Short Stacks
Volume VIII
~ss.md
The Family Dairy Farm
Alana crawled into her bed, careful not to let the wobbling of her P–cup breasts jostle her full tummy too much.
Barb’s meatloaf is great, but I probably should have stopped at three helpings… She thought to herself, rolling onto her back and pressing her fingers into her packed middle.
Alana’s stomach grumbled with the work of digesting her healthy homestyle dinner as she drifted off to sleep.
***
“Alana! Wake up!”
A hand shook Alana awake. She opened her eyes to see the sky outside her window was still dark and full of stars. A blonde head was very close to hers, whispering loudly.
“Come on, wake up!”
“Britney? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be back at college?”
“What are you talking about? Come on, we have to milk the cows before five!”
Britney pulled on Alana’s arm, dragging her out from under the covers. As she stood, Alana found she was already wearing a snug flannel and denim overalls.
“Let’s go, Cindy will have our hides if we’re not out there in five minutes!”
In a sleepy daze, Alana followed the wispy blonde. Between one bleary blink and the other she was in an unfamiliar barn filled with black and white cows. She didn’t even know the farm had cows. Britney was seated on a stool, squeezing the teats of a particularly large cow, streams of milk shot into the metal bucket below.
“Hey… have you ever tried the milk fresh?” The small blonde asked teasingly.
“Um… no?” Alana was so confused. She watched in shock as Britney twisted the large teat toward herself, squeezing a thin stream of milk into her mouth.
“It’s super good. You should try it.”
“Uh… I’m good, thanks.”
“Come on…”
Alana looked at the cow. Apart from being a large animal, she looked fat and healthy, with udders that seemed larger than they should be.
“Why is she so… big?” Alana asked.
“Huh?” Britney seemed confused at the question. “This is Betsy, our prize milker.”
Alana looked at the round pink udders that reached almost to the barn floor. She wondered how Betsy managed to walk.
“Did you think it was just the humans here at the farm who are ‘gifted?’” Britney smirked. “Come on, try some of her milk. If you do I’ll do that thing you like.”
Alana blushed, but couldn’t pass up that offer. She got down on her hands and knees, cautiously approaching the massive udders.
“That’s it. Try some ‘straight from the tap.’”
Alana put her mouth over the large teat. It felt like sucking on a hot dog, but the milk was warm and sweet, and before she knew it she was guzzling it down eagerly.
Britney crouched down on top of Alana, groping her massive breasts with both hands. “That’s it, drink up thirsty girl…”
Alana felt a strange warmth in her chest. Her breasts felt full like her stomach after one of Barb’s big dinners. Britney’s hands grabbed her waist, pulling her to one side.
“Flip over, you’ll get a better flow that way.”
Alana complied, rolling onto her back and sliding up so Betsy’s teat could slide right into her open mouth. She gulped and suckled, and on either side of the large pink teat she could see the twin mounds of her own udders growing larger.
Britney climbed on top of Alana, sitting on her and stroking her breasts as the straps of her overalls got tighter.
“That’s it big girl… drink up…”
~ss.md
Wren
Wren’s eyes fluttered open with the obnoxious buzzing of her alarm. She reached one thin arm across the bed to grab her phone and silence the offending sound. She very much did not want to get out of bed, but she had class this morning, and she was one tardy mark away from failing Econ 201. The lithe redhead stretched her arms above her head and began the laborious process of getting out of bed. First she used both hands to shove her left breast onto her right side, then sat up. Her breasts rested on her knees, spilling over and nearly reaching the floor. Gathering momentum, Wren heaved herself forward to stand upright, twisting to let her spine make a few satisfying crackles.
Slipping her tent–like tee shirt off, Wren padded down the hall to her bathroom, where she squeezed herself into the standard shower stall. Her breasts pressed against both the back wall and the glass door of the inadequate space, but she managed to get as much of herself as she could reach clean. Wren had an extra long brush to reach the full expanse of her bosom, but decided she didn’t have time for that today. Getting herself mostly dry, Wren returned to her bedroom to get dressed. After the complex process of putting on a bra large enough to make two hammocks for normal size girls, Wren put on a clean shirt and leggings. It was time for breakfast.
Wren stepped into her kitchen, feeling her breasts brush both sides of the door frame. She stood sideways to the counter to reach for a coffee pod and pop it into the machine. Before ‘the incident’ Wren enjoyed making complicated coffee like French press and pour–over; but that meant using both hands, and there just wasn’t any practical way for her to reach the counter when she was facing it.
The redhead pulled a protein bar from the box in an upper cabinet. She hardly used the lower cabinets for anything anymore. Munching on her breakfast, Wren went through her daily routine of berating herself for drinking the whole bottle of serum. Sure, she’d hated being flatter than Kansas, but this was not the life she wanted instead.
The coffee was done, so Wren grabbed her tablet and slipped it into her expansive cleavage. Her back had enough to do carrying her tits around to deal with a backpack. Coffee in one hand and everything else resting safe in ‘Wren canyon,’ the redhead crossed her living room to her apartment door.
Wren had switched entirely to slip–on shoes. Between the effort of reaching her feet and the strain of squatting down and standing back up, it just made sense. Her brown Mary Janes were by the door where she’d removed them yesterday. The left slipped on easily, but the right rolled over wildly. Wren sighed and took several big steps backward to see where her shoe had gone. Spotting it, she stepped back up carefully, waving her bare right food around until she found the elusive shoe. She rolled it right side up, slipped her toes into it, and stepped toward the door.
For a moment Wren forgot herself and slammed her front into the closed door as she walked with an arm outstretched to reach the handle. Chuckling, she twisted to one side and pulled the door open.
Wren’s breasts brushed the doorframe as she stepped out of her apartment. As she rode the elevator down, she wondered if that weird shop in the mall had more of that serum.
~ss.md
Gone So Long
Lisa whistled as she climbed out of her car and up the walkway to her house. It was a modest thing, barely more than four walls and a bath. One bedroom, decent kitchen, but it was hers. Well, hers with her wife. Her beautiful, perfect wife, who she hadn’t seen in almost two weeks.
Emily was Lisa’s ‘trophy wife.’ A lovely blonde with breasts that could turn a gay man straight. And she had eyes only for Lisa. Lisa worked hard to climb the corporate ladder and take care of her partner. It wasn’t that Emily didn’t work, but neither had any illusions about who was the primary bread–winner in the relationship.
Lisa quivered with excitement as she approached her front door. She had two weeks of pent–up arousal to get out, and she’d loaded up her car with desserts and junk food in preparation. Emily wasn’t as big a glutton as her ‘little’ sister, but it took very little encouragement to get her to over–indulge. Lisa spent the entire flight back from the corporate retreat fantasizing about dressing Emily up in one of her old button–ups and hand–feeding her donuts and cakes until she blew off every last button.
The front doorknob resisted Lisa’s attempts to turn it. Putting her weight into it, she successfully unlatched the stubborn fixture, but was confused by what she saw next. The doorway was filled from top to bottom with what appears to be… skin?
Lisa pushed the door closed and went through the yard to the back. The seldom–used glass slider looked the same as the front. Pale, smooth… something pressed against the large panes and resisted her attempts to slide the door open.
In frustrated desperation, Lisa circled the house trying windows. Most were locked, and the ones that weren’t were every bit as blocked as the front door.
What the hell happened here??
Lisa heard the sound of a car pulling into the drive, and went around front to see who it was. A twenty–something boy climbed out of the rusty coup carrying two plastic bags full of styrofoam clamshells.
“Oh er… hey Lisa.”
Lisa recognized Pete, one of her sister–in–law’s army of fans.
“Hey Pete, what’s up?”
“Just got some food here for Emily.” Pete said nervously.
Lisa followed the delivery driver around to the far side of the house, where the windows to the bedroom were. The tall bushes blocked the opening, but Pete pushed through them and Lisa saw the window was open. Lisa shoved past the driver to peer in.
Emily was perched on a pile of mattress and bedding. The entire room was filled with her massive breasts.
“You’re back!” Lisa’s wife exclaimed. As Lisa held the sill of the window, she felt the house tremble and creak as her wife tried to move. She could only picture the demolished walls and crushed furniture that lay beyond what she could see.
“Emily, what… what happened??”
Emily looked down sheepishly. “Well… you were gone so long… I got kinda… kinda hungry.”
A shiver of excitement ran down Lisa’s spine. She snatched the bags of takeout from Pete’s hands.
“I’ll take those, Pete. Thanks.”
Lisa lifted each bag of food through the window, then climbed in herself.
~ss.md
The Big Bosom
The cab slowed to a stop in the gravel drive of Harrison House. The door was a few city blocks away, but I didn’t mind a little stretch of the legs. I paid the fresh–faced kid driving the cab and left a healthy tip. No point in stiffing the working man just because I was hard up. I clanged the knocker twice on the ancient mahogany door and waited. The butler who answered looked like he’d been around since before the war.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to see Missus Avery. Stan Slade.”
“Of course, Mister Slade. Won’t you follow me?”
The man had a face carved from granite with eyebrows that wanted a trim when I was still in grammar school. The house was nice. Old money nice. Carved molding and oak panels that were certainly a full–time job to keep dusted. The household clearly had a vacancy in that position. The butler led me to a pair of double doors.
“Just through here, Mister Slade.”
I knew the man was the real deal. Any kind of half–rate butler would have called me sir. I’m no respecter of persons, but any man who calls me sir without my leave is a man I trust as much as a punk nickel.
Mrs Avery’s rooms were well–appointed. The plaster showed more than a few coats of paint, but the most recent had either started as ivory, or had been smeared on long enough ago to have turned ivory. I found Cassandra Avery reclining on a velvet divan in a shade of blue I’d never seen the San Fransisco sky.
I made my face into a mask. I’d heard rumors about Cass Avery, but seeing the heiress in the flesh was something different. Flesh being the operative word. I wondered if the woman could walk, or even stand. She wore a blue silk nightgown that would have served perfectly as a circus tent out in the middle west. She had pouty lips that shone in the dim electric bulbs. A soft chin with a solid line around the jaw. Blonde curls to make even the least vain starlet turn green. Dark emerald eyes that seemed to bore into my soul, if I still had one. I let my eyes roam over her legs. Long pale legs draped over the far end of the divan, well worth a good roam.
All these and more I focused my eyes on, to avoid staring at the elephant in the room. Two elephants. Mrs Avery’s breasts. They were like a bootlegger’s stash exchanged for nickels and stuffed in two sacks. Like a pair of Packards made entirely of flesh. Like the fattest, most bribed chief of police in a city even more corrupt than mine, doubled, split in two, then doubled again.
“Mister Slade?”
I met her eyes. Even without tits the size of Texas, this woman was trouble with a capital T.
“That’s right. How can I help you, Missus Avery?”
“It’s Miss now…”
Oh yes, trouble for sure.
“I’m being blackmailed, Mister Slade. Someone has photos of me in a rather… exposed position.”
I let my eyes briefly roam over Miss Avery again. With as much skin as she was showing, I wondered what she could possibly consider ‘exposed…’
~ss.md
Unexpected Potency
Teresa Davidson, Titania to her followers, checked her makeup in the camera view as she waited for the clock to tick over to nine. Titania had become one of the most popular cam girls in the big boob scene with her ability to grow her massive chest even bigger at will. Nobody knew how she did it, not even Teresa herself. But if she concentrated, focused her will, she could expand her breasts just over a cup size per hour. They always went back down to her normal M–cups after a good night’s sleep, but if Titania put on a nice tight button–up, played games and chatted with her fans for a few hours, she could be down to just her bra and make more money in one night than she’d made in a entire month working retail.
But it was getting more difficult. Titania was having a harder and harder time keeping her viewers entertained without losing focus and stalling out her growth. She had few other skills, and her baseline size had increased over the years to the point where her only other career option was stripping or actual porn. Teresa wasn’t coordinated enough to dance, and the thought of being filmed having sex made her skin crawl. So she did the only thing she could think of; she ordered every kind of bust enhancement product she could find online.
The first was a cream called Body Boost from some company called Madsgenix. Teresa doubted it would actually work, but on the off–chance it did, she wasn’t going to waste the growth not doing it live on her channel. She squirted a big glob of the white cream into one palm, spread it between both hands, then rubbed it into the skin beneath her blouse and industrial–strength bra. Almost immediately Teresa felt a tingling all over her breasts, which she chalked up to some kind of mild stimulant meant to convince the suckers who bought the stuff that it was working.
Teresa started the stream.
“Hey guys! Welcome back to Tuesdays with Titania! We’re going to be checking up on my island in Animal Crossing, but first…”
Teresa kept up her vamping, while she concentrated on her breasts. Just like she’d done hundreds of times, she visualized them growing. Swelling. Filling with fat, the cells within enlarging, dividing, and enlarging again. But unlike the hundreds of times before, her body reacted almost immediately. Within seconds Teresa grew from M–cup to O, then P. The buttons on her blouse creaked and strained; small diamond–shaped windows opening to show her viewers skin and bra alike.
Teresa gasped, breaking the patter of her stream as she saw the fabric of her top pucker and wrinkle in the small preview window on her screen. “Oh wow… my girls are enthusiastic tonight. I hope you guys are as excited as they are!”
A flood of eggplants, cherries, and water splash emoji scrolled by the chat faster than Teresa could see.
I guess this stuff is the real deal… She thought, hiding a smug smirk.
Testing the Body Boost lotion again, Teresa tried focussing her will very gently on her breasts. She imagined them plumping up ever so slightly, like hot dogs on the grill.
Titania’s blouse erupted in a spray of buttons, and Teresa watched the donation tracker blur as money poured in.
~ss.md
Pie Eating Contest
“Are you sure about this, Claire? It kinda feels like cheating…”
Claire was starting to regret brining Peter along for this. True, she needed him to drive, now that she couldn’t fit behind a steering wheel, but he was such a worrier.
“It’s fine Pete. I’ll be eating the pies just like everyone else, right?”
“Yeah but… don’t you basically have an unlimited appetite?”
“So?”
“So… um… what if your clothes rip?”
Claire rolled her eyes and tugged on the massive tee shirt she wore.
“Look at this shirt Peter.”
Peter did, and was silent for several long moments. Claire smirked. The shirt hung off her like a tarp, but no garment made could disguise the prize watermelons the brunette carried around.
“Does it look tight?”
“Erm… no?”
“And the material stretches. I’d have to grow twice, no, three times this size to even come close to tearing it.”
“I guess…”
“Look. I owe you quite a bit on my tab, right?”
“Yeah…”
“And a thousand–dollar prize will more than cover it, yeah?”
“True…”
“So quit worrying so much.”
“Fine…”
Claire stepped closer to the young delivery boy, letting her massive breasts bump into his chest. “If I win, I’ll buy dinner on the way home. I may even let you feed it to me…”
Peter’s cheeks reddened, but before either of them had a chance to say more, the announcement came over the PA.
“The pie eating contest starts in five minutes! Make your way to pavilion C to watch the big pie eating contest!”
Claire grabbed Peter’s hand, dragging him toward the pavilion with more speed than a woman her size should have been capable of.
“Ready… set… go!”
Claire’s breasts rested on the table as she ate. There were twelve contestants in the contest; all different ages and body types. Most were Claire’s age or younger, and quite a few were fatter, if you didn’t count her enormous chest. Some used the fork they were given, some used their hands. Claire simply picked up the aluminum pie plates with both hands, bent it like some kind of pie taco, and poured the crust and filling into her mouth as fast as she could.
A very overweight man in his late twenties saw Claire’s technique and imitated it, but after eight pies he had to tap out. A few of the younger contestants didn’t even make it to five. By the time Claire was chugging her twelfth pie, there were only two competitors left. A woman in her mid thirties, and a man pushing forty. Neither were particularly fat, but both were tall and broad, and were clearly veterans of the competitive eating scene.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen; the final three almost matched each other pie–for–pie. Claire’s oversize top grew snug across her bosom as it swelled across the table. Hushed whispers and muttering spread through the crowd. The woman pushed her eighteenth pie away, leaning back in her chair. Claire and the man continued for two more pies, until he tapped out as well.
The crowed looked on in morbid fascination as Claire continued to gorge. Her snug shirt grew tight as the fronts of her breasts reached the far end of the table. Twenty–three, twenty–five, thirty.
The voice of the announcer finally managed to cut through Claire’s haze of gluttony.
“Um… contestant number six? You’ve won… You can stop eating now…”
Claire looked around in a daze. Her bloated breasts blocked her view of the crowd.
“Is… is there more pie?”