always be ‘plainly in truth’ (p5 akiryu) but the special mention goes out to ‘easy in this blue’ (BTS, namseok), a less than 500 word drabble I should probably delete

J: What's your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it?

The real answer is the “leader and his right hand man” concept where one of the pair is seen as the amazing prodigy leader person, and the other half is seen as “less/inferior”, but behind closed doors it’s actually the other way around. Every single persona fic I’ve written has this concept HAHAHA

But I’m currently posting a fic that’s both an outside pov and a memory loss fic, which are two tropes I LOVE

K: Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)?

barring explicit themes…

I’m sorry I love a good “who did this to you” trope I’m only a woman I can’t help it, it’s just too good. I also love a good Mary/gary sue concept, I love an overpowered character that just mows everyone down without effort. I also love established relationships—get togethers are slightly overrated, that’s my hot take

Thank you for the ask, I’m significantly less upset at the world after answering this :))

#ask #asks #my bestie always

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super-hero-confessions · 2 years ago

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I'm sorry, I couldn't stand Cassie Lang in Quantumania. I do want to elaborate though, because I really don't want this to come across as sexism, so long post. Thank you Super Hero Confessions for giving us a platform.

I can't talk about this on any social media without people telling me "why do you care you're a grown ass man" even though I'm a woman and younger than Kathryn Newton, the actress playing Cassie, but thanks for making assumptions and showcasing your need to put anyone with a different opinion in a box (a wrong box, at that).

Cassie is rude. Cassie puts Scott down. Her father. The father she loved so much in the first two Ant-Man movies and in Endgame, after losing him and thinking he was dead for 5 years. She's also inexplicably super smart out of nowhere. I'm no writer, but as a woman I can tell you this is not the way to write female characters. Or if it is the way, then it's not a way I can relate to.

To me, well written female characters are diverse. And by diverse I don't mean just racially diverse, although that too. For example let's take a look at the women of Wakanda. They're all black, but they're extremely diverse. Shuri is the brains, nerdy and fun, Okoye is the muscle, strong and badass, Nakia is the heart, kind and compassionate, Ramonda is the Queen, majestic and elegant. Even Riri, who is not from Wakanda and a bit similar to Shuri personality-wise, is endearing and entertaining. I love them because every one of them has a distinct personality. Something similar happens with the women of Guardians of the Galaxy. Gamora is strong and badass, but also compassionate. Nebula is the angry one, but deep down she's suffering because she just wanted a sister. Mantis is gentle and sweet and her power is her empathy. Again, distinct personalities. Love them. Valkyrie? Despite people claiming she had no remorse, I personally like her. She's deeply flawed. She turned to alcohol to numb her pain until she stopped giving a shit about others. I don't agree with her actions, but I'll take her over any female character who is so perfect it hurts. Once again... diversity. Women with incredibly diverse personalities from one another.

Examples like the ones I just mentioned make the world of female characters richer. And when people complain about "Mary Sues" yes sometimes it's just a sexist take, but sometimes it is true that recently we are getting characters like Cassie: arrogant yet loved by everyone around them, super strong, super smart, always right, effortlessly better than the male character at everything, no flaws other than being "too stubborn" or "too selfless"... Too perfect. I can't relate to that, but it's fine, I don't need to relate to a character if they're at least entertaining but that isn't the case. Because they try to make these characters so many things at once, they end up being nothing, and incredibly boring to watch. Or even worse, cringeworthy at times. I had to roll my eyes when Jen was ranting about mansplaining while explaining how to control your emotions to Bruce Banner/the Hulk. Yes, you can make a woman talk about mansplaining but not while explaining control of emotions to the HULK? She's doing the same thing she's complaining about? Like that's just. I am the target audience and I want to turn it off.

No woman is absolutely better than everyone at everything. It's why I mentioned how important it is to add distinct personalities and diversity. Some women are better at some things than others, and all are important regardless. Some women are very smart, some others are not intellectually gifted but have very big hearts, some have anger issues, some are funny, some others struggle and do shitty things, etc. Women are diverse which is why I don't like the generic, bland, perfect type, I feel as if the movie is grabbing me by the shirt and screaming "GIRLBOSS!! SLAY!! GIRL POWER AM I RIGHT?? FEEL EMPOWERED, WOMAN!!" at me. No, I'm sorry, I don't feel empowered over a character who, to show us how good and better and perfect she is, has to put her own father down, Scott Lang, of all people. Scott Lang! One of the most lovable superheroes!

Nothing screams "we actually think women are weak" more than actively putting the men down to attempt to make the women look stronger. Sure, maybe all the "straight white incel racist males" complain about this. But the implications are these. The implications are that a woman cannot appear strong unless the men are portrayed as weak. And as a woman I find it insulting.

I would like to know what you guys think. Feel free to start a debate if you want, respectfully please. One of my friends irl loved Cassie and if we can talk about this with respect, we all can. Ladies, what are your thoughts on this type of writing for woman superheroes? I want to hear the opinions of men as well (unless your arguments are straight up sexist) and I don't know, but I just really want, for female characters, the diversity and depth that most male characters have. I don't think I ask for much. Each character has their unique strengths and weaknesses, and it should be no different for female characters.

I do want to clarify though that I can understand this writing when there is only one woman in a major role, for example with the OG Avengers. Thor was the himbo, Tony was the genius, etc, but Natasha was the only woman Avenger at first so it's natural that they would make her be too many things, too perfect, too capable, smart, and compassionate. Context matters and I actually like Nat. But when you have multiple women in a movie and still choose to make a woman superhero a "Cassie," I say no thank you.

Thank you for reading!!

#confession #ant-man #quantumania #cassie lang

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biceratops7 · 10 months ago

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You're using the literal same tactics of false reporting posts as transphobes on this site. Congrats, really tells everyone the kind of person you are.

A person with a penis excisting is not explicit.

Ah yes now I’m somehow transphobic for agreeing a guy should’ve put on some pants in preparation for a large group of people to see him.

Unless you’re engaging in THAT KIND explicit content (labeling a live stream 18+ does not suffice, literally nothing about the description of the event would lead people to believe barely covered genitals would be involved), yah I believe that men women and nonbinary people alike should do the bare minimum to be clothed in front of people. Sue me.

Anon shenanigans:

1. Taking giant Superman leaps to the accusations that’ll award them the most shock value ✅

2. Using the serious shit trans women go through to stand up for a cis man ✅

Con O’Neil is a grown as man, I’m not gonna baby him cause he’s also queer. He made his own damn decision to not wear pants. The women who are falsely reported are either just wearing clothes a cis woman would wear and a bulge ended up being a bit visible by happenstance, or they’re deliberately trying to be sexy in a context where you’re expecting something sexy. Hope this helps!

#our flag means death #ofmd #anon hate #izzy critical #biceratops reply

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driftwork · 1 year ago

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a woman says goodbye in the park, rather than kill her brother… an ending romance and determinism part 4 of an occasional serial

they are sitting in the cafe in the park to the south of the hospital where they have been receiving physiotherapy. They are both tired. The sun is warm. they both have matching black baseball caps on and dark glasses. There are a few bodyguards in close proximity to them. Ever since they were discharged from the hospital they have been accompanied and protected by them. They have arranged flights back to Tokyo in a few days time. Just at the periphery of their vision, almost imperceptible to them, but not quite they are aware of another set of people guarding, watching following, accompanying. The man who arranged for their protection said — they work for your sister, from K. There are others as well. Across the cafe some twelve metres away, the man is called Kenji and can see his sister sitting, she is talking on the phone, has a pair of sunglasses on, hair tied back in a ponytail, a black jacket on, and black loose linen trousers that disguise her pregnancy. There is a soft brown leather bag in the table. Mineral water, espresso and a so far untouched pain au chocolat…

She is nodding as she speaks into the phone. She hangs up. Takes a bite from the pain au chocollllat, or two. Writes something in her black notebook, makes another phone call. Sips espresso. Speaks, listens. Smiles. Sue moves around to look at her as well. My sister, he says, I had no idea she could be like this. Was she really as bad as you told me? Sue asks. Probably worse actually. She is the stuff of nightmares. It could have been me, i am happy it wasn’t, i used to feel sorry for her. They are not speaking english. There is an unbridgeable language difference between them now. What is an order-word for them is not one for her, the ideologies and assemblages they live with everyday are scarcely recognized by her. She is a part of a war machine, compromised but at the same time, not. His sister stands up, the brown leather bag now strung across her body. She flows, Sue says with a smile, still i’m glad after all we are here. The reason of the stronger is always better… Her balance is slightly off so she’s compensating, pregnancy I suppose. Kenji says. He is mistaken she has simply not grown used to this new body yet, and nor does she believe what Sue said about reason. Hello Nomiko, How are you ? He asks in english. That’s my question, she says in her perfect southern english accent, I’m fine, pregnant, slightly sick. When are you leaving? On Thursday afternoon. are you armed ? Kenji asked her. No, I am retired, an ex-assassin, who will not kill for her ex-family or council again. I am working hard to keep my psychopathic/sociopathic nature under control. We and mostly he needs me to and all I can do is try…. (Kenji smiles at his sister and sensibly doesn’t believe a word of what she has just said.) Perhaps I will succeed, who knows? I like being retired. So no guns. He wants to be a member of a non-repressive-state-apparatus this time, he doesn’t believe a NRSA is possible, but still… ever the optimist. Are you well Sue? I am enjoying the sunshine, my body doesn’t hurt an longer and I am enjoying seeing Kenji looking nervous. I don’t see it very often. That’s not fair. He protests. It’s all right brother, his sister teases him (he finds this vaguely terrifying,) somebody has too look after you, and she’s all that’s available. If we/I lived in Tokyo or Shanghai, in, we’d help. If you two ever have to run, you can come here this time, I am older and have learnt to forgive. You think you can get things under control ? Sue said to her… His sister shrugs eloquently, Yes, we are in a hurry to stabilize things, so we are cutting a few corners, more reliant on Sam being a police than we really like at the moment, in a few months time it will be better as the people we will depend on will be ok… We? Kenji queried. You know, us, touching her stomach and a few others you’ll hear about later. I’ll have a second child in a few years. You can watch from your safe vantage point, or even here if you want and you’ll see. Have a good trip back. When things are stable you can come back for a holiday, assuming the council allows. I am investing in some hotels. I have to go and meet Sam at the hospital… He’s taken the afternoon off to come with me.. Most of these people, she gestures at the bodyguards are not quite trustworthy yet, they don’t know they will be trusted and looked after yet you see. When you get back tell everyone that I’m happy… Many other things were said, most don’t matter…Things about their lives in Tokyo, things that she had never imagined knowing, for example sue’s mother visiting them last summer in Tokyo. The thought of her mother meeting her. Perhaps my child will visit you in Tokyo one day. I am an exile, a refugee, my child’s imaginary will contain that… A certain reluctance to say goodbye. (she wanted to say but didn’t — When you meet me in Tokyo, tell her I am sorry that I am here and that it wasn’t my idea. We are in exile and we are laughing.) Did she always speak like that? Sue asked him. no, she has always been quiet, she is different here.

(perhaps i should remove the capital letters… the commas… should I put some back in?)

#everyday practices #fiction #london story

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bunbeeplays · 1 year ago

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Oh. Word spreads fast, I guess. They should probably tell Xander's family before they hear it from someone else.

You know these two love their shower woohoo!

Well, apparently Ophelia takes her phone into the shower with her, because Becca calls her with a very urgent question. Of course she tells her to say yes!

Talk about multitasking!

Newly discovered neat freak Xander helps Ophelia out with laundry.

Xander: Why do you have your initials on all your clothes labels? What are you, ten? Ophelia: I used to do my laundry at a laundromat and I didn't want to accidentally take someone else's panties home. Sue me!

Ophelia: Now that things are official, we should probably tell Hilary and Hector, right?

Xander: Definitely.

Ophelia: It's going to be weird to look my boss in the eye and tell her I'm dating her brother.

Hilary is managing the restaurant while their parents are away but she can make time for her baby brother.

Hilary: Alexander, what a surprise! You don’t have a shift today. And Ophelia, hello.

Xander: Hey, Hil. Can we talk?

Hilary: Sure. Is it work-related?

Xander: Sort of.

Ophelia can’t help but feel awkward. This is not only her boss, but her boyfriend’s sister. She doesn’t know how to say it.

Ophelia: Xander and I have started seeing each other. Romantically. Like, as a couple. That date.

Xander: Smooth, babe.

Hilary takes a second and nods.

Hilary: I see. Thank you for letting me know. Obviously Hector and I don’t discourage workplace relationships, as it’d be a bit hypocritical. I trust you both to keep things professional.

Ophelia: Of course. Thank you.

Hilary: Okay, that was my reaction as your boss. Now, Xander, as your sister, let me just say I’m thrilled for you two. I’m happy you found someone good for you. Come here.

It’s kind of weird getting a hug from your boss, but Hilary actually gives great hugs.

Xander: You don’t seem that surprised.

Hilary: That’s because I’m not, Alexander, I was just trying to be polite.

Xander: So you knew?

Hilary: I figured you were seeing someone, since our parents say you’ve been spending the night elsewhere half the time.

Ophelia: Oh. But you didn’t know it was me?

Hilary: Not until I was helping Mom with housework the other day. I was doing Xander’s laundry and found a thong with the initials OL on the tag mixed in. Doesn’t take a detective to crack that case.

Ophelia: Oh my Watcher.

Hilary: Don’t be embarrassed, dear. I was young and in love once too. But now that it’s out in the open…

She turns to her brother.

Hilary: Alexander Amir, stealing a woman’s underwear? You were raised better than that!

Xander: I didn’t! I must have grabbed it by accident!

Hilary: I'll choose to believe that. Oh, Ophelia, we were going to go to the Spice Festival this Friday with Hector and the kids. Would you like to join us?

Ophelia: That sounds fun but I don't want to intrude on family time.

Hilary: Oh, nonsense. We'd love to have you.

Ophelia: Thank you, I'd love to go!

Xander: I know you met the kids already but I can't wait to reintroduce you as my girlfriend. Jace has been asking me since he was a toddler why I'm single. According to him grown-ups are all supposed to be married.

I think Hilary ships it.

Hilary has to go tell the chef to actually cook and not just stand outside on the sidewalk, so she leaves the lovebirds alone.

Xander: Well, that went better than I thought.

Ophelia: Yeah, we really lucked out.

Xander: Looks like the hard part's over.

Ophelia: Yep. So now that we don't have to stress… Haha, you got in trouble, Alexander Amir!

Xander laughs as she blows a raspberry at him.

Xander: I don't want to hear it, Ophelia Marie! You probably snuck that thong into my stuff!

Ophelia: When do you think I can meet your parents?

Xander: I called them this morning and told them because I didn't want to wait, but we can probably have dinner with them the day after they get home. They're going to love you, I just know it.

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #The Sims 4 Legacy #The Lemon Legacy #TS4 #The Sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 #generation 1 #ophelia #xander #hilary #miko #technically lol

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pagingdr-iverson · 2 years ago

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Look Star Trek Discovery is a BOP! For me at least. I’m watching it now and I gotta say as a Trek fan the little black girl in me be too turnt up when I watch it. The captain is black, a woman, AND named Michael. Bro I be in heaven enjoying this freaking show, I’m content just watching Michael Burnham breathe on my screen lol. Just because she IS her and she looks like me! I’m grown as hell but yeah a black, captain, named Michael, who IS Vulcan makes me happy and stuff. Representation really is an important thing out here huh? Also Sylvia Tilly and Hugh Culber are BAE AF honorable mentions. I LOVE THEM. Tilly is amazing and I’ve just straight up loved Wilson Cruz aka Dr. Hugh Culber since “My So Called Life” sue me lol.

#Star Trek #star trek discovery #michael burnham #sylvia tilly #hugh culber #Tilly #dr Culber #captain burnham #Star Trek disco #disco #wilson cruz #mary wiseman #sonequa martin green #I was BIG MAD #Tilly went to teach #or WHATEVER THE HELL #I like her #shit lol

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nuatthebeach · 3 years ago

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you knew that i'm a mastermind, and now you're mine

comment here on AO3.

mastermind may be an unlikely choice from Taylor Swift's Midnights, but i hope this short fic explains why it's the right one. more on that here.

gifted to @corneliaavenue for ranting with me about this damn album and finding new ways to apply its songs to hinny every day.

At first glance, the press can feel quite irritating.

Not in the she's-Harry-bloody-Potter's-wife sort of way - though there is plenty of that kind too, don't get her wrong - but in the you-are-famous-so-you-must-be-asked-all-sorts-of-intrusive-questions kind of way.

Over the years, she's come up with methods to circumvent those, and she finds herself fairly satisfied with the results.

Ginny flicks her eyes to her watch and claps her palms together. "Right, you lot. You know the rules: one hour, free for all," she raises her eyebrows in question, "Except for?"

"Respect boundaries, no use of passive aggressive questions, don't bring up Mr. Potter, limit discussions to Quidditch but deviations are allowed if not intrusively personal," the small press group chants obediently before one adult with rough skin tacks on, "And absolutely zero tolerance for any - and I quote from you directly - '1950s shite that implies anything about being the Chosen One's baby factory.' We should know better, and we should be better."

She grins, eyes brightening. "Correct, Peter! You learn quick! How are the kids, by the way? Sarah finally crawling?"

"Yes, Mrs. Potter, but we've got a new problem, unfortunately. Changing her nappy has become a bit difficult."

Ginny can tell. The man's hairline is already beginning to recede at the tender age of thirty eight, poor thing. She's not too much of a cow to point that out, of course.

"Ah, well, changing a nappy is a two person job," she states instead, "Maybe get Meghan to hold her arms down?"

"That won't stop her kicking, I suppose. But it is a start."

"And you, Sully?" she turns her attention to the lanky man standing in the back right, the words 'Highway to Hell' spilled colorfully on his shirt, ever the lover of Muggle music that he is. "Did you try that Indian restaurant I told you about last meeting? Remember we talked about expanding your palate to something a bit more…tasteful?"

He smiles a gap-filled smile, his remaining enamel a perfect match to the withering gray of his hair. At least one can't sue The Daily Prophet for ageism, she thinks off-handedly.

"Yes, I did. The curries were to die for. I've got a recommendation for you too, if you'd like."

Remembering his past insistence that she should give a taste for haggis, a quite fascinating Scottish delicacy of a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs mixed intricately with oatmeal and onions, Ginny fights to keep the smile on her face.

"Er, yeah, Sully, let's circle back to that, for sure."

One woman in the front raises her brightly manicured hand, practically bouncing in her eagerness to ask her first question. Ginny obliges, noting that she's among the newer, younger faces. "Hi, Gi - er, Mrs. Potter…I'm Jasmine! I've been cheering for you since your starting position with the Harpies! As someone who has also grown up in a testosterone-fueled house, I can tell you that seeing you earn a place in every league, every tournament you've been in has just - I am honor - I mean, you're just so amazing, and I - fuck, okay, I'll wrap this up."

Ginny laughs, startled but pleasantly so. She mouths a quick 'thank you,' touched beyond words.

Jasmine takes a deep breath and struggles to morph her expression to the likes of the other serious faces around her, self-consciously tucking a piece of chestnut hair behind her ear. Ginny wishes she wouldn't. Her energy is refreshing. She promises to tell her this one day.

"Since your projected wins have been accurate thus far, my question is, what do the stats say about the likelihood of the upcoming game resulting in the Chudley Cannons ranking above the Ballycastle Bats for the first time in seven years? They've certainly pulled their weight this season."

"Well, if you asked my brother, he'd say 100%, but since I'm obligated to tell the objective truth…" They all laugh appreciatively, and Jasmine's smile returns to the avid nature it once was. "On a more informative note, though, I'd say the realistic chances are…"

And this goes on for a while, the push and pull of conversation and banter, like gentle waves yielding to an easy tide, and this, this is the energy Ginny wishes she had been surrounded with throughout her professional life so far. She had never once blamed this particular lack on Harry, of course, for only a dimwit would believe he had somehow orchestrated this whole thing.

And if he still believes this sometimes, he's her dimwit, so he doesn't really count.

And it's not like she cares about what other people think.

Though it is another thing entirely to say it can't be a pain in the arse sometimes. A nail in an already infected foot.

But she refuses to let that bring her down.

It's her life, and she weaves the web of her own destiny. After all, she's spent enough time letting people use shears to tear them down.

"Mrs. Potter, I don't believe you ever addressed your oldest rumor back in your Hogwarts days?"

Ah, she spoke too soon. The Shear Personified.

"It's been overheard from several of your old classmates that Mr. Potter has identified you in his Amortentia during potions class." Oh, Jeffree, don't do it. You were quiet for so long. As you should have remained. "I mean, has there ever been an instance where you slipped in a love potion, let's say, in his pumpkin juice during breakfast? At least once?" I could have introduced you to Aunt Muriel, and you could have been miserable gossips together. "It's just a bit hard to believe - "

She doesn't even have to open her mouth because all of a sudden, the small crowd starts to chatter angrily, glaring at the admittedly social-cues-lacking middle-aged man.

"Boo," gap-toothed Sully chants, throwing his unlit cigarette butt in an aimless direction.

"Poor form, mate," Peter's head shaking causes a child's toy to go off in his nappy bag. "You should know the rules by now."

"Get. Out." This high-pitched but firm squeak is from Jasmine herself, and it's honestly more effective than any of the group's efforts thus far.

Ginny looks around at the mayhem, touched that her little fan circle is responding so strongly on her behalf.

It means the world, truly, considering that she'd gotten comfortable with the accusations and hate for so long, she forgot it had ever bothered her.

The turn of her lips, though slight, is full of awe, taking in the sight around her.

When the din finally quiets enough, she catches the end of Jeffree's defensive words: "All I am saying is that they were adolescents when they first got together, and reports say - "

"Who gives a damn what reports say?!"

"Er, thank you, Jasmine. Reports say that he was soon on the run for months, and - and - " he falters when he sees Ginny's cutthroat eyes, clearing his throat, "even at the last game, there are images of Mr. Potter staring in a 'daze that rivals a sacrificial victim ensnared by an enchantress,' to quote your own colleague Rita Skeeter - "

"Well, I'm glad Rita finds me enchanting," Ginny cuts in dryly, "But what are these images that you keep babbling about? At least have the gall to put your money where your mouth is before throwing accusations in the middle of a private press meeting."

With irritatingly un-shaky hands, Jeffree pulls out the "Exclusive Celebrity Papers," a Rita Skeeter new edition - as if she's written anything else in the past - and jabs at the pictures with one stubby finger.

She narrows her eyes, observing grainy-image-Harry gaping at grainy-image-Ginny, who had been commentating that day for the recent Appleby Arrows and Tutshill Tornados match, his gaze utterly distracted and…unfocused.

That is peculiar, Ginny wonders. Was it possible that he was stupefied earlier that day at work? No, the spell doesn't usually last that long, and he would have told her if he was, and besides, she's seen that look before she just can't place it -

And then, Ginny sees where exactly he's ogling at, and everything immediately clicks together.

"I know love potions are supposed to bring about feelings of lust, but I hate to break it to you, those trousers are known to do the same."

Her crowd laughs appreciatively, and Jasmine lets out a hearty whoop.

At this point, Jeffree's cheeks are a deep maroon.

"That - that's not very appropriate."

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Neither are your questions. I have a fit arse. My husband knows this. The sun rises in the east. Celery is a shite vegetable. Life goes on."

"Oh, please."

Great, here comes Ginny's least favorite part of these press meetings. She had been foolish to think it was put in the past, but alas.

When a man feels hurt that their ego isn't stroked, they spend their time feeling the need to let everyone know, thinking they'll care.

Like a child crying for attention. Only with these types of men, it's not a phase.

"Let's not pretend that everyone here is not wondering the same thing," the prat starts, "What, you think they care what restaurant taste you have? Your daycare advice? We all came here for one thing. A story."

This sends the room in a heated flurry again, but Ginny cuts it short, her biting remark a crisp breeze on a two-in-the-morning walk home.

"I don't need a love potion for my own husband to want me. And I don't care what you think your opinion is."

She skips, of course, the rant thrumming deep within her veins about how she, of all people, would know on a personal level what it's like to lose autonomy and would be the last to take it away from someone else. Such an obvious argument would only go over this dense sack's head.

Besides, she doesn't owe anyone any explanation.

Instead, she settles the building friction in the room with a cool: "But if you dare insult anyone in this room again, you'll find that the next story you cover is the one outside the toilets of the Ministry. And spoiler alert, entries into the departments are not all they use them for."

The rest of the press - no, her friends - cheers in delighted unison, Jasmine going so far as to hold the door for Jeffree's exit.

Sully swipes Rita's paper from his hand and rips it in two.

xxx

Harry laughs, listening attentively to Ginny's recount of the entire debacle, peppering remarks of "it is a great arse" and "if I see Jeffree covering the toilet entries I'll be sure to leave the seat up" and "ah, classic Sully. Maybe we should try the haggis he's always talking about," to which Ginny replies "or maybe we shouldn't" and grins as he affirms "yeah, maybe we shouldn't."

When their low-lit living room falls to a hush, Harry leans into Ginny's side, refilling her wine without her asking, and she ponders at how being with him just fits.

Like dominoes cascading in a line.

She puts her glass down and snuggles under his chin, preferring his clean scent as her method of intoxication instead.

"It's amazing," he breaks the companionable silence after a while, rubbing her back.

She lifts her head curiously.

"Only you could turn around a whole group of paparazzi and make them not only respect your boundaries but adore you. As a person. You just win over people so easily."

Ginny laughs and playfully nudges her elbow into his side, pressing her forehead to his. She knows he's really saying You win me over too, you know. Every day.

And all the rich colors of the grass around the world can't capture the natural comfort that his sage eyes make her feel.

She just has one final, teasing question to ask him.

"I mean, are you really surprised?"

His smirk is wide.

"Not in the least."

#hinny ficlet #harry x ginny ficlet #hinny fluff #ginny deals with press and it's hot

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stevenbasic · 2 years ago

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GITJ Post 275: It's Not My Birthday, p4

“Come back up into my lap,” Melissa sweetly urged me. She had let me rest for a while, sitting with her and her Hooters uniform back in her desk chair following a mind-blowing handjob. I’d enjoyed the blissful, mindlessly indulgent comfort of her body and nearly fell to sleep against her shoulder after my second climax of the day. But before I could drift off she’d stood me, stripped me right there in her (presumably locked), sun-filled office, peeling my beer-, cake- and cum-soaked costume tights from me. Cleaning my legs, groin and face with a package of wet-wipes she had in her desk, she’d clothed me again. My top was still okay, and boxers amazingly weren’t too soiled - I’d grown past the lower hem of them in my earlier erection, so no jizz, just a bit of beer. But she didn’t want me wearing them, and my old Mr. Fantastic spandex pants may be a goner; she’d dropped them in a trashbasket aside her desk.

Next, in an perhaps misguided attempt to preserve my dignity, she changed me into her old hooters shorts from another drawer, a pair she’d outgrown and had needed to replace with the ones she wore now. I’d told her I could - haha, I lived right above her office - just head upstairs to put on something else, but she’d hear none of it. I knew I looked silly in the high-waisted booty-shorts, but I was in no state to argue. They were, even though too small on her, entirely too baggy on me, falling off my bony hips. So, ever-the-tailor, Melissa had fetched a safety pin from her drawer, pinned the waistband in back. They fit like oversized boxer-briefs, and I wore nothing underneath. But now they didn’t fall down. ‘Perfect! And now we match!’ she’d insisted, giggling in amused glee, both of us in bright orange nylon shorts. The effect they had on her, all luscious, powerful curves, was entirely different than what they had on me. It should be too humiliating to tolerate, but my mind was still clouded by bliss, being here with this tall, beautiful girl who by all accounts and despite all conventional wisdom seemed to really, really dig me. So, yeah, sue me - I didn’t complain, even about the shorts.

“You like being in my lap?” she asked as she used another wipe to clean a missed smear of frosting from near my ear, having pulled me up again onto her big, strong thighs once again after getting me dressed, “Hm, sweetie?”

Intentional or not, the tender, affectionate manner in which Melissa was treating me was working wonders. I was doing anything this woman asked, and reveled in every moment. “Yeah…” I agreed, “thank you…”

“You’re not embarrassed?” she asked, as a gentle wave of her perfume settled over me, “When I hold you like this? In my lap?”

Embarrassed? Is that it? “N-no, I’m not embarrassed,” I replied. It wasn’t embarrassment, per se, that I felt when she treated me like this. It was something else. “N-no…not when it’s just us here.” I breathed her in, watched as she idly played with my hand with one of her own. I smelled the sweet, clean scent of her shampoo, admired the tan perfection of her muscular legs. She was bouncing me, I could feel, gently with her healthy thighs. The motion of her body, the rhythm of her breaths, her gentle heartbeat, was comforting. “I..I sorta like it.”

To that she purred, and with her free arm pulled me tighter to her. She and I had something. It was unspoken, but we could both tell. “I love holding you. I love picking you up. I love carrying you,” she spoke, warmly, “It makes me feel so strong, so protective, so good. I only let you walk out of that party by yourself so you wouldn’t be embarrassed if I picked you up and carried you in front of the other girls.”

I chuckled, maybe a bit nervously, imagining the scene.

“Would you have…liked that, though?” she continued, wrapping her fingers into mine, our hands embracing as she held me, “Do you like it when I carry you?”

I thought back on the times she’d held me, lifted me, carried me. First back at the conference, that drunken night. Then our date. Being in her arms made me feel so…fragile, weak, small. She was obviously so much stronger than I was, and it was an undisguised demonstration of the difference in our sizes and physical abilities. It was emasculating, yes, but at the same time being held by her like that made me feel so safe, so secure, so loved. It spoke to some deeper, darker urges as well. ”y-yess…” I admitted, my voice betraying the new arousal I felt, “...I…I l-like it when you carry me.”

Under me, aside me, I felt Melissa shiver. I think my meekness, here, along with my contentment, was moving her. “You like it when I hold you, up in my arms, against my chest?” she asked, hugging me a little tighter still, breasts wrapping around my shoulder, “Like a…like a…well…”

I shuddered, with the new, even more nurturing vibe she was embracing, a new electricity between us. She was suggesting something we were maybe both thinking, but of which I couldn’t speak.

“Would you like me to carry you to bed, baby?” she asked.

I spoke before I could even gasp, let alone think. “y-yes,” I answered.

Then, before I knew what was happening, Melissa took her hand from my own to reach down below me to firmly cup both my buttocks in a single, big hand, bent over me and - using her other hand behind my back - straightened. standing, lifting me with her until I was cradled in her arms, my eyes just below her own.

“There we go, sweetie. Mommy’s got you!” she giggled with a spark and sparkle in her eyes that was half mischief, half sexy tease, and seemed ready to light a larger flame.

“M-Melissa…” I could stammer, but that was it.

She sensed my trepidation. “Shhh…don’t worry,” she assuaged, “I’m just feeling very maternal around you right now. It’s normal for girls these days…”

“O-okay..” I agreed, my heart racing with the promise, the portent of the moment.

“...so just let mommy carry her little man in her arms,” she continued, a big smile of amusement on her face. She’d begun to walk, to carry me. Looking down at me, she saw I had no complaints. “That’s right…that’s a good boy…” she cooed, curling me into her.

No, I had no complaints. Yes, I was groggy. Yes I was still half-drunk on the intimacy we’d just shared. But the fact of the matter was, as much make-believe as it might have been, it felt kinda nice, being treated like this. Playing mommy-baby haha…

“My little boy feels so light in my big strong arms..!” she giggled, rocking me back and forth as she walked, slowly, across the room. Towards the door.

hey wait my room is just up those stairs, back there. where are we going..? I began to think, struck from my reverie. I started to shift in her arms. Why was she reaching for the door handle, out to the hallway??

She sensed my consternation, my confusion. “Sweetie, you have to say ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’ to all the ladies,” Melissa said, as she opened the office door - able to hold me with one arm, “They went through so much trouble for your birthday party.”

“i-it’s not my birthday…” I said, reflexively, finding now a little strength to complain as I pictured being carried like this, in these silly shorts, apparently back to the gaggle of girls celebrating in the breakroom. “...and, uh, we d-don’t really need to, uh…” The thought of it, of being carried back to them like some shy kid being brought downstairs to say goodnight (though it was barely midafternoon) to a houseful of aunties, was beginning to make me shiver. I started, in fact, to struggle a bit as we stepped into the hall and she set to close the door behind us. But, before I could even free a limb or say another word her hand came up behind my upper back and shoulders to grip the back of my head and force my open mouth to hers. At first, instinctIvely, I pushed against her broader shoulders with my small hands, but she barely registered my effort and set to kissing me, hard.

“MMMMmmph!!” I gasped, eyes wide but feeling my cock suddenly spring to life, somehow again, as a spasm of desire shot through my body. Her tongue tasted of her, having already fully pushed itself into my mouth and quelling my protests. I struggled my best for another moment or two, but quickly surrendered to her bosomy, muffling embrace and the muscle of her tongue moving over mine, in towards my throat. I began sliding my arms up and around her smooth, surprisingly solid traps and long neck, returning her quelling kiss with an ardor that almost matched her own.

“Do you like the taste of my tongue on yours?” she purred, breath into my mouth after her tongue had its way, we’d kissed a bit and she was confident I’d stopped struggling, “It’s so warm, isn’t it?”

“Oh my god yes…” I capitulated, realizing just then that - as we’d been kissing - she’d continued to carry me, walking, and we’d arrived back outside the breakroom.

She’d paused, though, just before the doorway, and returned to kissing me. Neither of us wanted the moment to end, apparently, the last few private seconds before returning into the crowd. But, eventually, she broke her lips from mine.

“P-p-please…” I found myself pleading, just as she began to step again towards the party. I knew it was futile, my protest…just my ego acting on instinct.

“Shhh….it’ll be okay,” she assured me, turning the corner of the doorway and into the brighter light of the breakroom…and the bevy of bodies within, “they all need to see you like this.” She looked down into my eyes beatifically and nodded, just as all the other sets in the place turned to us. “Look who’s here to say goodnight!” she then announced, clearly, to her covey of already-clucking, already cooing hens but still watching my face adoringly, “one last chance to see him before we send him off to bed…”

Turning my head, I looked sheepishly into the crowd of assembled jigglebunnies, my staff, her Hooters battalion. They were all grinning, smiling, gasping and heaving, as if overcome by the sight of their Queen Bee, Melissa, holding the tiny king in her arms. “Ohhhh my god look at him!” someone called, “That is so adorable!!!”

“Nice shorts…” I heard someone comment, but otherwise all their attention was focused on us, Melissa and I.

An all-emcompassing ‘AWWWWWWwwwwwwwww…!!!’ followed, like a wave of female rapture, and the crowd moved as one towards us. Even so, Melissa moved as well, into them, so I could be received. Wide-eyed, I looked around as soft hands came to pet my messy hair, as bouncing bosoms danced in front of my slacked jaw, as gazes and smiles painted with gloss welcomed me back into the fold with amused glee and an unmistakable ardor. They were, yes, it seemed, excited to see me. But there was something else, something else was going on. Or, if my spidey-senses were correct, something else had just been going on, and they were still stirred, like a bit intoxicated, trying to recover. There was heavy breathing, like girls catching their breath. There were fingers running through hair that had come out of place, maybe in a recent moment of peak pleasure. There were some in the back talking excitedly to one another. Weird, and that was without me even noticing the fist-sized hole in the wall next to the plant, the cabinet door torn off its hinges, or the set of scratches down the front of the soda machine.

As Melissa did her rounds with me, laughing gaily and encompassing me with her perfume, I found myself in a surprisingly rare mood where even this, which should rank as one of the most humiliating moments of my career, didn’t really bother me that much. Or, at least, as much as it should. I wasn’t struggling, I wasn’t asking to be put down, I wasn’t even frowning. I was set on being part of the fun even if it meant sacrificing more of my dignity in the name of it. These were my people now; this was my place. Melissa held me, the girls surrounded me. It was soft and safe and it smelled really, really good. I didn’t fight, complain or mope. In fact-

“Ooooo look at him smile when I do this!” squealed Lexie, a tall, sharp-featured brunette and one of our new “Marketing Executives” as she pinched my cheek and made me, indeed, smile. My reaction brought on a chorus of coos and caused more of the girls to dig even deeper into the charade, a crowd of them all mischievously leaning in to take their turn pinching my cheeks, tickling my sides and laughing.

“He’s so cute!” lauded the bleach-blonde Katie, a natural in her uniform.

“Yes Missy you must be so proud!” added the redhead Julia, “And he’s being such a good boy!”

That brought on another tidal wave of female laughter, Melissa included. “Yes I’m very, very proud of my little man!” Melissa clucked, joggling me up and down in her arms a bit indulgently, as if showing off her maternal skills to the crowd, “Being so brave!”

The women surrounding me, if anything, drew in even closer, all looking down into my wide, searching, overwhelmed eyes, booping my nose or playing with my ears. I tried to say something but my voice had died in my throat long ago, so instead I just took in their adulations and did my best to play along. This was all for fun, right?

“He is the behave so very well for you,” complimented Morgan, the big Eastern-European nurse whose powerfully voluptuous body threatened to burst from her Hooters top.

“He’s not complain at all,” added bosomy, Polish new-mom Katarina, currently stroking my cheek, “such the good boy.”

“He is, isn’t he?” purred the proud, proud Melissa, still holding me like a treasured child, in this game we were playing. She beamed down at me, reassuringly, and her smile told me to be patient, we’ll be alone soon. “But my little guy is tired,” she said to the surrounding group, “I’m going to need to get him up to bed.”

That brought a new chorus of ‘awwwwws..!’, this time in good-natured protest. “Oh you can’t take him home just yet!” Shanette grieved, as someone else - Nicole? From Accounts Payable? - grabbed one of my feet possessively.

“Yeah neither of you have really eaten much, Missy,” Shanette continued, “Why don’t you go fix yourself a plate and we’ll take care of your little guy for you?”

“He can sit in my lap..!” offered Katarina.

“No mine!” laughed Nicole. Melissa, in the meantime, was shaking her head in mirth.

“How about mine?” came a new voice, as a bit of the crowd parted and Mallory, a new hire in Accounts Receivable and possessor of the widest hips I’d ever seen. I watched as the redhead slowly rolled them, four feet around if they were an inch, walking now towards us as the other girls all started to cheer her. Stretching her overmatched orange booty shorts to the max, she sat on an empty chair nearby, and patted her prodigious lap.

“How ‘bout it, sweetie?” Melissa asked me, in a private aside, “If we each have something to eat, then I take you home?” Her eyes were glittering like jewels.

I swallowed, dryly, and looked back over to Mallory, who waited expectantly on the small breakroom chair, big fleshy thighs overwhelming the poor thing and anticipating my presence.

“o-okay,” I found the strength to say, smiling what I hoped was a brave smile but was probably more tremulous than strong. The beam of a grin I got from Melissa, though, a gift of beauty from above and reward for my mettle, made me feel better. I’d done the right thing.

Before I knew it, Mallory was leaning back, allowing Melissa to gently lower me into her waiting lap. It was soft and warm, for sure, more pillowy than Melissa’s firm, more muscular seat. I sank into it, and her, and looked sheepishly into her widely-grinning face. She was an earthy beauty, big of features and bones, more auburn-haired than red, I guess. I’d never really spoken to this young woman before.

“Hi cutie,” she finally said, like the cat that’d caught the canary. Her hand fell onto my thigh and suddenly I was surrounded...

“Here’s some cake, Doctor J!”

“He should have some wings first!”

“Yeah the poor boy must be starving!”

I began being fed - like, actually hand-fed - by my staff, sitting there in my new Accounts Receivable girl’s lap. As humiliating as it was, I have to say I was kinda sorta getting used to it. A fork with mashed potatoes, a french fry slipped between my lips. A beer tipped into my throat. Food, catered by Hooters. Not great, and something about my taste was off - lots of food had been for a while, now - but I took what was offered. And it was more about the overbearing attention, their overwhelming attentiveness than the dry chicken or salty fried pickles. It was the delicate fingers slipping bites tenderly through my lips, urging me to chew carefully. They loved it, they loved it, laughing and giggling and snapping photos. What is it about girls these days, finding it so entertaining to hand-feed men?

Hennish mollycoddling, yes - and I was a man, wasn’t I? A self-sufficient, full-grown man. It rankled my pride, for sure, but I tried to play along…it was secretly thrilling, in fact, being treated by all these pretty girls like this, like a treasured charge too delicate, too preciously feeble to feed himself. I did have my misgivings, but just as I started to feel like it was getting to be too much, too smothering, I would be met with a deep breath of perfume, or meet Melissa’s encouraging gaze from across the room, and I would smile and once again try to have fun, maybe looking into the amused face of whomever’s lap I was currently sitting, or take another swig of beer from an offered cup.

Yes, they did pass me around. After Mallory I was moved to another lap - Shanette’s, all coconut-scented skin and the softest hair ever. Then the blondes Katarina, and then Kori - whose boobs were hugest among those three I couldn’t say. “Now it’s my turn!” cried Josie, “Now mine!” called Katie. Everyone wanted a turn with me, a chance to hold their shrunken little boss on their shapely, womanly lap, bare thigh to bare thigh. I maintained, I must say, a pretty positive game face, trying to be a good sport and just drink my beer, male ego be damned, I figured. I was doing so well ignoring the collapse of my dignity and having some fun that I almost nearly kinda forgot my life was falling apart.

But, a person can only take so much. And as the afternoon bore on - I’d been lapsitting with the staff for probably forty-five minutes - the drinking and accumulating hormones were beginning to have their effects on the crowd. The girls became more aggressive, hands were finding their ways to places they shouldn’t. A boob - Marisela’s, I think, at this point, was squashed into the back of my head. It rubbed into me, as a darkly-painted finger found its way between my lips.

“Don't do that too much to the young boy,” Amelia dry-scolded, “he'll grow up to be a pervert.”

“Too late!!” Marisela laughed sharply, playing with my tongue with the dagger of her digit. “Suck it,” she commanded me and - a shiver of fear quivering through my chest - I did. Marisela, a longtime employee of mine, had a new streak in her that was darkly unpredictable. Her nail tasted of something metallic.

Amelia was standing over us, all big platinum hair and blue eye shadow, watching me suckle Marisela’s finger. She seemed nonplussed. “So, doc,” she began, “when you started dating Melissa you thought you were getting just one mommy girlfriend…” She checked her nails. “…looks like you got a whole collection.”

“haha y-yeah I uh-"

Suddenly - OOOF!! - I was slammed in the face by something very soft, very big.

“Kiki get that thing out of our faces!” Marisela yelped, half in jest and half in - yeah - fear of us being knocked over.

The owner of the enormous, orange-clad ass looked back over her shoulder and pouted, reaching back and running her hands all over her swollen rump. Lakshmi, again, not knowing the mass, orbit, or gravitational pull of her gigantic new bottom. “Oh! I’m sorry! It’s just that it’s getting bigger every day…” she said, biting her lip, “Don't you think so, Dr. J?” She looked earnestly a bit confused but then, though, stood up on her tiptoes, causing her ass to flex and look even bigger. Then she dropped it back down in front of my face and jiggled it around.

“Don’t mind Kiki,” Amelia droned, “She’s had three Amaretto Sours and she’s-“

“Really tipsy!” Lakshmi laughed, an unmissable slur to her voice, “Me and my big, big bottom…”

I stared, at my young medical assistant’s ass, absolutely mesmerized. My cock had hardened long ago, back to life and twitching and throbbing up past the waistband of Melissa’s shorts, up into my loose spandex shirt.

“It’s big now but I want it to be so much bigger though,” Lakshmi then whined, in an uncharacteristic moment of self-indulgence, gyrating her great, gluteal globes from side to side, bouncing it around cartoonishly. She arched her lower back, sticking her ass out even further, making it look even more obscenely big. “Boys like big butts these days, don’t they, Dr. J?” she asked me, starting to sway her wide hips from side to side in a slow, achingly sexual dance.

“Boys like big everything,” Amelia answered, caught back up again in the finer details of her latest manicure.

“Speaking of big…” came a new voice, lower and more smoky. Suddenly a hand was at my middle, gripping me around the shaft through my spandex top. It caused my eyes to nearly cross, my jaw dropping open. “…Missy!” Randi continued, calling out to her friend, “Someone here’s got a boner..!”

Thankfully my erection - which had reannounced itself a while ago, under the doting attentions of all these attractive girls and their strong perfumes - had crept upwards towards my belly rather than down my thigh. My long, loose-enough shirt had been able to hide it to this point but Lakshmi’s new display invigorated the monstrous thing to new heights and, now, untaped, it was tenting out the lower half of my spandex Fantastic Four costume top obscenely.

Suddenly Melissa was there, gazing down at me, the girls, and Randi’s hand on my cock.

“I think this belongs to you?” Randi asked her.

Melissa laughed. Everyone did, in fact. Even I tried, a little (what had come over me?!?) to laugh along. A little chat ensued about me, up and over my head as I sat there in Marisela’s lap. I was trying to follow it but then suddenly a voice appeared in my ear, whispering -

“Once you’re done playing your little pretend baby-games with these girls,” it hissed, “you come to me and I’ll show you what a woman can do. I’ll make you an infant. I know that’s what you want.”

Heart suddenly in my throat, the voice disappearing, I looked up to see Angie, like the others in full-on Hooters garb, standing up from her crouch and looking down on me with an imperious smirk. Had the other girls heard that? I immediately thought, but knew right away they hadn’t. They were still blithely all chatting, Lakshmi snorting and doing something with her bra.

Randi, though, had felt my cock surge, and cast Angie a wary eye as the dark-haired girl turned away towards the drinks table. Randi gave me an indulgent squeeze, and looked in my eyes, trying to read my gaze through my heavy, fluttering lids. I think she was about to ask me something but was cut off by her friend’s voice:

“Anyway, I have to get him home,” Melissa announced, seemingly oblivious that Randi still casually held the obviously-outlined shaft of my erection through my shirt. In a moment, though, all hands had left me and the girls watched as my giant Amazon of an Office Manager picked me up under the arms, in front of everyone. This time, she sat me on her right hip; I threw my arms around her neck. The girls all hooted and hollered as she smiled, magnificently ebullient as we left and I wanly waved goodbye.

She began to carry me home, out and away from the party.

“I’m so proud of you, coming back and being brave,” she beamed, holding me easily with her one arm as we walked down the empty hall, “the girls loved seeing you like that.”

“l-like…like what?” I asked tentatively, Melissa’s teased-out mane of soft, dark hair flowing into my face as we turned a corner, heading back to her office where spiral steps would lead us upstairs.

“Well, just like you’ve gotten more comfortable with me, let your guard down over time,” she explained, “I could see you doing it with them, too, my friends. I loved that, I loved seeing that.” She smiled at me, as she reached out to open the oversized door to her elegant office. “I want to see you do that more, open up with them,” she continued, stepping us into the room, bright with afternoon sun, “We can all be one big, happy family that way, no…boundaries.”

What, exactly, is she implying? I wondered. Yes, these were her friends, most of them. Yes she felt close to them. But weren’t we, she and I, like, becoming a thing? Did she really want me to have a…a…a harem?

She shifted me on her hip, preparing for the walk up the stairs, and felt my hardness against her side. “Oh yes, that,” she pouted with pity, pausing for a moment to glance down for a second and then look into my eyes, “You poor thing. Didn’t I just take care of this? Twice?”

“y-y-yes but…” I began, suddenly flushing in embarrassment. What actually was my problem? How could this-?

“How many times a day can this happen to you?” Melissa asked, as she slowly began to ascend the steps up to my apartment, crouching a bit and taking care not to bump either of our heads. At seven feet tall in her heels, it was a challenge on this tight spiral staircase.

“h-how many t-times?” I stammered, caught a bit off guard but recalling weekend days recently where, left to my own devices, I’d found myself having jerked off more than a dozen times amidst bouts of falling unconscious in exhaustion. I…I couldn’t tell her that, or that it was to pictures of her I’d hoarded on my phone. That wasn’t something of which I should be proud, so I decided to be vague. “a bunch…”

“Oh, sweetie,” she fretted, reaching the top of the stairs with us and moving towards my door. The rest of the upper hallway had been sealed off for construction, the other tenants long gone; in fact, I could hear the distant sound of hammering through the raw plywood. “That must be such a burden,” she continued, opening my apartment door for us. Her voice was caring, laden with concern but also piqued with a curious interest, approaching a fascination. “Has it been that way all your life?” A new wave of perfume, arising from her hair, the skin of her neck and bare shoulders, made me shiver in pleasure as I breathed it in.

“Ah, uh…no,” I answered, flushing again with ignominy, “It’s just been like..”

“...recently?” she applied, as we’d stepped into my beggarly little place. She closed the door behind us. There was still enough sun coming through my tiny window for us; the lightswitch remained off.

“Um, yeah…” I answered, as she continued to carry me into the room. My bed was to the right, a small sitting spot with a threadbare couch to the left, and the kitchen area in the back left corner.

“How recently? Since I got here? All the other girls?” she continued, that flicker of curiosity in her questions starting to spark a bigger flame, “Does it have to do with us?”

“Uh, well, I, uh…” I began, struggling, as she stood with me, still cradled on her right hip, down at the foot of my bed. Our eyes were nearly even, looking into each other. “...yes,” I admitted, “I guess so…”

The flicker, the spark, the nascent flame flared. She lowered me down to stand on my own two feet and watched my face follow her as she became, in my eyes, taller and taller and taller, rising up and up above me. Seven feet in her heels, nearly two feet taller than I was. Her massive bosom threatened to obscure her face, and I visibly shivered.

A smile curled her lips. “Were you turned on today by us all being taller than you? Being smaller than all my friends?” she asked, gazing down on me with an intrigued expression, “Sitting in the girls’ laps? Did you like that?”

I watched as she bent over, turning down the covers of my bed for me. Despite my recent state of affairs, my bachelorhood, I still felt it important to make my bed every morning. She fluffed my pillow, readying it for my night. Was she actually going to be putting me to bed, this early in the afternoon? I was exhausted but yikes. I also felt guilty, not just in obviously leering at her mind-blowing figure as she leaned over and tended to things with my bed, but in admitting to her how her friends had got me excited. I figured I should be honest. “Y-yes, but-”

“So you like tall women, hm?” she asked, as she stood up erect once more, stepping in again closer to me.

“Err... w-w-what?" I stammered, immediately nervous. There was heat in the air between us now, being fanned from her growing fire. I felt it, and I began to sweat.

"You like my new heels?" she asked, smirking, watching me glance down at her feet to appreciate once again the impressive, platform pumps she’d been wearing all afternoon. White, patent leather and made for - who? Giant strippers?

I would have made a comment about it but, honestly, I’d seen more and more women - in the media, out and about - wearing things similar. "It, yeah haha…seems that girls like those kinds of shoes, these days," I remarked nervously, pointedly not necessarily answering her question. What kind of man would admit he liked his partner to tower two feet above him?

”Yeah, we sure do," she said with a wink, "Because I think there's something else to all this." With that, she stepped even closer to me, so that our bodies were nearly touching, face-to-ribcage. She put her finger under my chin, both to tilt it up a bit and to turn it to look at she and I together in the mirror that was on the back of the door, a few feet away. “I mean, look at us,” she began again, as we both looked at our reflections in profile, took stock of the difference in our sizes - which was remarkable. She stood head and shoulders and then some above me. Both of us were in the same orange nylon shorts, but her legs were dramatically longer, thicker, looking nearly to be the mass of my entire body. Her torso had the dramatic curves of a fit, gym-toned woman blessed by nature with fertile bosoms and a tiny waist. My male body, on the other hand, looked small and out-of-shape, skinny and wan. Her shoulders were wider, her hips were broader. She, a woman, dwarfed me, a man. “This is not what people used to consider ‘normal’, is it?” she continued, “But that’s what’s changing. This is getting to be the new…idea? What do you call it?”

“I-Ideal?” I offered, transfixed. This…what she was talking about. It was like an unspoken current all around us, all through society, the changes taking place. Not physical, but what people…wanted.

“Yes! Ideal!” she beamed, “This is what people want, now. Totally in style. It’s not what’s really happening out there yet, but look at us…this is so cool. Look…” At that, she stepped even closer to me, straightened her back up just a bit and I watched in the mirror as her breasts raised up over my crown. She then slowly relaxed again and her tits lowered to rest on my head, heavy. With her arms then draping themselves around my torso, it looked like I was nearly disappearing into her. “Why does the man have to be the tallest anymore? The biggest and strongest?” she asked me, “What´s wrong with having your girlfriend be taller? Your wife stronger? Don´t you agree?”

“Uh-uh…uh…y-yeah…” I muttered, face planted into her ribcage, “right.” Right then, it felt pretty nice to me.

Melissa giggled. Was she amused at the sight of us? At the new, changing state of the world? Or was she just a giggler?

“I mean, love is love, right?” she continued, tenderly rubbing my lower back, holding my scrawny body to hers, “Men are men, women are women. What´s wrong with me being taller than you? Does that make you feel like less of a man?”

“N-no, it doesn´t,” I said, surprising even myself with my own broad-mindedness. I guess I didn’t feel like ‘less of a man’ but being around her I did indeed feel smaller. But that’s not what she meant.

“In fact, I think men these days secretly wish they could get smaller. Be smaller. Be smaller than girls. I’m starting to hear about it more and more,” she said, as her fingers had begun to play with the safety pin holding up my oversized shorts, pinning the waistband tighter in back, “So you - <giggle!> - you’re one of the lucky ones!”

“haha,” I laughed, with false bravery. Losing height, weight, was still kinda scary.

Just then, I heard the faint <snap> behind me, and felt the waistband of the shorts I was wearing loosen. She’d undone the safety pin, and pulled her hands away. I felt the air on me as - me not wearing my underwear, which had been beer-stained earlier - the shorts fell to my ankles. I closed my eyes, knowing what the sight of it must be, nine inches of me standing at attention between our bodies, nearly pressed into her thighs.

If she was looking at it, in the mirror, she made no comment. Rather, Melissa stepped back a bit, placed her hand onto my head, covering nearly my full pate with it. Then she ruffled my hair as she spoke again. “I´m glad you think that way, and I´m glad you kinda like me. It might be really hard for me to find someone who, well, doesn´t mind me being so tall.”

I looked up at her, blinking, not saying anything as she continued.

“I mean, there´s always been guys who couldn’t handle being one inch shorter than me,” she said, “but you´re so much different.”

“I am?” I spoke.

Melissa giggled. “Oh, c’mon…” she said, a little curl to her smile, “I think you like it in some way, don’t you? Being short? Getting shorter? So much shorter than me?”

"Uhm...M-M-Melissa ..." I began. This…this was some sort of medical condition I had!

"Muh-muh-muh-Melissa what?" she giggled down at me, teasing, "Don't you think it’s awesome now that I'm so tall? I know, I know…it might be a little embarrassing, being seen with me, because of your stupid little male ego. But don't you think it’s pretty cool, me having this growth spurt, getting so tall?"

Getting? Still? "y-y-yes," I admitted, stammering an answer before even thinking. My cock, still at the ready, seemed to have full control of my vocal cords. How alarm bells weren’t going off in that moment - her admitting to growing, all the while as I’ve been getting shorter - I’ll never know. Well, no. I know now but that’s for another time. Anyways -

"HA! I knew it! I was right again about you!"

“w-what?” I managed, putting on a wan smile, brow knitted.

She bit her bottom lip, fetchingly, looking down at me. She thought on her next words carefully, paused to consider me. “So, I bet you´re turned on just by having to crane your neck up so much to look at me,” she posited, “Do you like it? Having to look up to such a tall woman?”

I…god help me…nodded.

She smiled. “And, do you like how big my boobs are? Look…they’re bigger than your head…”

At that, we both turned again to the mirror. She’d put her hands on her waist, pulled her shoulders back, dramatically demonstrating the size of her jaw-dropping chest in no uncertain terms, stretching her Hooters tank to its spandexy limit. In profile, her right breast did indeed look bigger than my head.

“And my butt,” she continued, pivoting herself at the waist a bit, presenting her rear into the mirror so I could appreciate its apple-bottom epicness in her tight booty shorts, “have you seen how big and round it’s getting?”

I caught myself just nodding, nodding, nodding at her, in mute fascination and agreement as my eyes remained plastered on her figure. She was the woman of my dreams, in every way, shape and form.

“I bet you feel so small next to me,” she purred, appreciating how rapt my gaze had become, how I’d started to shake, how I’d barely said a word in the past five minutes, “and I bet you like that.”

I met her eyes in the mirror, and I just swallowed. I couldn´t believe this was real, that it was actually happening, that I’d found myself in this place in life, with this young woman. I was speechless.

“So, what are we going to do?” she asked.

“wh-what…what do you mean?”

In the mirror, her eyes dropped to my throbbing, bobbing manhood, stood at an attentive angle up into the air between she and I. “Well, I can’t put you to bed like this…” she commented wryly.

“n-n-no, Melissa, it’s okay…” I said, raising my hands and backing a step away. She’d…she’d already relieved me, twice. I couldn’t have her think I-

The look on her face stopped my voice in her throat. She’d cocked her head, looking down at me, that same wry smile on her lips. Then, she decided to try something. Without a word she took a step forward, towards me, closing the space between us again. I took a step back. She took another step forward, I took another step back. The glimmer in her eyes betrayed a curious interest, a fixated amusement, and she giggled. Then she took another step, and I did the same. Again and again, over and over until my back hit a wall. But she didn´t stop there, she approached, and approached, until she pinned me to the wall...

I heard, and felt through her body, her giggle again. My head, forced to turn to the side, was just below her big breasts, the right side of my face plastered to her sternum, just below the stretched-out owl logo of her smooth white tank. My arms were frozen straight at my sides, my naked hips and erect cock pressed into her lower thighs. She moved her knee up into me and I groaned, squashed as I was between her and the wall. The wall behind me, on my back and naked bottom, was cold and hard and unforgiving. Her strong, luscious body, though, was soft and warm and enveloping, the flesh and bone and muscle of her belly, hips and legs holding me still against the wall. She didn´t even need her hands; she actually had both of them casually at her sides, from above unable to even see me under her chest.

She loved every second of this; she had me immobilized without even trying and I couldn´t step away. “How do you like this, hm? Me squishing you into the wall like this?” she asked with a giggle, pressing into me even a bit more firmly, “You certainly don’t seem to be even trying to get away.” She knew I liked this as much as she did, and wriggled herself slowly against me to heighten the pleasure for both of us. “Am I suffocating you?” she asked. Again, she couldn’t see me, dwarfed under her massive chest which squashed into the wall above me, and was maybe a bit concerned.

“n-n-nuh,” I spoke with some difficulty, as my jaw was pressed askance by her rib cage. That made her giggle, and she took the moment to relieve a bit of my distress and pull back, a touch.

At that she bent at the waist a little. Her eyes met mine and in a flash she’d peeled my shirt from off of me, leaving my smaller, thinner body totally naked. She next took the opportunity to push her huge chest into my face, nuzzling the side of my head with her breasts and then my face fully as I turned it back towards her. She cooed as I began to plant kisses on the massive swells of her white top, cleavage bulging out exposed above me. My eyes were closed, and the warmth of her chest was overwhelming and made me feel worshipful.

“Keep doing that,” she moaned, “oh, yes, sweetie, I love it…you can do that all day.” She let me kiss, kiss, kiss her breasts through her uniform, my lips starting to moisten the fabric of her top. Soon she bent down a bit more, so I could reach her exposed skin over the neckline of her tank. Her arms then gently squeezed her breasts together from the sides, giving me a face full of cleavage. “There doesn't have to be anything between your lips and them," she said softly, "They love it when you kiss them all over. Just a little more..."

“oh, my god, Melissa,” I mumbled, in between lavishing kisses to the now bare skin of her upper chest. It was so warm, so smooth and silky and perfect. She was so marshmallow soft and yet so firm. My kisses were small, but they began to linger. I fought the urge to just bury my face into her cleavage, between the huge soft swells that would envelop my head.

“Oh, Jay," she said, her hands now at my sides, holding me tight, "I've never felt better about myself than I have just recently, since I've been with you. You make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world."

I groaned, my eyes fluttering behind closed lids as I felt her grip me tighter, at the waist. The scent of her perfume was all around me. “Y-you are, you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” I spoke into her fragrant chest, feeling her shiver and sigh at my declaration. The sensation of her huge body, so strong, so overwhelming to my smaller one, was intoxicating my mind. I continued adulating her, unable to help myself. “You’re gorgeous, amazing, and I hope I make you feel like the most powerful woman in the world, too," I said.

“Oh my god you do,” she breathed, momentarily squashing her enormous right breast flatly into my face, enveloping it with her firm, pillowy softness, “but you know what else does?” She paused, my face squished into her boob, watching me helpless against her.

“w-w-what?" I managed when she finally released me for some air, my voice shivering with its own submissiveness, “wh-what makes you feel p-powerful?”

"This," she said, as suddenly the ground fell out from below me. I couldn't keep the sharp intake of air from rushing into my lungs any more than I could stop her from doing anything she wanted, and realized I was being moved. I’d felt her hands on my hips, and suddenly I was lifted, sliding up the wall, elevated to the point where my hips were pressed into the fullest part of her chest. She’d hoisted me, with the greatest of ease, pushing me up the wall until my head was above hers, my hands shooting to her bare shoulders for support. She looked up at me, watched my jaw gaping, my eyes dropping to the sight of my cock pressed now against her chest. She seemed to drink in my shocked, overwhelmed expression, savoring it.

Gently, then, she released her hands from my hips and flexed her arms together again, squeezing her breasts together and ballooning them forward, into me, swallowing my cock between them like it was nothing. She still smiled up at me, her eyes glued to mine, barely noticing my weight as those massive, uber-perfect boobs pinned me to the wall like a bug. She was holding me with her upper body pressing me into the wall and both arms now at her sides, shoulders flexed. She was holding me up with only her tits!

”h-h-how are you doing this??” I marveled, agape at the spectacle of her massive knockers in her Hooters top, wrapped around not only my manhood, but a good part of my torso, holding me aloft more than three feet off the ground.

To that, Melissa giggled. “Oh, Jay…” she laughed, “I’ve been getting really, really strong…”

“Y-you’re telling me…” I muttered, overcome, letting my hands run themselves over the obviously formidable muscles of her shoulders.

“You want me to be the most powerful woman in the world?” she said, more softly now, consciously flexing her mighty traps for me as my hands explored them, “Then that’s what I’ll be.”

“Oh my god, Melissa…” I could only moan. Then, I was subjected to the most remarkable feeling: I felt the pressure of her breasts come together, and as tucked in between them as I was, felt their huge masses squeeze against me as they lifted my body slightly. My cock sunk in deeper and immediately leapt at the sensation, and a sudden jolt of exquisite pleasure blasted through me, rocking me back as I responded to her. She had flexed, squeezed her tits together, and paused as she felt me jerk against her.

"What, Jay? Are you okay?" she asked as she looked up at my enraptured face.

"Oh, christ, Melissa…” I groaned, so incredibly turned on, “d-do that again…”

"Do what, baby?" she asked, innocently, even as she did just that: flexing her arms, shoulders, ballooning her tits upwards and lifting me along with them. It happened so fast I felt light-headed. I couldn't describe it! It was so intense, this feeling, that I was at a complete loss for words. In answer, I only groaned. That seemingly innocuous flex of her incredible chest so moved me that I couldn't articulate my thoughts. But, seeing me speechless, she seemed to read my mind: I wanted more.

Immediately her massive breasts surged against me again and my body jumped upward as the muscles of her chest now too swelled with incomprehensible power. I was being moved around like a rag doll! The feeling was simply indescribable, and the look of utter ecstasy on my face made Melissa laugh with joy.

"Oh, Jay!" she sang happily, as she slowly released the flex, lowering me gradually back down, "The look on your face! It's…it’s so much, isn’t it?”

“oh, god, yes…” I managed to mutter. The overwhelming combination of her strength and her massive boobs acting in concert, pushing my body around with utter dominance. Just the simplest flex of her arms, pecs, and shoulders was enough to pitch my entire body about like a cork bobbing in the ocean.

“You're so big but it just swallows you up, doesn’t it? My chest, my cleavage?” she asked, and then laughed with sheer exultant joy as she squeezed me upwards again. My cock surged, and already I felt the oncoming climax building itself in my loins. Unable to support myself any more, I fell forward, draping my chest onto her head, letting my arms fall limply behind her shoulders. My head bobbed on my neck. If I'd been able to see her face, I would surely have seen the look of pride and victory etched in the lines of her radiant smile.

"I have you. I really have you, don't I, Jay?” she sang happily, barely able to contain her joy. Her chest heaved with exuberant breaths, lifting me now up and down with the sheer power of her lungs. “Oh, it's so perfect!" she cried, "You, and me, like this...."

I was incredulous. Absolutely flabbergasted, absolutely exhausted, and incredulous. How was this happening?? This was the most epic tit-fuck of all time, and I was an eager - though utterly helpless - participant.

Melissa began to rock me, up and down with my hips pinned still against the wall, gently with her breasts. My eyes had been closed, but I opened them, gazed down at her massive, shapely rear as I lay draped over her, feeling each slow, muscular wave of flesh ease me closer and closer to my third climax of the day, my cock wrapped in her tits and Hooters top. “So did you like my Halloween surprise?” I heard her ask, speaking basically into my chest and upper belly, “All your Hooters girls, your waitresses?”

“hhnnnph yeah…” I moaned, between the weak thrusts I’d unconsciously began to heave into her plush chest, “s’was…s’was nice…”

Melissa giggled at my inarticulate thickness, rippling new waves of pleasure into my loins. “They were all so excited to dress up for you,” she continued, casually still tit-fucking the bejesus out of me, pinned to the wall. Each of my groans, each of my little whimpers, was like a precious little treasure as far as she was concerned. “And they all looked so nice,” she added, and finally asked, “But who's your favorite Hooters girl?”

“y-y-you are…” I responded, immediately, still staring down at her huge, muscular ass, eyes now wide.

“That’s right,” she purred, rewarding me with a subtle increase in pressure, a slight uptick in the pace of her chest’s motions, “And whose Hooters are you going to think about tonight, when you sleep?”

“y-y-yours…” I replied, instinctively, still thrusting best I could up into the deep pillowy pocket of her cleavage, “Melissa’s…”

“That’s right too, good boy,” she lauded, obviously happy to have heard me speak her name. “And whose Hooters are so big that you just want to get lost between them?”

“Oh my god yours, Melissa’s, yours…!” I nearly cried, the pace of my thrusts now climbing to match what she was doing: titfucking me in earnest, eager. She wanted me to-

“Are you going to want to come between my big Hooters?” she purred, the smile on her face - though unseen to me - wide and glorious.

“yes yes YES!” I moaned, pumping now more and more, thrusting my thin hips and monstrously oversized cock up and down, up and down, in and out of her vast, enveloping cleavage. As my climax approached, as it began to crest, I could have sworn if I heard something from downstairs. But it wasn’t coming from below us; it seemed to be just inside my head. The other girls, plain as day, were laughing, singing and exulting.

I lasted no more than a few more pumps of Melissa’s overpowering breasts. My body only bounced up and down a few more times with the massive boobs crushed into me, their fullness wrapped around my cock and hips, when I erupted into an epic orgasm. I groaned, Melissa sang out, and the girls voices from downstairs and in my head screamed in unholy ecstasy. My whole body quaked as I began to jerk uncontrollably into Melissa’s bosomy embrace, spasming wildly into her chest and now wrapping my arms around her head for dear life.

“Oh, Jay, yes!” she sang, “Yes, yes yes! Come for me!”

I whined, I groaned, I breathed in the enthralling scent of her floral shampoo as her soft hair received my grunts and barks, my face buried in it. I’d done so little - she’d basically played with me to this point like a toy, doing all the work - but I already felt myself failing, losing my consciousness, beginning to pass out even as my orgasm flowed on. My body could just not handle this much, this much of her in one day. “oh, god, Melissa,” I groaned, still in the throes of a climax now just beginning to wane, “I can’t believe this is happening…”

She laughed again, and continued to just milk me through my final thrusts. Slower, slower, slower and slower they came, the jerks and spasms wracking my spent frame. Eventually, I was done, basically, just my cock weakly twitching in its last bit of life between Melissa’s enormous tits.

"Oops," she said as she sat me back up, straightening me, and watched me jerk uncontrollably as I slowly slid, trembling, out from her cleavage. Her chest and collarbone, along with the neckline of her Hooters uniform, was thick and slimy with my expressed semen. A surprising amount, to both of us, since it was my third ejaculation of the day. "I guess I have a little more laundry to do this weekend,” she giggled, as slowly she released the pressure of her chest on my hips and I slid gradually downwards, eyes and head lolling, until I slumped down to my knees at her feet.

She stood there, looking down at me as I heaved with breaths, trying to recover but already feeling like I could fall asleep. My eyes were on her big feet, in their huge high heels. I’d reached out and was holding onto her ankle for support.

“Happy Birthday,” Melissa finally said, down to me, wiggling her toes playfully in front of my eyes.

I looked up at her, up her legs that started from the ground and went up…forever. “It’s…it’s not my birthday,” I muttered, earnestly, as if for the first time today.

She gazed down at me - proudly, beatifically, with eyes that glittered with good humor and deep affection. She was watching me, watching me now actually falling asleep after she’d consumed every bit of energy I had and then some. She smiled at me, bit her lower lip again and finally spoke.

“Not your birthday, hm sweetie?” she said, as I slumped to an unconscious heap, “Let’s just say that it is.”

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So much inspiration in these chapters from so many stories by so many authors, most notably Pac. If anything sounds super familiar, it probably is. Once again I realize I go forth standing on the shoulders of giants. Plus a big thanks to Jessica Carter for again helping out with Hooterizing Melissa’s uniform in the image

Once again this is all much more fun at my Patreon

#growing into the job

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