Growing into the Job, Post 461: A Morning Together, p2

“I’m…I’m not a baby,” I told her, experiencing a rare moment of clarity in my tiny apartment on that early, sunlit, morning. I’d been screwed and used for my cock more times than I could count already, and it wasn’t even noon - barely ten AM, I think. Still naked, still in bed, so far not allowed to leave, I was happy to do it, to help satisfy my girlfriend Melissa’s staggering needs. After last night’s gala, where she’d been the main attraction, she was still on an ego-driven high, and was riding that wave by using my submissive, priapismic shrimpiness as fuel for this new apogee. My stamina was, frankly, frighteningly remarkable. However, this last go-round, where she’d faux-nursed me with syrup from her heavily naked breasts, jerked me off in a fury, had left me feeling even more miniaturized, stunted and spare than usual. Infantilized, I’d started to bristle. 

“Oh, sweetie, it's okay, I know you’re not a baby,” she cooed to me indulgently, though our current position seemed to indicate otherwise. I was on my back, on my thin mattress, my face fully coated with a sheen of sweet, sticky pancake juice, as my chest and much of my torso was slimy with my own, more briny syrup. Melissa hovered over me, her insanely gorgeous face close to mine, her dark hair falling around us like soft curtains, warm chocolate waves. She might as well have been a young mother cuddling her messy baby in bed. 

“You’re more than a baby, honey, you’re a man,” Melissa continued, “You’re my man. So of course I want to make sure you’re not hungry. Of course I want to keep you safe. I want to make sure you’re warm and happy and satisfied.” She smiled at me, beatifically, searching my face and allowing her enormous, bare breasts to press down lightly onto my abdomen, where my deflated-but-still-sensitive cock lay flopped. Nnngh. “Are you satisfied? Do I keep you satisfied?”

I did all I could to keep myself from rutting up into her. Chr-uhh..Crikeys. How am I getting hard again?!? It was maybe…her perfume? It did thicken the air around us, a lightly sweet and flowery syrup itself. 

“y-y-yeah of course, Melissa,” I managed, watching her eyes as I felt myself thickening into her cleavage, “of course you keep me satisfied. You’ve been…you’ve been amazing.”

“Oh good, then I’m going to keep doing it..!” she giggled, sending jiggles through her tits that she embellished with a little shake of her shoulders. Again: nngh. “I’m going to keep doing a lot of things. I like feeding you. I like making sure you’re comfy and well rested. I like making sure you feel happy and safe and content. Here…”

She reached up with one finger, ran it across my sticky cheek. 

“…have some more syrup.”

She stuck her sticky, syrupy finger in my mouth. Her eyes never left mine and the message they were giving me was clear: suck. 

Sweet, it was, warm and tasting like her. 

“What we have is becoming so special,” she mused, leaving her finger in my mouth and letting me continue to suck on it, slowly, our eyes locked. Her tone had become dreamy, prophetic. “What we have is so good for us both. I like taking care of you, and you don’t have to worry about anything any more.”

Around her finger, I whined. She knew how I felt, how reduced I’d been feeling. My pride was like a shattered vase: broken, with shards of it still sharp and cutting as it rattled around deep inside me. My eyes, maybe, had started to water. 

”Oh, sweetie, why hold on to these feelings when they’re making you so miserable?” she pouted, seeing me upset. “You’ve got me, you’ve got us, you’ve got my friends, my girls all around you…”

Despite myself, I still found myself sucking on her finger, my erection having grown back, settled between her tits. 

“…all around you.”

She squeezed her chest together, allowing the largest part of me to feel the largest part of her. She was so warm. And soft. Cushiony. Safe. But I’m being smothered. 

“Does it matter?” she asked, reading my feelings like a book, “You’re happy. You’re safe. We’ve got you, we’re taking care of everything.” Subtly, she pressed her jugs more firmly around my erection. “Soon, you won’t have any cares left in the world.”

I won’t have any agency in the world either, or in my life for that matter. None of us will. I was mourning not only for myself, but for my entire gender. 

“Sweetie face it,” she said, her voice still tender and cautious, “Other men are at home doing it. Doing…whatever. Doing nothing. Letting it happen. Not caring that their world is being taken care of by women. They’re actually…they’re letting themselves enjoy it.”

I think another tear rolled down my cheek, and my hips had slowly started to rock up into her chest. 

“That’s right, good boy,” she smiled, still watching my face with a tender interest. In matching rhythm with my hips, she started slowly sliding her finger, subtly, in and out of my mouth in rhythm with my sucking.. “Soon, Jay, soon you’ll feel the same. Soon you’ll be in my arms and you won’t care either.” 

Nnngh…! My eyes clamped shut. 

“Shhhh, honey, shhhh…” she said softly, “look into my eyes.”

Unable to disobey, I opened again. 

Nnngh..! My hips worked their way up into the vastness of her boobs.  

“That’s good, honey, that’s good…”

Nnnngh… Sucking her finger. 

“Soon you’ll be, like, so happy, like all of them, so…content…”

Nnngh…

“Letting us do it all…”

Nnn…nnnn…nnnnnnnngh..’

“Thats right, let me do it, baby. Let me do it all.”

I came again, up into her cleavage. I clamped my eyes shut, my lips secure around her finger. 

“Mmmm…Good boyyyy…” she purred, and watched, let me empty myself again into her body. It took me a bit, but finally she slid her finger out of my mouth. 

My eyes fluttered open again, and were now watering plenty. 

Her smile was so soft, so tender, so loving. Her breasts pillowed heavy onto my hips, pinning me down. “I just love that the world got to see this part of you last night,” she mused, as she caressed my cheek with her huge, soft hand.  

“Wh-what side?” I managed to ask. 

“Oh honey, your submissive side,” she smiled, “They loved it.”

“Oh my god, Melissa,” I groaned, my voice hitching into a half-sob. “N-no…”

“You can’t deny it,” she answered, “You’ve always wanted to feed your submissive side, and now you’re with me. Just let yourself give in to it.” She leaned in warmly, now kissing my cheek with a tender, puckered <mwah!>

My mind, my pride, the sense of myself I’d built over my nearly four decades of life on the planet were all twisted and confused. But the alternative she was offering seemed so simple, so easy and nice. 

“I think you like feeling inferior, Jay,” she continued, as she sat back and watched me. She was guiding me towards something, I could feel, towards where and how she wanted me to live, what she wanted me to accept.  “Here,” she said, as - still gloriously naked as the day she was born (or crafted by some god, for all I knew) - she sat up straighter still and went into a double-biceps pose. She was not in her dramatic, after-workout, hyper-muscular form, but the effect was still impressive. She was tall, she was strong, and I couldn’t help but feel even smaller under her. She put her hands on her hips, straightened her shoulders and puffed out her massive chest and mighty lungs. Just the way her big arms augmented the wide curve of her hips, and the way she seemed to spread out before me – she was huge.

“Jesus cri-, Christ Melissa…” I gaped, in obvious awe. She makes me look like a child. 

At that her smile broadened, as she seemed to to take pleasure with what she saw in my stare. And far from taking offense at my leering, she took her hands off her hips and spread her arms widely, making herself look even huger, taking up even more space.

She giggled when I whined, before reaching up and palming the ceiling above.

My jaw dropped. 

“Good thing we’re getting a new apartment,” she said, looking up at the ceiling above her. She seemed to be considering something, running her hands over its pebbly popcorned surface. “I seem to be outgrowing this one.” She laughed, then, and pushed her fingers through the drywall, crunching plaster and bringing a shower of white chunks and dust down over us. 

“M-M-Melissa..!” I stammered, as she just laughed and brought her hands down, wiping them together and knocking off the dust. She just broke my ceiling!!

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll get you a new one,” she laughed, staring down at me playfully. She could see how utterly flabbergasted I was - She broke my ceiling! - and now she tried to assuage me. “The new apartments are almost ready,” she said, her tone conciliatory but I wasn’t hearing an apology, “You and I and the girls can all move in upstairs soon, together. The Coronado girls are in their place already, we’re just making sure our new love nest is going to be perfect.”

I’d heard of all this, had been told vaguely of the plans. I guess my time in Sheryl’s tiny studio apartment here was going to be ending soon, but I wasn’t really sure: was I going to be getting my own place? Were Melissa and I going to move in together? I was so far out of the loop and my attempts at asking for details tended to be waved away. Whatever.

I looked up at Melissa. She was reaching up for the ceiling again, considering, poking at the hole she’d just put in it. 

Again: You broke my ceiling. 

“I do think I got taller last night…” she mused. 

“Last night?” I gawped. I knew that was impossible. That's impossible, right? Yes. Impossible. “That’s impossible.”

“Impossible, hm?” she giggled, suddenly looking down at me and quickly  - making me gasp, sit abruptly back against the wall behind me - leaning in to bring her face mere inches from mine. Her face was enormous. 

With one finger, white with plaster, she booped my nose.  

“Nothing’s impossible, baby,” she said, her eyes twinkling with merriment and a thrilled, provident promise, “Not when we’re together.”

======

ok, to keep this part from also landing in the censor's bin, we here at theBasic are trying it without an image. Hoping that works.

thanks to RiF for his edits and help