The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Spies probably feel like this. I was back home, in my closet of an apartment on the Upper West Side, and I’d carried back a deep dark secret from Peru that airport security, even if they had they searched me more thoroughly, could never have detected. It wasn’t a super-weapon, as I found out—from all early indications the percentages were very selective here, too, dozens of women not available for every one who might be. But I lived in the most densely populated city in the United States, which meant available breasts were everywhere, in all directions near and far. In this low humming background-noise way I could feel them all.

It was wild, and what made me wildly happy was that I could feel Laura’s. They weren’t close, but they were there, and they were unmistakable. I knew them—maybe they stood out in my awareness because I’d been connected to her even from before, or maybe it was my obsession with her that made her breasts broadcast on such a clear signal. I knew, instinctively, that I had to be much closer to go inside them to get into her system, but they were out there, as available to me as if I had a Metrocard for riding from station to station inside her glands.

I was tired from travel, but fuck staying inside when all of that was out there. I love to walk around the city in good weather, and it was 80 degrees and sunny, with plenty of daylight left. I had no destination in mind, and just strolled in the direction of Central Park, checking out the women whose breasts were open books. I figured out pretty quickly that no breasts broadcast for me unless I found the woman attractive in an overall sense—they tended to be in their late teens to perhaps early fifties, which probably fit with my natural parameters for finding a woman sexy. Cute, beautiful, exotic, dressed down or in business attire—the particulars seemed not important at all, except I noticed that it was never a go when a woman had especially small breasts. Curious, but hardly a crushing piece of information. The gods or goddesses, had turned me into a boob-man? Oh, the pain. I’d carry the burden, somehow.

I sampled, invisibly and with as light a mindprint as possible. I didn’t go inside and give anyone an airport-like meltdown, though it was tempting on a couple of occasions. The need to go there obviously wasn’t as insistent as it had been at the Lima airport, and I wasn’t sure why. The hunger was still there, pulsing like an engine with plenty of gas, only I didn’t need to go off here, or go off now. It was like the awareness and hunger had their own reasons for biding their time, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Or was it the right woman to pounce upon?

Laura was somewhere south of me—I could feel that, though I couldn’t say whether her location was more Midtown, or Soho, or any other place below me on the map. So I didn’t know, as in know everything about what I’d been given. And thinking of Laura, a rather obvious limitation made itself known—if I could go inside her breasts in that special way, and get her all horny and ready to explode like the woman at the airport, that was hardly the same thing as having her spreading her legs wide for me. Let’s say I could make her go into the same sort of state as the airport woman, just by staring at her from across a crowded room—great, really quite hot, but what about me? As far as she’d know, I wouldn’t be a part of that equation at all. I could get her alone and go Medieval inside her bra as I proclaimed my new ability, but where would that get me? In jail? I didn’t think mind-assault on a woman’s breasts could be classified as a crime—how could it be proven? But if I kept doing it, and left a trail... Someone, maybe Laura’s new lawyer fiancé, would get pissed enough that I’d regret it.

There had to be a solution; I could feel that there was, though no lightbulb went off to make me say “aha!” I was thinking those thoughts and almost to the park before I changed direction, pulled by... I wasn’t sure what. It was no longer random wandering, though, like an invisible string had attached itself to me and someone was tugging at it. I followed or was pulled, block after block, and I only had a suspicion when I was at the campus. A block away I knew exactly where I was going, and I thought I knew why.

She was behind the register like always, in a tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans like always, with her tits looking way too big for her frame like always. I didn’t even know her name, but I’d thought about her back in Peru, this slim-and-stacked unattainable lovely.

She was the kind of girl that can’t help making a strong impression. Long brown hair in a ponytail, narrow face with high cheekbones and a light sprinkling of freckles trickling away from her pixie nose. A quick smile, too, with her mouth rather broad, and excellent teeth. Her eyes, large and liquid, were a luminous greenish brown, and might actually be a bit too big and round for the width of her face, as if preparing an observer for the greater mismatch of proportions below. Her figure literally stood out—her butt and legs looked to be trim and generally pleasing, but above the belt-line it was a different world entirely, as she had a very narrow torso and then the boobs that didn’t even look like they should be able to fit on that frame, but did, quite spectacularly for anyone to see.

School chums had spoken of her on occasion, always the offhand remark about how it would be to get your hands on something like that. I’d never known how to behave around this girl—I wanted to stare but felt like I shouldn’t, and I usually made a point of not looking at her breasts even though I wanted to so badly. Then when I’d leave the store, I’d feel like a fool for not checking her out more. Other people were doing it all the time, so why not me?

I’d been too shy, maybe even intimidated in a way, and I’d never even bothered to learn her name. My face would be familiar to her—she’d rung me up several times a month for the past two years, and we’d even exchanged a few non-transaction words about the weather or whatnot, but never more than that.

Her T-shirt was white today, with the outlines of her bra, which must also be white, clearly visible. And for me, this time I could get deep into the scene better than a science-perv with X-ray glasses, feeling the weight and volume of those things, feeling them rise and fall as she breathed. Blood coursed and nerves were alive, and there was an innate sense of warmth and substantiality—no wonder, with the size of them. From the inside-out I could feel how the bra had them gripped pretty tightly; even so they moved a little as she made the natural motions one makes as a cashier.

I could have sat in the textbook section and spent an hour inside them, feeling as if I’d been shrunken down like the submarine in that old Fantastic Voyage movie, motoring through glands and nerves and a hell of a lot of tissue, taking the grand tour of her tits. They were completely open to me and I was certain I could affect them, but I didn’t think it would be satisfying just to watch her melt down behind the counter.

I browsed and thought, and wanted. If I had been brought here to this specific girl, had it been the tits themselves pulling my string? The woman? My desire for the woman? I had no answers—if I was supposed to know these things, then I wasn’t yet with the program. I did begin to formulate a plan of action, however. I didn’t know how well it would go; it was the kind of thing where some practice would be useful, and I’d hardly had any at all. I could wait, and return another day...

But fuck that. The wish was too great and it was all set up for right here right now. If I blew it I blew it; besides, there would be other opportunities, either with other women or with this one again. And at the very worst I’d have her groping her tits and grinding her crotch into the counter, and I could live with that.

I waited fifteen minutes until there was a lull in the store, then approached the register. I’d decided to buy a memory card for my camera and ink for my printer, not because I needed either right now, but because they were kept behind the counter, which would prolong the transaction.

“You know,” I said as she turned to get my items, “you’ve been ringing me up for a couple of years and I never learned your name.” And with those words I tried to split my thoughts in two, like part of my mind was here like always, talking and thinking and taking care of business, while another part took up residence in both of her large breasts, warming up her nipples the littlest bit like the sound of my voice was just what they’d always wanted to hear.

“It’s Dawn,” she said, facing me and scanning my items. “And you’re Martin, right?”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

“Your credit card, hello?” she smiled, taking it from my outstretched hand. “I’ve seen it like fifty times.”

“Duh,” I smiled back. More nipple stimulation, and hell, why not let that sensation slowly spread out like ink dropped into water, slowly permeating the whole of both tits? No one was approaching the register, so there was time.

“You’re, um, a film major, right?” She crossed her arms under her breasts, and her brown eyes looked brighter than before.

It was difficult keeping my eyes on her face and my mind in her tits; it’s natural to look at what you’re concentrating on, but the last thing I wanted to do was advertise that I’d become a tit-whisperer. “Digital media. But I just graduated.”

“Me too. I mean I just graduated, art history. Are you moving somewhere, staying in the city?”

“Staying,” I replied, giving her nipples an extra bit of juice. “You?”

“I, um, I’m staying. For a bit, at least.”

“We’ll see each other, then.” More energy to her nipples and the surrounding tissue. They were visibly hard now; I didn’t even have to look right at them to see how the nipples were tenting her tight T-shirt like never before. I made a point of keeping my blue eyes fastened to her green-browns, and thought I saw an interest that had similarities to attraction.

“You know next Friday is my last day working here,” she said in a rush of words. “I... I mean, I just thought you should know that.”

I nodded and let a few seconds pass like I had to decide what that meant to me. I thought what she was communicating was that we’d probably never run into each other again in this way, so if I was going to make a move I’d have to do it now. I had no reason to believe I’m a gifted actor, but I pulled out my best aw-shucks voice and went where I never would have dared going with this girl only a couple of days before.

“Listen, you wouldn’t...” I paused again, not feigning this time because I really did have to concentrate on letting the energy continue to build in her nipples without going too far with it, plus forming the right words. “Would you be interested in going out for coffee sometime, and talking about...”

“Yes!”

“You name the morning and the place, then. We can meet whenever...”

“How about tomorrow? Nine at the Starbucks on Broadway and 77th?”

“Cool!” I said, taking my bag and getting ready to leave. “So I’ll see you then.”

She said she was looking forward to it as I left, but I could sense the gentle turmoil inside her that was left in my wake. Her big breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply and rapidly, as though she’d been holding her breath for a long time and was trying to calm down. Her nipples were hard like rocks and I was pretty sure she was in a state of wonder or curiosity, not sure what it was that had just happened to get her system so riled up.

I felt really good about what had transpired—it seemed like it couldn’t have gone any better, though it would be silly to let my imagination go too crazy. She could have a boyfriend—a girl who looked like that had to have a boyfriend, right? But there had been no traces or echoes or whatever on her tits, no evidence that they’d been played with recently. I had no clue how long those traces would last for me to detect, but the signs were positive.

And I was pretty sure I’d just figured out how to play Laura or anyone else, eventually. Slow and steady, with Pavlovian rewards at critical moments. Did that mean I was thinking of women as being like dogs, with me doling out tit-treats? Hey, if it worked. Bow and wow, my lovely bitch in heat.

I felt really happy, and uncommonly horny. I walked the streets randomly for awhile, mind-licking the occasional nipples here and there, just because I could. It wasn’t an easy-as-pie thing; it felt like it might be someday, but for now I had to slow my pace and concentrate. There was one older blonde that I followed and toyed with for several minutes, practicing on her big thrusting tits like a guitarist working on fingering chords, trying to get better and better through repetition. I didn’t pour it on hot and heavy on her or anyone else though, not until a gorgeous Asian woman walked right into me on 87th, a quiet block with few others sharing the sidewalk. She easily could have avoided me, but didn’t even know I was there because she was working her smartphone. I said “sorry” even though it was her fault; she shot me an exasperated look in response, with a quick, “Watch where you’re going, idiot.”

Which to my mind was no different than saying, “I’m a self-absorbed asshole and want to be experimented on big time.” She had impressive tits for a woman of Chinese or Taiwanese descent, and they were soft and open whereas her attitude had been hard and condescending. I stopped walking altogether and let her go on several paces. No one would know it was me, so I creeped into her tits and really poured on the excitement, thinking of her nipples as positive and negative battery terminals that I’d just hooked my jumpstart dick to. I juiced them, buzzed and vibrated them, and didn’t stop riding the booby electric until I heard a guttural cry, which broke down into staccato breath-moans and a telling “Gahhh!”, screeched at high volume.

From the way her tits hung with gravity I could tell that she’d bent over or gone down on all fours. Looking back for the first time I saw her on the ground, forehead on the concrete with her ass raised high in the air, her skirt hiked up her waist like she was waving her white panties in surrender. Maybe she had acted like an ass because she had such a good one?

I felt like an agent of instant karma as I made my way back home, where I jerked off like never before. My cock felt extra-sensitive and extra-wired, and when I launched... Damn. This mind-to-tit thing was exciting as hell, and I could almost measure that by how far my stuff went.

I didn’t sleep so well that night. It wasn’t any one thing, more like thousands because they were out there, breasts of untold number, and it was almost like a new kind of soundless background noise, a mammarian murmur, low and constant. Some people can’t sleep when they visit New York; the traffic, people sounds and sirens are too much for them and they can’t tune it out without the aid of a fan or a white-noise machine. I’d gotten used to it, and I figured I’d probably get used to this at some point, too. But for now, breasts, near and far, speaking in a language of softness and pillowy pliability. I hugged my real pillow because damn if some of them weren’t being squeezed and fondled just then, or soaped and lotioned, swinging free under nightshirts or packed like sardines into bras that didn’t even fit right.

Everything has its complications, I suppose. Even titwareness.

I kept thinking about Dawn. Her big breasts were part of that murmur, though I couldn’t pick them out of the crowd like I could with Laura’s. I wondered how she had interpreted that bit of heating up in the store—was it just enough to tease, to suggest, or had it been too obvious? And if it all worked out and I ratcheted up the stimulation bit by bit until she wanted to whip out the whoppers and whack me in the face with them, what would I have actually done to her in arranging that? Would I have tricked her? Seduced her? Enticed her? Compelled her?

I thought about Miguel’s words in the jungle, that I was a brujo. This did feel like a kind of magic, sure, but I’d always thought a brujo, more or less a tribal witch-doctor, practiced his craft for the betterment of the tribe. What was I to make of the other thing he’d said, that even when I thought I’d be acting for my own selfish reasons, I’d be serving some higher purpose? The idea was rather absurd—”Hey, baby, smile when you suck me dry because you’re actually saving the whales!”. And the Chinese girl out on the street—was I supposed to believe that she’d always needed to plant her forehead on concrete and wave her rear at the sky while having a public orgasm? Did anything actually work that way? Could luring an unwitting big-tit babe like Dawn into bed work that way?

Luring, that was the word I’d been looking for. It was a form of temptation, the way a fish is tempted into biting into a hook because the hook is a lure.

I’d never enjoyed fishing; tried it a few times as a teen and always threw the poor things back. But that had been fish, almost too small to bother cooking. I’d never fished for tits before, and in Dawn’s case the ones I’d sunk my form of lure into weren’t too small for anything, because they were without question trophy-sized.

I pictured that like it was a snapshot, me in shorts and sunglasses with a naked huge-tit girl hanging upside-down from a line, like I’d thrown my bait into the sea and hooked a stacked mermaid. I must have started to drift near sleep, because the image changed, a hot nameless formless girl with beyond trophy-sized breasts standing next to me in the sun, her body all shiny with lotion. Next to her stood an even more attractive woman with small breasts, so close to fainting from a sudden surge of lust that I reached and caught her in my arms. I sensed some completely unique quality to the petite breasts and I wanted to understand that, but I was half-asleep and the me in the vision became a brujo me in a headdress of brightly colored plumage, standing on a raised outcropping of rock with an erection that would make an elephant proud. Below me was a small crowd with breasts and genitals growing before my eyes, and maybe that image was just bizarre enough that my unconscious mind couldn’t cope and tipped the balance, because I fell instantly to sleep.

Bonnie called one week after I’d sent the email. I recognized her voice at once, and felt my heart beating so fast that my voice went shaky. She asked if I’d like to meet-up and I said yes, as soon as possible. She wanted to get together in the day, which meant waiting for my next day off, three days away. When I tried to convince her to meet in the evening, maybe even that evening, she said she couldn’t, because that was when they filmed.

“I would have called you sooner,” she said, “only we’ve been so busy putting up the website.”

“Website?”

“Blossomsbigblooms, my official site. Check it out between now and then and let me know what you think. We’ll announce it tomorrow with a couple of teaser videos at other sites, and then we’ll be adding content every other day, so you can re-visit often.”

“Bonnie...”

“Call me Blossom, Cat. I’m going by that now, might even have my name legally changed.”

“Blossom, then. You know I have so many questions. I mean...”

“On Saturday. We’ll meet and I might answer your questions, or I might not. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Just does. I’ll see you on Saturday at ten. Gotta go now, we’re... I get to play with a brand new toy today. Can’t wait!”

And she told me where to meet at what time, and was gone. Less than thirty seconds later I was on my computer, typing blossomsbigblooms and hitting the return key.

The site’s welcoming page was spare and almost understated in its design, but a single silhouette of Blossom, in profile, was all it took to understand what sort of content lay beyond the adults-only warning. I clicked through and there she was, fully nude with noir-like side lighting allowing the boobs to create giant shadows that obscured the lower half of her face. Only the eyes shone in the light, and they smoldered enough to melt computer screens.

“Jeez. She looks... entranced.”

I clicked the button that said “Preview”, and softly whistled. I’d known from the three videos that they’d be huge, with nipples that piled huge atop huge. I think it was the aureoles that had me near to gasping, because they were flawlessly round circles that stood out slightly of their own accord, looking better than aureoles had any right to look. They had to be nearly the size of saucer plates, and looked like they’d been designed by angels before the plans were stolen by devils, all to create storms of lust in the world.

“I’ve never...” I began, scrolling from one photo to the next. Never seen breasts more lovely. They should be too big, especially on such a trim body, but they weren’t too anything, other than almost too hard to bear.

“How the fuck did you get those things?” I demanded of my screen.

My finger fumbled when I clicked for the FAQ page. It was more of a tease than a real source of information—under “Measurements”, the very first item, I found ??*—22-34, and a following asterisk said, “I promise I’ll let you know if they ever stop growing.”

Could it be true? It hadn’t even occurred to me that Bonnie/Blossom’s figure might still be a work in progress. But why not—under the question, “How did the guys treat you in high school?”, she’d written: “Like any cute girl with a good but unremarkable figure. This Blossom only blossomed recently. And the best thing? I don’t even think it’s stopped.”

I had to stand up, because my entire body seemed to be buzzing. I read the rest with my hands gripping the top of a kitchen chair.

• Height: 5 ft. 4 in.
• Hair color: Red for now, because.
• Eye color: Green
• Age: 22
• Lives in: I have a feeling that will continue to change.
• Favorite band: It’s on the back of my bra.
• Favorite saying: I’m barely there to think straight when I scream it.

I must have stood there for a long time, bathed in the light from the screen. I wanted to yell or jump around, or go running through the streets, because my body was flooded with adrenaline.

I had to be at work in less than an hour, and should have shut the computer down and prettied myself up. Instead I clicked through the half-dozen short preview videos, and felt my jaw learning to drop.

Three days to wait before I could question her, and check her out in the flesh. Research, it was research.

Which, when I finished my book, meant I could write the monthly membership fee off my taxes. I thought that as I clicked to the Join page, and entered in my credit card info.

It was hell, waiting. On Thursday I checked out the new content on Blossom’s site, and felt weak watching her shower, soaping up her boobs before fingering herself, which led to her getting it on with an enormous ice-blue dildo. She was squatting when she came this time, and for a few held breaths I actually thought the force of her orgasms might lift her into the air like her vagina was a new form of rocket propulsion.

When Friday came I was up early, and on the train to Tarrytown, about an hour north. As underground Manhattan tracks rose above street level through the Bronx, I wondered whether Bonnie had left the city because she was changing, or if the transformation, whatever its cause, had happened where she was now. And what sort of life did she live? Squirting her insides out in front of a camera at night, apparently, but during the day? Did she stand in front of a mirror all day and wonder whether she’d stepped through the looking glass to a world where boobs grew like weeds? Was she still into her yoga stuff, or her sculpting? Did she have a job? Did she need one?

She’d suggested the Starbucks near the train station as our meeting spot, and I didn’t even care that for me it was almost like being at work again. I got there a half-hour early, and unlike all the Starbucks in Manhattan, this one was fairly quiet, with only a handful of customers sitting at tables.

I drank way too much coffee during the nervous waiting, and I know this will sound strange but I could feel my heart beating right into my tits, like the pumping of blood had migrated just enough to call attention to the proximity between the heart and a woman’s breasts. It was an unusually warm September day and I was in tight-fitting jeans and a turquoise pullover blouse, with a cute little jacket I’d decided to remove on the train. That heartbeat sensation in my breasts had my nipples feeling all perky, which had me wiggling my rear occasionally to relish in the feel of the seam of my jeans pressing into the promised land.

I was getting all horny, just waiting for her. That made no sense to me, but I couldn’t deny the tingling between my legs, and the way my nipples were straining out like they had a train to catch. They were crazy-obvious in tenting my blouse and I found myself chewing my lower lip, something I did when I had to sit still but didn’t want to. I kept glancing down at my blouse, a little freaked out at how my bra and blouse weren’t hiding the extreme state of my nipples, and I was just wondering whether to don the jacket to cover them when I got my first glimpse of Bonnie, or Blossom, getting out of her car in the sunlight.

To hell with the jacket; I could remove my blouse and bra and sit there naked and no one was going to look at my tits. Hers were downplayed—she had on a long thin raincoat, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Going incognito, only it would take something like a expedition thickness down parka to do an adequate job of hiding just how developed she’d become up top.

Blossom’s wide grin was genuine; my own expression might have been anything, the way my heart was pounding into my comparatively tiny tits. I rose from my chair and leaned in as we exchanged air kisses the way we always did. The nylon of her raincoat brushed my arm in a way it never would have before, and more curiosity flared, wondering what it would actually feel like to have things like that pressed into you.

Blossom spent a minute or two at the counter, ordering a chai concoction just as she always had. Sitting across from me, raincoat still on, she asked how the train ride had been, and remarked on the summer-like day. We engaged in small talk like that for what felt like an absurd amount of time, going on about anything except the elephant, or elephants, in the room. I made a point of not staring, keeping my eyes level with Blossom’s even though I felt the gravitational pull of huge objects. I thought my mouth moved normally enough, yet inside that nipple-inflating pulse persisted, and I gradually became aware of how we were attracting stares from the others in the cafe. Or Blossom was.

“You know, I’d almost forgotten just how cute and young-looking you are,” Blossom said, studying my mouth and chin. “I always thought you’re like a cross between a young Meg Ryan and a kid’s fantasy babysitter.”

Even with my red hair I’d heard the Meg Ryan thing before; I’d even had a couple of guys at parties egg me on to reproduce her famous public orgasm scene, which of course I never did. Blossom’s babysitter comparison was a new one, although I knew I looked more like I was seventeen than twenty-two. Something about my eyes, which were large, and my nose and mouth, which were petite. It all added up to getting me carded every time I tried to buy wine or beer.

“You really know how to fill out a pair of jeans, too,” Blossom added. “Always did.”

“So,” I said, my voice squeezing past the lump that had formed in my throat. “Speaking of looks, I guess a lot has, um, been happening since, you know...”

“I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?” Blossom, said. “I mean, they are.”

They. Like they were entities. Which in a way they could be when each breast was larger than Bonnie’s head.

“Nervous? No, not at all,” I laughed too loudly. “Okay, maybe a little. I mean, Jesus, Bon... Blossom. I saw you at the beginning of summer and you... I mean you look good, like really good. I wouldn’t normally think... But on you, like that... It doesn’t seem possible but... I mean, what happened?”

Bonnie had a nice mouth, and an endearing crooked smile when she was amused. “It’s gotten way too warm for this,” she said, and very casually removed the raincoat, letting it fall behind her back, pinned to the chair.

Jesus H-cup or whatever Christ. Her pink blouse had a scooping neckline, and there were tension folds at the sides that gave new meaning to the term “distressed fabric”. There might as well be letters stenciled onto the front of the blouse that read: I AM A SEX OBJECT IN THE EXTREME. Not that anyone would be able to read the whole message, not without a perfectly centered straight-on view.

Blossom leaned forward—holy crap, the way those things swelled out at the top when they were pressed together—and whispered: “I have a question for you, Cat, and I think we should begin there. You said in your email that you couldn’t stress enough how much you felt the need to speak with me. I’d like to know why. Here I am, but why was it so important that we meet?”

Straight into the heart of the matter, and if anything my heart was pounding even louder under my tits, making it hard to think straight.

“You might try breathing,” she said, still with that wry smile. “The brain gets more oxygen that way.”

“The orgasms!” I blurted out, and she was right, I’d been holding my breath without even meaning to. I swept the room with my eyes, wondering if I’d spoken too loudly. A few people, and they weren’t all male, had their eyes glued to Blossom’s straining blouse. One youngish guy sitting near the back looked me directly in the eye, and I definitely felt myself turning red. He’d heard; I was sure of it.

“I thought I knew what an orgasm was,” Blossom said, her green eyes going a bit misty. “But all that had come before... The way I’d cum before...”

There was something in her eyes—the pleasure of thinking about orgasms, sure, but something else that reached out to me, too. I wanted to... I wasn’t sure what. To run away before knowing more, perhaps. It was just conversation over coffee, but I had the sense that the longer I stayed, the more danger that my life would be upended.

“And then these,” she added, nodding at her tits with her chin. “I didn’t believe it was happening at first—you know how your mind can explain things away if the change is gradual enough. Only it didn’t stay gradual, and so I knew something extraordinary was going on.”

“What—I hope it’s okay to ask this—I mean I can’t even imagine what size bra you must wear?”

It was asked as a question. She leaned back in her chair, and lightly uttered, “Mmm”, as though she were considering whether to tell.

After too much silence, I ventured, “So I guess you aren’t going to reveal that secret?”

The crooked smile, amused. “Maybe I did tell you just now, who knows.”

She hadn’t, unless... Jeez. M? MM? I gulped, unsure whether to believe that even those boobs... But why not? I’d seen a couple of models on the net who claiming to be that big or bigger, but I had no real life three-dimensional frame of reference, no experience with such things.

“When they started to grow,” she went on, ”I believed I had the answer for a time. My yoga practice had gotten quite intense and it only made sense that an internal change in level would have repercussions on the life of the body. You’ve heard of kundalini energy, I presume?”

“Of course. Something like a coiled snake of energy that uncurls in meditation, opening up chakras and... Actually I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve just heard that much from somewhere.”

“Seven chakras, each of which must be opened, activated and eventually purified. I think of kundalini energy as the highest energetic force inside the body, which usually lies dormant in the sex-center. We only get a taste of its power during during orgasm, but sometimes, with proper spiritual training, it can rise up to meet a reciprocal energy descending from Above, and when they meet... Wham!”

“An energy descending from above? You mean the head?”

“No, silly. I mean Above, like a cosmic force from the heavens. Maybe it’s sacrilegious to say something like this, but in seeking enlightenment your body opens a channel where it’s almost like you’re fucking something at the source of the universe. And that’s what it feels like to me when I really get into it, like the gods are fucking me and the pleasure... Imagine sex with the energy of the gods involved, being channeled. Only you can’t. You can’t even imagine.”

“No, I guess I can’t,” I said, hoping no bitterness carried into my voice. What she was saying sounded like so much horseshit, tell the truth, but I’d also witnessed the way she came. “I don’t buy it,” I said, feeling like I owed it to my research to press. “I mean, you meditate and do yoga and your... you know, you grow like that? That’s not opening to make love with higher energy from the source of the universe—that’s glands, hormones, a barrel’s worth of estrogen. Some transforming energy coming down from the God plane... I mean it just doesn’t add up! Did you see a doctor or...”

“Of course. Some growth I could accept as natural, but at a certain point I became concerned, and sought advice. But my doctor had no clue. She ran tests and said it was like... like something that doesn’t happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was kind of joking, I think, but then not. After studying the results of the blood work, she said it was like my body had gone into puberty again.”

“Again? But...”

“I know. We all know that doesn’t happen. But it was like that, and sometimes it felt like that. Remember when you got all excited for the first time, and didn’t know what was happening, but part of you wanted it to happen more? It was a lot like that, like I was in a sort of accelerated second puberty. And it all started here, with these.”

She cupped her breasts with that, though not really, more like the gesture without quite touching them. She was wearing a bra under the blouse, and I couldn’t even imagine what the cups must look like. Her hands, there next to the lower curve of her boobs for a few seconds, looked tiny.

The café had become almost eerily quiet. I glanced at the other people again and couldn’t remember seeing so many mouth-breathers in one space. I had the sense that people with cups or straws to their lips were sucking up hits of lust, not caffeine. Or maybe that was me, with my heart racing into my aching tits.

Blossom must have become self-conscious, too. “Do you want to see where we do the filming? It’s only a ten minute drive. I have a pool...”

“You do?”

“We can grab a few rays, maybe sip a tropical drink... What do you say?”

Sitting at a round metal table with an umbrella providing partial shade, I’d say that my old pal was doing pretty damn well for herself. The property was within sight of the river and the pool was large and a pure clean blue, with well-maintained landscaping all around. The house itself was a charming stucco treasure, large while neatly tucked into the surrounding landscape, with an assortment of Bonnie’s metal assemblage sculptures displayed on the manicured lawn.

Alone beside the pool for the moment, I removed my sneakers and rubbed suntan lotion on my feet. Blossom had offered the use of a swimsuit, saying she probably had something that would fit me well enough, which almost produced a guffaw. But it was probably true, if the swimsuit was more than a few months old. It was hot enough for swimming attire, and I looked damn good in a bikini; in fact, until recently I was the more shapely one. Blossom, when she’d been Bonnie, was as fit as they came from her dedicated yoga practice, but I got my exercise, too, and had the partial Irish genetics that had given me really great legs. Bonnie had often said she envied my legs, and I’d always—I never would have told her this—felt prettier than she was.

“I’m the one dripping with envy now,” I whispered to no one, coating my hands with white lotion to spread on my neck and cheeks. I glanced down my blouse, which was far from having any stress folds. “I mean, who needs them that big, but...”

“Not going to strip down for the weather?”

I looked up to see Blossom approaching, carrying a tray with a big salad bowl and two sweating piña coladas. For an instant my perspective was such that I believed Blossom could let go of the tray with her hands, and it would remain safely in place, bouncingly buoyed by the enormity of the breasts that hadn’t existed a few months before.

I thought I’d be prepared for them in a bikini top, and never would have guessed that a huge pair of boobs could get under my skin like this. Seeing them in real life reminded me how, even though a photograph or film can capture volumetric form and convey it to the eyes, the images I’d been staring at for a week remained flat on my screen. Here in the flesh, flatness was not a concept that applied in any way to Bonnie Laight’s breasts. All was vividly three-dimensional and moving in space, and given the added dimensions Blossom’s oversized breasts appeared... happy? Yes, happy or exuberant, which applied to the twin shapes of her nipples as well, prominent enough that they created additional shadows while punctuating the straining yellow fabric of the bikini top.

I was afraid that I’d do nothing but gawk, and picked at the offered salad, arugula with Italian herbs, endive and walnuts, for something to occupy my mind. I thought if I closed my eyes and simply felt the sun’s warmth on my arm and face, I might believe for a few moments that I was in southern Italy. I tried that for a few seconds, just closing my eyes in the bright light and listening to the birds, and the steady rhythm of distant garden shears.

When I opened my eyes, they were met with the sight of Blossom applying suntan lotion up her arms. She looked really good, like having grown a set of miracle tits had been just the thing to set her features in place. Her red hair wasn’t a natural color like mine, but it was expertly done and had a vibrant shine. I couldn’t help but watch as two lubricated hands, again surprisingly small, massaged gleaming lotion into smooth curving breast-flesh, surprisingly vast and pliable.

Blossom was more relaxed and conversational out here, speaking about the website and what it was like to masturbate in front of a camera, knowing that thousands of lustful devotees were watching every bounce, every touch, every inch. She said it had all been planned, initiating her internet presence with the three videos while they were busy creating content for the launch of blossomsbigblooms. My email had been one of almost a thousand, most wanting to know where more images or films could be found. Building anticipation through the use of forums and chat rooms and plain-old word of mouth, the site already had more than ten thousand subscribers in only five days of existence.

I was one of that ten thousand, which I assumed she knew. I didn’t ask, because ten-thousand made the math easy to do in my head—twenty dollars a month, times ten-thousand was... Jeez. And it was just the start.

“I expect the subscriber list will increase?” I asked, just wanting to know.

“We think tenfold, but that’s just a guess. It’s been a wild journey, Cat. I was never going to do full nudity—I made a pact with myself that I’d show plenty of skin, and all of this...” A sweep of her arms and hands out and around her chest, like it wasn’t already obvious. “But always a thong, or that part of me out of the picture frame if there was no thong. But then, I don’t know... I got all excited in the very first video and kind of forgot about the stupid rules. So there were masturbation videos, and then when I had sex, it only made sense to film that, too. We haven’t rolled those out yet, but when we do... And subscribers are already pleading for certain acts, or suggested story-lines. Some are such tropes, the pool boy or gardener and the horny housewife, that kind of stuff. The thing is, when I read them I mostly want to do them. I get... I get so hot, Cat. You just can’t imagine how I melt when I... I get hot at other times, too, but when the camera comes out, and we’re in production mode... I’d better not even talk about it.”

I crunched walnuts and straw-guzzled piña colada and felt like the sun and Blossom’s words were conspiring to make me feel like melting, too. That over-emphasized heartbeat was back, pumping out thunder-cracks inside my tits, and it was an effort to find the question that was sitting out in the sun right there with us, just begging to be asked.

I had it. “You said ‘we’ several times, like ‘we’ haven’t released certain content yet, or ‘we’ decided to do such and such. Who makes up ‘we’?”

“Me and Martin. He’s the one behind the camera, and he designed the site, uploads the content, all that. He’s really creative and... special. That’s all I can say right now.”

“I’d like to meet this Martin.”

“You almost have.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was at the Starbucks, kind of like my protector just in case anything happened.”

“Happened? What does that mean?”

She shrugged. Jeez, every simple movement with those tits! “People sometimes... They can have strong reactions to the way I look. Martin just thought he should be there to... to check things out.”

She wasn’t telling me everything, I was sure of it. Had she been concerned about strangers at the Starbucks going nuts, or had she wondered if I might do something weird? I wracked my brain, too, trying to recall any extra-large bouncer-looking guy in the Starbucks. No one remotely like that; in fact the only young person other than us had been...

“The guy sitting at the back?”

“That’s him. You noticed. He’s over there, by the way, trimming the azaleas.”

I squinted in the direction of the house, and there, shirtless, was the source of the hedge-clipping sound I’d noticed before. Definitely the same guy, around our age, lean with nice arms and a healthy, if sweat-soaked, mop of sand-colored hair.

“You said people want gardener or pool-boy scenarios...”

“And there’s Martin, perfect for the roles. He’s been really shy about appearing in any of the videos, but believe me, if I have anything to say about it you’ll be seeing the two of us on a computer or tablet near you, soon.”

Had Blossom just let slip the power structure here? How typical, that even when she was the one bringing the goods, meaning her stupendous breasts, it was some ordinary guy who called the shots. “I’m going to go speak to him if you don’t mind,” I said, pushing my chair back to stand.

His back was to me, but maybe my barefoot approach was less soundless than it seemed, because I hadn’t taken five steps before he knew I was coming. He stopped his work, straightened and turned to face me. I got a sense of liking his features before too much piña colada mixed with the brightness of the sun, exacerbating that odd sense of my heart beating inside my tits. I felt a wave of heat from the inside, like heartburn if heartburn could make you want to have sex with the sun. The light was too bright; I needed shades and ice-cubes pressed into my nipples, and the sunlight kept masturbating that sensation in my nipples and... Oh boy, was I going to faint?

“Bosom? I mean Blossom? I feel kind of, um...”

When had the pumping organ in my chest split into two hearts, small enough that they fit inside my nipples? They pulsed a bippety-bump that had me feeling like I could fuck a pool-boy and a gardener and half the cocks in the county and still need more. It was just... Fuck, sex, the humpety-hump had me needing fucking sex!

I cried out weakly and had an impression that the blue of the sky and the green of the earth had switched places. There was a roller-coaster of motion before I was caught, held, the arms supporting me sweaty and strong.

“We should get her inside,” sounded Bonnie’s voice, close. “We’ll lay her out on the sofa until...”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Are you... Is she like me?”

“I wish I knew. Not the same, but... something. Something big; I can feel it.”

Talking about me as if I weren’t right there, propped between a male shoulder to my left and a shiny female shoulder to the right, with a set of fucking power-boobs beyond the shoulder that looked like they’d sprouted in Jurassic times, when even fleas grew bigger than they ought.

“God damn those raptors are hot-looking,” I think I said. And then it was hard to talk because I was biting my lip, trying to hold on as both of my nipples felt like they had turned to warp-drive engines, wanting to blast off and propel me to God knows where.