My friend's mom and her Chanel suit

BakersDozen101

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My friend's mom, Mrs. Steam, wanted us to take a picture so the boys stood in a row. Instead of her standing in front of us and taking the picture from afar, she jumped in with us to take a selfie. We squeezed together, sixteen goofy, young boys and one MILF, and she stood directly in front of me, with her butt bumping my crotch. "Everybody, get together," she said.

After, we ate birthday cake and sat at the dining room table while Mrs. Steam told a story about her recent vacation. She was an animated storyteller. Her arms were up and her hands pounded the air for emphasis. As she did, her blouse shifted. It looked like a hectic gesture might make it bust apart. A crease appeared across the middle of her chest, across the centermost button. Her boobs pushed over the top and bottom of the button and the crease deepened as the fabric tried to keep its shape. I wondered who else was noticing this?

"Then the car sped across the parking lot!" Mrs. Steam yelled, flinging her arms out. The weight of her breasts distributed around and instead of one crease stretching across her middle, each button took on equal pressure. Gaps appeared between them where the fabric was pulled so far outward that only where the buttons touched the buttonholes did the two sides of the blouse meet. The spaces between the buttons became tear-dropped shaped. I could see that she wore a white bra underneath. It looked like someone was photoshopping Mrs. Steam in real-time and making her boobs grow. The pattern of her flannel shirt, the lines going up and down, became curved and blurry.

"And he hit the gas too soon!" she yelled.

Pop! The forth button from the top, the one on the underside of her boobs, burst apart. A slice of white bra came into clear view. Flesh, flesh, amazing flesh bounced underneath. The button gap from above the burst button and below it combined to make one big button gap. Four inches of cleavage and bra sat there. I clenched my teeth and imagined being able to jumping inside.

I don't think Mrs. Steam knew what happened but she saw our faces. There were over a dozen boys seated at the kitchen table and I'm sure our eyeballs swung to and centered on Mrs Steam. The eyeballs of the boys on the right swung left. The tall boys' eyes swung down and the short kids' eyes looked up.

Pop, Pop. Without anymore movement, two more buttons burst, the two above the first. We looked at a foot of cleavage. It had a 3D effect. Her boobs were pale and reminded me of moons. You could see that the fat in them was trying to get out of the bra too. They were over-sized. Now there was only one button done up under her collar and another button still fastened that was being crushed on the underside of her boobs.

Mrs. Steam's jaw fell, finally noticing what happened, and she put her hands up to cover herself. She stood up and turned around. She tried to button herself up and managed to do it pretty quickly but when she turned around to face us, she made a jerky movement and all three of the same buttons came apart again plus the collar button. We got a good look at the shelf she had. With the way the kitchen light hung behind her head, I could see the light curling around her body. With her having so many forward-jutting curves, it was impossible. The front of her boobs were bright white but her cleavage was dark black. Her chest was too big for the outfit, even with it popped and unbuttoned, and she bulged over the edge of the bra cups as well as pushed the neckline of the shirt out. It looked impossible for the shirt to have ever had fit.

Later the boys would talk about the things that they saw during this religious experience. One boy said that her boobs look like drums and he expected her to start playing them. Another said that the boobs looked fake, like they were plastic balloons that were inflating. In a weird sense, I saw butt cheeks. That was the only thing I could compare her boobs to. Even big boobs in porn weren't as plump and round as these. These look like someone's fat ass bolted onto a chest.

Mrs. Steam ran out of the room holding her chest in her arms. The boys looked at one another and no one knew what to do until one boy finally cried, "Oh my God, Mrs. Steam's titties!"

After that, everyone went outside to play in the backyard. I stayed inside. Mrs. Steam went outside too but eventually came back in. She wore the same shirt, buttoned up again. "What are you doing here?" she asked, looking at me.

"Nothing. I'm tired," I said.

"Oh."

She turned away and washed dishes angrily. There was splashing and plate clanging. I tried to look at the window in front of her and find her reflection but I had no luck. When she turned around, she had soap bubbles on her chest and water stains which was luck enough. She bent over to change the garbage can's bag and her breasts lunged into spoon shapes. "Let me help you," I said. I got out my chair and crawled across the floor, keeping my eyes low and fixed on her chest. I put my hands on the bag and lifted the mess out.

"Do you know how to tie a new bag?" she asked.

I shook my head. She and I crouched, put our hands on the can, and looked at one another. She quickly tied a knot. "See?"

I nodded and watched soap bubbles pop on her blouse.

"Now you know how to tie a garbage bag. That way, you won't have stuff flying all over the place." She lifted her arms and spread them apart to illustrate her point. With that movement, her blouse burst open again. The middle button went first and the energy rippled up and down, bursting to her collar button and lowest button. Everything exposed: her cleavage veins and industrial bra. She grabbed her self and tried to leave the room but I stood in the doorway. She took one arm off of her chest, let the breast drop, and pushed by me, shoving my shoulder and having her loose breast make contact with my elbow.

I picked a button off of the floor and put it in my pocket and then went into the bathroom and jerked off. I squeezed my eyes to help me remember the scene: white garbage bag, white blouse, Mrs. Steam touching my hands, Mrs. Steam saying, "stuff flying all over the place," and then her breasts tearing into view. After my relief, I went outside. Some boys were being picked up as the birthday party was ending. Parents drove into the driveway. I saw mine and I got in. As we drove away, I saw Mrs. Steam come out of the front door in a the same top, buttoned up for a third time, waving at the passing cars.

Part 2

Two weeks later, I was back at the boy's house. Mrs. Steam had called my parents and asked if I could help with chores. She said it was because she needed help and because her son was lazy and needed to see what an industrious boy looked like. My parents agreed and sent me over. I arrived at the front door where Mrs. Steam greeted me, dressed in a red suit with decorative buttons fastened across her torso. The shadow on the ground, formed from the porch light at her side, showed her shape. There was a head, shoulders, and a barrel-sized jut underneath them.

"Bobby is going to be a working man," Mrs. Steam said. She pulled me from my Mom's grasp and into hers. Her hand landed on my ear with her fingers rolling around the lobe. "Is this your first job?" she asked.

I looked up to answer. Her breasts were in the way. I could only see Mrs. Steam's hair draped over them.

"Yes. It is," my Mother answered.

"Exciting!" Mrs. Steam cooed. Her voice was a dog whistle to me. On one side of that doorway was my Mom and she represented everything normal and expected. On this side, was Mrs. Steam and her world was different. When my Mom left, Mrs. Steam walked me into the kitchen where our legendary incidents had occurred. She sat across from me and leaned close.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

I shook my head confidently but my hands sat in my pockets, sweating.

"Are you excited?"

I nodded.

"Can you hear that?"

I listened. There were sounds of guns going off.

"That's Craig in the basement, playing video games. He spends eight hours down there. Bad son, right? He should be helping his mother."

"Uhh..."

"That's okay. Craig is your friend and you don't want to say anything bad about him. I understand."

Craig actually wasn't my friend and I didn't know him. I was at his birthday party because his Mom saw the invite on Facebook and sent me.

"Do you like what I'm wearing? This suit jacket is a nice red," Mrs. Steam asked. She leaned in. The jacket was bright in my eyes. "Can you see the yellow threads going along the button line? Isn't that nice?"

I squinted. "Yeah. It is."

Mrs. Steam licked her thumb and cleaned lint from her collar. "This is a Chanel suit. Do you know what Chanel is? It's the greatest fashion brand in the world. Every woman wants a Chanel suit. If a woman could have a choice between a private island and a closet of Chanel, she'd choose the closet."

"Oh. Wow."

"I love these jacket. This is the 23rd one I've purchased," Mrs. Steam said. She stood up. "Come here." She put her hand behind my head, dug her fingers into my hair, and pulled my nose to her chest. "Look closely. Do you see the blue threads?"

My eyes were against her boobs. "Uh huh."

"For every 400 red threads there are 30 yellow and 1 blue. Craftsmanship, right? See, my dear son, Craig, cannot see the blue thread. You can see it because you're a sensitive boy. Every women can see them too, of course."

"Are women more sensitive than men?" I asked, looking up.

"We have more senses than men. We can see more colors and hear more notes. Maybe men can, I don't know, but it doesn't seem like they ever care to exercise their senses. Women lust to know more. It's a pleasure for us to find a suit like this and stare at it and find every detail. Are you detail-oriented?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, what size is this suit?" Mrs. Steam walked across the kitchen and modeled it. She leaned her shoulders back and forth, posing in new light. Her shoes clicked against the tile and her hands laid on her juicy chest in a prayerful position.

"Size 4?"

"Where did you get that from?"

"I guessed."

"Boy, when talking to women, don't guess. If you don't know, say, 'I don't know.' The right answer is 'custom.' In fact, they had to use two suits to make my one."

"Why?"

"They needed extra fabric."

"..."

Mrs. Steam unbuttoned the suit jacket. The red gave way to a bright blue blouse underneath. With each undone button, I was brought a year into the future. By the final one, I was a grown man. Underneath was the same gigantic chest I saw days before. The blue blouse buttons sported the typical stressed look with the right side of the shirt wanting to go right and the left side wanting to go the opposite way. Mrs. Steam pulled the jacket out wide and exposed the inner lining. "These are called 'panels.' Regular suits cut in and straight across from shoulder to shoulder. This one goes out and across."

"Oh."

"Do you know why it needs to go out and then across?"

"More room?"

"Yes, good. Do you think this shirt is going to hold up? Or is it going to have an accident like last week?"

"Ummm."

She rubbed her hands across the buttons, fondling them with two fingers. "That was terrible. That shirt poor shirt...I had to send it to a tailor to adjust it. I needed it smaller."

"Smaller?"

"It was too loose around the waist. But this one fits me better." Mrs. Steam pulled her shoulders back and pressed her chest out. The parallel edges of her blouse distorted and the teardrop-shaped gaps appeared again between buttons.

"These clothes can take lots of pressure." She pushed more. The teardrops widened. "But only so much." Her finger nudged a button and it violently popped. Breast exposed. Boner initiated. She gasped a fake movie star gasp. "These breasts of mine..." She nudged another button with her long, red fingernail and it popped apart too. "... get bigger and bigger all the time." She ran her finger on the side of the open shirt. "I'm getting so huge that I don't know if Chanel is going to be able to make me a custom things anymore. Wouldn't that be awful?"

"Uh."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

She bit her lip. "I guess get bigger." She fondled another button and it broke as well. Her shelf reemerged. The breasty glory was back in view and the outfit looked like child's clothes. It was like she managed to hide the Grand Canyon behind a telephone pole. Her breasts distorted the final, clinging shirt fabric and were big enough to pull the lines of the patterned lines thinner and longer. I made a conscious decision and put my face into her chest. I fell forward and made this conscious decision mostly by letting my legs give out. My face plopped on her.

"Oh," she yelped, not expecting me. She put her arms around my head and held me tight and shook her shoulders. My face and cheek bobbled and I could hear the sound of breast fat hit my ears and bounce off of my jaw.

"Hungry, curious, little boy. You know what's good for you."

I stayed put, overwhelmed by the sensation of breasts against my face. I knew then that that was the best sensation I could ever feel. My tongue fell out of my mouth and into her cleavage pocket.

"Oh, no, no," she said pulling me away. "Sit down." She pushed me into the chair and then tugged at the sides of her open blouse until finally the fourth and fifth button burst apart. "That's much more comfortable. I have to keep these buttons fastened all day long. Isn't that terrible?"

I nodded.

"What do you have between your pants?" she asked.

I look down. My peanut was hard.

"I think you should take it out and touch it."

"Okay."

I unzipped my fly and pulled out of my boxers.

"Oh, good boy. That is a pretty penis. I'm going to stand here and have fun with myself. You have fun with yourself too. Okay?"

My hand did what my hand knew to do. It wanked. It slid, shook, hiccuped, and tugged. My eyes glued to Mrs. Steam and she made it easy for them to stay glued because she pulled her red jacket off and then grabbed the edges of her blue blouse and pulled it close to her body, tugging it down, and making her boobs pop from the center V. They squished against the fabric edge. For lack of a better comparison, they were doing their own breast-version of muffingtopping. You know the look of a fat woman's belly when her jeans are too tight? That same spillage was happening to Mrs. Steam's chest. Her boobs were a package of flesh, contained on her tiny body, squished between two narrow shoulders and boxed in by a short distance between her collar bones and bottoms ribs. If God was real, I had to thank him.

She smiled, enjoying herself, and then bent over, letting her breasts fall into a long shape. Then she untucked a breast from the bra cup, letting it stretch even longer. Her nipple grew and the whole operation looked like a Transformer's sequence to make her huge breasts become huger. She abruptly stood up and her breast slapped onto her chest with a smack that sounded like a hand clap.

"No, no!" I yelled. My dick was on fire and it was about to fire too.

Mrs. Steam opened her mouth, doing the fake Hollywood movie start pose again. She put her hands over her breasts and made the "How could you?" face. My dick blasted a load across the floor and onto the tile. The long cleavage and basketball dribbling performance was too much for me.

Mrs. Steam knelt on the ground and scooped cum up and wiped it over her chest, moaning as she did it. "Ooooohhh," she smeared it like lotion. She put her breasts back in the bra cup and buttoned her blouse. "You are so excited, boy. Next time don't wank so hard. I didn't get to the good part yet."

By some miracle, today was the day my body decided it could go for two rounds. I kept stroking.

"What's this you're doing? Are you still going?"

I nodded.

She tore her blouse apart and flung her boobs out again. "Then watch me." She grabbed herself. Her nails dug in and breast fat oozed through her finger gaps. The handfuls that fell out of her handfuls, made me harder. "These are gigantic and they grow every year. Bigger and bigger, they never stop. I think they do, they get quiet, then I wake up with my nightie split down the middle." She dropped her breasts and smacked the bottoms. "And sometimes I blow up during birthday parties and a whole bunch of young men get a good look at what I'm carrying. Do you know what I mean?" She put her hands on her hips and swung them out, left to right, like pendulums. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

I shook my head.

"I bet you haven't. You've never seen freak mama boobs like these. What are the girls have in your school? Pimples? Flea bites? I could squish your head. I could squish a lot of things. It looks like you're doing a good job of squishing yourself right now. Come on. Go for round 2. Give me lotion."

This site was too much for me. "So floppy, so bouncy and big!" I screamed, my voice cracking.

"And getting bigger. Bigger all the time." She grabbed a breast with both hands." I can't cover one up no matter how hard I try." The boob slipped out of her grip. "What am I going to do? I'm destined get wider and wider until no jacket closes, no button buttons."

"Mrs. Steam, you're huge!"

She took her boobs, let them hang, and slowly clapped them together rhythmically. "Uh huh, yes I am." She charged at me with her boobs and they crashed into my face. My nose dove. She grabbed my ears and pulled me.

"Please, please, I love you," I said.

"Remember me. These watermelons are going to keep growing and keep popping and everyone is going to see and lucky boys are going to see more."

She backed away and then slowly came at me, bumping me with her boob, backing up, and doing it again. Bop, bop, bop.

"Boy, I know you have strong swimmers in there. Let them launch. Give me a vanilla shower. Give my swollen, over-huge, carnival boobs the best orgasm you ever had."

"Yes, Mrs. Steam!"

She put her hands on my knees and, for some reason, that did it. The contact was enough. I launched into her cleavage. Cum stuck there like Spiderman's web, pulling her boobs together.

"You dirty little boy, Mama's globes were too much for you. But you gave such a beautiful load. I'm proud." She stuck her hand all into her cleavage, like she was putting it through a car wash. Then she stuck her cummy hand into her pocket, wiping it on her pants, and then bringing it under her nose for her to take whiff. "This stuff is strong."

We both looked at one another, trying to catch our breathe.

"Mrs. Steam, your boobs are beautiful."

"One day, I'll need three jackets to cover them. Then you'll cum for me three times. You're going to come here and drown yourself between them. They'll get as big as my husband's belly. I'll sit one on your lap and you'll never get up. It'll spill off your legs, get up to your chin, and you'll shoot loads underneath it, one after another until you pass out."
 
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May i suggest the following...
  • due to constant suckling her nipples grow as well
  • her boob growth is further boosted by the constant massaging and boob play
  • she absolutely loves it and makes no secret out of it
  • Edit: Maybe a little backstory of her, how she started growing, and how fast, etc?

If i die, and its possible, I want to reborn as the lucky SOB in your story. He has my full envy...
 
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"Big" sister of the mother, or of her son?
I wouldn't mind either.
Hm... I vote for both.
There's only one thing that is better than bigger breasts... and that is more bigger breasts.
Provided they are limited to two per woman. Even I do have some standards.
 
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