Miss Ellen

Disclaimer: All persons depicted engaging in fornication of any kind are over the age of consent. This story contains an overly tall, hermaphrodite BBW, lactation, feminization, and strong themes of servitude and devotion... If any of that isn't your thing, that's why I wrote a disclaimer.

******

I grinned as Ellen explained what exactly I didn't understand about cell division, in a much easier to absorb way than the cluster-fuck of a teacher this god-forsaken school had.

Ellen glanced at me nervously once she was done, and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. "You get it now?" she worried.

"Aye. You should be runnin' the class. Mebbe I be unnerstandin' it betta if'n you was."

Despite my thick accent, influenced by what seemed like every country in the damn world, Ellen had no trouble understanding me. She blushed cutely and fiddled with her papers as the bell rang.

I gathered up my backpack, gave Ellen a smile, and walked out of the classroom.

I got three steps out before I was stopped.

I didn't know his name, but I knew his type. The Alpha male, the man's man, the self-entitled bully that you could find in every high school in every country. Yeah, he was a senior, and his parents had money. That didn't make him better than me.

"Got a question for you, Jimmy," he smirked, and the tiny, skinny blonde he had his arm slung around giggled maliciously.

I'm sure my face darkened. I hated being called 'Jimmy' or 'Jim'. My name was James, dammit.

"See, we were talking, and saw you sitting all close, and... how can you even stand it?"

I was really confused. "Stand what, 'xaclty?"

"Smelly Ellie," the blonde 'helpfully' explained. "That fat cow fucking reeks."

I blinked, pissed off all over again. Yeah, so Ellen was very tall, and voluptuous, and maybe she didn't wear deodorant or perfume. That last bit just made her seem normal to me. "'Fore here, I spent four months in Kenya. 'Fore that, six weeks in France. 'Fore that, I was in Honduras. She de only one in dis whole fookin town who don't stink like a chemical factory ta me."

He adjusted his arm around the blonde's neck. "So that's why your accent is so fucked up?"

"Aye," I agreed, "dat's why me accent is so fooked up." There wasn't any point in denying it.

Asshole glanced over my shoulder and smirked cruelly. "So why do you hang with Ellen? Is it because you have the hots for smelly ogres or is it because she's the only one who can understand your fucked up english?"

"I'd be lucky to have her, truth. See, Ellen is a bonny lass. Curved and soft like womens is sposed ta be. Pretty in da face. Tis only here inna states an over in West Europe dat da stannard of beauty is so fooked up. Take yo woman, fer 'xample. I bet when ya buggerin' her up da ass, ya make her lay on her front sos ya can pretend she dat twelve year old boy from down da lane."

Both Asshole and his woman blushed bright red. But then she tore out of his grasp, slapped him loud, and ran away down the hall.

As I realized that my taunt hit home, and he really did fuck her in the ass like that, I started laughing. I couldn't help it.

Asshole glared at me, the red hand print on his face rapidly darkening. "You're dead, Fucker," he muttered through clenched teeth and took a wide swing at my face.

Living in a different place every few months had a lot of downsides. I never got to make any good friends, my accent was wrong to the point hardly anyone could understand me, and I could never have a girlfriend.

There were upsides though. I spoke, read, and wrote seven different languages. I'd seen the world before I'd even turned sixteen. I'd also learned to fight in every corner of this Earth. Glasgow was my favorite.

I stepped inside of his wide, telegraphed punch, and launched my head forward, impacting his nose area but hard.

Asshole staggered backward, two slow steps. He blinked slowly, his face a mask of confusion, and a trickle of blood seeped down from one nostril. One more slow blink, and his legs gave out, plopping him down to the floor on his ass.

I leaned down, checked his eyes, and sighed. "C'mon, Boyo. Best getcha ta the nurse, ya prolly got a concussion."

I heaved him upright, all the fight gone out of him, slung his arm over my shoulder and turned to make my way to the school nurse. Behind me, stuck in place with wide eyes, was Ellen Deveroux. She didn't move from her place at all as I shuffled the bully to a source of help.

That little incident got me suspended for a week, and before that week was up my parents had already moved us to Mexico. I wouldn't hear from Ellen for another eight years.

******

Hi, this is Ellen Deveroux, I don't know if you remember me. I saw on your Facebook page that you were between jobs, and I'd like to offer you a position as a personal assistant. Give me a call back, and we can talk about it. My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Hope to hear from you soon.

Even after listening to the voicemail for the third time, I still didn't understand.

Oh, I remembered Ellen, alright. I was only at that school in California for a short time, but she made an impression. She was blonde, blue-eyed, well over six feet tall and built like a brick house. That kind of thing sticks with a guy.

The truth was, I was only weeks away from being homeless. Once I got out from under my parents, I cut off all contact with them and made my way on my own. They'd ruined my life with all of the moving around they put me through. I could not, would not turn to them for help.

I didn't have any friends, didn't have anything other than a spotty high school education, didn't even have a diploma from anywhere in the United States. As far as I was concerned, my parents were dead to me. I blamed them for all of it.

Unfortunately, people's inability to understand me got me fired from jobs all of the time. At the tender age of twenty-four, I'd held jobs in almost every industry there was.

I'd been a sous chef. I'd been an interior carpenter. Clothing manufacture. Hotel housekeeping. Masseuse. Oil change bitch. Waiter. Welder. Lifeguard. I'd built furniture. I'd even spent time at a nursing home as an orderly.

But with every job, they kept me on just long enough to learn the job, then I was mysteriously downsized. It was never because of job performance, the reasons were bullshit and made up, but I figured it out. It was the way I spoke.

My work history mirrored my personal history, in that I was forced to move on from place to place against my will.

The call from Ellen, who I had barely knew eight years ago, was a lifeline I needed, but a suspicious one. Why would she contact me out of the blue after so long, when I'd only known her for a handful of weeks? How did she even get my number?

Turning my phone over and over in my hand, I mulled it over. I needed a job desperately. I didn't really have a choice in the end, I had to at least hear her out.

Decision made, I dialed the number she left me.

******

The limousine pulled around a circular driveway to the front entrance of a really, really big, sprawling mansion.

The chauffeur opened the door for me, then retrieved my suitcase from the trunk. He nodded politely at me, got back behind the wheel, and left. I was pretty sure I was supposed to tip him or something, but I didn't even have to go through the embarrassment of having to explain that I couldn't afford a tip.

Ellen had instructed me to pack what I'd need for a week. If the interview went well, she had said, I'd have a trial week to see if it worked for us both.

She had booked me a round trip flight, in first-class of all things, and had a limo pick me up at the airport. She must have arranged a gratuity for the driver in advance, that made a lot of sense.

Whoever she worked for must be loaded as hell, and possibly a little insane, if they were spending this much money on me of all people.

I grasped my bag handle, walked up the three steps to the door, and rang the bell.

I was staring at the door when my phone rang. It must have been ten feet high, and wide to match. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone.

"Er, 'Ello?"

"Hello, James," Ellen greeted me warmly. "I can see you on the security camera. Let yourself in, please, but keep me on the line."

It was weird, but I could roll with it. I stepped through the unlocked door, fumbling a little with a phone, suitcase, and door handle to manage but only two hands. I managed to get inside and the door closed.

"Uh, I'm inside?" I questioned inarticulately.

"I'm sorry about this, James. My appearance is a little... startling. I wanted to ease you into seeing me."

"Ah. Well, alright then. What do I need to know?"

"I am very big. Very big and tall. If you... if you weren't prepared, and you reacted poorly... well, let's say that my feelings would be very hurt, at the least."

"Alright, I think I understand."

When Ellen Deveroux stepped from around the corner, my phone slipped from numb fingers to clatter on the expensive tiled flooring.

She wasn't very tall. She was a giant.

She stood nervously, wearing what looked like the largest mu-mu she could find, and it fit her like a dark purple baby-doll tee. Around her wide hips, it looked like she was wearing a floor to ceiling window curtain in a matching color as a skirt, wrapped around her like a bath towel.

So yeah, she was tall, but she was also big everywhere. She had what looked like two beanbag chairs for breasts straining against the mu-mu, a bit of a plump belly, and such wide, curving hips that they didn't even look out of place as compared with her monumental boobs. If her hips were any indication, her ass was just as oversized as the rest of her.

Thick arms, really thick legs, but her face was the same as the girl I remembered from so long ago. Her blonde hair was long and slightly unkempt, but those blue eyes were looking back at me with the same fear and anxiety that she did in high school.

"Seven-foot-eight," she commented out of nowhere. "They don't make a scale that can read me, and I wouldn't tell you my weight anyway." At the look on my face, she shrugged and added fatalistically, "Everyone always wonders that first thing."

I scrambled to pick my phone up from where I'd dropped it in shock. "Wha-? How!?" It shouldn't be possible for anyone to be that big, let alone that big and still easily walking around. She was two entire feet taller than I was.

Ellen stepped fully into the room and sat down in the middle of a sofa that was much too small for her. She patted the narrow space next to her, "Come and sit, and I'll tell you about the girl with the all the endocrine problems."

I blinked, but gamely sat next to her, the weight of her ass sinking the couch down far enough that I slid down the slope into her side.

Ellen, massive Ellen, casually rested a heavy arm around my neck and held me close to her. Her giant breast was brushing the side of my face, and I struggled to keep my reactions normal.

"Once there was a girl," she started in a story-telling tone, "and this girl was born different. Do you know what it means to be intersexed?" she asked.

"Uh, dat's... a person gots both? Like a hermaphrodite?"

"Mmm. That's right. For future reference, I do prefer the term intersexed, alright? Now, not only was this girl born intersexed, but she also had a myriad of glandular and hormonal disfunctions, because life wouldn't have been hard enough otherwise."

"The girl grew too big. She couldn't lose weight. Too much HGH in her system made her build too much muscle just moving her heavy body around. Her skin was so sensitive that not only could she not shave any of it, she couldn't even wear deodorant. There were even more problems, but we'll get into those later."

"The people she went to school with were cruel. They called her hurtful names and ostracized her. But then one day, a new boy came to town. He was worldly, and cute, and not only did he not mind the poor girl's company, he seemed to prefer it."

Ellen's arm around my neck pulled me in tighter, pressing my face into the side of her giant breast. I could feel no tactile sensations of any bra beneath her top, only warm, soft breast flesh.

She looked down at me, and I couldn't help but to look up at her, meeting her gaze. "On the very last day she ever saw that boy, when he didn't know that she was listening, the girl heard him defend her against the popular ones."

"She has carried that memory with her ever since. On her darkest days, she'd look in the mirror, and tell herself what he said about her. She wasn't fat, she was soft and curvy like women were supposed to be. She wasn't ugly, she was actually pretty in the face. The girl told herself that no, she was not a big, smelly ogre at all. She told herself that she was really a 'Bonny Lass', because James Volk said it was so."

I got a little embarrassed by the intensity in her gaze. "Ye remembered dat?"

Ellen assured me, "I remember it like it was yesterday, James. But back to the story. Now the girl kept getting bigger and bigger. She found an organic deodorant that she could actually wear. She found that an electric razor was tolerable on her skin. By then, though, it was too late. People pointed and whispered at the giant girl everywhere she went."

"She took refuge behind the safety of a computer screen, and found she had a talent for it. Instead of going to college, she stayed at home and did distance learning, afraid of being around people."

"One day, she sold a silly little computer program for an obscene amount of money. Then she sold a couple of novels she'd written. Then, another program. Soon, she had all of the money she'd ever need, and then some."

"She found a home, being sold by a professional basketball player, that she could fit inside of. She had almost everything, but she was so lonely. Wondering what that worldly boy was doing one day, the girl looked him up, and found that he was unemployed. The girl had an idea, and did the bravest, chanciest thing she'd ever done. She offered him a job, and would try to see if money actually could buy happiness after all."

I blinked in shock as the idea settled in. Ellen wasn't hiring me to be someone else's assistant, she was hiring me to be hers. She was my age, and where I was nearly broke and weeks from eviction, she had a massive mansion and, it seemed, more money than Midas.

Ellen kept me pressed against her side, nearly smothering me with her enormous side-boob, and ran her fingertips through my somewhat long hair. "On paper, you will be my personal assistant. You will tend to the grounds, clean my home, cook my meals. Should I need errands ran, you will go out into public in my stead."

I choked. "Clean dis monstrous home? All by meself? Dis would take a team of people!"

Ellen considered my words and nodded, seeing my point. "The truth is, I only use a few rooms, ever. If you can clean the rest of it biweekly or even monthly, that will be good enough. The point I was about to make, James, is that this is all secondary to what your real job will be."

My stomach dropped as the catch came. I knew it was too good to be true. "An' what's me real job?"

Ellen tilted her head and sighed, somewhat wistfully. She stared at my hair and ran her fingers through it again. "Your real job is to simply make my life better. I'm going to pay you four thousand dollars a week to never say no to me, James. Anything I want, my trusty manservant will deliver." She reached down, gently grabbed my hand, and brought it up to her massive breast, her big hand completely eclipsing mine as she pressed my palm directly over her giant, hardening nipple.

"Do we understand each other, James?" she asked, eyebrows raised. Hiding behind her eyes, I could see an abject fear of rejection.

I had been expecting her to ask me to go out and kill people for her or something. Finding out that she just wanted sex was something of a relief by comparison. "I tink we do, Miss Ellen."

She paused, thoughtfully. "I think I like the sound of that, James. Keep calling me 'Miss Ellen', alright?"

"Righto. So... what ye need firstly, Miss Ellen?" There was very little I wouldn't do for four grand a week.

Ellen shook herself, stunned by my casual and immediate acceptance of her terms. "Right. Well, remember when I mentioned in my little story that I had a couple of other problems? Here's the easy one."

Ellen reached down and pulled her mu-mu up, the tight fabric rolling her breasts upward before first one, then the other broke free to bounce downward.

"Mother of God," I gasped at the first sight of her bared tits. Ellen's bust was spectacular. Not only was the sheer size of her mammaries awe-inspiring, with pale areolas in perfect circles and bigger in diameter than my own face was, but Ellen had the thickest nipples I'd ever seen. I mean seriously, her pale pink nubs had to be at least two inches long, and an inch and a half across.

She had all of that going for her, and they didn't sag. Not one bit. Whatever was wrong with her body had stuffed so much breast matter into what was already an overly large container to the point that her insanely full breasts defied gravity.

I blinked owlishly at that gigantic breast right in front of me, and glanced at Ellen's face. She was looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and so much relief. "You like?" she wondered in a small voice that sounded out of place coming from such a big woman.

"Miss Ellen... Deez are... surely ye have de most spectacular baps in de world, truth."

She chuckled, "I'm glad you think so, because you are going to be spending a lot of time with them. See, I lactate. It's one of my problems. My nipples are too big to use a breast pump anymore, and as big as these are," she bounced her heavy breasts meaningfully, "I can't get my nipples into my own mouth. I'm tired of squeezing it out, James. It's kind of painful, and takes forever. Come, drink me," she beckoned.

I shifted around to get in front of that vast titty, and Ellen plucked me up and sat me down to straddle her long, thick thigh. She wasn't kidding about being strong, she heaved me into the air like I weighed absolutely nothing.

That huge nipple staring at me was kind of intimidating that close up. I wasn't sure if I should use my hands, or if that was even allowed. Ellen grasped the back of my head with her enormous hand and pulled me down to make contact with it, taking the choice from me altogether.

I did as I was bade, and began to suckle at her breast. The flow of milk was weak to start with, but steadily increased in volume until I was having to swallow with every draw. She tasted like the milk left in the bowl after really sugary cereal, only watery and body temperature hot. It was surprisingly delicious.

Ellen kept that big hand on the back of my head and sighed softly. "Oh that feels great, James. No teeth now, be careful of that, okay? You can touch if you want," she suggested.

I made the decision at that point that would eventually overtake me entirely. If I was to be a proper manservant for her, then Miss Ellen's suggestions would have to be orders. I grasped the sides of that huge tit and felt her vastness, trying very hard to be as gentle as possible. I stroked the skin more than anything.

"Oooooh," she cooed. "My skin is very sensitive, James. I told you about that, right? Your hands feel so good, keep doing that."

The flow of her milk wasn't stopping. My stomach began to feel full, but I pushed on regardless. I kept on stroking her breast skin and tried to ignore not only my expanding stomach, but my straining erection.

Eventually that massive breast was dry. I couldn't begin to gauge just how much she put into me, but I knew that I wasn't going to fit anything else in me for awhile. I leaned back, bracing myself with my hands behind me on her knee. "I tink yer empty, Miss Ellen."