Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rain pattered the paved, night-shrouded ground, bereft of the fresh scent of petrichor. Even a shower from the heavens couldn’t wash away the smell of concrete and corruption. Neon lights cut through the hazy fog, and skyscrapers pierced the heavens like electric towers of Babel. Glitch City: even the metropolis’s name was that of a flaw, an abhorrent aberration of natural order, where flesh and blood untainted by cybernetics and invasive nano machines was as novel a bygone concept as unmolested privacy.

Nestled in a discrete corner of the city’s labyrinthine back alleys, not out of sight of the compound eyes of cyber-Sauron, but uninteresting enough for them to not look too close too often, was nestled a hole in the wall bar: VA-11 Hall-A… but since that was too much of a mouthful to share with a thick, drunken tongue, it’s patrons and employees called it “Valhalla.”

Past its steel ingress and inside its sound-proof walls, the residual aura of spirits both high and low lingered like the smell of alcohol. The dim interior was broken up by splotches of cool fluorescent light, as the jukebox’s ambient synth wave was intermittently drowned out like so many sorrows by the twittering of its sole two occupants.

At the bar sat Alma Armas, a tall, bespectacled blonde whose rosy skin stood in stark contrast to her twilight purple turtleneck sweater and black skinny jeans. The otherwise conservative outfit so snugly hugging her full hourglass figure that it left as little to the imagination as the stains of your digital dirty laundry to everyone in your life if you got too far on her bad side. The woman could move through a firewall like wind through a gate.

Alma moved with passion and a slight over-balance as she chattered to the woman behind the bar, Jill Stingray. The aqua light from the shrine of addictive poison behind her cut a bright blue silhouette around the petite woman, who unlike Alma, was as flat as her sense of humor. With her long black pigtails, the lithe bartender looked like a girl who’d dressed up her father’s dress shirt, and who’s pale face and heavy crimson eyes looked like she was then forced to do his job.

“So I was sitting in the board office. Half the executive staff are there, glaring daggers at me, and then Mr. Skinner says: “Even the patience of saints eventually runs out, Ms. Armas.” I just said, “Whatever do you mean?” Right then, the automated announcer starts reading out the last month of ALL of their browser histories over the intercoms!”

“Oh my God!” Jill exclaimed, cracking a smile in spite of herself.

Alma threw her head back and guffawed. Jill’s eyes flitted down, locking onto Alma’s jiggling, heaving breasts, each round and large enough to fill a soup bowl. They darted back to Alma’s face as she leaned forward, propping herself up on the bar.

“So yeah, that’s how I got expelled from Catholic school,”

“So you’ve always been living an… “interesting” life, haven’t you?” Jill asked. Her eyes flitted down again, but felt an emptiness like a hunger pain. She looked back to Alma as she readjusted her glasses.

“Oh, you can only begin to imagine,” Alma replied with a growing sly grin. “But with a looser tongue, you might not have to wonder…”

A beep from Jill’s wristwatch interjected.

“Shit, it’s that late already?!” She looked back to Alma. “Sorry, but story time will have to wait for another night.”

“Oh, don’t be like that…” Alma pouted.

“Sorry, but I’m on a schedule. Besides, Fore will get mad at me if he has to feed himself.”

“Not even just one for the road for such a close friend?”

Jill hacked a little. “I’d rather not have to call a cab for you. Again.”

“Oh, but I’ve been such a good girl, and I’ve been going easy on the Karmotrine. Surely just one more light drink won’t be too much. Pleeeeeeeeeeease?” Alma pouted like a puppy.

“Ughck, fine,” she said, opening up the menu. “You’re lucky you’re such a pretty face…”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Alma replied with a smile and batting of eyelashes.

“So what can I get you, friend? Sugar Rush? Moonblast? Brandtini?” She said with a little emphasis, quietly thinking about the latter drink’s description very loudly.

“Oh, you do know how to tempt me, but I'm in the mood for something a little more... imaginative.”

Jill cocked an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

“So, a little birdie told me that a worm told her that you recently received a shipment of some very special soda.” Alma’s smug smile grew. “Does the name “Wonkorp” ring any bells?”

Jill’s eyes widened. Alma grinned like a cat with canary feathers in its mouth.

“You're a menace. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Alma said with sharp sweetness. “Glitch City should consider itself lucky that I'm so nice.”

“Regardless, I… don't think this is such a good idea…” Jill said, scratching behind one of her long pigtails and becoming more interested in the countertop..

“Aw, why not?”

“Those things are basically levitation potions in soda form.”

“So?”

“Look, we… used to have a bartender who drank one of those things… He doesn’t work here anymore…”

A memory lit up in Alma’s eyes. “The world’s only cruising altitude hit and run… Oh shit, that was him?”

Jill looked back up, and nodded: weakly, solemnly.

“Oh, sweetie,” Alma placed one of her gloved hands upon Jill’s. “I’m so sorry to hear that, but word on the web is that was a concentrated substance synthesized from one of the many secret recipes stolen from Wonkorp. The stuff they’re testing the market with now is so diluted in comparison that it’s little more than a party trick. You wouldn’t even be able to drink enough to go higher than the average building.”

“I know, but…”

Alma’s fingers wrapped around Jill’s hand.

“I know I’m safe with you,” Alma said with a warm, genuine smile. A moment passed before it turned cheeky again. “Besides, if you’re that worried, you could always just handcuff me to the bar.”

Jill yanked her hand away, yet a smile tugged at the corner of her cross mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s why you like me.” Alma giggled again. “Now hurry up. Like you said, we’re on a schedule.”

“It’s in the back, Give me a minute.”

Jill disappeared into the back storage room, muttering to herself as she scoured the shelves.

“God, I can’t believe that girl…” she murmured,

She could, in fact, believe that girl. She knew Alma had to know how big a crush she had on her, but even then, Alma was just something for her to look at, like Tantalus could only ever look at the fruit hanging above him. Memories had become the pool of frigid water she’d been submerged up to her neck in, the agonizing lack of closure…

At this point, she was just tormenting herself… she wondered if that was the point…

She found the object of her search, giving her an out to leave this ghost here, along with all the other spirits.

“Alright, here you go, sugar tits,” Jill proclaimed as she presented the clear glass bottle, the obnoxiously bombastic label the only thing otherwise obscuring the amber liquid within.

Jill pried off the cap with a bottle opener, and both women flinched as there was a hiss like a pneumatic snake and a violent “POP!” like a champagne I.E.D, flipping the cap a yard into the air. Jill shot a disconcerting look at Alma, who bounced like an excited school girl.

“Smells like cream soda,” Jill remarked, then dipped in a long, slender mixing spoon and tasted it, not daring to sample more than a drop. “Tastes like it, too.” She hummed pensively as she tapped the spoon on her lips. “I think we should treat this like a hard Sugar Rush. That should get it something up to your liking…”

Jill pulled out a Coke-Cola glass from under the counter, then slowly poured in the soda as she simultaneously poured in two portions of Adelhyde, one portion of Powdered Delta, and one portion of Karmotrine, then stirred it all together. There was so much carbonation it made Jill feel like she was trying to fly a kite in a strong wind.

“There you go, one hard Wonkorp Fizzy Lifting Drink. Now hurry up and drink it, I don’t want to have to stay overtime to peel you off the ceiling.”

Alma gripped the glass by its wide top, then pushed out her chest as she sat up to drink.

Jill rolled her eyes, but they were drawn back to the goods that Alma was putting on display. Alma’s act was cut short as she took her first sip, and her eyes widened.

“Oh, wow…” she remarked, instantly taking another sip. “Damn, that is good!”

“It’s to your liking, then?”

“Oh, most definitely!” Alma said in between another sip.

“How would you describe the taste?” Jill asked, her bartender brain taking over.

“Hmmm… [sip] I’d have to say… sweet [sip]… happy [sip]... and bubbly as fuck. [sip] It tastes like the best damn cream soda I’ve ever drunk in my life [sip], but it feels like I’m drinking some kid’s baking soda and vinegar volcano science project [sip].”

Alma hiccuped as she downed the last of her drink. “Aaaaaaaah, now that hit the spot. You really know your craft! I should buy you one of those some time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jill nonchalantly replied as she looked away and deposited Alma’s empty glass into the dishwasher.

“Hey,” Alma said as she put her hand back on the counter, her tone suddenly deeper, almost sober. “I just wanted to say… you’re a really, really good listener, Jill.”

“Are you sure that last one wasn’t one too many?”

Alma huffed. “I can still see straight, so yes. Anyway [hic!], don’t change the subject. You… I feel like you just get me, ya’ know? I get excited when I decide to come here. Talking with you is always the highlight of my day.”

“You sure you’re not drunk? Again?”

Alma huffed in faux indignation. “Hey, I have been drinking, officer, but I’m not drunk.”

“Yeah, prove it. Spell your name.”

“Fine! [hic!] Binary, hexadecimal, or English alphabet?”

“Real letters.”

“A-L-M-A, A-R-M-A-S.”

Alma’s hand caught Jill’s eye as it artlessly moved to adjust her bra. Jill cocked an eyebrow. Had her sweater… always been that tight? She shook her head and looked back to Alma’s eyes.

“Alright, fine, you pass.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, you… you're precious to me, Jill. I'd say I love you like a little sister, but, I have sisters. This feels… different…”

“I…” Something gripped Jill’s heart, like warm fingers trying to wrap around a spiked ice wall, but then sometime else caught her attention. “Wait, do you hear that?”

“Stop trying to change the subject Jill, I'm being serious!”

“I am, too! What's that sound?” It sounded like the muffled hiss of an air tank filling a balloon. It sounded like…

Jill’s eyes widened; it sounded like it was coming from… Alma…

“Oooo,” Alma groaned as she spread her arms to brace herself against the bar.

Jill's eyes widened in alarm. Alma's already large breasts had gotten even bigger: were getting bigger.

“Oh, I feel [hic!] funny…” Alma half-slurred as she leaned back in her seat.

“Oh my God!” Jill cried.

Alma’s belly was inflating, stretching apart the weave of her sweater. Alma’s eyes widened and her lips parted in awe as her midsection swelled enough to crest even her expanding breasts. She tentatively peeled up her sweater, revealing the growing, warm pink orb. Her fingers prodded the curved expanse of skin. A soft coo escaped her lips, and the next moment, her hands were rubbing up and down the swell of her belly.

“Oh… is… is this why Mom wants me to get pregnant?” Alma mused as the swelling spread to her sides, giving her maternal love handles.

Jill's breath had frozen as she ran through a list of people she should probably be calling: Dana; poison control; Wonkorp; BTC; for a brief moments, she even considered calling the White Knights, but something just as primal stepped in to bring up a point; this was the most of Alma’s skin she had ever seen, and there was more of it to see with each passing second.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to see more.

Alma shifted in her seat as the hissing emanating from her intensified and deepened. Jill’s eyes were darting all across her body. Had she gotten taller?

The hiss of materializing air was undercut by a harsh ripping noise. Alma blurted out an embarrassed “Oh!” as one hand flew to her backside. Her arm oscillated as her hand moved out of sight, and Alma’s surprised expression melted away for half-lidded eyes and a salacious smirk as Jill saw the swelling reach Alma’s hips.

Alma arched her back and moaned indulgently as she began to rub and squeeze her beach ball-sized belly with thighs that had also begun to thicken, the seams popping like kernels in an expanding bag of popcorn. Her hands grew more adventurous, exploring as much of her burgeoning, gravid form as they could reach. Her sweater had pulled tight around breasts that were each larger than her head, shallow valleys forming on the cloth from unseen indentations. Her face contorted and she grunted in discomfort as both hands reached around behind her to paw feebly at something on her back. There was a series of muffled [SNAP!]s, and Alma sighed in relief as the curvature of her stretched sweater smoothed out.

The swelling had overtaken Alma’s whole body now. Her belly had pushed into her chest and waist, which spread further to her shoulders, hips, thighs, and groin. Her belly had gotten so big that it had begun to press into the bar, which pressed a deep indent into the growing, pale peach globe. They pushed against each other until Alma began to tilt back in her seat. Her fattening arms flailed, but found no purchase. There was a harsh [CLANG!] as the stool hit the floor, and Alma let out a surprised but nonetheless delighted squeal as her body pivoted until her belly was facing down, the whole of her now floating up in the air.

Jill gasped in terror, like an icicle had been plunged into her spine. Her mind’s eye saw a brief flash: a horrific splatter of blood smeared across the side of an airplane… and yet her own feet remained nailed to the floor, eyes only ever widening to take in all of Alma as her whole body rounded out, and she swelled bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

Tears began to open across all the seams on Alam’s sweater. All at once, Alma’s sweater ripped into three separate pieces, and those glorious breasts that Jill had only every seen in her wet dreams and fantasies as she misused her electric shoulder massager popped out with a [fwoomp!} and a faint gurgle as her destroyed bra fell out from underneath them.

Jill was transfixed, eyes wide, lips ajar, almost drooling. The sound of more cloth tearing ripped her from her reverent ogling. Jill caught the faint sight of Alma’s torn pant legs swaying from either side of her body. There was a distant [pop!], and Jill saw a blur of a small, black, sand dial-shaped piece of fabric fall from the opposite side of Alma’s immense body.

At seven and a half feet in diameter, Alma’s inflation began to slow, then finally stopped, leaving her floating buoyant in mid-air, breathing heavily, softly cooing and moaning, her long, golden hair flowing into the valley of her cleavage as her hands gently grabbing and groping at the divots they had sunken into.

“Oh my fucking God,” Jill exhaled a barley audible whisper. Alma floated before her like a giant flying peach from a once-thought long forgotten memory of a storybook from her childhood, except with tits as big as bean bag chairs, ass cheeks just as wide and plush, and a still prominent belly bigger than her bed. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse fast and frantic, her skin could and clammy… and her belly tingling with electric butterflies.

“A-Alma?” Jill stammered. “A-are you alright?”

“Mmmm, never been better…” Alma moaned in satisfaction.

Jill hopped over the bar, not even bothering to go around to the door. “It doesn't hurt?” Jill asked, poking Alma's distended belly.

“UNH!”

Jill gasped and yanked her hand away, backing up, pulling her arms tight to her chest and gripping her hands together by the side of her face.

“Ooh… do that again…” Alma moaned.

Jill felt like her heart skipped a beat. “Are you…enjoying this?!”

“Mmmm, fuck yeah, I am…”

“This is nuts…” Jill breathed, fast and shallow. Her head felt like it was spinning, seeing more naked skin on Alma than even existed a few minutes ago. She was transfixed. It felt like Alma had developed her own gravitational pull, drawing her in even as the muted feeling of emptiness was pulling in the opposite direction.

“True, but… oh, Jill… oh, fuck… you have… no idea how good this feels…”

“I… I don't…”

Alma whined a little. “Now that you mention it, my belly feels… tight. Could you… mmm… give it a rub… until it feels better?”

Jill's right hand had untangled itself from the left’s fingers and her arm had extended half way before she caught herself. “You're not just trying to get me to touch you again, are you?”

Alma giggled. “Maaaybe…”

Jill held up a finger and opened her mouth, but no word came out. Alma giggled again, mischievous and smug.

“I can't believe this,” Jill muttered under her breath as she slowly walked on tremulous legs back to Alma.

Jill felt vertigo as her hands drew close. She hesitated for just a moment, close enough that she could feel the inviting warmth emanating from Alma’s belly, then with quivering hands touched her belly again.

Alma moaned in gratitude as Jill’s hands kneaded her flesh. “Wow, you're… oh… REALLY good at this!”

“My grandpa taught me how to give shoulder massages,” Jill said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, you should — oh! — work that into your bartender routine… you’d make a killing…”

Jill had the faint thought to say something cheeky, about intimately touching drunks being a recipe for unwelcome disaster and of the floods of Bad Touches ordered with oafish, disgusting, licentious grins, but she couldn’t quite remember how to speak over the exhilaration of touching Alma. Her skin was so soft and silky, and stretched as taut as it was now made it even more smooth. For a moment, she has the thought of just wrapping her arms around as much of Alma as she could grab and burying her face in the balloon woman's belly, but something from her memories shot out like a hook and dragged the thought into the darkness.

A fizzing sound came from closer to Alma’s front. For a moment, Jill thought Alma was finally relieving some of the gas, but she realized something was off; it didn't sound like it was coming from Alma’s mouth. The blonde balloon moaned salaciously, confirming Jill’s suspicions. Then the fixing sound changed into a gurgling bubbling, and the sound of something wet splattering onto the floor.

Jill looked in the direction of the noise and gasped. Alma’s breasts were leaking.

“What the Hell?” Jill blurted, then dashed around to Alma’s top hemisphere.that was still well lit, and gasped anew. “What the fuck?!”

Bubbles built up around Alma’a engorged nipples, from under which twin streams of amber fluid poured out over her gargantuan breasts and dripped onto the floor. Jill leaned in for a sniff: it smelled like cream soda and ethanol.

“Oh my God! Alma! You’re lactating hard Fizzy Lifting Drink!”

“Mmm, so that’s what my boobs were filling with…” Alma cooed. She slowly squeezed her eyes shut, bit her bottom lip, and moaned sensually as she craned her head back, softly pressing into the shallow divot it had sunken into as her fingers flexed, drumming against the bloated domes that remained of her arms. She looked back down to Jill, her half-lidded eyes radiating desire and her smile joyous and hungry.

“So, about that drink I offered you…” Alma huskily purred.

Jill gasped a little as she felt her heart thunk against her rib cage. “I-I-I dunno…” she stammered. “I… might have to call a rain check on that…” she half-mumbled, even as her mouth salivated and throat went dry.

Alma chuckled, deep and demure. “Too late, toots. It’s already raining outside.”

Jill’s jaw worked in silence, eyes drawn back to the biggest fucking tits she’d ever seen in her life..Something else still tugged on her, like a choke chain from the shadows. It yanked so hard she felt her shoulder lurch back a little.

“Jill…” Alma said, her sultry tone suddenly more soothing.

Jill shook her head as it twitched back up to Alma. Her lust hadn’t dissipated in the slightest, but the blonde balloon smiled down at her with the added warmth and empathy of guiding a virgin through their first time.

“It’s just us girls.”

The niggling, enigmatic dissent within her didn’t like that at all, but it was pushed to the side as an ephemeral wave of euphoric tingles rushed through Jill. A switch was flipped, and instinct took over.

“Let me just… clock out real fast…”

Jill nearly tripped over her own feet as she stumbled away, only then fully realizing how weak and wobbly her legs had become. She dashed as quickly as she could in high heels and a pencil skirt to the punch clock in the back, then strode with as much intent as her shaky legs could carry her with to the front door and locked it.

She took a deep breath as she turned, and the full mass of what was probably about to happen hit her. Every waking moment she’d spend inside the bar would be colored by this; forever seeing peach against the black, smelling ghosts of cream within the faint stench of spilled booze. Every step towards the balloon bombshell felt like each step pulling or being pulled by a lover towards a bed.

Jill reached over the bar and pulled a rocks glass from behind the counter. She stood mesmerized in front of Alma’s massive right breast, like she might have thought of a goddesses as big… and then bigger than that. She starred in awe at the fountain burbling out from Alma’s nipple, bubbling, bubbles forming, and popping, only for more to take they place, the fizzy amber fluid seeming to flow without end…

An aroused giggle from Alma broke Jill out of her trance. She looked up at the balloon, staring back at her in anticipation, then back down to the soda wellsprings of her nipples, then back up with a stray thought bubbling up of its own.

“What if it blows me up, too?”

Alma wiggled her eyebrows back in response. “How much more disappointed will you be if it doesn’t?”

Jill’s eyes were pulled back to the fountainhead of frothing soda bounteously flowing from Alma’s fist-sized nipple. The litany of her disparate thoughts, how grumpy Fore would be that his dinner would be late, Dana throwing a fit over the puddle on the floor, Dana’s increasingly sardonic expressions to her meek recounting, the sideways glances and smirks from Gillian, the potential side effects from drinking an inflation potion from some whacked-out corporation, secret police whisking them away to find some way to exploit their discovery/condition, even the presence that all but demanded her to leave, were drowned out by one single thought:

I could have boobs as big as Alma’s…

Jill pressed her glass to the busted tap of Alma’s mammary. Alma moaned with such wanton savoring that she nearly dropped the glass, to Alma’s giggling amusement.

“A — mngph — toast?” Alma suggested.

Jill stared into the drink in her hands like a wishing well, only now realizing that this might be the most significant concoction she’d ever combined. A true smile flavored with a spritz of irony touched her lips, and she raised her glass to Alma.

“To mixing drinks and changing lives.”

Jill toasted the glass into Alma’s tit to her coo of delight. An inch from her lips, one last ominous foreboding stayed her hand. She blinked. Her hand wouldn’t move, Something inside her shivered, like a wendigo walking on her grave.

She could see confusion beginning to from on Alma’s face, yet her arm felt paralyzed. Her libido growled in frustration, and all but dunked her head into the drink.

Jill’s eyes widened as the taste flowed across her tongue. Instantly she was torn between the desire to sip and savor it like a fine win the impulse to gulp it down like a true alcoholic. She compromised with a slow but steady stream. Her assessment of a spirited Sugar Rush treatment was close to the money: sweet; happy; bubbly as fuck.

She was half way through when a hiccup nearly made her cough. She looked back up at Alma, whose eager expression hadn’t changed but her nostrils flared with heavier breathing.

“How does it — [giggle} — how do I taste?”

“It’s… [HICCUP]!”

Jill’s free hand flew to her mouth. The heat of an embarrassed blush burning her cheeks. Alma giggled with a smile that bore her teeth. Her lips closed into a knowing smirk.

The word that failed to leave Jill’s mouth was “ambrosia.” She saw a flash image of downing the rest of the glass in one draft, followed by another of stuffing Alma’s nipple into her mouth and drinking like an alcoholic calf.

The first thing Jill felt was a growing tightness in her tummy, then in her chest, pressing out in all directions, like the complete inverse of a hug, but which was still just as pleasant. Then she heard — she felt — a hissing coming from inside her.

Jill’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull as her mouth fell open, as she watched — felt — her breasts and belly begin to grow. Her hand drifted from her mouth to her midsection, and gasped as it made contact sooner than she was used to. Her palm rubbed and fingers gently scratched in maternal reverence, sweeping and exotic thrill through her. Part of her wondered if she was dreaming: the kind she’d have to change her panties after.

“Mmnph…” Jill groaned in discomforted pleasure as the snug parts of her clothes quickly ran out of room. She pawed ineffectively at her vest, clumsy fumbling around buttons that only ever grew tighter, while her billowing breasts turned her tiny bra into a veritable vice grip.

“Oh!” she moaned in surprise and pleasure as the buttons on her vest snapped off in sequence. Her vest fell limp to her sides, exposing her otherwise oversized pastel dress shirt that was already being stretched taut by her burgeoning breasts and belly, that she could feel the threads of her pencil skirt straining against.

Another “Oh!” mixed with bashfulness escaped her as she felt a pulse of arousal flood her backside, She whipped around to look behind her just as her behind went through a growth spurt, surging out into a great pale pear in seconds. Her bottom lip quivered at the feeling of her pantry house splitting apart, her thickening thighs bulging out.

Her head was spinning from how fast and shallow her breathing was getting. She whined as her hand clawed futilely over the hooks of her bra. She felt the hooks snap under her fingers, and she gasped in relief and pleasure as she felt another minor growth spurt ripple through her body, everything bulging out just a bit more.

She turned back to ogle in awe at her breasts, now almost as big as her head. The lower buttons on her blouse were bursting of, the shirt being pulled up to act as an impromptu bra as her skirt was being torn in half from the hip notches up by her ballooning belly: taut, smooth, and otherwise almost perfectly spherical, save for the adorable little dimple of her belly button that looked like a thumb print in a giant ball of rising dough.

Jill’s hand moved as if on instinct to brush aside her deep carmine tie, then softly fondle her breasts as they too had grown big enough to start snapping the buttons on her shirt. She briefly realized that she was still holding her drink aloft in her left hand, and forgot again when her right touched her breast. She gasped anew; they were bigger than she’d even fantasized, bigger than anything she’d ever stuffed under her shirt in pretend, and that came with just as great of an increase in the pleasure she felt by touching them.

Jill was in awe of herself: stocking splitting thighs thicker than her former hips; the second biggest breasts she’d ever seen; a bloated belly as gravid as those fertility drug-junkies; hips and ass as wide as at least two women combined, stretching her panties tight and digging them even deeper into her crevasses… and they were all still growing.

Jill’s eyelids fluttered as her eyes rolled back into her head. The glorious pressure was pumping so much pleasure into her it made her feel like she was floating. Her aroused reverie was actually making her feel like gravity’s hold on her was slipping.

“Eep!” Jill squeaked out as her feet left the floor. She WAS floating! In a hasty and maladroit shifting, she managed to turn around just enough to set her drink out the counter as she rose, her shoes falling from her feet and clattering with twin splashes next to the toppled bar stool in a growing, caramel-colored pool.

At the height of her ascension, Jill convulsed with a deep, orgasmic moan as her panty hose tore entirely to tatters, her skirt snapped, her panties popped, and the last button blew off her blouse like a bullet, bouncing around the bar until, against astronomical improbability, it hit a precise button on the jukebox, cutting off whatever track had been playing. In its place came another song; first, reverberated chimes, then, a warm synthesizer, followed up by delicate, rising strings.

Then the raunchy, voyeuristic saxophone pushed its way into the scene.

“Fucking… seriously?” Jill gasped as she struggled to get a hold over herself.

“Seriously…” Alma purred, wiggling her brows over half-lidded eyes. She made a very deliberate display of biting her bottom lip.

Jill’s breath shuddered at Alma’s expression.

“Wow, girl, look at you!” Alma breathed in awe, her hungry eyes traveling over every new curve of Jill’s body.

Jill trembled anew as Alma’s eyes feasted upon her. She was so sensitive it felt like Alma’s very gaze was caressing her all but naked body. Her hands moved on instinct, as if to follow and guide a lover. She shook again from the sensations of rediscovering herself.

Alma hummed in delight. “So… feel as good… as you look?”

It felt like when she’d been with her male lovers, except the feeling was everywhere. She opened her mouth to say so, but all that came out was a fevered moan.

Oh, God… if it feels… this good… just… like this… how does it feel to be as big as Alma?

Jill suddenly regretted not finishing her drink.

“Oooh… Alma… why — oh, fuck… why does it feel… so fucking GOOD?”

“You tell me…” Alma’s smile grew, as did the rapaciousness in her eyes. “How about… you come over here… and we'll both find out? Together?”

Jill’s heart nearly thumped out of her throat. She slowly “swam” through the air like a fat, transfixed frog. Alma giggled in excitement as Jill approached, like watching a lover dance to the bed. With every kick, Jill felt more aware of how cool and drafty the air was.

They made contact with the maladroit grace of bumping balloons, yet Jill’s heart fluttered like a migration of butterflies. Their eyes met. Souls sparkled within. Jill’s quavering right hand cupped Alma’s cheek. Alma shut her eyes and nuzzled into the touch. Her hand traveled up, fingers running through the golden silk of Alma’s hair, while the other explored her head’s basin in awe. Alma craned her head back, breathed in deep, and sighed in ecstasy.

“You’re trembling…” Alma softly shared.

“S-sorry…” Jill stammered.

Alma gently chuckled. “It’s okay… If I could still move, I would be too.”

Jill pulled herself closer, squishing their ballooned bodies harder into each other. They both moaned.

“Oooooh… is it… everything… you imagined it would be?” Alma cooed.

“Not exactly…” Jill’s voice wobbled from the pounding of her heart. “I never imagined… it would ever be… quite like this…”

“Yeah… neither did I…”

Jill’s hands froze. Alma looked back at her with a smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

Jill felt her lips part and purse, felt her neck twitch and move her head forward a little. Alma gasped a little. She saw recognition shimmer in those beautiful peachy eyes of hers, then anticipation.

Jill felt herself pulled in again. She couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. She didn’t.

Jill and Alma kissed. The energy between their souls formed a circuit upon contact, and it activated something in Jill she hadn’t felt in years: being alive.

The feeling of her tender breasts, throbbing with pleasure, pressing into the smooth expanse of what might have been Alma’s collar; her nipples, stiffened from chill and arousal, digging into Alma’s smooth, taut skin; her gravid belly nestled in a valley of cleavage, brushing up against Alma’s enormous breasts; her heart, feeling like it was beating in tandem with another… she drank it all in, quenching a thirst she hadn’t realized she’d been dying from.

Jill suddenly remembered, this was the point of waking up every day: of being. She mewled into their kiss. It felt like she’d rediscovered herself.

Then, like the cold wind of a death rattle, that feeling, the inscrutable emptiness she’d been feeling all night, returned. Except this time, it had a name…

… Lenore.

“Jill? Is… something wrong?”

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped kissing Alma until her question.

“O-oh… I’m sorry, just… I haven’t done this in a while…” Jill’s sentence hung in the air.

“Oh…”

Just from the way she said it, Jill knew Alma knew: knew everything.

“Jill… stay with me… please…”

Jill desperately dove back in, locking lips with her eyes shut tight, but under her eyelids she saw: sapphire eyes; chocolate brown hair; fair skin; a seemingly indefatigable smile…

“Jill…”

She tried, but she already felt the spark was gone; the emptiness had swallowed it.

Her smile, defeated. Words that couldn’t be taken back. A shattered vase. A beautiful face, twisted in anger, pain, sorrow, remorse, loss: her last memory of it. A letter with a single lonely word — “Sorry.” — that could never be answered.

A heart, unburdened by guilt… never more.

“I… I can’t.” Jill muttered as she withdrew, head hanging in remorse.

Alma gasped in terror. “What?”

“I said I can’t, okay?!” Jill cried, feeling her insides freezing.

“Jill, please don’t do this to yourself! To me!”

“I SAID I CAN’T!” Jill caterwauled in contrition and shoved Alma as hard as she could, pushing them away from each other.

“JILL, PLEASE!” Alma screamed like a woman watching her own heart get ripped out. “DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!”

Jill well and truly froze as her failure set on her. She’d done it again, except it took her less than three minutes this time. She felt like she could vomit guilt.

“Jill, please… look at me, with your ruby eyes…”

Jill lifted her head with the dread of facing execution, expecting to see Alma wearing Lenore’s last expression. Even the music had gone silent in tense foreboding.

On Alma’s pretty face, in her eyes like sunsets: pain, sorrow, loss… warmth. Compassion.

“When was the last time you felt this light?” Alma asked

Jill gasped, like she’d been brought back to life again, like the music from the jukebox.

Alma’s brow furrowed with empathy. “Oh, Jill… my dearest Jill... we all have our crosses to bear, but you don’t have to carry them alone, because you are worth so, so much more than to be crushed by them.”

Jill drew in another deep breath to replace the one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, shaking from the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. For the first time, she felt like she could be absolved; like a spark was still within her… like she still had rocks to get off…

Jill swam down to the bar, grabbed her drink, downed the rest of it in one gulp, and kicked off from the bar top. Alma yelped in pleasant surprise as Jill collided back into her.

“Your…” Jill began as she stripped off her shirt and ruined panty hose, “tits are too big.”

Alma’s open mouth stretched into an eager smile as the spark reignited in her eyes.

“Your… damn tits have ALWAYS been too fuckin’ big…” Jill reverently whispered, and kissed Alma again.

Their locked lips, the circuit revitalized. Jill broke the kiss only to stare into Alma’s big, peachy eyes. A knowledge was reached between them. Jill planted another kiss on Alma’s lips, but had moved to her cheek, then her jaw, then more down her neck before she could return it. Alma clenched her eyes shut, craned her head back, and moaned in decadent indulgence as Jill traveled down her ballooned body, lower, and lower…

The tears of the angels who wept in witness were lost outside in the rain.