Karaoke - 2/3 (Patreon)

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Karaoke - 2/3

***

Mary leads me into one of the early 20th-century bungalows that populate the neighborhoods around downtown. Despite their similarity, each house has a unique style, and this one is no different. I follow her inside, and she directs me to the living room while she fetches the whiskey.

“You want ice?” She calls from the kitchen.

“Sure.”

As Mary comes back to the living room, she stops in the doorway. She’s carrying a glass in each hand and just… waiting there. When I meet her eye, she spreads her hands, holding a glass to either side, elbows still at her waist. She seems to be showing herself off, and before I can stop them, my eyes travel the length of her long body. Her skirt is pale green and falls well past her knees. She’s barefoot now, and her toenails are painted pink. Seeing her bare feet so casually on display sends an unexpected thrill down my spine. Her skirt emphasizes the gentle curve of her hips instead of concealing them. Her white top ends just above her belly button, and the contrast of the modest skirt against her exposed midriff also catches me off-guard. Her stomach is flat, and her waist tiny, giving her a perfect hourglass silhouette. Well, an hourglass with a little too much sand in the top—because her breasts look ready to tear that shirt open with her next deep breath.

I guess Mary is satisfied with the reaction she gets because she starts moving when my eyes return to hers. Before entering the room, she stalks across the wide doorway, giving me a view of her profile. From the side, I can see the s-curve of her generous bust and relatively understated bottom. If I were more of an ass-man, she’d have my attention with that alone. Her cheeks round out the fabric of her skirt, and I’m sure she’s giving it a little wiggle as she walks. However, most of my attention is on her chest, where her skin-tight top shows me every jiggle of those luscious lumps. When she stops moving, my eyes dart upward to see her smirking at me. This girl knows exactly what she’s doing. When I get back to my friend’s house, I’m either going to murder my buddy or thank him profusely.

Aside from showing off her curves, Mary’s excuse for crossing the doorway becomes apparent when she puts both whiskeys in one hand and reaches for the light switch. I never thought someone turning a dimmer knob could be erotic, but as I watch her long fingers twist that wheel—the same fingers that were laced with mine a few minutes ago—I can’t help but imagine them touching me instead. The room falls into shadow as Mary dims the lights. I can still see her clearly, but it’s darker here now than at the bar.

Finally, she comes closer. She steps into the room, almost like a cat stalking prey. That prey, I realize, is me. The prank is about to reach its climax, and I brace myself. Any minute now, my friends will pop out from the next room and have a good laugh at my expense.

Mary hands me one of the glasses. Then, instead of joining me on the couch or taking the nearby chair, she drops that luscious ass onto the coffee table—directly across from me. We stood pretty close together while singing our duet and even held hands on the walk here, but somehow, facing her in this dark living room feels uncomfortably close.

I struggle to keep my hand from shaking as I lift the glass to my lips. The whiskey is bright and sharp, far smoother than the basic Jameson I usually drink. The burn, as it slides down my throat, spreads to my extremities and helps ease some of my anxiety at this bizarre situation.

She’s watching me again. “Good?”

I nod. “Really good, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She takes a sip, and I almost hear an odd emphasis on the last word.

After a few more sips, she says, “So, awkward around girls, huh? You do like girls, though?”

I’m momentarily confused, then remember we met in a gay bar. “Yes.”

She smiles again, and I’m so lost in her beauty that it takes a second to process her next question. “Do you prefer blondes or redheads?”

The whiskey is relaxing my nerves, so I answer honestly. “Mostly brunettes, actually.”

Mary crosses her legs, folding an arm across her chest. How stupid am I to tell this blonde goddess I prefer brunettes? “I, um…”

“Short or tall?” She interrupts before I can form some pathetic excuse.

I consider lying. It’s pretty obvious what she wants to hear. But her eyes are already flashing blue ice at my hesitation. She’ll know if I lie.

“Um… short?”

Sighing, Mary rolls her eyes. Strike two. If this isn’t a prank, I’m fucking blowing it—big time.

She sets her glass down and leans forward, putting her hands on her knees. Her skin-tight top isn’t very low-cut, but at this angle, I can see that delicious line of cleavage down her collar, and my mouth goes dry.

“Boobs?”

I jerk back as if slapped, meeting her eyes, certain I’m about to actually get hit. “What?”

Her eyes narrow. “Boobs. Big or small?”

“Oh! Um… big?”

She clicks her tongue but grins again. “Geez, you really are awkward.”

Sitting back, she picks up her glass and takes another sip. “So, one for three, huh? That’s disappointing…”

My anxiety comes flooding back. “Wait, that’s not, I…“

Mary raises a blonde eyebrow. “You…?”

“I thought you were just asking in general. I think you’re very pretty.”

My words sound lame even to me, but her lips form a small smile as she looks down at the floor. She rolls her free hand in a “go on” gesture. I decide to be fully honest with her. I’ve already said I’m awkward; how much worse can this get?

“I was really surprised you wanted to talk to me at the bar. I mean, you’re gorgeous!”

Her eyes flash to mine, then back at the floor. “Really?”

“Are you serious? You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in real life.”

She snorts a laugh and looks at me again. The raised eyebrow is back. “In real life?”

A lump forms in my throat. Sure, I’m being honest, but I’m not ready to be that honest.

“Well… there are no filters or Photoshop in real life, and you’re perfect without them.”

“Hmm… you’re doing a little better.” Mary sips her drink and stares silently at the floor for a long moment. “Perfect, huh?”

“Yeah…”

She set her glass down again, then uncrosses her legs, leaning back slightly. Her knees are almost touching mine, and I can’t decide whether I want to jump off this couch and tackle her or pull her down on top of me. Either option would be significantly out of character, but this situation is so surreal that my fantasies bleed over.

“And… sexy?” She puts both hands on the table, leaning back even more. Once again, she seems to be giving me permission to look. I let my eyes travel slowly down her body. I feel myself growing hard as I imagine the tiny bit of space between us disappearing. I want to feel that incredible body against mine. I need to fill my hands with that tiny waist, that luscious ass, and those god-damn phenomenal tits.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

As she watches my face, I swear I can see her breasts swell ever so slightly. She’s easily an F-cup now, and I wonder how she’s controlling the prosthesis. Maybe one of my friends is hiding in the other room with the remote. The thought makes me glance around the dark room. Are they hiding in here? Back in the kitchen?

Mary moves, drawing my attention back to her. She rises off the table but doesn’t stand, leaning toward me. Time slows as her face gets closer and closer to mine. My eyes dart from her eyes to her lips, to her cleavage. She’s so close now I can see the green and silver flecks in the sapphires of her irises. Her lips are full, pink and shining. This new angle is making her breasts surge forward from gravity, and I can see the shape of her bra, where they’re starting to spill over into her top.

They seem to be swelling even larger, but Mary interrupts my racing thoughts with a kiss.

She holds my shoulders for balance, pressing her lips to mine again and again. They make soft, wet noises with each touch. She pushes back, glancing down into my lap, where my partial arousal is making itself visible. Her eyes sparkle, and I can see her top get a little tighter.

“Is that for me?”

Before I can answer, she reaches down to brush one finger lightly over my jeans, bringing me to “full mast” in a few heartbeats.

Mary coos with delight. “Oh wow, a ‘grower.’”

Taking the glass from my hand and setting it on the table, she hikes her skirt over her knees and climbs into my lap. I catch a glimpse of her panties, and my heart briefly stops. The heat of her ass against my thighs tells me they don’t cover much. Meeting my eyes again, she pecks more kisses along my neck and up toward my ear. “You know,” she whispers, “you should be a lot more confident, packing that kinda heat…”

Her kisses travel back to my lips, and she slips her tongue into my mouth. She pulls away with a frown, looking down at my hands. I’m holding them flat against the couch cushions. I could say I’m terrified my friends or even the cops are about to bust me, but really, I’m simply terrified.

“What did I just say?” She demands.

My voice cracks as I say, “To um… that I should be more confident?”

Mary rolls her eyes again. She grins wickedly. “Do you want to know a secret?”

I nod.

She leans in, pressing her now-full chest against me. I feel her hot breath as she whispers in my ear, “I’m a grower too!”

She scoots her bottom to the edge of my knees, putting her hands on her hips and arching her back. Her magnificent breasts seem to swell before my eyes. The invitation couldn’t be clearer if she told me to touch them. Besides, I’m burning with curiosity to know what kind of gear she’s using.

I raise my hands until they’re mere inches from her breasts. They’re round and full. I stare at them. They certainly look real. I meet her eyes, trying to come up with the words to ask permission without sounding like an idiot.

Mary seems to read my mind, nodding her consent.

Slowly, tentatively, as if they might burn me, I lay my hands on them. They’re warm, but less so than I expected. Soft and firm, her flesh resists my touch. The room fades away, and there’s nothing but sensation. I have the ridiculous thought that they feel like hard-boiled eggs—not quite hard, but not yet soft. Like perfect stress balls, I squeeze and knead. Then, an unwelcome thought intrudes on my bliss. I can’t feel any seams; there is no transition between flesh and prosthetic.

They feel… real.

Mary hums with pleasure, but I barely hear it. How can this be? The girl I met a couple of hours ago at karaoke was flat. An A-cup at most. Now, I’m holding a pair of G-cups. Enough flesh to fill my groping hands with a little left over. And they feel completely real. Is this somehow… not a prank? Is this young, beautiful goddess really sitting in my lap, letting me fondle her breasts? The room starts to spin. Vertigo makes me stop moving my hands. Lightly gripping Mary’s boobs to steady myself, I feel something new. The pressure against my palms is slowly, almost imperceptibly, increasing.

Keeping my hands still, I glance up at her shoulders and face. She’s arching her back, pressing her massive tits into my hands, right? I’ve never had a woman be so forward, so eager… This must be more of her teasing aggressiveness, right?

Except it’s not. Mary is sitting completely still. I watch her lips curl into a smirk and meet her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed red, and her eyes bore into mine with a look I can only describe as “hunger.”

I feel the pressure in my hands increase.

They’re getting bigger.

***

Since I first saw her, Mary’s tits have grown from A to G-cup. No, that’s not right. They’re at least H’s now. And they are still. Getting. Bigger.

They have to be fake. Real-life boobs don’t grow that fast. At best, a woman might go up a couple of cup sizes after having a baby as her milk comes in. But they definitely don’t swell to double or triple their volume in less than two hours. I press my fingers into Mary’s breasts and feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Her boobs swell into my hands, then recede. But with each exhale, they recede less; with each inhale, they swell more. Whatever she is wearing under that shirt is incredibly well-made. No hard latex, and whatever they’re filling up with, it isn’t air. They’re much too soft. Much too pliable.

I have to know.

Reluctantly, I let go of the magnificent lobes, reaching for Mary’s shirt. I grab the bottom hem and pause, never taking my eyes off hers.

She nods again, whispering, “It’s not gonna last long if you don’t…”

I twitch beneath her, and Mary’s mouth forms an “oh.” I hear the soft brushing of fabric as her tits plump up. I tug on her shirt, and she raises her arms. After some light resistance, the garment pops up to her neck. I grab it all with both hands and pull it past her head. She takes it the rest of the way off, but my attention is elsewhere.

Her bra is white. Simple, solid cups with a small fringe of lace. And huge. The cups are as big as the biggest ones I’ve seen at the store, and she’s filling them. More than filling—overflowing. Pale skin that looks more pink against the pure white undergarment spills over the cups, under the band, and even a little on the sides. It’s the same skin. The same skin runs up her mounds, all the way to her neck. Hands trembling, I touch her lightly, running my fingers over the plump curves and under her arms, looking for the transition from skin to the prosthetic.

But there’s no seam. I watch them rise and fall gently. As I stare at her bare skin, I can see them swell, growing almost imperceptibly slowly, like rising bread dough.

“You like?” She whispers.

My mouth is dry as I croak out, “Amazing.”

Mary hums while grinding her ass into my lap. She runs a finger along the edge of one giant bra cup. “You better take this off too. They’re not cheap at this size—I don’t want to break it.”

Too dazed to ask any of the questions that burn in my mind, I reach behind her back, pawing at the hooks. One of my few girlfriends very patiently taught me how to do this. As the last hook comes free, Mary’s bra flies off her chest, nearly hitting me in the face.

I lean back against the couch as she slips the bra off her shoulders, staring. A pair of fat pink nipples stare back. I reach for them again, gazing questioningly into those bright sapphires.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” She commands.

Instead of going straight for the nipples, I feel around under her arms again. I gently lift each breast to inspect her torso beneath. Nothing. No seams, no tubes, no pump.

I look up at her again. “H-how?”

With a shushing sound, Mary leans forward, pressing them against my neck. She grabs my head and shoves it between them. My world is nothing but warm, heavenly softness.

It’s enough to finally shut up my inner monologue with all its damn questions and doubts. I grab a boob in each hand, rolling my face around in them. I drink in her scent, sweet and delicate, like soap with a hint of something floral. I kiss them over and over, coming back up for air a few times. Then I see a nipple.

I put my mouth over the firm pink nub, sucking with my lips and flicking with my tongue. Mary’s humming becomes a moan, and I can feel her breasts start swelling again in my hands.

I’ve gone home with a beautiful girl. She’s sitting in my lap, ass on my erection, and had her tongue in my mouth a minute ago. Her vast, gorgeous tits are in my hands, and she’s letting me suck on them. This night has already been far better than I’d expected when I came downtown for karaoke. Beyond that, I’m pretty sure I’m about to get laid. The night is about to get spectacularly good.

But there’s more.

Somehow, on top of all the fantastic, improbable things that have already happened tonight, the tits in my mouth are growing in my hands. It’s like a scene lifted straight out of my most secret, private fantasies. But nothing I’ve ever watched, read, or imagined has equaled this moment. So much skin, so much heat. “Incredible” doesn’t begin to describe it.

Mary shifts her hips, and soft flesh presses into my rock-hard length. If I were ten years younger, I might not have been able to restrain myself. Even now, I just barely manage it. The heat of her body grinding against me intensifies as I feel dampness seeping into my jeans. I move my right hand off her breast and put it on her knee. I look up at her again, waiting.

Mary smiles, taking my head in both hands and pressing her lips to mine. Her breaths are shallow as she says, “It’s very sweet of you, and I appreciate it, but you have my permission unless I say to stop, okay?”

Head still spinning, I manage to ask, “Are you sure?”

She kisses me again. “Positive. As long as you make me feel good, you can do whatever. You. Want.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, dots are trying to connect. In the front of my mind, I replay everything Mary has said since we sat down. She wants me to be confident. And she just gave me carte blanche.