A poem about breast growth

One day I was working at my desk, when I felt something pulling down on my chest.
Fearing heart trouble, I rushed to the bathroom to catch my breath.
Splashed my face with a bit of water, I looked in the mirror and tried to pull myself together.
I noticed then that my breasts had grown.

Through my thin white shirt I could see that my little bra was struggling.
It wasn’t like that this morning. I could swear it.
Perhaps I’m pregnant, I thought. Haven’t had sex in years though. Stupid.
I went back to my desk and put it out of my mind.
Still, I glanced down at my cleavage a couple more times. It was a novelty I guess.

No one noticed my new developments that day.
But then again, no one noticed me full stop at the office.
I was part of the furniture.
Just a lowly secretary you wave to on your way in at 9 am, and then say “cheerio” to at 5.
I walked home alone as usual. Winter, so I had my coat on to hide them.

They were fun to play with, nice handfuls.
At 28, I’d never expected something like this, kinda exciting.
I lay on the couch watching TV all evening.
Occasionally I’d reach under my top to have another squeeze.

I woke up the next day with my left hand cupping my right boob.
Something was different though. They were bigger.
More than a handful now.
My tiny bras were next to useless.

Thick jumper at work that day, trying to cover them up.
But couldn’t disguise the swell.
Didn’t go unnoticed this time, caught a guy checking me out while I was handing out the mail.
That’s never happened before.

Back at home that night I tried to think. It didn’t make any god damn sense.
But I couldn’t figure out if I was upset or not. Nice and plump and round. Squishy.
Fun to hold, probably even more fun in the bedroom.
Maybe I’ll be able to get a boyfriend at last, I thought, as I squeezed them and fingered myself.

I passed out in my living room and woke up with to find them twice the size.
Damn. They were too big now. Big as my head. No way to hide them.
Found the heaviest jumper I owned but my boobs still stuck out like great big pieces of overripe fruit.
No bra in sight that would fit them. Had to put up with them jiggling around like crazy.
Coworkers noticed straight away.

Rumours started: Since when did the secretary get a boob job?
I shut them down. Confessed with tears in my eyes that they were growing on their own.
Let Monica grope me in the bathroom just to prove it.
Walking around the office, everyone’s eyes transfixed on my chest.
More interested in me than their mail. Not used to this at all.

Back in my apartment, I played with them some more that night.
Still fun. Exciting, I guess. But worries were gnawing away at me now:
They were too heavy. Back hurt. Clothes hopeless.
Always wished to be big breasted, but was this too much?
Oh well.
Masturbated in bed anyway and accidentally slapped myself in the jaw with a heavy left tit in the process.

Next day. Oh crap. Boobs ginormous. Big as bloody watermelons, down to my navel.
Nothing in the wardrobe fit obviously. But worse now: Couldn’t even get my coat round them.
Stuffed them into a jumper, but they kept emerging out the bottom.
No surprise when my boss calls me into her office.
I’ve caused a real scene, she says. No decency I have, apparently.
But even she can see on my face that I never asked for any of this.

Get the rest of the day off work, supposed to go get some proper clothes.
Walking trough town was horrible. Everyone staring at the big breasted woman with no bra on.
I manage to make it to a lingerie shop but everyone working there looks younger than me.
Go to the fitting rooms and take my top off.
I can hear the other girls snickering behind my back as two people try and cram my boobs inside another stupid bra.

Exhausted. I go home to lie down.
My tits are so heavy now they nearly wind me as I collapse to the sofa.
Spent hundreds on new bras and tops. I’m gonna lose it these things keep growing.
Feeling distraught, but the worst is the fact that I’m still so horny.
Masturbate and play with my giant tits for a bit.
Fun in the moment, but feel like a complete idiot afterwards.

Next morning I wake up and feel a bit better.
Boobs have grown again, but less than expected. Looks like I might be plateauing.
Stupid size though. Heavy as shit. New bra barely on the alphabet.
Put on my new stretchy top and a red cardigan too.
Still look like a porn star but it’s the best I can manage.

Get to work to find everyone acting like they weren’t waiting for me to arrive.
Word’s gotten around it seems.
Never had quite so many people at reception before, it’s almost like they care who I am now.
Not just men though, oddly. Lot of women too.
They come and they chat and pretend not to stare down my top.
Try my best to do my work, boobs taking up so much room now though.
By the end of the day I’ve lifted them up onto the desk. Looks ridiculous, but it’s a load off my back at least.

That evening I don’t even wait for my front door to slam shut before I take off my bra.
Horrible thick straps dig into my shoulders and back like binds.
I wander around topless making dinner, cradling my boobs in my arms.
At one point I catch my reflection in the window for a second and admire my off-balanced proportions.
I start masturbating without thinking.
Only snap out of my trance when the smoke alarm goes off.

The next morning I know something strange is going on. I can’t stop touching my own boobs.
They’re a bit bigger today, but I can still just about get them in my dumb giant bra.
For some reason I like the way they look: Squishy cleavage blooming out of my top like freshly baked bread.
A feeling of frustration comes over me when I know I have to leave for work.
Really want to stay at home and play with them.

A lot of strangers in the building today.
Dunno who told the world that a girl with giant breasts was working here.
Everyone thinks they’re being subtle, but I can see them all staring, watching me as I struggle to carry boxes and stacks of paper through the offices.
Open cleavage a foot in length in this top, so hard to blame them, I suppose.
Hard not to look at it myself.
My heart flutters every time my boobs brush up against someone’s arm in the corridor, which happens a lot.

It’s freezing cold outside, yet I’m sweating even before I’m halfway home.
Slam the door and strip naked. Don’t even care that my curtains are wide open. Just want to feel my massive tits again.
Lie down on the icy floor and just toss them around in my arms for hours.
I cover them in baby oil and laugh as I struggle to keep hold of the heaving floppy masses. They weigh a ton.
Eventually I decide to wedge a vibrator in between the couch cushions so I can keep going with my hands free.

I wake up with my vibrator still inside of me and a hollow in my stomach.
Didn’t even eat dinner last night. Just played with myself until I passed out.
Feel like a wretch. I have a problem. I know that I do.
But I don’t know what the problem’s name is.
Boobs are bigger again, too.

At work my mind drifts.
I try my best not to, but I keep finding myself prodding parts of my bare cleavage with my fingers without realising.
Underneath my desk I use my hands to lift up my chest and drop it back down onto my lap to feel the weight.
Monica catches me doing it. She asks if everything’s okay.
Apart from the fact I’m falling in love with my own tits, everything’s swell.
But I don’t tell her that.

At the weekend I decide to go out.
The growth is slowing, but they’re still spilling out of everything I bought from last time.
I head back to the same lingerie shop.
I scowl at the shop girl and demand a bigger bra.
Nothing in stock of course, but they find me one that has a bit more leeway.
It’s a hideous white thing for grandmas, not nearly worthy of mine, but there’s nothing else, they say.
Spend the rest of the day shopping for clothes. I want them to look cute.

Walking around town is harder than before. People gasp when they see me.
I hear women whisper to each other, wondering how I can carry these things around.
Men laugh and point. Some whistle at me, and say despicable things. I know it’s not safe for me out here.
I feel scared, but find an odd sort of comfort when seeing my reflection in a shop window.

I bought myself a nice dress. It’s blue and has flowers on it.
There’s a strip of fabric that I can tie around the middle and cinch the waist in.
It doesn’t fit my chest properly, but I like the revealing nature of it, it’s the first time I’ve felt sexy in my life.
I want to wear it out, so I head to a coffee shop. Heads turn and my face flushes when I take off my coat inside.
I sit with my latte and read a book, resting an elbow on each boob.

Sunday’s a write off. I try to make a start on the armchair I’ve been putting off reupholstering.
I sit cross legged on the cold living room floor with my naked breasts resting in my lap.
Every few minutes though I get distracted.
Lose half an hour each time just playing with them.
I manage to go most of the day without masturbating though: a win, however pathetic it may be.

By the evening I can’t wait any longer.
My humungous breasts have been staring back at me in my reflection all day like soft seductive whales.
I can’t keep my hands off them.
But halfway through rubbing myself down with oil: a knock at the door.
Fuck off. I reluctantly stretch my old dressing gown around myself and go answer.

A boy at the door. A cute one. I know him, he lives across from me.
Clean shirt and a recent haircut, smells nice.
He always seemed like a sensible and plain person, just like I used to be.
I start to feel foolish for getting angry now.
But more so self-conscious that my dressing gown keeps slipping off my greasy body.

The boy’s obviously nervous to be speaking to me.
He’s desperately trying not to look at my chest which I’m also trying my best to cover from him.
Eventually gets around to explaining why he’s here.
He asks, as his cheeks turn bright pink, if I could “maybe close my curtains”.
Shit. God knows what he must have seen. Our windows are directly opposite each other.
I apologise profusely, confess that I’m an idiot and that it won’t happen again.
Out of panic I invite him in for a cup of tea. For some reason he accepts.

I’m a wreck. Never invited a boy into my house before.
I try to stop my hands from shaking as I boil the water and place two chipped mugs down on the kitchen table in front of him.
He’s too polite to say anything but I know that I look like a mess.
I have to use one hand to keep the dressing gown over my chest.
He must know that I’m naked under here.

The boy is talking about something but I can’t keep my focus: my mind is at war with itself.
The old sensible me is lost somewhere deep down, half-drowned.
She’s fighting against the scoundrel I’ve become.
God. I want to do it. Strip off the dressing gown and let him see.
I’d love to watch his dorky expression drop, his glasses steam up, as he witnesses my enormous breasts in the flesh.

But I don’t. My boring old self dies hard, and with her last breath she clasps that dressing gown firm over my chest.
We finish up our tea. The boy tells me something about the apartment building. I nod and say “uh huh”.
I lead him back to the front door, down through the long narrow corridor.
But then, at the last second, he tries to squeeze past me, and for a fleeting moment I have him. Stuck. Lodged in between the wall and my tits.

I feel his pulse accelerate. He recognises what he’s done and tries to launch himself free, but in doing so he yanks the dressing gown off my body.
It tumbles to a heap between my legs.
I stand there before him naked.
My engorged breasts swing around pendulously in the frigid air, leading his pupils from left to right.

Neither of us say anything. I feign a state of shock, but I only want to prolong the moment.
I lose track of time. But then, I see it. Below his jeans, a small rise.
It seems foolish to speak the word, so I take an unsubtle glance at his crotch and recede coyly to the living room.
I worry once inside that I was not clear enough, this is all new to me. But a few moments later, he joins me, already in the process of removing his shirt.

I push him down onto my couch.
The boy’s body quivers as I pull down his jeans. He seems even more nervous than I am.
Under his boxer shorts his penis is hard. Its eye is looking right at me.
It seems small, but I don’t mind.
I heave up my breasts in both my arms and slam than down on top of his lap. His slender body is practically consumed underneath me. The power of them is intoxicating.
A nanosecond later, I feel a sticky warmth in between my boobs.

The boy starts blabbering some kind of apology, but I’m not really listening.
I collect up the uncontrollable heaps of flesh from off of his lap.
His dick is already shrivelling back down again, transparent tendrils of sticky cum connect our bodies together.
I can tell he’s so embarrassed he wants to cry.
I just look down at him emotionless, and don’t say anything. I don’t even know what to say.

The boy leaves. I slump back down on the couch and smile to myself.
Should I be upset? I wonder. I’m not though. I feel a weird thrill.
It seems right in a way. Expected.
I’m out of breath now from carrying my boobs around.
If they can do that to a guy in less than a second, who knows what else they can do.
I always knew they were special.

I don’t need boys anyway.
I scrabble under the couch to find my vibrator and set it up, swishing my curtains closed before I get down to business.
I slip it inside me and feel the mind-wiping buzz of ecstasy seize hold of my brain from the inside out.
I lift and heave and squish and compress my ginormous bosom in my arms.
The way that only I know how.
Who could really be worthy of them? Surely only me, I thought.

***

I wake up on Monday morning. My body is stiff and cold. I’m sick.
Too many nights sleeping naked in the freezing air of my living room probably.
I get up and look at myself in the mirror. My boobs have grown a bit more so that makes me happy, despite the banging pain in my head.
I get to work late, snot down dripping onto my top lip.

I don’t really feel like working. So I spend the day playing with my boobs at my desk.
I like the loud crashing sound they make whenever I drop them on my keyboard.
Eventually I end up breaking it, so I can’t do anything else.
I spin around on my chair.
There’s a lot of commotion around me today for some reason but I can’t really focus on any of it.

Around midday some people show up and force me to leave my desk.
Some middle-aged woman and a few other men take me round to an empty room. One of them is dressed like a policeman.
The woman places a blanket around me and calls me dear.
She tells me to sit on a bench while she goes in another room. I don’t really understand why.
I’m left with the policeman. Hard to tell if he wants to look at my boobs.
I then realise that I’m not wearing anything.