mrbiggm

[mrbiggm]

A nerdy tomboy uses reality altering magic to transform herself into her crush’s dream woman and is ecstatic to see that she was already that… well… except for ONE thing~

I mentally tried to prepare myself for the worst, which is a nicer way than saying that I let my anxiety run through what I considered to be the worst case scenarios. Maybe I'd turn into some vapid, bleach-blonde, balloon-titted bimbo, just a shell of a person, a toy for him to use. Maybe he was into submissive, domesticated housewives and my encyclopedic knowledge of BNHA quirks would be replaced with '101 Ways to Decorate a Pie' or some similar bullshit. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with those, if that's what he was into. It'd just be a big change for me. I'm not some Dommy Mommy. I'm not anyone's Lady Dimitrescu. I'm not a bondage bunny or a subby brat or a meek, subservient damsel.

I'm just... Me. Kinda mousy. Kinda pale. Dark, messy hair. Maybe slightly tinged gothic, if you really wanted to look for it, but a septum piercing and a fancy cross necklace do not a Big Titty Goth GF make. Especially, y'know, without the Big Titty part. I had nice thighs and a butt with more than enough to grab onto, so my figure wasn't really anything I worried about, but I wasn't deaf. I could hear some of the popular girls at school snickering in the locker rooms, whispers about whether or not I really needed a sports bra for Gym. Bitches for sure but, ultimately, harmless. Maybe there was a part of me that envied them, not so much for their size, mostly just their confidence.

But Danny was a good guy and we had been best friends since forever and I just felt like he had never been given a proper chance. He never made me feel like less because of my body. He deserved someone who could make him happy and there was a growing part of me that wanted that someone to be me. I found myself getting jealous when he'd talk about girls in his classes, something that had never bothered me before. In a moment of drunken commiseration, we had shared a kiss at midnight on New Year's Eve and had an awkward laugh about it the next day and he probably doesn't even think about it anymore but I haven't been able to stop. I was growing desperate. I couldn't risk losing him to someone else. I would do whatever it took.

I nearly spilled the little vial, my hand shaking too much. His hair, stolen from a hairbrush, had made the serum glow a dim gold for a few moments before fading back into a rich, dark green. Deep breaths did little to calm my nerves, nor did counting down from ten in my head. Finally, forming a secret I'd take to my grave, I whispered the only thing I could think of to get me over the edge.

"Fuck it, we ball."

The bitter taste of the concoction was enough to overpower my cringe as I swallowed, resisting the urge to rinse out my mouth or, more dramatically, rip out my tongue. Shit was foul. But eventually, the taste started to fade and I felt a warmth spread through my body. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, trying to commit the old me to memory before shutting my eyes and bracing for the worst.

If what I said to make myself drink it was embarrassing, the fact that I didn't change at all was downright humiliating. I went through all that anguish, all that stress, and it didn't even work! I was so naive and stupid and and ugh! I looked at my reflection, the same old face staring back at me, albeit with pink cheeks. I spent weeks scouring WitchTok for a spell like this instead of just fucking talking to my best friend and asking if he liked me! God, I'm so fucking stupid. What a waste of time. And money! Those ingredients weren't cheap! I balled my hands up into fists, trying to make my tantrum as quiet as possible, Danny just in the other room. I flailed my arms. I opened my mouth in a silent scream. I stamped my feet. I jiggled.

My eyes shot open.

The grey t-shirt I had on wasn't exactly the kind to show off a figure, especially when coupled with a big, baggy sweatshirt, but my body did look a little... Different. Shadows were cast where there was nothing previously there to cast them. I raised a foot experimentally and stamped it back down.

I jiggled.

Nothing else about me had changed. My face was the same. My hair was the same. My outfit was the same. Even my underwear was the same. I didn't have any intrusive, slutty thoughts. I didn't suddenly have an addiction to cum or an oral fixation. I just... jiggled. I raised an arm, shaking it back and forth to get my sleeve to come down and expose my hand, making my chest wobble in the process. My heart pounded in my chest as I brought a hand up to my chest. And squeezed.

My other hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a moan. Motherfucker these things were sensitive. And almost like a cartoon coyote, as soon as I realized there was no ground beneath my feet, things began moving very, very quickly. My breasts surged forward in my hands, untucking my shirt from my skirt. Obscene bulges of titflesh rose from the cups of my bra, swelling over the top, out of the sides, and even under the wire. It didn't take long for the clasps to snap, the sudden shifting weight pulling my shoulders forward. I had to brace myself on the edge of the sink, overwhelmed by the new sensation of something hanging from my chest. I could only watch, biting my lip, trying not to moan as they blew past cup sizes. Within moments, anyone who had ever teased me about my bust was outsized by more than double with no signs of slowing. My breasts dominated my torso, my nipples swelling larger and creating needy tents in my shirt.

The growth felt like an eternity, the sensations leaving arousal soaking through my panties and my leggings. Deep breaths made my chest heave in ways that it never had before, feeling the weight of my bust, my tits pressing down on my ribcage. I examined the rest of my body in the bathroom mirror. Nothing was out of place, the body I had always had, just with a pair of massive bazongas (another quick cringe) wobbling on my chest. Soft flesh spilled out between my fingers as I grabbed them from underneath, squeezing and kneading my newest additions, feeling their weight and heft in my palms. My thighs rubbed together. A rational part of me was trying to naysay the whole thing, declare my best friend as shallow for seeing me as perfect in every way except a massive pair of tits, but that small voice was drowned out by more accommodating parts of me. My best friend thought I was beautiful and sexy in almost every way. It didn't matter what I was missing before because I had them now. He didn't want some sex toy, some slut, some bitchy blonde queen bee. He wanted me. With a little bit extra, sure, but he wanted me. And I wanted him now more than ever.

I pulled my arms into my sleeves, dragging the straps of my ruined bra down my shoulders. I pulled the old thing out from my shirt and looked at it in pride and awe. My entire breast used to fit in a bra that would now struggle to cover my areola. The revelation sent a quiver my body, my nipples twitching with need. Slowly, I opened the door to the bathroom and crept up behind Danny, controller still in hand on the couch. The game had him entirely enrapture. It was all I could do to keep from giggling as I casually tossed the now ruined and useless bra on his lap. He was mad, at first, quickly pausing the game, making ready to yell at me for distracting him before he realized exactly what had been tossed his way. God, if I could have bottled the essence of that timid swallow, the slow turn of his head towards me, the shock at seeing what his fantasies had done to my body... A smirk settled onto my lips, crossing my arms beneath my tits, lifting them up slightly and making them look even more massive. "Hey, Danny. Here's something we never really talk about. How would you describe your perfect girl?"

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“I can’t stop it.”

Saying it out loud helped steady her, though there was still panic in her voice. Emma gripped the sides of her chair tightly.

For a moment the only sound was the drip-drip-drip of milk against the towel in her lap, and the faint sounds of the party outside. Then she let out a little whimper, involuntarily. There was a tight sensation in her nipples, like someone was flicking them every few seconds.

Emma was lactating! Thin streams of rich milk squirted from her nipples, landing on the towel in her lap, and earlier, the front of her shirt. Not that it would fit, now. She had pulled it down earlier to examine herself and was stuck like that, breasts exposed.

Sure, I could cover them with the towel…but it won’t stay dry for long…

She poked one breast experimentally, surprised by how firm it felt. How could she fill up so fast?!

Emma had been at a party when her formerly loose shirt began to seemingly shrink. She had put her drink down- something about a white russian, she wasn’t really listening- and stepped into a side room to check on her girls.

Ten minutes later, her towel was almost soaked- and drips became trickles became a steady stream. She was desperately, achingly full of milk.

“This can’t be happening.” Oh, it would be great if this were some perverted nightmare. But how would she even get to her car? The idea of walking out in front of all the guests…their eyes wide open at her new size…being praised for her milk production…even the taste-

She put her hands to her face, blushing. Why was the idea so hotttttt?

Emma was starting to really panic now, and she leaned back, gasping as she saw her breasts swell larger, taking up a little more of her view of the towel.

Ok, stay calm. I can’t really cover them…maybe with another towel…or I could climb out the window…

Even standing up, she found herself a little unsteady on her feet. Her center of gravity has changed, but her breasts didn’t jiggle as much as expected. Probably because they were so firm and swollen with milk.

Emma gave into temptation, gripping one breast around her swollen areolae and giving it an experimental squeeze.

“Mmmmmmm!” She threw her head back and moaned shamelessly, rewarded with a surge of pleasure and a huge squirt of dairy that spattered on the floor. More and more lewd images filled her mind- bent on all fours, spewing lust as her udders jiggled and wobbled below her- and her fingers began to rub her areolae, ready to repeat the experience.

“Mm-No!” Emma slapped her own hand away, standing as straight as she could with her expanded rack. “I’M NOT A COW!” Trying to fit as much defiance as possible into that sentence, but it came out louder than she expected. She covered her mouth again.

There was motion on the other side of the door, and someone tapped on the door sharply.

“Emma, are you alright? You’ve been in there for half an hour!”

“J-just a second!” She hurried to grab the towel, if only to cover her nipples- but what was she going to do now? Time was up! Nothing could hide or conceal her size from everyone.

Her inner cow stirred, and she knew the answer.

[mrbiggm]

If you touch the cowbell, your body will start to change. Breasts will blossom into full, heavy udders that dangle and sway below you. Your thighs will thicken, complementing a plush rear decorated by a long, swishing tail.

You might think it’s just a late growth spurt at first. That belief won’t survive the first burst bra- you need to realize this is more than a few cup sizes. It’s a complete body reshaping.

If you hear it ring, your breasts will feel tight and full at first. Your nipples will darken and tingle, turning that delicate rose that means fresh cream.

I think you’ll try to pinch them, gently, because they’re so sensitive. But you’ll see a fat white drop of liquid on the tip- the first drop of many.

That’s right, you’re not just a cow, but a milking cow.

And if you were dumb or impulsive enough to lock the cowbell around your neck?

I’m sorry, but this is just your life now.

Every time those magnificent udders are milked, you’ll writhe against the restraints, and you’ll start to fill again, even as you’re emptied.

Being milked will be your singular focus in life. Your obsession. Every other goal you had pushed aside, just for another session of blissful release and hot cream.

Doesn’t that sound fun?

Now, be a good girl…a good cow…and open the box.

I think you already know what’s inside.

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MISSY ANN. 2021 / 2024

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Mommy Slime Extreme [Commish]

Slime Kitty Commish for Pheebs! * Patreon.com/wildegems Subscribestar.adult/wildegems

Posted using PostyBirb

[mrbiggm]

[mrbiggm]

Olivia was a particularly noteworthy sight to behold any time you were in the office. That's because her boobs, which had already been big to start with, now comfortably sat in her lap when she was sitting down.

[mrbiggm]

Is there a casual or unintentional way that boobs turn you on? If that makes sense?

[Seatbelts between the breasts can make me a little flustered.]

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https://x.com/StackyDraws/status/1793071407519461613

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Her Tits or Mine?

It was a stupid argument. Who had the bigger tits. We’d had it a dozen times—every time we went out, every time someone stared too long, every time one of us got free drinks and the other didn’t. She insisted it was her. I swore it was me. But this time?

We let a coin decide.

Heads, her boobs would double. Tails, I’d take hers. Not just grow mine. Take hers—right off her chest, right into mine.

She laughed when we flipped it, arms squeezed under those massive tits of hers, practically glowing with smugness. She thought it was just a joke. She didn’t realize the coin was enchanted.

It landed: Tails.

And the second it did?

Pop. Pop. Squish.

She let out this helpless little gasp as her tits deflated—not instantly, not like a cartoon, but in slow, sultry waves. Her cleavage sank, her previously tight blue bikini top sagging with every inch that disappeared. You could see it—one tit shrinking faster than the other for a moment, making her panic and cup them, like her hands could hold them in place. “Wait—what’s happening—wait wait—those are mine!”

Too late, baby. They were already moving.

Because on my side?

Ohhhh… I felt them coming.

It started like heat. Low, slow, curling under my skin, bubbling up under my chest like I was about to burp up sex. Then the pressure hit. My own modest chest swelled, and then kept swelling—POP!—a sudden bounce of mass, a rush of weight I could feel pulling my top down. POP!! again, bigger now, and then—ohhh—squisssshhh—as both her tits merged into mine, like hot water pouring into a balloon.

I moaned. Couldn’t help it.

Straps stretched. Fabric whined. My top went from snug to painted-on, nipples poking through tight fabric like they were grateful to finally be so big they couldn’t be ignored. I felt them bounce, settle, wobble with every breath, soft and heavy, obscenely alive. Her tits—my tits now—moved like they’d always belonged here, like my chest had just been waiting to be upgraded.

And her?

She was devastated.

Her arms hung awkwardly, hands fluttering near her now-flat chest like she didn’t know where to put them. Her top was loose. So loose it looked borrowed. Her cleavage was gone. Gone. Like it’d been erased.

“I—I can’t—those were—”

I swayed my hips a little, just to feel them bounce. They jiggled with a luxurious slosh, and I grinned like I’d won the lottery.

“I told you I’d win,” I purred, squeezing them together just to watch her eyes bulge. “You should’ve known better than to bet against me.”

She just stared. Like my chest had hypnotized her. And maybe it had.

Because every move I made now? Every twitch, every step, every subtle little shoulder roll—squish, bounce, jiggle—they followed me like I had planets orbiting under my shirt. They were obscene. They wanted attention.

And I was gonna give it to them.

“Bet you miss how they used to feel,” I teased, pressing them together until they swelled like rising dough, nipples peeking through with desperate need. “Bet you really miss them.”

She whimpered.

And me? I licked my lips.

Because I didn’t just win.

I stole them.

And I never give back. 💖

[mrbiggm]

“These breasts are what’s the problem. LOL.”