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stevenbasic · 3 years

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“Wh-wh-where am I..??” I blurted, starting to sit up as I woke, on some strange bed in what looked like my office.

“Shh Shh Shh…” came Morgan’s voice, along with her hand on my chest, holding me back, “You are okay, you are the safe. Relax..."

My mind swirled in confusion. Last thing I remember I had been lap-swaddled by Melissa, in her office, and Morgan had come to take me to an exam room. Did I pass out? I hadn’t been feeling well, still, after my vitamin booster injection late yesterday afternoon, administered by Morgan and another of my APRNs, Vida, and today had been reeling from some upsetting news. It was just coming back to me, as Morgan’s strong hand laid me back down, gently but firmly: my car was gone! Taken, repossessed by my wife! And, with all the construction, the only way to get to my apartment was going to be - oh my god! - up a new little spiral staircase in Melissa’s office.

Settling back in this - what is this? Our emergency cot? - bed, apparently newly set up for me in my office, I felt the stirrings of another panic attack coming on. That’s what happened, right? That’s why I passed out? A panic attack?

“There there, good boy, lay down…” urged my new employee, nurse Morgan, her voice low, husky, “I am here.”

“B-b-but…” I began, eyes looking up at her. She was a handsome woman, big. Blonde, Slavic features, sparkling eyes, dimpled cheeks. A broad face, and broader shoulders, she radiated strength and warmth and jesus christ her tits are enormous. Sitting to my right, next to the low, fold-up cot - she had pulled a chair over - her huge Hungarian bosom hovered right near my face. She was wearing a tight, floral dress, slightly off the shoulder. Her strong arms were bare.

“No buts,” she told me, a stern, matronly sense of care solid in her voice, “You rest. I check you.” Her hand remained on my chest, holding me still. I was wrapped in the thin comforter from my bed upstairs, still, and naked underneath. Apparently I was not going anywhere.

I was so confused, though. “How did we get here?” I asked, taking the moment to glance around the room. Again, we were in my office. She had closed the blinds to the window, and though it was still - I hoped, not knowing how long I’d been out - morning, the light in the room was low. “a-and weren’t we going to an exam room?”

“This more private,” Morgan replied, “away from the prying eyes, yes?” She smiled down at me, patiently, her right hand now slowly rubbing my chest, her left brushing messy hair from my forehead. “You do not want your girls seeing you…like this?”

Very fucking true.

I noticed the blood pressure monitor stand in the room behind her; a stethoscope hung from her corded neck.

“You are fine, one-twenty-two over eighty-four, only slightly high,” she explained, watching my face. I noticed that my arms had been taken out from under my blanket, apparently to get a reading. So she’d checked my blood pressure, what else had she done? Though I didn’t see our wheelchair, I was assuming I’d been wheeled here while I was unconscious. Right?

Her right hand went to the blanket, to peel it away from my naked chest. “H-hey..!” I exclaimed, clutching it up higher, towards my throat.

“Hush, now, quiet,” Morgan scolded, pausing, “I need to do the physical exam.” She moved again to open the blanket; I gripped it only tighter.

”sh-shouldn’t we have someone else in room?” I tried, thinking of…I dunno. “In case someon-“

“This is private time,” Morgan countered, that slight, confident smile on her lips again. She was moving my hands away, now, “Just you and me…”

Alarm bells, like a distant warning, rang. But did I heed them? Nope. “o-o-okay…” I agreed, putting my care in the hands of this big woman.

Dutifully, she peeled down the blanket a bit, exposing more of my rail-thin chest. Tucking hair behind her ears and silently putting the buds of her stethoscope in, she placed the bell of the stethoscope first on her own skin, her throat. “To warm it up,” she offered with a sympathetic smile, after a couple moments. Then she removed it from herself, covered it with a long, humid breath - hahhhhhhhhhh - to warm it some more, and laid it on my chest. I was quiet myself as she began.

“I can hear your heart,” she smiled, looking down on me, biting her lower lip. I watched her face as she listened, the moment suddenly more intimate. Longer than she needed she took, evaluating my beats, the rushing sound of my valves opening and closing, the “lub dub” of the human heart. “No murmur, no defect, no problem,” she finally spoke, moving the drum a few inches across my chest. “Heartbeat just a little fast,” she reported, her smile curling just a bit, “You are the excited?”

Unconsciously, my eyes had flitted briefly down to her enormous left breast, which was hovering just north of my face. This woman was a pediatric nurse by training, working with premature infants in the past. The things would have been smaller than her tit by threefold, I’d found myself thinking.

Excited?

My eyes were back on her face.

“Breathe deep,” she instructed me, before I could answer, listening to my lungs fill as I complied: breath in, breath out. She moved the scope drum a bit. “Again.” I repeated: breath in, breath out.

“Little lungs,” she said, with a little cluck of tsk-tsk, “weak. Not big lungs, like me.” At that, her huge chest expanded with a big inhale, stretching the top of her dress even more tautly. My eyes goggled. “Deep breath,” she directed, and once again I obeyed, best I could. Good god! She listened, smiling at my discomfit, and moved on.

She went to pull down my blanket a bit more, and saw me tense again. “I need to listen to the intestine, to the gut,” she explained. Still reeling from watching her huge European chest nearly burst through her top, I gave no argument, and, uh…

Her stethoscope was now on my abdomen, bell-to-belly, and her free left hand still caressed my hair, for comfort. Her attentions, the slow movement of the stethoscope drum again lingered longer than necessary, drifting over my sensitive skin, caressing the lower parts of my stomach and-

Oh god, no.

I closed my eyes, clamping them shut in concentration. Don’t get hard.

“Do you want to know what I did at the Evolution?” I heard her say, as her stethoscope came to rest near my navel, the skin of her hand and wrist warm against my pallid flesh. Vida had explained, yesterday, a bit of Morgan’s history, her experience. After time in the NICU, in her home country (Hungary, if I remembered her application..?) she worked with a research team at Evolution Pharmaceuticals, the company that was soon to begin clinical trials of their new supplement here at our practice. We were being given tons of money and resources for it, from the company and various outside sources, and we needed the cash to stay financially afloat. But already I’d felt its looming shadow blanketing us and I secretly regretted ever getting into bed with them. And it was too late to back out now.

Without an answer from me, Morgan continued. “My job was the care for our littlest study subjects, holding their small bodies in my arms,” she began. Her voice sounded wistful. “They get cold so easy, they need the big woman body, keep them warm,” she said, obviously recalling tender times with her patients, “Some of them heads fit in my hand...” The bell of the stethoscope left my belly.

I was confused, a bit, suddenly. This was a supplement for women, right? Adult women? I opened my eyes and looked up at her. “I, uh, didn’t know Evolution was working with pediatrics, had children in their studies..?”

“Who say anything about children?” Morgan replied plainly,

Removing the earpieces of the stethoscope from her ears, folding the tubing with both hands, she placed the stethoscope to the side.

Before I could reply, ask another question, Morgan was speaking again. She'd turned to the side, a bit, swiveled at the waist and digging into an exam bag she’d brought with her. I took the furtive, covert moment to look at her again, appreciate the size and power of her hourglass torso, sheathed in her tight floral dress.

Stop it stop it stop it, I chastised myself, You're getting hard. The blanket covered me, now, merely from the waist down.

“I have weighed you already,” she told me, immediately bringing me more questions. How did she-?? “Now we must measure you.”

“How much did I w-weigh?” I asked, as a cloth measuring tape came from her bag. I could only picture-

“I held you, on scale,” she said, confirming my fears herself as she stretched the tape over me, head to toe, as I lay prone on the cot below her, “then myself, alone.” She took her measurement, and turned back to me, looked me in the eyes. “You are the 5’3”, 112 pounds. Me 198…”

Gulp. I’m still shrinking.

“…six feet tall.”

The image of this blonde, brute beauty holding me in her arms, weighing us, was too much for me to handle. I began to shiver and think of what her smile would have looked like when she realized-

“Eighty-six pounds,” she affirmed, in her strong Slavic accent, returning the measuring tape to her bag, “39 kilogram. I weigh that much more than you.”

My shivers became trembles as it began to set in, and she watched me as it did. I was still losing weight, height, becoming smaller and weaker, and the size difference between she and I was already terrifying. Morgan - a tall, strong woman - had more than eighty pounds on me, and eight inches. I could only think of Melissa, who was taller still. Twice my weight? More than a foot? If not now, soon? Was that possible??

“Yes,” Morgan spoke, as if answering my silent questions, “you are so thin, so small.” As she gazed down at me her hand glided over my chest, down to my belly in a gentle caress. My loins immediately seized and - good christ, no - my cock surged thick. If she saw it, though, through the thin blanket, she said nothing. “You will need the warming too, soon. Like my other babies.”

She smiled down on me and I gazed up at her with what I am sure was a maelstrom of emotions and feelings plain on my face: fear, confusion, uncertainty. She let them play out, inside me, watching me irrationally imagine myself small like a needy infant, needing to cling to her huge body for heat. My muddled panic electrified the air between us as her huge left breast was slowly coming closer to my face.

“You ask earlier, how you get here?” she enjoined, finally, as my eyes struggled to not just stare at her enormous chest, at the outline of the bra I could see through her top, the extra bulge of breast which it struggled to contain, “how you come from Melissa office, to here?” I could feel the warmth of her breast, her gentle body heat already. “Do you know?”

“I…I…”

I had assumed it was a wheelchair, though…now I remember Morgan holding her arms out to me, when Melissa had stood with me in her own embrace from her couch. I thought of our height difference, my weight. I considered Morgan’s strong, strong arms, her back and shoulders and thighs, and I began to shiver anew, picturing-

“Yes. I carried you like the child in my arms,” she declared, “through hallways, past all.” She watched my face, seemed to be drinking in my shame, savoring it. “The women see, they watch. They see their man being carried, like child, by nurse.”

“M-M-Morgan..?” I stammered, not knowing what I was asking, not knowing what I wanted to say. The massive shelf of her bosom hung over me.

“You are…so little, you must get so cold…” she said, her husky voice dropping lower. I felt her hand reach lower, open my blanket. The cooler space of the room washed over me, settling on my naked hips. I cringed in humiliation as I felt my cock spring free, bobbing hugely in the air above my belly.

“Oooo it is the true!” she suddenly sang, her voice brightening in surprise, “Down here you are not so little, you are the big!” She giggled, a strangely girlish laugh from such a big woman. “Here, I don’t mind the big,” she continued, considering me, looking at me, examining it in all its brutish glory. I grimaced in indignity. The thing had become a beast. Always large, it now seemed to dominate my frame when erect, now that I had shriveled and waned behind it. Thin hips, meager thighs, monstrous boner.

“Man is good small,” Morgan explained, abruptly taking hold of my cock, grasping it by its thickly-veined shaft in her large, strong hand. Stars flashed in my eyes, and I swooned. “But big here is good,” she said, “It take all of your blood, make you dim, like the stupid child.” She began to stroke it, slowly, up and down. “Make it easy for the woman to do this…”

“M-Morgan, no…” I protested, my voice sounding weaker than it should. What was she doing? I was married, she worked for me! Anyone could walk in! And then there was Melissa…. But my objection? I heard it myself, sounding less-than-fervent.

“Shhhh it is the okay,” she purred, the warmth of her body, the soft touch of her hand entrancing me, “Let me give you release. You need woman for that.”

I groaned, shuddered, and lay back silent. I tried to look up into her face but at this point could succeed in nothing but staring up at the undersides of her giant rack, two twin bulges which dwarfed me below them.

“I hear Melissa talk to you, hm? About becoming dependent on woman, surrounded by woman?” she asked, as slowly she took to her task, “She tell you, yes? She tell you how many men like that? How many many men now want the big mommy-woman, fleshy and soft, to be cared for, fed by them. Yes, yes they do…”

Her hand, tender but firm, slid up and down my cock at a perfect, gentle pace…but one with an obvious goal in mind. I could do nothing but lay there, paralyzed, helpless below her bulk and - ‘to be cared for, fed by them’ - picture her breasts, now, naked in maternal, monumental grandeur above me. Each would be larger than my head, and the thought stirred my arousal further. I felt my loins, my belly start to tremble.

“But do you know how many men also fantasy of being held by women in other ways, in ways not so gentle,” she continued, “hurt by women, crushed by women?”

Her huge left breast was now scant moments, centimeters away from my trembling face. I whined, quivering below it, faced by it as the hand working my shaft became more insistent. She held her breast there, letting me appreciate its sheer mass, how it dwarfed my head. “Oh my god…” I heard myself croak.

“Suffocation,” she said, finally, as she slowly lowered her boob down, pressing onto my nose, squashing onto my mouth, my eyes. It eclipsed my cheeks, my forehead, my chin. “Suffocated by woman, smothered by woman?” she breathed, her voice betraying her own deep arousal now, “Is that your fantasy too, little man? Do you fantasy about that?”

As if overcome, finally, herself, she began to jerk me off in earnest now, her hand moving faster and faster.

“Come for me, come my little man,” she ordered, as the soft weight of her huge, pillowy left breast lay now fully on my face, completely covering it, squashing me, keeping me from drawing breath. “Feel yourself tiny, under woman’s giant breast,” she said, unrelenting even as she felt my limbs go rigid, my hands grip the thin cushion below me. My climax was almost there, if I didn’t pass out first. “Feel how easy it be for her to do the smother, crush you,” she snarled, “Feel how easy for her it would be to just make…you…dead.”

With a whimpering groan I came, in a soul-draining explosion, into her hand, my face buried in her tit.

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