Bloomverse & Other Tales of Growth

Welcome, everyone! This blog is dedicated to one thing and one thing only, bringing my fantasies of women growing to life! Please note that this blog HEAVILY uses AI in multiple ways, so if you're not a fan of that, then this isn't for you. Of course, any people depicted in any of my work are 18+.

My goal is to create a universe of growth called the Bloomverse. There is a companion blog to this one known as @bloom-wellness-group which is the company behind the ways of growth in this world. Please make sure to follow it to stay up to date on everything!

This universe will move in real time. This means that every post happens on the date that it is dated, which should be the day I post it! My goal is to make a post a day, looking at different perspectives of people around the world using various products. These could be One shots, stories, captions, instagram posts, fake forums, or even more! I will be exploring unique territories to expand my world 😁

Her legs had fallen open wide, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she laid there, ass overflowing the couch beneath her, still spreading. Her leggings were destroyed—torn straight down the center, clinging to the edges of her thighs like torn ribbons clinging to a gift too big to wrap. Her cheeks rose and fell with every breath, thick, warm, and still growing in slow, lazy pulses.

He stood there, just watching. Frozen. Mouth parted.

She looked up at him, dazed and flushed, her lips wet, her chest rising fast as her hips creaked gently beneath her.

"Are you just gonna stare?" she whispered, voice low, teasing, wrecked.

She saw it—the shift in his eyes. The hunger overtaking the hesitation.

His hands moved before his brain did. He dropped to his knees, grabbing her thighs, sinking into the space between them that had grown so much wider in the last few minutes. She leaned forward with a slow grin, dragged him closer, and pulled him into her.

No patience. No buildup. Just heat and pressure and need.

Her thighs clamped around him, soft and thick and smothering. Her ass bounced against the cushions with every movement, jiggling, swelling, her hips pressing outward faster now—responding to every thrust like the PeachyPlumps was feeding on the rhythm.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

She rode him hard, desperately, grinding down into him until his moans broke into ragged gasps, until her own cries echoed off the walls. The couch screamed beneath them. Her cheeks slapped and quaked, huge, molten, unstoppable.

When the wave hit her, it hit like a bomb.

She collapsed forward with a broken moan, all her weight coming down, pinning him to the cushions beneath her. His breath hitched under the sudden crush of her hips. Her body twitched, still trembling, still pulsing—still growing. His hands were trapped against her thighs, fingers twitching helplessly.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She was still on top of him. Still throbbing. Still expanding.

Bloomverse Week 24 — Four Weeks After Birth

Date: September 28, 2025

(Image from Aiwisper)

He still wasn’t used to how she looked now—how she filled space without actually getting any taller.

Four weeks ago, he’d watched her give birth, and even then she’d been noticeably fuller than when the pregnancy began—curvier everywhere, softer in ways no doctor chart measured. She’d already been six and a half months along when BloomEase dropped their Prenatals, and she’d picked them up thinking they’d help with swelling, back pain, and the restless ache under her ribs.

They helped—but they also changed her.

Those last fourteen weeks before the birth didn’t slim her down or make things easier—they layered onto her. Her breasts outgrew every maternity bra they bought. Her thighs thickened until denim stopped being an option. Her hips spread wider than any of her old dresses could forgive. Even her belly carried differently—round and high like her body was making sure there was more of her by the time the baby came.

When she delivered, she was already bigger than she’d ever been.

Somehow, four weeks postpartum, she hadn’t gone back down. If anything, she’d settled into it—softness redistributed, curves deepened, weight carried lower and heavier. BloomEase: Afterglow wasn’t shrinking her. It was shaping what was left.

She stood at the edge of their bed in a fitted dark green dress she swore still counted as “clean laundry.” It clung to everything—her hips, her belly, her thighs—tight enough that the hem caught under the bottom curve of her ass when she shifted. The neckline wasn't meant to be low, but her breasts had only gotten fuller since the baby, and the fabric was stretched so tight across them that he could see the shape of her nipples through it. There was a faint dried ring on one side where she’d leaked earlier and either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared.

She took a breath and even that made the seams complain.

Her belly wasn’t pregnant anymore, but it didn’t flatten. It had settled forward into a heavy, warm curve over her lap. Her thighs brushed with every shift, soft on soft, the fabric riding up without apology. Nothing about her looked temporary.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, red hair falling in loose waves, and he caught the quietest sound—an exhale edged with impatience.

“Can you help me?” she asked.

His voice came out lower than he meant. “With what?”

She gave him a look that said he already knew. Her fingers slid under the strap digging into her shoulder.

“Before it tears,” she said quietly.

She sat down on the edge of the mattress with a soft grunt—more effort than pain—her hips spreading, her thighs parting until the dress rode up even higher. The bed dipped under her weight, but not dramatically—just enough to remind him she took up more now. She let her legs fall open without hesitation, breathing easier now that she wasn’t holding herself upright.

The seams under her breasts were visibly strained. One wrong move and the entire top would split.

He stepped closer before he realized he’d moved.

She looked up at him—flushed, heavy-lidded, and already sure of what was coming.

“Take it off,” she said. “I can feel it pulling. If you don’t, it’s going to rip.”

Bloomverse Timeline – Week 27, Day 183 (September 22, 2025)

They’d taken the Hyper test together. Both positive. Both grinning like they’d just been handed a fantasy made flesh. That night, she sat on the bed with a SnackPackz in hand, a StretchBerry tucked inside.

The pudding was sweet, the berry tangy, and within moments she moaned. Grrrrlpp. Her belly gave a wet churn. She’d been 5’5” when she popped it into her mouth — now she sat at 5’9”, hips spilling wider against the sheets.

“Already?” he muttered, cock swelling in his hand.

“Already,” she groaned, rubbing her stomach as it gurgled. Her tits spilled out of her bra, heavy in her palms, nipples stiffening into swollen peaks. She gasped as her legs creaked longer against the mattress. 6’2”. Her toes curled, toenails digging into the sheets.

By the time she hit 6’6”, her thighs had doubled in thickness, plush and dripping, her soaked cunt leaving a dark stain on the sheets. Squelch. Her moan turned to a whimper. “I can’t stop it…”

“Don’t,” he growled, stripping down.

---

His cock throbbed, thick and flushed, but it was his balls that made her jaw drop. THUD. They swung huge and low, veined and gurgling, obscene watermelons slapping together when he stepped forward. Slap. Slap.

She bit her lip, moaning. “God… you’re so fucking heavy.”

“All yours,” he grunted, climbing onto the bed.

The first thrust made her scream. Schlk! His cock spread her wide, juices splattering his thighs. His swollen sack hit her ass with a meaty THUD, jolting her whole frame. She was 6’9” now, back arching, tits wobbling violently as he pushed deep.

Then came the flood. Glrk-glrk-glrk.

Her belly gurgled, rounded tighter, skin taut as heat surged through her. “Fuuuuck,” she cried, clutching her tits. Whap-whap. They bounced against her arms, each the size of her head now, nipples scraping raw. Her hips spread another inch, bed groaning as she stretched toward 7’0”.

---

He slammed harder, gritting his teeth. Slap-slap-slap. “Your cunt’s sucking me dry.”

“More!” she screamed, nails clawing his back. Splsh-splsh. Cum leaked around his cock, soaking the sheets. “Feed me—don’t stop—”

By the time he unloaded again, her belly sloshed audibly, pressing against him. She was 7’4”, shoulders broad, thighs so thick they pinned him in place. Her tits slapped her chest with wet whumps, nipples swollen and dark.

Every orgasm pushed her higher. 7’6”. 7’8”. Her belly bowed outward like a drum, sloshing with each thrust. Her tits had gone from handfuls to burdens — heavy, veiny, dragging down to her belly. The mattress sagged under her size, frame groaning as she bucked into him.

---

By his fourth flood she was delirious, drooling. Her cunt spasmed around him, sloppy schlk-splsh sounds filling the room. Her belly sloshed like a tank, pressing high against her ribs. Her thighs glistened, sticky rivers of cum running down to the soaked sheets.

When she shoved him back and dropped to her knees, the floor creaked under her. Now 8’2”, she loomed over him, tits smacking into her belly with heavy whump-whump sounds as she leaned in.

His cock dripped, balls still swollen, audibly grrrlp-grrrlp as they churned. She grabbed him with both hands and shoved him down her throat. Gkkk-glllkk.

“Empty me,” he snarled, yanking her hair.

She moaned around his shaft, spit foaming, drool pouring down her tits. His balls slapped her chest, THUD-THUD, before seizing tight. GLK-GLK-GLK! Cum blasted into her, flooding her gut until it churned audibly, swelling past her thighs. She swallowed and swallowed, each gulp making her belly rounder, tighter.

By the time she toppled back onto the mattress, she was 8’6” of soaked, swollen Hyper flesh. Her belly was taut, sagging heavy into her lap, sloshing with every touch. Her tits dragged down like overripe globes, nipples raw and wet. Her thighs sprawled wide, hips spilling across the sagging bedframe, cunt twitching in a puddle of cum.

I tried standing naked in front of the mirror tonight. Big mistake.

My belly juts out so far with these triplets I can barely stand upright. My tits hang massive and veiny, nipples stretched so wide they ache. I couldn’t stop grabbing them, moaning as my fingers pinched and tugged. My cunt was already soaked before he even walked in.

The second he saw me, he came up behind me and shoved me against the wall. My belly smacked into it, tits swinging wildly as his hands spread my thighs. I whimpered, “God, I’m so fucking wet,” and he groaned when his cock slid right into me like I was already begging for it.

“Jesus,” he hissed against my neck, pounding me hard enough to make the wall rattle. “Your cunt’s dripping all over me.”

I clawed at the wall, tits bouncing, moaning like a slut as he filled me deeper and deeper. “Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop. Cum in me, I need it,” I begged, my voice breaking as my soaked cunt clenched around him.

He slammed into me over and over until I was crying out, juices running down my thighs, tits slapping against each other as I bounced from the force. When he finally shoved deep and emptied himself inside me, I felt it gush out immediately, hot and thick down my legs.

I couldn’t even hold myself up after. My knees were shaking, tits dragging me forward, my soaked cunt still twitching for more.

I only took one. That was enough.

My boobs are… I don’t even have words. They’re huge. Heavy. Every time I move they bounce, and every time they bounce, I get wet. My nipples stay hard all the time — it hurts if I wear a bra, but it’s worse if I don’t.

It’s been weeks and I still can’t get used to them. I can’t stop touching them. Rubbing, squeezing, pinching… I came earlier just trying to pull a shirt over my head.

And now I keep thinking about MilkyMama. About what it would feel like if they didn’t just ache like this, if they could actually… let go.

📅 Bloomverse Timeline: Thursday, September 11, 2025 – Day 176

I always avoided them.

Everyone knows now — it only takes a simple blood test to find out if you carry the Hyper Gene. Some people celebrate when they test positive. Others… hide it. I hid.

Because Hyper Gene users don’t just bloom. They explode.

Slow growth? Plateau curves? That’s not how it works for us. We swell bigger, heavier, fuller — and it never stops when it’s supposed to.

So I never touched a product. Not MilkyMama, not PeachyPlumps, nothing. I couldn’t risk it.

Until last night.

At the party, my “friend” handed me a drink. I didn’t question it. Bitter, sweet, gone in a few gulps. But minutes later, heat flooded my chest. I stumbled into the hallway, my breasts surging forward, veins stark beneath stretched skin. My areolas spread wide and aching, nipples so tight they throbbed with every heartbeat.

They spiked me.

They gave me MilkyMama.

I braced against the wall, robe slipping from my shoulders, my breasts dragging me forward with their sheer weight. I couldn’t stop them from swelling, couldn’t hide how obscene I looked, couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped my lips as pressure built and built and built.

I hadn’t even leaked yet. Not one drop. My body was just… storing, engorging, waiting to break.

The camera flicks on. She’s too big for the frame, sitting cross-legged on the floor in what looks like her living room. The top she’s wearing is already slipping down, milk spots soaking the fabric. Her thighs spread wide, bare, as she leans closer to the lens with a heavy, flushed sigh.

“Okay. I need to admit something.”

She tucks hair behind her ear, the movement making her breasts sway, the neckline dipping lower.

“I lied. I told him my son was home from college. He wasn’t. I just… I wanted his friend to come over. And he did. Backpack, nervous smile, standing there staring up at me like he didn’t know if he should run or stay.”

She laughs, low and husky, cupping one breast, squeezing until a bead of milk rolls over her fingers. She sucks it off absently before continuing.

“I’ve finished the Big Trio — StretchBerries, PeachyPlumps, MilkyMama. This is me now. Nine feet tall, tits that leak if I breathe too hard, hips that don’t fit through doorways anymore. I thought I could control myself, but I can’t. My body… it just needs.”

Her hand drifts down between her thighs, rubbing slowly as her breath shakes.

(Image by nobodysina)

“I pulled him inside, sat him on the couch, and climbed into his lap. My breasts covered his whole head. He couldn’t even breathe without sucking milk. And when he did? God, the way he latched on — like he’d been waiting his whole life to taste me. I ground my ass down into his lap and felt his cock straining through his jeans. I unzipped him, pulled him out, and told him… ‘You’re not leaving until you cum inside me.’”

Her fingers quicken. She moans softly, eyes half-lidded, lost in the memory.

“I bent over on all fours, tits dragging on the carpet, ass in the air. He slid in from behind, and I swear, every thrust just vanished into me. He was pounding so hard, but my ass is so big, my pussy so thick and soaked, he could barely reach. I came over and over, milk spraying everywhere, soaking the rug, screaming into the floor. And he just kept going, until he couldn’t anymore. I used him up. Twice. Three times.”

Her moans deepen, one hand squeezing her breast, milk dripping down her chest as her other hand rubs furiously.

“And I’m not sorry. Not even a little. I lied to get him here. I pinned him down. I made him cum until his legs gave out. And if he comes back…”

She stares straight into the camera, eyes hungry, a wicked smile curling her lips as she shudders in climax, milk spilling freely.

“…I’ll do it all again.”

Bloomverse Timeline: August 20th, 2025

It had been a week since the first SnackPackz.

Seven days, and unlike the others who plateaued after their first rush of softness, her growth hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t even slowed in the way she’d hoped. Every morning she woke bigger — heavier, taller, thicker. The scale had stopped mattering days ago. Mirrors no longer reflected her whole form at once.

Now, on Wednesday morning, she stood close to eight feet tall.

Her body had become a monument of flesh — breasts that sloped like great swells of cream, hips jutting wide enough to scrape doorframes, a belly round and heavy enough that she felt it settle into her lap when she sat. Even walking across the living room was dangerous: the floor groaned, couch frames bent, and she had long since given up on clothes.

Her husband hugged her as best he could that morning, wrapping his arms around her middle. His head barely reached the underside of her breast now. He sank into her, swallowed by her size. She loved it — the feeling of his smallness against her, the reminder that her body was too much for him to ever control.

And yet, her chest tightened with memory.

---

Flashback: Monday Night (7’6”)

By Monday, she had been 7’6”. That night, desire had overcome fear.

They had wanted each other badly, the tension of her swelling body gnawing at them both. She had kissed him hungrily, lowering her immense breasts over his chest, nearly smothering him as he groaned beneath the weight.

“God, you’re huge,” he panted, staring up at her.

“You like it,” she whispered back, a dark blush rising on her cheeks.

She had straddled him at first, lowering her hips — and the bed screamed. Her weight crushed down, her thighs engulfing his sides until he gasped in pain. Horror shot through her. She pulled back instantly.

“No— I’ll break you,” she cried, panic bubbling up.

But his eyes were wild with need. “Then don’t stop. Just— not like that.”

It was his idea.

Moments later she was down on all fours on the bedroom carpet, her enormous breasts swaying like pendulums beneath her, belly hanging soft and heavy. Her ass — impossibly wide, fattened to obscene size — pointed back at him.

He took her from behind, pounding desperately, his hands sinking into her massive hips. For him, it was like mounting a mountain of flesh, each thrust swallowed by the sheer weight of her body. Her moans filled the room, guttural and unrestrained, every slap of his hips against her overflowing ass like thunder.

“Harder!” she begged, her hands clawing into the carpet, her breasts dragging against the floor. “I can’t even feel you— I’m too big!”

He tried, god he tried, his body straining to keep pace with her enormity. But the realization came, sharp and terrifying — he was too small. Her body was dangerous. Her weight could end him.

When he faltered, she turned her head, eyes glassy with both lust and fear. “Stop. Please. I’ll hurt you.”

And for the first time, they did stop. He collapsed against her back, kissing her sweat-slick skin, whispering, “I still want you. All of you.”

She trembled, biting back tears, still wet, still aching, still unfulfilled.

---

Wednesday: Conflict

That night had stayed with her. Now, on Wednesday, every creak of the house reminded her of it. She loved her size — the hugeness, the weight, the way her husband disappeared against her softness. But beneath the thrill, fear gnawed: she wasn’t stopping. She wasn’t supposed to keep growing.

“Baby,” she said softly as he kissed her belly, “we need to see a doctor.”

His eyes lifted to hers, worried.

“I love this, I really do,” she admitted, tears stinging. “But I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

---

Doctor’s Office

The gown clung obscenely to her chest, seams already threatening to give. The chair bent beneath her mass, her thighs spilling wide. Nurses scribbled notes with nervous hands. The doctor kept his voice calm, but his eyes betrayed him — flicking constantly to her breasts, her belly, the way her flesh seemed to consume the entire exam room.

She confessed quietly, cheeks hot. “We can’t be intimate anymore. I’m… too much. Too heavy. He could get hurt.”

“Do you still want intimacy?” the doctor asked carefully.

Her thighs squeezed together, a shiver rolling through her. “God, yes. My body feels like it’s bursting with need. I crave it. But I can’t risk crushing him.”

The doctor swallowed, writing notes.

---

Closing

The exam room was silent after she stood, the air thick with the creaks of the floor beneath her. Her gown stretched tight across her chest, the paper crinkling where it tried to cover her belly. Nurses whispered, unsure whether to treat her as a patient or a phenomenon.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, voice low and careful.

“You’re… beyond what we can handle here. This is no longer a matter for a general practitioner.”

Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, taking a long breath, “we need to get you to the Bloom Wellness facility. Immediately.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “Bloom Wellness…?”

“They’re the only ones studying SnackPackz and its… side effects,” he continued, scribbling furiously on her chart. “What you’re experiencing isn’t typical. We’ve seen growth, yes, but this—” His eyes flicked up to her towering form, the gown that barely clung to her breasts, the sheer mass of her hips. “This is something else. The Hyper Gene, most likely. And it hasn’t plateaued.”

Her husband stepped closer, slipping a hand against her thigh — as high as he could reach standing. “So they can stop it?”

The doctor’s silence stretched too long. Finally, he said, “We hope they can. If not stop it, then at least slow it. Study it. But you need to be under their observation, not here where every chair groans under you and every step threatens the floor.”

She swallowed hard, a rush of conflicting emotions rising. Fear, relief, arousal. The thought of being studied, handled, measured by strangers — of having her size acknowledged not as a problem but as something worth documenting — sent a shiver up her spine.

Her lips parted. “So… I’d have to live there?”

“For now, yes,” the doctor admitted. “Your condition is… extraordinary.”

She glanced at her husband, who looked small, breakable, human beside her enormity. She thought of Monday, of the way she had needed to drop onto all fours just to keep from crushing him, of how even then her body had nearly swallowed him whole.

Her heart pounded. Terrified of what was coming. Thrilled that she was still growing.

She whispered, almost to herself: “I don’t think I want it to stop…”

My hands were shaking by the time I got the door locked.

Steel-toed boots clicking against tile, safety vest hanging open, and my bra digging so deep I swore the straps would leave bruises.

MilkyMama Treats don’t care that you’re on shift — they just keep working.

Now I’m squirming in front of the mirror, vest peeled off, fingers fumbling with buttons I can’t get past my swollen chest. My reflection’s flushed, lips parted, watching my breasts push out heavy and hot against fabric that was loose just last week.

One deep breath, and the dam breaks. Milk beads along the seam of my bra, rolling down to my waistband. I press my palms in to ease the pressure, biting back a sound that’d echo in the steel room.

Fifteen minutes on break.

Monday, Aug 18, 2025 – Week 18

Chloe heard her name before she saw her.

> “Hey, Chloe! Look out your window, babe!”

She leaned out just enough to see Vanessa — massive, naked, standing in the middle of the street like she owned it. Her hips alone were wider than a compact car, and her ass… god, it was obscene. Perfectly round, heavy enough that each subtle sway made it bounce in slow motion.

Vanessa grinned up from street level, eyes level with Chloe’s second-story window.

> “Last night, you reminded me how good it feels to grow. And I didn’t want you to miss the show.”

A StretchBerry gummy disappeared into her mouth. She moaned, the sound rolling up from deep in her chest as her legs lengthened, hips flaring wider, her already-massive ass ballooning behind her. The cheeks swelled until they jutted so far that when she pivoted toward the street, her left one slammed into the building’s wall, denting the brick with a deep, hollow thunk.

Vanessa looked over her shoulder with a smirk.

> “You can keep your little buttplug, Chloe… it won’t satisfy me anymore.”

Then she faced the crowd.

> “What? Never seen a PAWG before?”

Her gaze locked on a parked sedan. She stepped over it, lowering her enormous rear until the roof disappeared beneath her. Creak. Bend. The metal groaned, suspension snapping as she rocked forward. She rolled her hips again, the building across the street shaking under the sound of her moan.

Each bounce flattened the car further, her ass cheeks spreading wide over the hood, sides bulging enough to brush the pavement. Vanessa’s breathing turned ragged, the crowd’s gasps drowned by the metallic shriek beneath her.

> Pop.

She climaxed hard, shuddering, thighs clamping around the wreckage before she finally stood. The car was nothing but a twisted frame. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Vanessa turned back toward Chloe’s window, blowing her a kiss before taking off down the street. With every step, her monumental ass clapped like thunder, echoing off the buildings as she vanished into the city.

---

[Thread] Did anyone else just see… THAT?

Posted in CitySpill Forums → Local Happenings → Breaking News

---

StreetWatcher92:

Did you guys see that big ass pawg running through the city or was I dreaming?

> ThreeBlocksAway replied:

Bro I could hear those cheeks clapping from 3 blocks away!

>>UrbanGossip replied:

You weren’t imagining it. I swear my coffee mug was rattling in my hand.

---

UrbanGossip:

I heard her say something about a buttplug? What I’d do to be her buttplug…

> SkylineSnitch replied:

Seek help.

---

SkylineSnitch:

Word is they had to use a LOT of elephant tranquilizers to knock her out.

> CarCruncher replied:

Makes sense, she crushed a sedan like it was a soda can.

---

WhereSheGo:

I wonder where she went? Can’t be a lot of places you can keep a woman that size.

> StreetWatcher92 replied:

She was apprehended, but no one knows where they took her.

---

CarCruncher:

Anyone else notice the tire-sized dents in the street? This ain’t the kind of roadwork the city planned for.

> ThreeBlocksAway replied:

"She thinks she’s untouchable now. Eighty-five inches of pure, jiggling hyper-ass, out there letting anyone and everyone try their luck. Every time she leaves, I hear that clap down the hall until it fades into the city.

Today, she left me something… or maybe she just forgot. My buttplug — the one she stole and stretched to her limits on Wednesday — sitting on her dresser like a trophy. I picked it up, still warm in my memory, and slid it back where it belonged.

Then I saw the jar. A single PeachyPlumps gummy, winking at me in the light. I didn’t hesitate. The warmth hit my hips almost instantly, swelling me wider against the bedspread, each throb pushing the plug deeper. I may not have the Hyper Gene, but god… it feels good to have my ass stuffed and finally growing.*

The door opened. I froze mid-moan, cheeks still expanding. She leaned on the doorframe, smiling like a cat that caught a mouse.

> “Good luck, babe,” she purred. “You’ll never be as big as me.”

Bloomverse – Week 17, Saturday, August 16, 2025

(Image by BruceAI721)

Subject’s response to formula is… phenomenal.

I hear myself say it, my voice unsteady, barely above a whisper, but it feels deafening in the quiet of Lab C. My datapad is logging numbers I’ve never seen before—muscle density readings in the triple increase, vascular volume off the charts, testosterone levels climbing so high the software keeps asking for manual verification. My gloved left hand is holding the scanner steady, but my right is on him—on my husband.

We weren’t supposed to do this. Protocol was clear: rodent trials, primates, then cleared human subjects under military oversight. But after months of Goliath Formula stagnating, after endless late nights together in this very lab, we agreed—one measured dose, just to see if we could get the results we’d dreamed about.

Now, forty minutes later, he’s a wall of heat and muscle, the top of his head brushing the lab’s ceiling, chest like a sculpted slab under my palm. The smell of testosterone hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste. Every time he shifts, the sound is a deep, slow ripple of flesh and tendon moving in ways my mind is still struggling to process.

Then there’s his cock. Erect, it rises to my eye level—over two feet of thick, pulsing length, easily as heavy as a small child. Veins rope across its surface, each throb visible, the flushed crown broad enough to fill my palm entirely. His balls hang low and full, each one the size of a medicine ball, heavy and warm, brushing my stomach when I step closer. The musky, primal scent rising from him makes my knees feel weak.

“You’re supposed to be taking notes,” he teases, voice deeper now, rougher.

I can’t pretend to be clinical anymore. I set the datapad down and wrap both hands around the base, my fingers unable to meet. The weight of him drags at my wrists as I stroke upward, my grip tightening to feel the rigid heat under that satin skin. I lean in and press my lips to the swollen tip, suckling gently, my tongue circling the ridge and tasting the salty bead of precum that forms instantly.

He groans, the sound vibrating through the air, and his massive hand cradles the back of my head. I can’t take him in—not with his size—but I can worship. My lips work over the crown while my hands knead his shaft and cup his massive balls, feeling the sheer heft of them shift and sway. The skin there is smooth and hot, pulled tight by the sheer volume within. I massage in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out another deep, shuddering breath from him.

There’s a bed in the corner of the lab—a necessity for the nights we’ve worked until dawn. Without breaking eye contact, I stand and strip out of my lab coat, blouse, and every stitch beneath. Cool air prickles across my skin as I lay back across the mattress, thighs spreading in invitation.

“Finish it,” I whisper.

He steps forward, cock still slick from my mouth, and leans over me. The first hot, heavy spurt hits my breasts, then my neck, then my cheek. He groans deep in his chest as rope after rope of thick cum paints me, splattering across my stomach, dripping down my sides. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the heat of it sink into my skin, the sheer volume proof of just how far we’ve pushed Goliath Formula tonight.