The Cassandra Curse
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THE CURSE
By Wyrdey
"I'm sorry, Sir, we're full tonight. You should have made a
reservation."
Calvin watched the argument unfolding. He knew that, while he was
technically a door man, his job also required him to provide some
muscle if customers became unruly.
"Do you know who I am?" the irate stranger demanded.
Calvin was impressed.
Marcel, the head waiter, was a formidable presence - certainly not in
terms of physique - but few could withstand the force of his arrogant
disdain for long. This was the first time that Calvin had seen anyone
dare to disagree with him about anything.
"Yes, Sir!" Marcel hissed. "You are a man without a reservation!"
He glanced at Calvin and snapped his fingers commandingly.
Calvin really didn't want to get involved, but he knew his cue. He
stepped up beside the fuming man and tried to place a gentle hand on
his shoulder.
He had to reach up to do it - Calvin was tall, but this guy was huge.
The stranger spun around furiously.
Calvin tried to appear unconcerned, but he knew if it came to blows,
he wouldn't stand much of a chance.
The guy was a giant.
Calvin looked into that vast face, wildly framed as it was with
thick, jet-black hair and a full beard.
He found he couldn't meet those huge flaming eyes.
"Come on, let's not make a scene, Sir," he said as calmly as he could.
The man turned from him. "Very well," he boomed in his incredibly
deep voice.
He marched for the door, Calvin following slightly behind.
He paused suddenly just as he was leaving. "I wouldn't want to
patronise an establishment such as this, anyway," he said softly, a
slight smirk on his lips.
Calvin detected the air of threat, and so was greatly relieved when
the stranger turned and left.
Marcel just sighed and shook his bird-like head in disgust.
Tony and Terry, the valets, were waiting out the front when the
stranger bustled into view.
They were faintly surprised to see him, since neither of them could
remember seeing him go in.
"May I help you, Sir...?" Tony began, but the big man ignored them
completely. Reaching into his jacket pocket, the stranger pulled out
a stub of chalk. Bending down, he quickly drew out a series of
strange symbols on the curb, chanting all the while in some forgotten
language.
Tony and Terry glanced at one another.
The man finally stopped, his bellowed words still ringing in the
empty streets, and turned to go.
Tony couldn't help but notice his faint smile as he left.
"Well, there's some crazies around tonight," Terry remarked. "But
then, I suppose you'd have to be crazy to be out when it's this cold."
Tony agreed.
Their valet outfits were stylish, but not designed to be particularly
warm.
He pulled vaguely at his top - they were suddenly feeling a bit tight
too.
They waited for a bit longer, hugging themselves to keep warm.
"Fuck this," Terry finally said, "I'm having a fag."
He reached into his top and pulled out a battered cigarette packet.
He handed one to Tony and started fishing around in his handbag for a
lighter.
Tony watched in puzzlement. He had never noticed before how badly
their cute little handbags clashed with the rest of their valet
uniforms.
At least they matched their shoes.
His lighter found, Terry took a long drag. "Usually more customers
'round than this, ay?" he finally said, holding his cigarette
daintily out between two long fingers.
"Maybe there's, like, sumthin on," Tony replied, pulling hard at his
top and vaguely noticing the bright lipstick marks on his cigarette
butt.
Why hadn't he at least chosen an outfit that covered his belly?
There was a strange noise behind them.
They turned and gazed curiously at the old storefront wall behind
them. There was nothing there but a tiny little battered door and a
handful of ancient graffiti.
Something about this briefly struck Tony as odd - but then he glanced
up and saw...
High up on the wall, a mess of glass tubes were slowly coiling their
way along. Appearing from nowhere visible, they writhed and twisted,
snaking electric cables along behind them.
The two watched as they spread out along the wall like a creeping
vine, slithering into shape.
And then they suddenly illuminated.
Tony and Terry looked briefly up at the flashing sign, remembering
all of the nights they had spent waiting on this corner.
In sleazy pink neon, it formed the words 'TITTIES GALORE!' and the
silhouette of a super-busty stripper.
Their attention was jolted back to reality as a passing car slowed.
They quickly tossed their cigarettes away and rushed to the curb.
As a window opened, Terri leant as far down as her tiny little boob-
tube would allow and sexily purred, "Want some company, Mister?"
Toni giggled, running her hands enticingly down her impressive curves
and long fishnet-covered legs.
The two cooed excitedly as they were waved into the car.
Marcel was annoyed.
A moment earlier many of the lights had flickered and gone out,
leaving everything much dimmer than he preferred.
He smiled winningly at their best customer. "I am sorry, Sir, I hear
the problem will be rectified momentarily," he said.
Fortunately Lionel Lyme-Smythe was on a date. "Not at all, Marcel,"
he boomed, making a show of his generosity. "I'm sure everything
still tastes good, no matter how it's lit."
Marcel laughed appreciatively at his little joke. "Just this way
then, Sir... and Madam."
The incredibly tall and elegant woman on Lionel's arm smiled
beautifully as they started off.
Marcel was sufficiently distracted to briefly lose his way, laughing
nervously as he wove around, trying to remember where their table
was.
Everything looked so different in this light.
They passed a crowded little booth where stylish people in evening
suits sat on cheap plastic chairs, smoking and swearing loudly. Then
they all broke out in whistles as Samuel, the restaurant's oldest
waiter, wandered close by.
Something about this seemed faintly odd to Marcel.
What could it be...? Then he noticed that the old man was walking
rather unsteadily - he seemed to be having some trouble with the
seven-inch pink stripper heels on his feet.
Marcel sighed - perhaps it was time for Samuel to retire. After all,
he'd never had difficulty walking in his uniform shoes before.
It was a pity really, since he was suddenly looking so much younger.
Marcel continued through the dim and suddenly smoky room,
occasionally glancing back uncertainly to make sure that his
customers were still following him.
They passed the new waiter, Garry, as he was taking orders.
Or, at least, that was what he should have been doing.
He was leaning over, adjusting one of his stockings where it ended
lacily at mid-thigh.
And even when he finally straightened, to the obvious disappointment
of the customers, he continued awkwardly swatting at his pigtails and
pulling at his doll-sized waiter's uniform.
What was wrong with everyone tonight?
Marcel was upset. After all, his uniform was just as small and tight,
but he didn't complain about it.
They finally arrived at an empty table. Marcel half-heartedly tried
to clean up the mess that the previous customers had left.
Thank goodness these plastic tabletops didn't stain!
The two customers squatted down on the little chairs. Lionel glanced
over at the dustboard menu set up by the bar. He squinted, one hand
resting on the rim of his baseball cap.
"So youse basically got drinks," he sniffed, scratching at his beer
belly where it protruded between his shirt tails.
"Umm..." Marcel said, trying to think.
Didn't they have a few other things as well?
He was feeling very uncomfortable. The two of them were staring
fixedly at his chest.
He wished once again that he was allowed to wear a top.
He knew that his nipples were unusually large and red today, maybe
inflamed. They poked from his chest like two little thimbles.
Feeling self-conscious, he pulled at his miniscule tassel-skirt,
vainly trying to get it to cover his bulging cheeks.
He suddenly felt a strange tingling in his chest.
Looking down, he saw his nipples, looking even bigger than before,
starting to rise from his chest as little cones poked up beneath
them.
He whimpered with concern - he couldn't remember if this was normal.
As his breasts began to fill, he looked up with alarm at the two
customers.
Lionel sat gazing at Marcel's chest, his mouth hanging slightly open,
slowly licking his lips.
The woman was staring goggle-eyed at his budding bosoms, a thick
beard slowly sprouting from her chin. Her strapless evening gown
started to coarsen and creep up her shoulders as a strange hungry
light suddenly appeared in her eyes.
Marcel murmured in distress as he watched his bust rush through
puberty.
As all three of them were gaping at the two new shapely mounds
dancing in front of him, Marcel suddenly shrieked and his already
considerable boobs exploded in size as implants appeared in them.
Marcel cooed softly and looked down at his immense bosoms as they
bounced and jiggled from their sudden expansion. He was glad when
little tassels appeared from his nipples, flowing after their
movement.
"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" he breathed apologetically.
"Yeah, Sweetcheeks," Lionel grunted. "I was asking about them
drinks."
Marcel smiled helpfully.
"We was wondering," Lionel continued, with a wink to his toothless
companion, "'bout the 'Steaming Orgasm'... is the orgasm killed
humane-like, or are they cruel? We're very concerned 'bout cruelty
things like that, see?"
"Umm..." Marcel bit his lip as he tried to think.
Surely they must have mentioned this in his training?
"Um... Well, I'm new here, so..." Marcel stammered, wishing that he
could remember these things.
The two men looked at each other with slight smiles and stood up to
leave.
"No, wait... I'll find out..." Marcel whimpered as he turned and ran
for the bar, taking tiny little steps in his huge stripper heels,
arms flailing.
The two men laughed as they watched the incredibly curvaceous little
bimbo running almost nude across the room, her big tight ass wiggling
behind her and her bouncing hooters nearly hitting her in her pretty
little face.
As she ran, Marcie couldn't wait for the lap dancing to begin - it
was one of the few things that she'd ever been able to understand.
Calvin suddenly realised that something was wrong.
Since the lights had gone out and everything had gotten dim and
smoky, he had been increasingly concerned about what he was hearing
coming from the main room.
It was unusual to hear anything at all, though on the busiest nights
occasional smatterings of classical music or polite laughter might be
vaguely discernable.
In the last few minutes, he had heard increasing amounts of shouting,
fighting, drunken hollering, and several distinctly feminine yelps.
Marcel was nowhere to be seen, he had left before it had started and
hadn't yet returned.
Eventually Calvin briefly caught a glimpse around the corner of a
girl carrying a vodka bottle on a tray.
She was very nearly naked, wearing only a comically tiny skirt made
from hundreds of shiny tassels that swayed as she moved, revealing
the equally tiny matching g-string she was wearing beneath.
She went mincing prettily past, her huge bosoms swaying in time with
her every step.
Calvin's mind boggled - what was going on?
He left his post by the door and ran around the corner, stopping at
the top of the steps that lead down to the restaurant floor.
It was chaos.
The crowded room was packed full of cheap plastic furniture, squeezed
on and around which was an unruly crowd of big, burly men.
A few topless waitresses, each more impossibly stacked than the last,
were trying to take orders and serve drinks. Hands followed them
everywhere, pinching their almost bare asses and trying vainly to
wrap themselves around their jaw-dropping knockers.
The girls seemed to take it in remarkable good humour, giggling and
playfully swatting the hands away.
Calvin stared in disbelief.
Then the lights came back on.
...Or at least some of them did.
Calvin looked away, blinded, as two spotlights on the ceiling blinked
on - both aimed directly at him.
A great cheer went up around the room.
Calvin, caught like a deer in headlights, turned to see what they
were cheering for.
Behind him was a wall, decorated only with a giant logo reading
'TITTIES GALORE!'
Shielding his eyes against the light, he suddenly noticed a new front
door, flanked by enormous bouncers, standing in the opposite wall.
Where had that come from? What had happened to the old door?
Looking around in confusion, he saw that he was now standing on a
raised platform, framed by long, frilly curtains that draped down
from the ceiling.
The boisterous cheering continued, Calvin didn't understand why. They
were cheering him just standing here on this platform... with a pole.
Puzzled, he stared at the pole now standing beside him. Where had it
come from?
Suddenly loud raucous music began to blare across the room.
The cheering grew louder still.
Calvin found himself swaying slowly, sensually with the beat.
He couldn't help it.
He grasped the pole with one hand and swung himself expertly around
it.
As he gyrated, twisting his body suggestively, he suddenly felt his
clothes shrinking.
His pants rocketed up his legs, his sleeves shrivelled, his neckline
plunged impressively.
He could feel himself slowly changing too, growing smaller and
thinner.
Gasping he finally just leant against the pole - and felt his hips
push out and his buttocks ballooning. The crowd went wild as he stood
there wiggling his big new ass for their enjoyment. His pants
finished changing into tiny little denim cutoffs, they were so tight
and high-cut that he felt his cheeks pop out the bottom.
His hand reached back and he spanked himself.
Hard.
A cheer went up as his exposed cheeks danced prettily.
Cooing in disbelief, Calvin continued gyrating, his new blonde hair
flying. This time he had his back to the pole so that everyone could
see the impressive development of his chest.
His shirt pulled back into a tiny white tank-top. Looking down he
noticed that it had 'Candy' written across it in big, flowery pink
letters.
His chest began to wobble uncontrollably as his bosoms developed.
They just kept growing bigger and bigger, straining against the front
of his top.
When their growth spurt finally ceased, he stopped swinging and stood
with them thrust far out for all to see.
The crowd was surging forward as Calvin stood there, by far the
biggest girl in the room, looking blankly down into his immense
swaying cleavage.
...And then his bosoms started to get big.
He squealed and tried vainly to hold them back with his little hands
as they swelled and swelled.
The crowd went wild as Calvin's little top stretched to breaking
point.
He just stood there prettily, squealing and squealing, chest thrust
monstrously out, trying to keep his balance.
When they finally seemed to stop expanding, mounds of jiggling creamy
flesh spilled from the top and bottom of his tiny tank top, 'Candy'
stretched beyond legibility.
And then - when he had everyone's attention - with a single,
supremely practiced move, he reached down and tore off his top.
He gasped and tried to keep his balance. His impossibly huge titties,
each easily bigger than his pretty little head, bounced jubilantly at
their sudden freedom.
With a little surprised yelp, he enthusiastically began to work his
mountainous hooters for the crowd, sending them spinning in opposite
directions, the long booby-tassels attached to his nipples whirring
like helicopter blades.
He looked down, goggled eyed, at his mountainous titties as he spun
them sexily for the crowd and squealed and squealed, long and loud,
with disbelief.
Still unable to control himself, he rushed to the edge of the stage
and thrust his vast breasts into an eager face.
There was a pleasant tingle as they were squeezed up against a warm
body, and he felt the man's hand reach back and press a bill under
the hem of his tiny shorts, getting a good feel of his ass as he did
so.
He gasped - It felt so nice!
He did it again, shaking his boobies in a customer's face until they
finally emerged gasping for air.
He wiggled his big ass again for the crowd, and as they cheered he
started to feel himself getting moist.
Giggling, he bounced and wiggled his way best that he could back to
his pole, and gyrated and danced for the big men.
Blushing and cooing with pleasure at every whistle that he got,
loving the desperate looks of their faces as he wantonly flaunted
himself, he started to feel so pretty!
Oh, Daddy, if only you could see your little Candy now!
Candy went on dancing for the crowd, doing everything that she could
to turn them on.
She felt like a Princess!
Eventually, after the line for lap dances was a mile long, Candy
moaned and began rubbing herself against her pole as she finally came
from all the male attention.
No-one noticed, but a giant of a man poked his head in the door. He
saw the waitresses happily pleasuring big burly truckers, giggling
as they rubbed their big bouncing breasts in their faces.
He saw Candy, already craving more male attention, trying to walk
over to a customer waving a dollar bill in her direction. Her arms
were way out to help her stay balanced, and her immense bare breasts
bounced ridiculously with her every mincing little step as she,
whimpering with desire, tried to reach him.
The stranger smiled to himself and left, never to return.
Marisol
- 03.05.2022
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