Eclipse: The Waning Of John Blake free porn video

I.

John had shown no movement for six days. He had made no sound. He was only recently released to his present hospital room from the strictly quarantined, Infectious Disease Intensive Care Ward. He hovered in a state of half-consciousness as his wife Julia, finally allowed at his side, held his hand as she listened to the man in the white jacket at bedside. “Well, at least we know whatever bug he's got is no longer contagious,” said the doctor, one of the country's leading specialists in tropical diseases, “but this thing still has a nasty hold on him. He's not u*********s – in fact, he may be somewhat aware of what's going on in the room – but he is very weak and completely unresponsive. You're lucky, Mrs. Blake, that the virus seemed pretty uninterested in you.”

John Blake had decided to bring his wife to a remote island off of Africa's west coast in celebration of their fourth wedding anniversary as well as his new position as Chief of Plastic Surgery at the medical center. Soon after their arrival at the small, exclusive resort, both had contracted vague, flu-like symptoms: slight fever, stiff joints and mild headache. While Julia recovered quickly, it soon became apparent that John would not. He became progressively weaker, could take no food and finally slipped into the semi-consciousness in which he now lay. Immediately rushed back to the States and into the care of top physicians, John showed no improvement and baffled all the experts.

“His vitals are fine. Better, in fact, since you've been in the room with him. He must have missed you.” Julia Blake looked with loving concern down at her husband. She was a beautiful woman. If she was perhaps a bit secretly vain, it was not undeserved. Her 5'7”, lightly muscled frame and perfect curves had served her for several years before her marriage as a slightly successful figure model. While John, a rising young physician on the university's plastics staff and five years her senior, considered her at first a “trophy wife” of sorts, their relationship had developed well. He was proud to have, in natural form, what many of his colleagues in the department created through their science and surgery: a wife of perfect, classic features and flowing, blond hair, with a flawless, light tan complexion and long, lean, muscular legs. And then there were her breasts. He loved her breasts, and he knew it would take a
miracle, even with all his skills, to approach creating anything as beautiful as Julia's naturally full, round, 34D bosom. Their lovemaking routinely centered around her breasts; she was always eager to please Jack and would hold him to herself and pamper him in ways that he loved.

A bride at 24, Julia absolutely adored her husband. Her modeling career, such as it was, ended with her marriage as she took to homemaking full-time. She was content just to make John happy. Cleaning and decorating their spacious new home. Developing her already fine skills as a cook. Keeping herself in fabulous shape through hours of workouts. She took great pride in her appearance and her body, and it thrilled her to know that John found her so sexy. Always there for him when he needed her, always more beautiful. Eventually, he promised, when it was right for his career, they would have c***dren. But until then, she would be more than happy just to take care of him.

“And he needs you more than ever now,” the doctor continued, “he's been getting weaker and slowly losing weight as his body continues to reject any nourishment we try to give him. We've attempted feeding tubes, IV's, everything...it all just runs right through his system. If your presence here gives him any strength, you're welcome to stay all throughout visiting hours.” John had seemed to brighten a bit as she first approached his bedside some minutes before, and even made a small sigh as she stroked his face in greeting. It was the first sound he had made since his admission to the hospital. Julia Blake, though not a woman of outstanding intellect, was a wife with great resolve. She would stay by her husband's side and do anything in her power to make him feel better, to get him back home with her.

Looking around the room, she was reminded as to just how little she liked hospitals. Before he got sick, it was always his responsibilities in the hospitals that kept John away from her during the day – and many nights. But now, she had other reasons. Monitors hummed and chirped noisily, oxygen hissed and bubbled as it flowed into the tube running below his nose. She felt its warm mist as she approached him closer. It all felt so alien, but she knew this was where she should be.

“Maybe you'd like some time alone with him,” The doctor said as he ushered several technicians from the room, “we'll be right outside.” With a small frown on her full lips and a brow furrowed in concern, she brought her hand
once again to her husband's face. It seemed to settle his breathing. She passed the back of her hand across his cheeks, which brought a series of small sighs from him. He did seem to respond to her touch, while previously he showed few signs of life. “Oh John,” whispered Julia as she began to stroke his face, “my poor baby.” She began to realize that it was she who would have to take care of him now, while she was so used to the opposite. Her long, delicate fingers passed gently over him, near his mouth. His lips parted and quivered in response. Slightly heartened, she began to caress his lips slowly, brushing them with her long fingernails. His lips began to purse and release slightly, searching for her fingers, as if for a kiss. Gently, hesitantly, she placed the tip of her index finger between his lips and he received it with a pucker, trying to draw it inwards with his breath. She paused, thoughtfully. Julia then slowly slid her finger deeper past his lips as he began to feebly suck. “Oh, John,” was all she whispered again as she gazed down into his face, now seemingly content and miraculously moving as his mouth suckled her finger like an infant his bottle.

She felt a fluttering, a stirring in her chest. Oh, how she wanted to hold him! He looked so helpless. She could scarcely believe that the confident, strong-willed man she married was lying on this hospital bed, sucking on her finger for strength. It was then that she noticed an additional change in John's condition: his hospital gown had risen between his legs with an erection beneath. She eyed it questioningly, and gave it pause. “Oh my,” she said, returning her bright blue eyes once again to her husband's peaceful face enraptured with her finger, “what are we going to do?”

As the doctor, flanked by several students, returned to the room, she quickly pulled her finger away. “I think he needs his rest now, Mrs. Blake. We'll see you tomorrow morning.” Julia stood abruptly, gathered herself, thanked the doctor, and left the room quickly. Her drive home was full of excited thoughts. Maybe there were ways that she could help him where the doctors could not.

II

John's night was fitful and full of confusing dreams. Dreams of smothering. Of warmth. Images of Julia. Her face. The curve of her hips. Her parting lips. Her breasts. Eventually the night passed and he faded back in to half-consciousness aware of his hand in Julia's. Her hand seemed so warm and alive. He was always a proud man and took the dominant role in their relationship from the start. But now his feelings for her disturbed him, as ill as he was. His need for her touch was consuming, almost instinctual – and his libido had increased to the point where the very thought of her set him afire. And, though it bothered him, he could do nothing to fight it. He knew that if he had the use of his limbs he would not be able to stop himself from masturbating constantly. Focused solely on the soft comfort of her grip, he felt as if all his energy came from her. He became aware of her voice mingled with others in the room, though he could not process the speech. The day went on as he drifted further in and out of reality.

After many hours, the room became quiet as the others left. Her hand left his. He heard her footsteps across the room and a latch click on the door. Though he had not the energy to open his eyes, he could hear her approach back to his bedside, almost smell her grow nearer, sense her weight settle into the chair to the left of him. “I'm here for you now,” she whispered as she removed the oxygen tube from his upper lip and brought a manicured nail to his lips, “we're all alone.” She watched as he wrestled weakly with his instincts for a moment, but the feel of her soft touch was too much for him. His will collapsed in the face of overpowering oral fixation; she smiled warmly as he took in her finger and again began to suck.

“There we go,” she whispered. She felt the same stirring in her chest as yesterday, though today she recognized it...not as something sexual, but rather almost...maternal? “Julia's going to take good care of you.” With that she raised his gown, eyes still transfixed on his face, and cupped his waiting erection in her left hand. Her smile broadened with the change in his expression; he almost withered with pleasure. “Does this feel good? Hmmm?” she cooed as she started her gentle caresses, just as he liked it back at home. So happy to make her husband feel good. Her soft palm encircled his shaft at its base. So happy to take care of him. Her silky hand began a slow rhythm. Her eyes widened as his left hand began to move slowly, coming to rest on her wrist as it lay on his hip.

“That's good, honey,” she said as her eyes returned to his face, “that's so good.” Her rhythm continued. “You moved for me,” she whispered to him, still suckling him with her fingertip, “now relax.” She began to slide her finger through his lips at the same rhythm her left hand passed over his swollen member. “Relax.” Small moans escaped the back of his throat as his face drew taut. “Relax.” His erection stiffened as she cupped him in her palm, sensing the climax. “Relax.” He came with a shudder that rocked his body, flowing onto his belly and chest. Her left hand cradled him until he was spent, slowly massaging the last of his juices from him. Finally, with a kleenex from the nightstand she wiped his skin clean. It was then that she noticed something strange, how warm and electric his fluid felt through the tissue. She lifted several drops from him with her fingertip and watched as it curiously was absorbed into her skin, leaving only a tingling sensation behind and her skin dry. She looked again to his face as his sucking weakened and his mouth went slack. He faded off into sleep, looking more peaceful than she remembered seeing him since his illness struck. She was convinced she was doing him good. More than all the medicine in the world. She rose and unlocked the door, several nurses casting her a quizzical look as they passed her in the doorway.
On her walk to the car she noticed her pumps were uncomfortable, and removed them for her drive home. In fact, her slacks felt confining. Maybe I'm retaining water? She thought. Maybe I'm not exercising enough? When she weighed herself back at home after a light dinner she was aghast that she had put five pounds onto her 110-pound frame. She quickly shed her remaining clothes and stood in front of her full-length mirror. Where did she put on the weight? Did she look fatter? No, in fact, she looked great, she admitted, especially considering the stress of the past week. You're still built like a racehorse, she thought, sleek and muscular. And, oh my, quite busty...Her breasts, she noted with interest, were noticeably bigger. Perhaps not enough to account for five pounds, but certainly a full cup size. That's not a bad change, she thought. She smiled secretly to herself as she looked at herself again in profile, and then half-turned and slowly pressed back her shoulders. Not bad at all. The rest of her though, looked as lean and firm as ever – if not more so. Nonetheless, she hit the stairmaster and weights for an extra hour that night, possessed with a boundless energy.

III.

The next day she rose early, anxious to get back by her husband's side. Her previous distaste for the hospital was fading somewhat as she began to feel more a part of his healing process. She had a job to do and, for the time being, the hospital was the best place for it. Her head shook in quiet disbelief as she squeezed into a pair of frayed denim shorts, an old pair of her loosest white tennis sneakers, her largest bra and a small white tee shirt that now clung to her swollen breasts. She paused for a moment to pull her hair back in the hallway mirror on her way out to the car. She looked radiant Back at the hospital, the room was full of medical students as she entered. Their gazes lingered over her body as the doctor reassessed John's situation for her, “His vital signs have remained great and he's been slightly more responsive to deep stimuli since leaving quarantine. We've taken him off the oxygen, which he's tolerating well. His nights, though, are fitful and he's still not taking any nourishment and slowly losing weight.”

She spent the day holding his hand and watching the ebb and flow of caregivers from the room, eager for the chance to be alone again. She could sense he was anxious, also. When finally the doctor promised her some moments in private, she again locked the door. She seated herself on the bed with him and raised his head up into her lap. He responded with a sigh, luxuriating in the warm, smooth flesh of her golden thighs. “There we are. Isn't that nice?” she asked as she playfully passed the fingers of her right hand, one by one, through his lips, settling finally with her index finger. He began to suck. As she raised his gown, he moaned in anticipation. She propped him up higher on her lap, putting a pillow below her knees and took him in her hand. He squirmed and turned his head towards her, brushing his cheek against the shirt over her breast. What is he doing? She began to stroke him with a feathery touch, her eyes wide and alive, reading his face. He moaned again, turning more, the corner of his mouth now up against a swell of breast, his nose sniffing at her. Her thoughts raced as she caressed him further. It's not this that he wants. She slowly removed her finger from his mouth and used it to tilt his face closer to her, cradling his head in her arm. His lips began kissing her breasts weakly through her shirt and bra, searchingly. I know what it is. She moved his head slightly, and turned her shoulders a bit, presenting the swelling nub of her nipple below her clothes to his mouth. A noiseless gasp passed through her as he attempted to take her into his mouth beyond the fabric. He wants my breast. Her instincts sang as she could feel his lips working her flesh and gazed down lovingly into her husband's face. A tender moment passed while a deep warmth grew in her chest. She felt so full of love for him at that moment that she was near bursting. Holding him like this made her feel complete, like she was fulfilling her life's purpose. Is it wrong for me to feel this good, she thought, when he feels so bad?

Any faint twinges of guilt were suddenly replaced by an eager fascination as she felt a wetness gather around her nipple. Was that moisture building near his mouth on her shirt? His saliva...or could it possibly be...? His weak suckling became more fervent as he sensed something change. She hadn't noticed it before, but now she saw that his hand has come to rest atop hers as it stroked his member. He needs me, she told herself, he's like a little baby. I can nurse him back to life. He continued to mouth her through her shirt as his hips began to twitch in spasm. “Oh, darling, come for me,” she whispered. His orgasm burst from her hand and drained onto him.

Exhausted, he drifted quickly off to sleep. Spending some time to relish the moment, she looked reflectively down at his fluid spattered across his skin. Hesitatingly, she brought her hand to it and wiped part of it from him. It felt good as it dissolved into the flesh of her palm. She gathered more and rubbed it into her hands and wrists, onto her arms and legs. Again, it was absorbed with a pleasing warmth that seemed to travel throughout her body. What could it mean? Julia placed her husband's head back on a pillow and rearranged his bedclothes with care. When he was all tucked in again, she kissed him gently on the forehead and turned to leave the room for the evening, covering the wet areas on her chest with a sweater thrown over her shoulder. In the doorway she paused, turned to blow him a kiss, and breathed “dream about me tonight, honey.”

Feeling uncomfortable in her sneakers, which seemed to fit better that morning, and noticing the rips that were beginning to creep up the sides of her shorts, Julia made up her mind to go shopping before heading home. If she was gaining weight or retaining water or whatever it was, she deserved a spending spree to pick up some new clothes that fit. Getting in her car and pulling the seat back a few inches for comfort, she headed off to the mall.

Having decided halfway through her ride that her tennis shoes were just far too tight to wear, she walked through the mall and into the shoe store barefoot. She noticed that the boy who measured her – somehow her feet had grown from a size 6 to a nearly a 7 – could not keep his eyes from her long, bare legs. Finally deciding on a pair of sandals, some open-toed flats and a new set of cross-trainers, Julia gave in to temptation and walked out in a pair of four-inch black pumps. My legs look fabulous in these, she thought, a fact which her salesboy's lingering gaze confirmed for her as she exited. The thrill of her next purchases at several high-end
clothing stores – a few tops, a couple of swim suits, some skirts, shorts and pants – almost distracted her from the discomfort of her bra, which was now pressing into her flesh uncomfortably.

Her stop at Victoria's Secret brought a giddy feeling of surprise when she discovered that she had grown beyond the 34DD that she had assumed she'd need. Her breasts were bigger, she realized, as she stood before the fitting room mirror, even bigger than last night. Rather than alarming her, the extra mass felt good, seemed to ground her more solidly in her body. She drew a sense of newfound power from her larger bosom. If she was going to nurture John, she might as well look the part, she figured wryly. Her purchases did not end with the numerous pieces of lingerie, however. As she was heading back to the mall exit, the sign for a maternity supply store caught her eye. She entered that shop with thoughts of John, a mischievous curiosity and a plan taking shape in her mind.

IV

John dreamt again that night. As he seemed to be having more awareness of reality during waking hours, so did his dreams seem more complete, less disparate in imagery than previously. In his dream, John lay awake in semi-darkness, in what seemed to be a long, oversized bed many feet off the floor. The ceiling soared a great distance above him. There were wooden supports, or bars of some type, rising from all sides, blocking any exit. He was surrounded by huge, soft pillows and cotton blankets. His anxiety began to grow as he realized it was not a bed he was in, but rather a giant crib, lying naked on the sheets. He could barely move; to his best efforts all he could manage was to flail his limbs about impotently. His attention was drawn to a huge, brightly-lit doorway past the foot of his crib as a silhouetted figure slowly filled its space. It was a gigantic form of voluptuous curves, clothed in an apron, and it began to advance into the room toward him. Now at the end of his crib, the impressive swells of her body caught the light and drew his eyes. She began to bend forward towards him. Her full, matronly cleavage beckoned him from her low-cut blouse as she leaned into the crib. He could not avert his gaze from the shadowed valley of her enormous bosom, the soft expanses of flesh approaching him. He was filled with equal parts dread and awe-struck wonder as light fell across a smiling face, revealing his wife Julia, grown to massive proportions. She was so beautiful; her face held no malice, but he was frightened nonetheless. Her arms reached out for his body, the size of a newborn in comparison, as her smile beamed and she casually announced, “feeding time.”

He was awoken by the sound of a nurse in conversation with his wife. The voices seemed muddled, but he was able to hear most of what was being said. “He's ejaculated again during the night. His semen – and other secretions - still contains a high viral load, though it remains a dormant, noninfective form. So, as before, he's not contagious. The doctors aren't sure if any of this is significant, but we thought you should know. By the way, did you ever get down to the lab for the additional blood work the doctors wanted on you?” His wife responded in the negative. The nurse left the room as several physicians entered. Again, he missed much of the talk, mostly about nourishment and fluids, electrolyte levels and weight loss. All he knew was that he was hungry and weak and filled with sexual tension, but could not summon the energy to open his eyes, let alone speak or move.

The presence of his wife next to him during the day calmed him somewhat; he could understand her voice more easily than those of the others. She spent the day talking to him of trivialities. The wonderful weather, her shopping spree, her workout last night. “I've been spending sooo much time in the gym without you around. Stairmaster. Treadmill. Aerobics. Weights. I want you to come home. I need my training partner back.” She smiled and eyed him mischievously, “I've been getting stronger, you know,” a giggle, “you should see how much I can leg press now.” She looked at her leg with pride, which had become so firm and muscular. She then passed her hand over his thigh, noticing how already it had begun to atrophy. She hesitated in a moment of guilt, but could not help but playfully gloat, “I can do as much weight as you used to be able to do.” She felt her protective urges for this man well up in her chest, and thought – but did not speak – more of last night. Of the additional nine pounds of weight since yesterday. Of her breasts. And of the nearly three inches she'd grown. How that had occurred, she wasn't yet entirely sure. But the tape measure did not lie: she had sprouted to almost 5'10”. She was growing larger and stronger even as her husband dwindled and became weaker. Her emotions were conflicted, but she had always wanted to be taller, especially during her modeling years, and this was a dream come true. Would she get any bigger? How much? She could only hope...or maybe, just maybe, she could do more than hope.

The maternal feelings burgeoning in her were being joined by others more sensual, more selfish. She brought back thoughts of how even the doctors today looked at her. They noticed the tightness of her t-top, the shortness of her skirt. Maybe she could give them all more. She moved her hand slowly up her husband's thigh, pulling his robe away. His erection was already there to meet her. Leaning over, she pulled something from her handbag, and whispered in his ear, “Now, tell me, what have you been dreaming about when I'm not here?” She brushed her fingernails up from the base of his member, “Something naughty, hmm? Well, I hope you saved some for me.” Her fingers danced along him. He sighed a long, rattling breath. “I brought something I think you may like.” She began to stroke him with her familiar caresses and brought the object from her purse to his face. He felt something rubbery press gently against his lips as she spoke. “The doctors tell me you don't want anything they feed you. Now, I want you to try this.” A drop of liquid appeared on the surface of the rubber nipple and ran into his mouth. The taste of it nearly shocked him. It was like nothing else he remembered and seemed to fill his throat with warmth. A cavernous hunger immediately overtook him and his need for nourishment controlled his actions. His lips took in the end of the bottle and began to suck, drawing fluid through the nipple. A milky liquid, seemingly imbued with a natural energy, filled his mouth with its sweetness. He swallowed and felt it run down his throat into his stomach, quickly permeating into every cell.

“Good. That's good,” she whispered as his sucking became regular, “drink it all down.” Perhaps this is what he needs, she thought, to keep him alive.
She smiled at the concept. She wasn't sure she wanted him to get stronger too quickly; she rather enjoyed their new roles for the time being. She could scarcely believe that she, the little country girl from down south, born and raised in poverty, had come to this point. She had fled her family's trailer home while still in her teens, made a modeling career for herself and, with the help of a little speech training, dropped her heavy twang for a trace hint of a pleasant drawl. With her coltish beauty and etiquette-school charm she had won a rich doctor for a husband, a man bred for success in his affluent, WASP family. He had her enthralled with his aplomb, his wealth and his patrician charm. And now she had him right where she wanted him.

Her hand continued its gentle ministrations along his shaft as he was gradually finishing the contents of the bottle. Soon, however, she stopped her rhythm. She took his hand, which had come to rest on his hip near hers, and placed it gently on his own erection. She could sense the trepidation creep across him, but his libido was all consuming, and he did not pull away. His lips continued their work at the bottle. Slowly, with a glint of anticipation in her eye and a thin half-smile on her lips, she began to rub his palm up and down the length of his stiff member. She closed his grip around it, and continued to guide his motions, building again to a slow rhythm. With hesitation, she removed her hand; his movement continued. Her smile grew in victory. She had brought movement back to him. She looked down tenderly. He was jerking himself off as he finished the milk from her bottle. When it was sucked dry and John's strokes continued to quicken, she unscrewed the nipple from the glass bottle. “That's right, John. Doesn't that feel good?” A fingertip caressed his face. “Are you all full up?” She brought the glass bottle down toward his quivering manhood. “Well, there's more where that came from, I promise,” she took his chin in her other hand and peered into his face, reading every hint of expression. His eyes were clamped shut while hers were wide and alive. “Do you know what that was, honey? In the bottle?” His every muscle stiffened. “I think you do. You just don't want to admit it to yourself.” He teetered on the brink of orgasm. “Why, it was my milk, of course.” Her words pushed him over the edge. His release came in a torrent; she moved immediately to gather him in the bottle, placing the glass over the head of his shaft as it spasmed.
“Mmmm..now this is what I wanted.” She waited patiently as he squeezed the last drop from himself, into her waiting container. His hand fell away, his body went limp. sleep tight, baby. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle and returned it to her purse and said “Now, that's for later.” Her hand ran through his hair as he sank into a deep sleep. She kissed him again on the forehead and rose to leave.

V

Back at the house she was bubbling with excitement to try her experiment.
She had weighed and measured herself in preparation: One-hundred and twenty-four pounds, five foot nine and two-thirds inches. She stood clothed in front of the full-length mirror, bottle of her husband's semen in her hand. Unscrewing the cap, she sniffed its contents. Along with its briny, musky odor there lingered a scent of electricity. She tipped the bottle back and drank it down. Like swallowing molten lava, it nearly lit her throat afire. She gasped in ecstasy and shut her eyes as its energy flowed into her, carried like a current into every nerve ending. As it faded to a gentle warmth that filled her body, she opened her eyes and watched herself grow. Ever so gradually, she could see the reflection in the mirror expanding. Though the change was subtle, the hem of her t-top crept slowly away from the waist of her silk skirt, which was drifting millimeter-by-millimeter up her thighs. Her legs grew longer, more solid.
Her calves cut impressively beneath her skin. She kicked off her pumps as they began to bite uncomfortably into her feet, and unclasped her constricting bra through the back of her shirt. She glowed with pride as her chest pushed the bra from her, filling the front of her top with its lushness. Her breath slowed, became even as the growth tapered. Stepping eagerly to the measuring tape on the wall and the scale alongside, she nearly burst into cheer with the results. One hundred and thirty-eight pounds. Six feet tall. And never, she knew, had she ever looked so beautiful. If only they could see me back in Louisiana now, she thought, My father would probably have a heart attack. Sick fuck.

Gazing, enraptured with her own image, into the mirror, she tossed the long waves of her golden hair about her head and let it fall over her breasts.
Oh god, her breasts. How they filled her with authority. John won't be able to resist this, she thought, running her hands over her curves and thinking of their time together earlier today, I'll hold him like a little baby. She felt a bit somber for a moment, knowing that her growth was a direct result of his sickness. But, if some good could come of the situation, let it. It was meant to be, she decided to herself, there must be a purpose. I'm getting bigger for him. Her need for his body against her was palpable at that instant.

She drifted to the couch where the breast-pump lay from last night. Sitting down and removing her shirt and bra with great ceremony, she looked down upon her majestic bosom. So full of life for him. She picked up the pump from beside her and, bringing it to her chest, paused reflectively. Though almost craving its suction, she resisted, and mused over the possibilities.
With a knowing smile she dropped the pump and rose, heading for the gym and anticipating with excitement what the next day would bring.

VI

“Well, John, there's good news and bad news.” The doctor addressed him though he still lay motionless, his eyes shut, among his sheets. Though a confident, well-respected tropical disease specialist, he was clearly unnerved by Julia's presence. He hadn't remembered her being so...statuesque.
Must be wearing some big heels, he thought. “The good news is that we're all heartened by your alertness,” he turned to face Julia where she hovered behind him, “he's been responding slightly to vocal stimuli and pinpricks overnight. We're quite sure he can hear us.” He passed a gaze down Julia's body as she turned her eyes back to her husband. She was wearing flats.
But, Lord, look at those legs. “His electrolyte levels have become good, blood sugar's normal. In many respects he seems better.” She turned to him, batted her eyelashes and flashed a smile which made his heart stop as she asked, “What's the bad news?” He stammered, and continued, “W-well, he's started to lose weight at a much faster pace. We're not really sure why.
He's gone from one hundred and sixty five pounds before the illness to one thirty-two today. Twelve of that he lost just last night.” One thirty-two, hmm?

Julia Blake turned away from the doctor and back to John. Tumultuous thoughts and eager hopes raced through her head, yet she remained calm. “Is that bad?” she asked. “Well, yes, of course it's bad, Mrs. Blake. If he continues to drop weight like this, he can't last long. He'll waste away to nothing in no time.” She pondered the doctor's words as she regarded her husband. He looked small and frail, maybe because she had become so big, but not thin enough to account for more than thirty pounds of lost weight.
“We're doing all we can to make him comfortable,” he concluded, hands outstretched as he backed from the room, “but if he doesn't turn around quick, we may lose him. Sorry.”

The door clicked shut quietly. His heart quickened as he felt the weight of her lean with her elbows onto the bed besides him. She was quiet, but she dominated his senses. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something ominous about her powerful presence. He almost had a taste of fear. “John, I have a lot I want you to know,” she began quietly. “I've always loved you more than you can imagine.
Seeing you get sick almost killed me. I felt so helpless. But I think what's happened can bring us closer.” He could feel her smile faintly and caress his cheek. “You used to take care of me, but that can't happen anymore. So, I've started to change.
I've had to get stronger. I can take care of you now.” She brought the back of her hand down his neck, and rubbed his thin shoulder. “I think you know that you've started to change, too, but you need to change more. You have to let go of your pride and accept the fact that you need me to keep you safe. To keep you warm.” Some kind of amorous, maternal aura was emanating from her, settling over him like a cloud. “To feed you.” What was she saying? What did she mean? Her tone frightened him more. “Do you remember my milk last night? Yes, you do.” She drew closer. “You need my milk to survive. I can make all you'll ever need.” His mind raced behind his closed lids. If anything, the milk had made him lose more weight. She must be insane. Driven mad by the stress.

“I've changed in other ways, too, darling. And you did it to me. Open your eyes and look at me.” She turned his head slightly on the pillow to face her, his eyes still closed. “Your love has made me bigger. And stronger.
And more beautiful. So I can take care of you.” She pulled down his sheets, and smiled at the erection that already divulged his arousal beneath his gown. Shame welled in his throat. “John, look at my breasts. See how big they've become. They're full of milk for you. Just like last night.” She moved even closer, intentionally brushing the softness of her breasts against his face. “I know how much you like big breasts. You always did.
You used to cuddle up against mine. Like a little baby boy. Well, mine are huge now, and all for you.” His breathing had become erratic, and his hand lay near his swollen member below his gown. She pulled his clothing up to his chest, allowing him access. “There there. Think about that. Think about how good it could feel. Think about my big breasts pressing into your face.
Think about how good it all would feel. How good it would feel to let me take care of everything for you.” He began to whine softly. She backed away a fraction. “Open your eyes, John,” she undid the top button of her blouse, “I want this to be the first thing that you see.” He struggled mightily within himself, not knowing whether he should keep his lids shut or open his eyes to what was in front of him. He feared he would lose himself in her if he looked.

He couldn't help himself. His eyes fluttered open and began to focus. She was leaning on the bed next to him, on her elbows. Things became more clear. She was wearing a light denim shirt, which swelled out towards him, and she was slowly unfastening the buttons. “Welcome back, baby. You're going to like what Julia has for you.” She undid the last several buttons with taunting care and began to slowly peel the shirt away. Her smile was beatific as she watched her husband's eyes grow wide. Holy God, he thought, Sweet Mother of Mercy. Her Breasts. What's happened to her breasts? He could see their milky grandeur shadowed braless behind the fabric. She passed her left hand below the mass of her right breast and, her right hand drawing her shirt away, hefted it towards him, round and massive and firm.

He gazed, hypnotized, at his wife's enormous white breast. His every cell yearned unnaturally for it. He fought himself, but the deepest parts of his soul cried for him to go to her, to cling to her for dear life. “Look at me, baby,” she purred as she drew the shirt from her other breast, “look at how big I am.” It was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on.
She raised herself up on her hands and let her overly full breasts hover only inches from his face. He closed his eyes. He summoned every last ounce of strength in his frail body for a last defense and, when he opened his lids again, he stared straight into her huge, dazzling blue eyes. She saw right into him. She saw his weakness. She smiled a knowing, unpleasant smile. He crumbled. She reveled in her strength as it increased tenfold.

Get used to this, little man, she thought, as she stared him into submission, I'm all you've got.

He looked away. To her hair. How blond she was. So soft, so beautiful.
“It's ok, baby, you can look at me all you want. I won't bite.” His eyes slid down the golden locks to her graceful neck, to the front of her blouse. “My breasts are big, aren't they? You can hardly keep your eyes off them,” she said almost playfully, “do you like them big like this? Hmm? I'm such a big girl now.” She laughed and leaned into him, dragging the heaviness of her soft teats across his face as she dropped to her elbows.
“I'm bigger than you, now. Do you know that?” she drew his face deep into the valley of her cleavage. A moment of silence. The balance of power perceptibly shifted a bit more. He began to kiss the flesh of her bosom feebly, almost as if in fealty. She looked down at him, holding the top of his head in place, and began to whisper gently, “And I can get even bigger.
You just need to show me how much you love me.” She eyed his quivering hand, so close to his erection. She dragged her great breast across his face, and drew away from him the slightest bit.

He lay there, staring up at the nipple only inches from his mouth, and the woman who held his life in her control beyond it. Hunger like none he'd ever known bored through him. His member pained, aching for release. To give in now would mean a life of utter dependency, she would start to overshadow him completely. To refuse would likely mean the end of his existence. He didn't think he could refuse if he tried, he was so spellbound by her. “Do it, John, show me I'm the only one for you.” His hand trembled more and began to move. Her nipple began to swell before his eyes. “I'm so big for you. So full. Give in, John. Just touch yourself, and it can all be yours.” His fingers shook and hung over his stiffening erection, the last of his dignity fighting valiantly. A glistening drop of white formed on Julia's nipple as she let down her milk. Oh god, he needed her like nothing else. “So warm. So sweet. Remember how it tasted so good?” The shame welled within him. He could not believe what he was about to do.
“Let me breastfeed you.”

She watched this incredible sight with wild fascination. Her husband took himself into his own hand and began to masturbate below her magnificent bosom, which she lowered to his waiting lips as he closed his eyes. She could sense his pride withering away. Triumphant, she began to nurse him there, on his sickbed, her copious milk flowing into his mouth. She grabbed the back of his head firmly and pulled him into her smotheringly. Suddenly all was right with the world. His mind became a blank, filled only with the sensation of her massive, motherly breast against his face and her milk filling his body. His skin began to tingle, and every muscle seemed to twitch. Yes, he would give himself to her completely, he thought, and his hand began to move more vigorously over his shaft with excitement. “That's right, baby,” she cooed as she massaged her breast gently against his face, “give it all to Julia. Doesn't that feel good? Isn't this what you've always wanted?” They both realized this was so, a thought that empowered her and further shamed him. His stroking continued to escalate. “You've always fantasized about this moment, haven't you, from the time you were a little boy, all through our marriage. Well, here you are, suckling on your wife's big breast, beating off.” He began to whimper, and pump faster. “And she's going to get bigger for you. Much bigger.” She squeezed him closer; her milk ran in rivulets down his cheeks. His hand reached a crescendo.
“So.” His sucking abruptly stopped and his mouth opened in a silent wail. “Much.” Her eyes sparkled. “Bigger.”

He lost all sense of himself as he came like a geyser within his own hand.
He sprayed up onto her breasts, anointing her with his semen. As it continued to flow onto her, she massaged it into her soft flesh with relish, allowing some of it to dribble to his cheeks. She smiled as she did this, and rubbed more of the fluid across her breasts and onto his face.
Again, it quickly absorbed into her skin, yet remained pooled and sticky on his. Funny, his head looked a bit smaller than earlier, though she knew she had only just started to grow. As his strength to continue sucking began to wane, she removed her nipple from his mouth and rubbed her breasts against his face, drawing up the remaining liquid. She luxuriated in a warm bath of growth that ran over every inch of her body. Can he feel me growing? Can he feel me getting bigger? What could he be thinking?
His eyes rolled and locked with hers for an instant. She met him with a warm smile.
Everything's going to be all right from now on.

VII

He was able finally to look around his room early the next morning. He had been raised to a halfseated position and could occasionally summon the strength to open his eyes. Though he had to admit he felt better physically, thinking back to the events of yesterday left him emotionally and mentally crushed. To what depths had he sunk? What kind of future could possibly lie ahead of him, if he were to live? Depending on the care of a woman who had obviously begun to lose her grip on reality? One so drunk with some unholy sense of power over him? The possibilities were both terrifying and – at the same time – inexplicably arousing. He could no longer fathom the idea of resisting her will. Her smothering, maternal hold over him was oppressive, fueled by his own irrepressible libido, physical weakness and driving hunger for her milk and warm embrace. At least he had the comfort in knowing he was safe in the care of the hospital staff, though they obviously had no idea of these developments in the situation.
He was still unable to speak, though his strength was slowly returning and someday soon might allow him to voice his alarm.

His eyes grew wide as she entered the room and stood in the doorway. He had not seen her standing erect since he first opened his eyes the day previous, and the sight chilled him. She smiled wickedly at his expression and approached his bed silently, growing taller, it seemed, with every step. She was certainly dressed for his benefit: a long, tight navy blue skirt, slit high up the thigh, outlining endless legs and full, strong hips. A matching, high-necked sweater of thin cashmere clung tightly to her impossible curves. Her makeup was done flawlessly, her lips painted in shimmering mocha brown. Hair pulled back, strands falling elegantly onto her long neck. At his side, she straightened to her full height and peered down at him. “You like?” she asked, arching an eyebrow coyly, “I've been taking my vitamins.” His fear welled in him again as he realized they were alone, and his shame redoubled as he recognized that he was secretly thrilled. “You look well. Sitting up. Eyes open – mostly,” already his lids had begun to feel heavy from exertion, “was it something you ate?” He flushed visibly and a shiver ran through him as images of their last encounter surfaced. “Well, it certainly agreed with you,” she laid a hand on his head and straightened his hair.

“I liked our little talk yesterday, but I don't think we had the chance to discuss my wardrobe. I'm going to need to...expand it a little bit.” With that she slowly inhaled, and said with a pout, “I just don't seem to fit into any of my old clothes anymore.” He felt his heart stop as she slowly thrust out her chest, nearly obscuring her face from view. He goggled momentarily at her bosomy display, and then gave in to exhaustion and shut his eyes. “I've just been getting bigger and bigger,” she said with mock concern, “Do you know how tall I am now? Six foot one and a quarter. Though my waist has only gone up two inches to twenty-four, my hips are almost thirty-eight inches. But it's all solid muscle.” She turned her rear to him and bent ever so slightly at the waist. His eyes flicked open for a brief instant and he moaned at the sight. She smiled. “And my bust measurement is going off the charts. Do you remember how big they were yesterday? They're even bigger now.” Numbers and bra sizes, usually so important to him both in his profession and his fantasies, sped through his brain. How big could she be? He needed to know. “I've had to go to specialty lingerie shops.
Very expensive.” As she paused to let all this information sink in, he shuddered at himself as he became more and more aroused. “So you won't mind, of course, if I open a few new credit accounts? You do want your little wife to look her best for all your doctor friends, right?”

As if on cue, the attending physician swept into the room and halted, dead in his tracks, at the sight of her. “Oh, M-Mrs. Blake, you're here early.” By God, she is tall. She towered over him, though he took some uneasy comfort in the fact that, today, she had on a vicious pair of heels. Her lips parted invitingly as a haughty spark of mischief lit her eyes. She paused. Let him look at me for a moment. He'll think of this when he's in bed with his old, fat wife. “Well, someone has to take care of my poor baby,” She clasped her hands behind her and arched her back, looking down at John and then sideways at the doctor, “don't you think I'm up to the job?”

“A-as I s-said, I assure y-you we're doing a-all we can.” The poor little man, she thought, he can barely speak. “But that b-brings up our conversation on the phone last night.” The doctor started to gather himself as she relaxed her posture, releasing his gaze mercifully. He concentrated with all his efforts towards his patient. “Yes, he has had another dramatic weight loss. Nearly ten pounds since yesterday. And, something else is puzzling. How tall was your husband before he fell ill? We have him listed at five eleven. Is that correct?” Excited thoughts ran through her. Could it be true? “Yes, doctor, that sounds right.” What was he going to say to her? Hopes and prayers danced.

“Well, your husband is shrinking. He's obviously demonstrating generalized loss of long bone tissue, which explains in part his weight loss. His vitals are, somehow, still excellent, which baffles me. He should be showing high calcium levels, difficulty breathing, pain, many things. But he keeps plugging along – and is even a little more alert today.”

The doctor put his hand on John's shoulder. What is he saying? I'm shrinking? John's thoughts became confused. How can that be? And then it all fell together. The virus. It wasn't just in him, it was still in her, too. The viral bodies in his fluids were causing her growth, and those in her milk must be making him shrink. And no doubt it was affecting their personalities and drives, also. It was building her into the penultimate viral reservoir, and turning him slowly into a parasite, unable to derive nourishment from anything but her. The realizations filled him with silent horror, but an alien, inner voice slowly soothed him. She's here to comfort me.

“So, doctor,” she tried to remain composed, hiding a smile despite the elation she felt, “how tall is he now?”

“Five six. I've never seen anything like it. He's lost about five inches.” Her heart leapt. It was better than she dreamed! “Which brings me back to my point,” he continued, “since there's obviously no more we can do for him here at this institution, he has no need for any further medication or treatment, and seems to be without pain, I think we can go ahead with your request of last night.”

“You mean...” she looked to the doctor expectantly.

“Yes.” The doctor almost regretted his words as he looked to her face, which held an obviously false expression of remorse and subtly disturbed him. But it was too late. “He'll be more comfortable. You can take him home.”

VIII

Oh God. John's thoughts became newly frantic. Oh no. He recoiled at the doctor's words. The possibilities, the inevitabilities, made him cringe.
They can't be serious. They can't send me home with her. I'll disappear. His eyes shot open and an arm raised into the air, searching to catch the doctor's attention. But he was already nearly out the door, with his back
turned. “I'll get the staff to get John dressed, gather his things and make sure a transport van is ready,” were his parting words.

“Thank you, doctor,” Julia called after him. A smile returned to her face as she brought her gaze back down to her husband. “Now won't that be better? Back in your own house. In your own bed. With your wife there to take care of you.” Disturbing images flashed through his mind. What were her plans for him? She was obviously beside herself with satisfaction.
“We're going to have so much fun together, all alone. No one to disturb us.” She ran her hand up his leg and began to slowly massage his member, already semi-aroused, through his robe. He stiffened painfully. “Think of what we can accomplish.” Her eyes met his. She grasped on more firmly to him, sheathed in cotton, and gently began to pass her hand up and down his length. “Imagine what we could be together.” She smiled thinly. His eyes closed as he began to lose himself in her touch and her hypnotic words.
“That's right. Picture it. Picture you and me.” He saw them in bed, he locked in her embrace. He saw her standing over him, her head soaring towards the cathedral ceilings of their home, he curled at her feet. A swell of hunger rolled through him. “It can all come true. I can fulfill all these fantasies for you.” Her hand felt so good. It held him so confidently, squeezing and stroking him in perfect rhythm. She's right.
She's all I ever dreamed about. Electric tremors began to run through him.
“Everything you ever wanted in your deepest, most secret desires. I can do it all for you. We can do it together.” Christ. He was going to come. There was no stopping it now. He hated himself for it. For his weakness. “Soon, John. Soon I'll have you home. So very soon.” He decided fighting was useless and let himself go.

“Woops!” she exclaimed softly as she abruptly dropped his member and straightened his gown. His eyes were suddenly wide. What happened? Why did she stop? A nurse had entered the room and was looking straight at him, her eyes and mouth agape in shock. His every muscle was coiled, his hospital gown tented and quivering. “He must be excited to see you,” Julia said wryly to the nurse while sitting demurely by his side. He tried to stop but could not. It was too late. He clamped his eyes in shame and came into his robe. The nurse gasped, sputtered something nervously, and spun from the room. His orgasm was fading as Julia placed her hand back on him and rubbed his wetness into his skin as she whispered into his ear, “That was a freebie. But the rest, love, are for me.” She rose. He turned to watch her leave the room, her hips swaying lasciviously, firm flesh undulating beneath her skirt.

In the doorway, without as much as a glance, Julia passed the nurse as she returned with an armload of John's clothing and clean bedding. “Well, Dr.
Blake,” the nurse intoned as she began to remove his robe with obvious distaste, “I guess you're going home.” He soon dropped into a deep sleep.

IX

“Welcome home, baby!” He woke with a start. He was seated in a wheelchair and being pulled from the back of a van. Julia smiled exuberantly with arms outstretched in greeting as she watched the pair of EMTs lower her husband to the ground. She bent at the waist and hugged him tightly to her, kissing the top of his head. “Was your ride ok? Are you still alright sitting up?” He squinted at the setting sun, which burned at his retinas, and noticed his dull aches of hunger. It was early evening. He couldn't remember a thing since that morning at the hospital. Julia was snapping orders at the men wheeling him towards the front door, obviously displeased that his discharge took so long. They were leering obviously at her body, which at one time would have made her uncomfortable. But she was done with being intimidated or overly impressed by the attention of men. Her husband. Her father. Her realization of the power she had over them was growing by the day. “Follow me this way. We'll set him up in the bedroom.” She could feel the silent heat of the men's stares as she strode ahead of them; they gazed at her lustfully. Like dogs.

Through the great room and into the master wing, the trip brought back memories to John of a life long past. Wine by candlelight. Hanging canvases over the mantle. Extravagantly prepared breakfasts hurriedly consumed en route to early morning surgery. Ancient history. That life was over. He was wheeled into the spacious bedroom suite. From this point onward, all that mattered lay right in front of him: his tall, beautiful wife who stood with hands clasped in front of her, and an enormous bed.

Shrinking or not, he thought, that bed is huge. What happened? “I didn't think our king-size was going to be quite big enough anymore,” she offered, interpreting his bafflement, “I had this one custom made. Industrial size.
Industrial strength.” That thing, he thought, is big enough for a...giant. He swallowed nervously. The EMTs looked to each other and shrugged as they moved to lift John from his chair.

“No, stop,” she commanded, stopping them in their tracks, “I can do this.” The men stepped back with apprehension as Julia approached her husband.
With a confident smile and her eyes locked on his, she bent slowly. John cringed. Oh no, he thought, she wouldn't. Her arms slipped around him, one behind his back and one below his thighs, and she hoisted him into the air.
Holding him in her arms, she gazed deep into his soul and watched his pride melt away even further. He's mine, now. All mine. She walked the several steps to the bed, eyes still fixed on his, and lowered him gently into his huge, warm nest. He felt lost on the mattress' wide expanse.

She turned her back to him and waved the others out of the room. As they left with the wheelchair, she propped him up with some pillows and whispered playfully to him, “I'll be right back. Now don't you go anywhere.” She followed after the pair to show them out, affording him several moments alone to surmise his situation. The bedroom was, aside from the arrival of this gargantuan bed, much the same as it had been left before their vacation. The ceilings soared past twenty feet, as they did throughout much of the house. Decoration was sparse but elegant. Large skylights allowed for an open, airy atmosphere. Across the room – to him it may as well have been a thousand miles – the bedroom door hung open. As all the doors in their home, it was a huge, dramatic portal of heavy oak hanging on iron hinges. Would he ever pass through it again? His emotions lay in a tangled mess of sadness, fear and, he had to admit, anxious excitement and anticipation.

“Are you still okay in there?” he heard her call from the adjacent changing room, “They're gone now. You can relax.” His mind did ease a bit as he listened to her voice, which sounded – for a change – quite sober and levelheaded. Maybe things have changed. He grasped at a leg of hope. Maybe I have my wife back. “You know, I gave my old agent a call yesterday. I thought I might get a photo shoot arranged. To see how the 'new me' looks on camera.” Why would she want to do that? He thought, we certainly don't need the money. His disability – and life, if it came to that – insurance was more than adequate to keep her living in the style to which she was accustomed. “I told him I looked a little different. He was reluctant, but said he'd meet with me at his office tomorrow. This could be the start of something big for me.” His thoughts began to get a bit more confused. Where was she going with this? The image of her posing in front of a camera swept several emotions through him – jealousy and apprehension, but most of all arousal. She knew she was slowly changing into a veritable sex goddess. And now, it seemed, she wanted the world to know about it. “I thought you might like to help me choose out something to wear.”

All hopes that she had returned to her senses were dashed when she reappeared in the doorway wearing little more than an evil grin across her face. In truth, she was wearing what, on anyone else, would be called a striped blue tube top and a pair of tiny white bikini briefs. On her, it could hardly be called clothing. He could not stop himself from ogling her from head to toe. There was so much of her, and in such proportions. She looked so soft, yet so strong. He physically felt his jaw drop. “I know it's a little small,” she teased, delighted with his reaction, “it was even a little small on me before I started to grow. But I think you always liked it.” She approached his bed, sashaying her tan, muscular hips to and fro.
She knelt by his side and pulled the sheets from him, noticing the bulge swelling in his sweatpants and affording him a fine view of her cleavage.
“And it looks like you still do.” She stood, inhaled deeply and straightened her back, thrusting her breasts forward. The sharp sound of fabric ripping brought a gleeful “Ooo!” from her as she quickly threw up her hands in a vain attempt to cover the wide expanse of her breasts, her top falling to the floor. She seemed delighted. Though her hands obscured her nipples, the rest of her heavy, firm, round flesh hung exposed for his eyes. “That was fun! But, I guess I won't be wearing that tomorrow!” She turned her fine rear to him and tossed a look over her shoulder, hands still at her chest, “any suggestions?” He met her with a mute stare, but quickly averted his eyes. Does she know what she's doing to me? His member throbbed. His heart raced. Yes, he thought, of course she does.

As she left the room again for another change of clothes, beads of sweat began to form on his brow. He was alarmed that, as he had begun to feel healthier over the past days, his libido had strengthened as well. It set on him like a fever, pulling his hand down between his legs. He rubbed himself through his clothes, aching for release. He was wary for her return; he did not want her to see him like this. “Are you ready?” she called, and he quickly brought his hands back to his chest, “here I come.”

X

Oh Christ. His breathing quickened. Look at her. Chris Christ Christ. She sauntered in again, still in her white panties but covering her chest with a small t-top, the word “Lush” stitched in black and stretched across her full bosom. “Oh darling,” she cooed as she leaned over the foot of his bed, “you're sweating.” She bent further forward, squeezing her breasts together with her elbows, a seductive cheesecake pose for his benefit. His jaw went slack as he began to pant. She put one knee up onto the edge of the giant bed, then the other. Her eyes were carnivorous. Soon she was on all fours, crawling like a b**st of prey up the bed towards him. “You need to cool down, baby,” she said wantonly as she reached him, “I don't want you overheating too early.” She straddled his shrunken legs with hers and proceeded to unbutton his blue flannel shirt. He could not, for the life of him, take his eyes from her chest. Heavy masses of flesh beckoned him from below their confines. His hunger surged. His sex howled. Her eyes watched his.

As she finished with the last of his buttons, she leaned forward to pull the shirt from his shoulders. Her breasts were tantalizingly close to his face, he could smell her flesh. His mouth began to water. “Oh yes. It would taste so good right now, wouldn't it?” She brushed her clothed teat up his chin and over his lips as she yanked the shirt from him and tossed it aside. She hung her breasts in front of his face for an agonizing display.
“So warm and soft. So lush.” He whined feebly and worked his jaw. She sat back onto her haunches, hands on her knees. “Don't you worry, I'll feed you later. I want you nice and hungry.” She began to play with the elastic of his sweatpants. “Do you like my little fashion show?” she asked, pulling on his waistband, slowly lowering it down his hips, “Do you like looking at my body?” She inched further down towards his feet as she continued to pull his pants from him. His manhood stood, quivering, as her answer. She had his pants around his knees; she leaned forward and – eyes still locked on his – brought her smiling face inches from his erection. She whispered, “I want you to show me how much.”

With that she rose from the bed and drifted again from the room. His eyes followed her walk as she disappeared from sight. He could take no more; his hand went to his member and began to stroke slowly, rubbing with a half-open hand. Guilt and shame welled within him, but he was at the mercy of his intense sexual drive and the images of her womanly form. He craned his neck backward on his pillow and clamped his eyes shut as the pleasurable sensations of his self-stimulation overtook him. Mental pictures of Julia streamed through his mind. The way the cotton of her t-top had strained over her cleavage as it hovered so close to his mouth.
How her flesh blossomed magnificently in mountainous swells from her collarbone. The flare of those great hips from her taut, narrow waist. If he could come now, he thought, he might find brief respite from her torture when she returned.

“Now, now. Aren't we the eager little one? You're not going to get off that easy.” He was startled back to reality by her voice. His modesty and dignity pleaded with him to pull his hand quickly away, but as his eyes darted across the room to her, he knew he would not be able to muster the willpower. She stood posing below a spotlight just beyond the end of his bed in a tiny two-piece swimsuit. “Tonight I'm going to make you ache.” She knew his weakness for her body in bathing suits, even before her transformation. He kept in his wallet a snapshot of her from an old photo shoot for a swimwear catalog; she must have looked like a scrawny schoolgirl then, she thought, compared to the statuesque vision before him now. “Show me what you think of this.” She ran her hands over her body as she tossed her blonde mane over her shoulder with a dramatic sweep of her long neck and inspected herself in the full-length mirror. Are you ready for a real woman, little man?

She nearly glowed as she flexed her thighs and watched the thick, lean muscles as they worked below her golden skin. Pride flushed through her at the sight of her round, muscular buttocks and flat abdomen. “I worked out in this last night, you know. Wouldn't you like to have seen that?” As her strong arms drifted behind her head and her shoulders pressed back, she riveted him with her haughty gaze in the mirror, watch