Breast Spell Bound

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

*****

Ever since I have been adult I have appreciated women's breasts but they can be a distraction. Pauline's were distracting me now, and she knows they are.

She sits facing me at work. On the back of her desk and mine is a rack of manuals about a foot high. Every time I lift my head I am looking straight at Pauline, and she is looking back at me. That is useful when we want to consult about our work, but disconcerting whenever she or I stand up. Why?

Her breasts are large, firm and prominent. She knows they are, and dresses to emphasise her assets. Her cleavage is usually covered to comply with our company's dress code. Pauline pushes that code to its limit with tight tops that are just short of transparent. Every time she or I stand up I am looking straight at Pauline's breasts.

Sometimes, when I have those sort of dreams, Pauline's breasts feature strongly. I dream about touching them, holding them, kissing them and sucking on them. When I get to the 'sucking' I usually have a damp patch in my bed. Yet I had never really experienced them, nor any part of Pauline. The most contact I had ever had with Pauline was a friendly hug and a kiss on the cheek after I helped her with an awkward piece of work.

I had danced with Pauline at the office Christmas Party. She had just parted with Stephen who had been her accepted boyfriend for about six months. It hadn't been a dramatic break. They had decided they weren't compatible for a longer relationship.

Pauline had often talked to me about her relationship with Stephen. She had been using me as a sympathetic ear, someone who wasn't involved. I was treated and behaved as a friend.

Towards the end of the party Pauline was sad and slightly drunk. The group she was with were all dancing and had left her sitting alone. I could see she was close to crying. I thought of Pauline as a friend as well as an office colleague. I pulled her to her feet and held her through a slow romantic dance.

She clung to me through that dance resting her head against my shoulder. I was about to take her back to her friends. She resisted slightly.

"Another dance, please, Ian?" She asked.

"Of course," I replied to the top of her head as she settled herself back against my shoulder.

That dance was followed by another. When the next energetic dance started I led Pauline to a quiet corner. I sat down with her snuggled on my lap, her head still on my shoulder. She was almost asleep. I wasn't. I was too well aware of a large breast with its erect nipple digging into my chest.

At the end of the party she had rejoined her friends. I went back to my now lonely seeming flat. That night I dreamed of Pauline and her breasts. My hands reached for them, caressed, cuddled, stroked. Those erect nipples responded. My dream ended with my lips resting around a nipple - and another wet patch.

At work Pauline and I resumed our normal relationship, ignoring the closeness we had had at the party. But I dreamed of Pauline's breasts most nights. I was very reluctant to act. If I asked Pauline out, and she refused, we would still have to face each other very day, a few feet apart.

I knew too much about Pauline. She knew too much about me. We could hear each other's private telephone calls. We overheard everything our office friends said to us.

I knew that Pauline was into witchcraft and was an apprentice witch. I heard her arranging to meet the coven she hoped to join. I knew that her ambition to be a witch had been the cause of the final split between her and Stephen. He thought modern witchcraft was nonsense. He couldn't share her enthusiasm.

I didn't understand witchcraft, or even whether it worked, but it was important to Pauline. I wouldn't ridicule it, or her interest in it. Stephen had been very dismissive, and that had hurt her.

One of our colleagues was the catalyst for the change in our relationship. One Friday afternoon I was planning to drive to a Youth Hostel in Kent and spend the long Bank Holiday weekend walking the countryside. I was due back at work Tuesday morning. My rucksack was packed. My car was parked in a car park near the office.

James came rushing in to our room.

"Pauline, Ian!" He exclaimed. "Can you use two tickets for Sadlers' Wells tonight? I was going with my wife, but her Mum has gone into hospital and we have to look after Dad."

James is one of the older workers in our office. His wife's parents are in their late eighties and frail. They can cope together but not alone.

Pauline held out her hand.

"Yes, James. Thank you."

James gave her the tickets and was gone.

"Ian," Pauline said. "You'll enjoy it. You can go to the Youth Hostel tomorrow morning, but tonight you are taking me to Sadlers' Wells."

"If you say so, Pauline," I said. "I would be delighted to be your escort tonight. I suppose I can go in my office suit?"

"Of course you can, but I'll have to change. Can you pick me up at quarter to seven? The performance starts at seven thirty."

"I will be there, Pauline, with my trusty vehicle. I know where I can park near Sadlers' Wells."

We resumed our office work. As always on a Friday we had tasks that had to be done before the weekend. I couldn't concentrate as well as I should. I was going out with Pauline this evening. She hadn't asked me. She had told me.

I hadn't asked what we were going to see.

I collected Pauline on time. She had a coat wrapped around her but I could see she was dressed up. She had a full-skirted dress, nylons and high heels. I felt that I should be wearing an evening suit to go with her. When she shed her coat to leave it in the car, I knew I should have changed. Her bright red dress emphasised her breasts. Her cleavage was more obvious than it had ever been at work.

Our seats were in the front row of the stalls.

The Sadlers' Wells Ballet was staging Giselle.

It was a wonderful evening even if we were really too close to the stage. We could see the strain on the dancers' faces. I bought Pauline a Babycham - her choice - in the interval. She wrinkled her nose as she drank. She admitted that she had never had a Babycham before, and didn't like it.

As we left the theatre Pauline slipped her arm into mine. Out of the lighted area her arm slid around my waist and pulled me close. My arm went around her shoulder. In the car she had covered herself with her coat for the short drive to her flat.

As I stopped, she suddenly said:

"Park the car, Ian. You're coming in for a coffee."

I parked. I already knew I wouldn't be going to the Youth Hostel tonight. I would arrive long after they had shut for the night. I could go tomorrow morning.

"Is it OK to leave my rucksack in the car? Or are there car thieves around?"

"I don't know, Ian. Bring it in," Pauline replied.

I followed her up the stairs to her flat. I could see nylon covered legs, a bulky petticoat splaying her skirt, and an occasional flash of thigh above the stockings. I appreciated the view yet it didn't have the impact of Pauline's breasts.

As she hung up her coat I put my rucksack down in the small hall of Pauline's flat. I followed her through to the tiny kitchen and perched on a stool while she made the coffee.

"Sorry Ian," she said, "I have run out of real milk. It will have to be made up from milk powder."

She picked up an unlabelled screw top jar half full of white powder.

I didn't care. I was in Pauline's flat, with Pauline. The coffee could have been made from burnt toast crumbs. She made a production of mixing the milk powder and water in my mug before adding the coffee. She then made another batch for her mug. I would have thought it easier to make milk for both of us, but I was much more interested in the way her breasts strained against the bodice of her dress as she moved.

I could only see her breasts sometimes because her back was towards me as she made the coffee.

Pauline put the coffee mugs on the work surface and pulled up another stool beside me. Her skirted leg was pressing against mine.

"Why don't you take your jacket and tie off, Ian?

We're not at work now."

I shrugged. Did it matter? But I did as she asked. She took them into the hall and hung them next to her coat. I tried the coffee. It was still too hot to drink. I put the mug down again.

"You know why I split up with Stephen?"

"I think so. Was it because he didn't understand your interest in witchcraft?"

"That was the last straw that broke the relationship. There were others. Stephen thought I should move in with him because he has a larger flat. But this is mine. He is renting. My flat may be small but I'm buying it with a mortgage. I might want a larger one in time but I'd want to own it."

"I have a larger one," I said, "but, like you, I'm buying it. My parents helped with the deposit. Their help made the mortgage small enough to be affordable then, and since I've been promoted I've been paying extra each year to reduce the term."

"So have I," Pauline said. "I own just over half of this flat. The way I think of it - I own the hall, kitchen and bathroom. I have still got to buy my bed sitting room. Which reminds me. We arranged this evening so quickly I didn't have time to tidy it. Can you wait a few minutes while I sort it out?"

"Of course I can," I replied.

Pauline put her coffee mug down. Her skirt brushed against me as she passed. I picked up my coffee. It was cool enough to drink. It tasted slightly odd. Was it the reconstituted milk powder? I finished it quickly, went to the sink, rinsed the mug and put half a cup of water in it to wash the taste of the coffee away.

Pauline returned and finished her coffee.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get comfortable."

Her hand took mine. I staggered slightly as I got down from the stool.

"You OK, Ian?" she asked, looking closely at me.

"I think so," I said. I wasn't sure. My head was swimming slightly as if from half a pint of beer too many. It had nearly passed as Pauline led me into her bed sitting room. We sat down side by side on the settee that was obviously her bed at night. Pauline leant her head on my shoulder.

"Ian, why didn't you...?"

"Why didn't I what?" I asked blearily. Suddenly I felt tired and detached from reality.

"At the office party. Why didn't you make a pass at me? I was in your arms when we danced, sitting on your lap with my head like this, and you did nothing. Why not?"

I tried to assemble my thoughts.

"Pauline, that was the wrong place and time."

"Why?"

"You were and are a colleague I see every day, and a friend. You were hurt by breaking up with Stephen, unhappy... and drunk. You were in no state to make sensible decisions..."

"So Ian behaved like the perfect gentleman?"

"No. Not like a gentleman. Like a friend. Friends don't take advantage when another friend is hurting and drunk. Friends look after their friends."

"Even if you disappoint them?"

"That's unfair, Pauline. Assume I had made a pass at you, and perhaps had carried you off to my flat and my bed. What would have happened the next week? You and I would be facing each other, a couple of feet apart, one of us the seducer and the other the victim. That would be intolerable for both of us. We would have to change jobs, possibly employers."

"You're making me feel bad, Ian. Here you are, in my flat, in my bedroom and I am almost like the seducer you weren't..."

"But I came here willingly, sober and consenting. That doesn't sound like seduction..."

"I tricked you, Ian. Tonight's tickets..." Pauline stopped and turned her face up to look at me.

"What about tonight's tickets?"

"James didn't buy them. I did. His gift of them was an agreed act between us. I thought..."

"You could just have asked me."

"Would you have accepted? If I suggested a possible evening at the ballet and I hadn't bought the tickets? Think about it."

I thought.

"No, Pauline, I probably wouldn't have accepted. You are so close to me everyday that I would have been worried in case something went wrong between us."

"If I had moved to another room at work and someone else was sitting opposite you? Would that have made a difference, Ian?"

I thought again.

"Yes. It would. If I weren't opposite you, I'd have accepted. I like you and don't want to hurt you. Turning you down would have disappointed you. I wouldn't want to do that."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Of course. It was a great evening."

"And it hasn't finished."

Pauline wriggled beside me, stood up, put her hands either side of my face and kissed me. Our first ever kiss. I responded. Her skirted knees spread as she knelt astride me. Her face was above mine as we continued to kiss. Eventually she moved back slightly and looked at me.

"You like my breasts, don't you?"

I nodded. I didn't expect the response.

She slid her hands around the back of my head and pulled my face against the bodice of her dress. My face was between her breasts. She held me there as I inhaled her perfume. She pulled me in harder. I was well aware of her erect nipples and that she was not wearing a bra.

She eased herself back and reached for the zip at the back of her dress.

"Are you...?" I started to ask. The last word 'sure' was muffled as I sank into her cleavage again.

She pulled the top of her dress down exposing her breasts. She grabbed my head again and fiercely clamped my head in between them. They were soft, warm and delightful. I was overwhelmed by them.

So far this evening had been pleasant and seemed about to get interesting. I was between Pauline's breasts, the breasts I had dreamed about so often.

My grasp on reality began to slip. Pauline's breasts are large, but a normal large, not enormous. But now they seemed to be growing massive or I was shrinking. I was between them. It wasn't just my face between them but my head, shoulders and upper body. That was impossible. I shook my head slightly to try to get my sense of perception back to normal. Pauline felt my movement. She pulled her breasts back slightly. I was still poised between them and they were still growing.

"What's up, Ian?" she asked. Her voice seemed to come from a distance. I looked up at her face. It was at least six feet away.

"I'm seeing things," I said groggily. "It must be an illusion."

"An illusion? What sort of illusion?"

"I have shrunk, or you have turned into a giantess. I know that sounds silly but that's what I'm seeing. I must be tired. I know I'm not drunk."

Pauline seemed to accept that my illusion was quite normal. That was weird.

"Try stretching out on the settee, Ian. That might sort you out."

She stood up and lifted my legs, a hand behind my back supporting me, until I was flat out. She picked up a bra that had been on the arm of a chair.

"If you are seeing things, what size is this?"

She held a bra cup a foot above my head. I looked at it. At first it looked normal but after a few seconds it grew larger and larger until it could have covered me from head to feet, about eight feet across. I shook my head violently. The bra cup was still enormous.

"Well, Ian, what do you see?"

"That is at least eight feet wide. At least it looks as if it is, Pauline..."

"So if I drop it on you, you'd be lost in it?"

She did. It felt heavy and pressed me to the settee. I was breathing a mixture of Pauline's perfume and the scent of her body. It was incredibly arousing to be swamped by an intimate item of her clothing and I was sad when she lifted it off me.

Pauline was looking at me carefully.

"Were you covered by it? She asked.

"Yes," I answered, "covered, flattened and surrounded..."

That seemed to be the right answer. Pauline's massive face smiled broadly.

"It's worked! I've done it!"

"Done what?" I asked.

Pauline bent over and kissed me. Her lips pressed on me from shoulders to ankles.

"I have produced my first ever enchantment. I chose you as the subject because I know you like my breasts, I like you, and my breasts wanted you. Now I am a real witch and my breasts can claim you."

I didn't know what she meant. Her naked cleavage came down to surround me. She was very gentle but the masses of soft perfumed flesh threatened to bury me. She turned slightly to present a giant nipple to my mouth. I opened my lips. That nipple filled my mouth. Pauline depressed part of her breast to leave me an airway as the rest covered the whole of my body. Her breast had 'claimed me'.

The rest of that evening could have been a nightmare. It wasn't. Pauline took my dreams of her breasts and went far beyond anything I had imagined. She picked me up and undressed me as if I was smaller than Barbie's Ken doll. She carried me to her bed, undressed herself, and moved my body over hers. One minute I would be sprawled across a massive breast, the next most of my body would be held in her mouth, and then I might be resting on her soft stomach. At all times she treated me gently and carefully. I knew I was being loved and being made love to.

I could have been the helpless victim of this giantess version of Pauline. I wasn't. She was loving me and being very, very careful not to do anything that could hurt me. I don't know if she could. Was everything an illusion, a distortion of perception? Was she really so large and I so small? Or was every effect produced by imagination? I didn't know.

I was reaching climax after climax without ending. Somehow, I don't know how, she fitted a condom on my erection before plunging me feet first into her warm and wet pussy. That finished me. Only my head was outside her pulsing flesh surrounding and hugging me tightly. I came again and again before dropping into an exhausted sleep still clamped inside her.

During the night I woke up. I was still held inside her pussy but my head was covered by the silken shorts of her pyjamas. I shuddered into another climax before going to sleep again.

In the morning I woke up in Pauline's bed. She was back to her normal size, slumped across my body, her head on my shoulder, and she was snoring gently. It was a quiet, reassuring, normal sound. I was myself again, taller and larger than her, but still very conscious of her large breasts resting on my chest. I stirred slightly. That woke her up. She kissed me, a normal kiss between normal size people.

"Are you OK, Ian?" she asked. "Back to reality?"

"Yes, Pauline," I replied. "You, and your breasts are as I remember them. I'm not sure whether I'm still dreaming. I'm in your bed, with you. I like that."

"So do I," she said, snuggling against my chest.

"Am I forgiven?"

"Forgiven? For what? Turning my erotic dreams into unforgettable experiences? I don't know what you did, or how you did it. Witchcraft?"

Pauline nodded.

"My first attempt at an erotic spell. It worked, didn't it?"

"Yes. How? I don't know. From the time you dropped that bra to cover me completely until I last woke up in the middle of the night you seemed a giantess who loved me."

"Even though I'm no longer a giantess, I still love you, Ian. I want you..."

"I love you too, and I want..."

Her kiss ended my sentence.

**

That Saturday was almost normal. We had breakfast, went for a walk hand in hand through a local park. We had sandwiches in a café. We walked and talked again before picking up some easily cooked food for the evening. But after the meal?

"Ian, are you ready to relive your dreams again?" Pauline asked.

"I'm not sure," I answered. "The idea is attractive, but making love to Pauline as she actually is might be even better. I don't know.