#minigiantess

Your girlfriend really shouldn't have promised to stop, because there's no way that was ever going to happen. I mean, come on. In the middle of dinner, in a public place, she felt her body grow and expand until her G-cup bra, a bra that's already more than double what people would consider average, broke from the strain. She didn't just overflow it. She didn't just stretch it out. The bra fucking broke. Her growing curves were too much for it to handle and it gave up entirely. I can only imagine how her eyes must have fluttered, how she grabbed the edge of the table, how she clenched her thighs together to try and squeeze out as much pleasure as she could from the feeling of growth. When her eyes finally opened and she glanced around the room, all of the looks, lustful and jealous in equal measure, would have just stoked the flames inside her to even greater heights. To go through all that and then, afterwards, promise to never experience that kind of pleasure again? Did you really think that promise was going to hold?

What happened that night was a revelation to her, a feast for the senses with such richness and decadence that it permanently unlocked a part of her mind. For her to have to go back to her normal life would be unbearable. Being big is fine—good, even. But growing bigger? Feeling herself expand in every direction? Knowing that she's making a spectacle of herself and that no one can keep their eyes off of her growing body as it becomes a beacon of power and femininity? That's true pleasure, distilled into its purest form. She can't just give that up.

Your confrontations are only making it worse, too. Honestly, I don't think she really cares what you think about her growth. A goddess doesn't concern herself with the opinions of a flea. When you bring it up, however, it does give her a great excuse to push back on you. You said she pinned you to the bed, underneath her towering, curvaceous body? She doesn't want you to stop protesting her use of the hormones; all she wants to do is prove—to you, yes, but mostly to herself—that she's getting even stronger. Every time she pins you to the bed or backs you up against the wall, it gets easier. She's getting taller, bustier, stronger, but from her perspective, you're getting smaller, lighter, weaker. It won't be long before she'll be scooping you up and lifting you into the air, moaning at just how easy it is, reminding her how much stronger she's gotten.

Despite the obvious advantage one side may have for sports, this is a more balanced matchup than you'd expect!

You sat in the tight chair in the administrator's office, thick thighs rubbing together to try and stifle your rising arousal as your hips strained not only your skirt, but the sides of the chair that was struggling to contain you. All the while, the two administrators were arguing amongst themselves in front of you.

"Look at her!" Professor Burroughs said, pointing at you. 'Yes, look at me.' You thought to yourself, looking down and marveling at your ridiculous bust. To say that your top was ill equipped to handle what you had become in a matter of four days was an understatement. It was grossly unqualified to try and hold the K cups that seemed to have sprouted out of nowhere.

Hannah had always been the short, curvy firecracker of their friend group—barely 5’0” in her favorite sneakers, with a stout, hourglass build and a pair of heavy, bouncy tits that already turned heads. She was the one who laughed loudest, hugged tightest, and never let her size stop her from owning every room she entered. Then the growth virus hit.

It started as a fever after a bad takeout night. By morning she was six feet tall and still swelling. By the end of the week she towered at a full eight feet, her body stretched and thickened into something magnificent and overwhelming. Her breasts, already generous, had ballooned into absurd, gravity-defying globes—each one bigger than John’s head, round and heavy, straining against whatever fabric she could find. The rest of her had kept pace: thick thighs like tree trunks, an ass that could eclipse a loveseat, and long, powerful legs that made normal furniture look like dollhouse pieces.

Tonight they were “just hanging out” in her living room. Hannah had claimed the entire couch, her massive frame draped across it in a tight cyan halter top that barely contained her. The deep V-neck plunged between her colossal tits, the soft, pale flesh spilling over the edges with every breath. Grey shorts rode high on her enormous thighs, and her bare feet—each one longer than John’s forearm—rested on the coffee table, toes flexing lazily.

John sat wedged beside her like a toy. At 5’10” he barely reached her shoulder even while she was slouched. He tried to focus on the movie, but his eyes kept drifting. Her left breast was right there, rising and falling like a warm, living mountain inches from his face. The way the fabric clung to her stiffening nipples was impossible to ignore.

Hannah noticed. Of course she did.

“John,” she murmured, voice deeper and richer than before, laced with amusement. “You’ve been staring at my tits for twenty straight minutes.”

He flushed. “I—sorry, it’s just… they’re… huge now.”

A low, throaty laugh rolled out of her. She shifted, the couch groaning, and turned toward him. The motion made her breasts sway heavily, the deep cleavage jiggling. “They are, aren’t they? Heavy as hell too. Want a closer look?”

John’s mouth went dry. “Hannah…”

She didn’t wait for a proper answer. One enormous hand—palm wide enough to cover his entire chest—gently but firmly cupped the back of his head and guided his face forward. His cheek sank into the warm, pillowy softness of her right breast. The scent of her skin—sweet, faintly coconut from her lotion—flooded his senses.

“Go on,” she whispered, voice husky. “Play with them. I know you’ve been dying to.”

His hands trembled as he reached up. They looked tiny against her. He sank his fingers into the yielding flesh, kneading, lifting, marveling at how much overflowed his grip. Hannah sighed happily, arching her back so her chest pushed forward. Her nipple hardened instantly under the thin fabric; he brushed his thumb over it and she moaned, the sound vibrating through her massive body.

“That’s it… good boy. Use both hands. They’re so sensitive now.”

John grew bolder, squeezing, burying his face between them, motorboating the impossible valley of cleavage. Hannah’s breathing quickened. She shifted again, swinging one tree-trunk leg over his lap so she straddled him on the couch. The sheer weight of her—easily four times his—pinned him down effortlessly. Her ass settled across his thighs, warm and heavy, while her breasts smothered his chest and face.

“Mmm, look at you,” she purred, looking down at him with dark, hungry eyes. “So tiny under me now. I could crush you without even trying.”

She grabbed his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head against the couch cushions. With her free hand she tugged her halter top down, letting her massive tits spill free. They dropped heavily onto his face, soft and warm and overwhelming. John groaned into the plush flesh as she rocked slowly, dragging her nipples across his lips.

“Suck,” she commanded, voice thick with dominance.

He obeyed instantly, latching onto one fat nipple. Hannah gasped, grinding her hips down against the growing bulge in his jeans. The couch creaked dangerously under their combined weight.

“You’re mine tonight, little man,” she growled, rolling her hips in slow, powerful circles. “These tits you can’t stop staring at? They own you now. And I’m just getting started.”

She released his wrists only to peel his shirt off, then yanked his jeans down with one easy tug. His cock sprang free, rock-hard and leaking. Hannah smirked, wrapping her huge hand around it—her fingers easily encircling him completely. She stroked once, slow and firm, while lowering her chest again to smother him.

“Gonna fuck you with these tits first,” she whispered against his ear. “Then I’m sitting on that pretty face until you’re begging. And after that… well. You’re going to learn exactly how strong an eight-foot girl can be.”

Uh....hello? Miss Berkheart? Is everything ok? Where are you? I came through the poolhoue like you asked and....

Oh good your here! you got my text! Get in here! Im curious about other services you may be able to offer... hehe hehe.

I had just arrived to her house when I heard her voice from Her bedroom. I was nervous, I didnt know what she could possibly need from me but when I slowly opened the door . I instantly froze, my mouth dropped, I can't even imagine the dumb look that must have been on my face. One thing for sure, she really seemed to enjoy my reaction....

No no, everything is fine. I didnt mean to make it sound like an emergency. I just really need someone here right now. And.... it looks like i picked the right person by your adorable expression.

So, this is the deal, this ridiculous body was supposed to be a surprise for my husband, but he canceled on me again. I didnt know who to call and It only lasts a few hours. It would be a shame to let all this go unappreciated right?... so what do you say handsome? Will you play with me ?... please? This stuff makes me really horny and....

Oh... lol, yes, I am VERY big, I hope you like it.....because...... im not done growing yet. The bottle says I can only return to normal size after an orgasm. And as much as I like the feeling of being this delicious, I dont want to be this fertility goddess forever...