Well, that was one of the most humiliating things ever.“Try this!” she’d sang, throwing another shir

Well, that was one of the most humiliating things ever.“Try this!” she’d sang, throwing another shirt over the door to the changing room, “And these!” Seriously. I’d felt like a little boy, with their mom, trying on clothes for school.Maybe that’s what she was shooting for, I now squirm in thought. “A little big on you but omigod that’s adorbs,” she lauded, when I stepped out in a pair of flamingo-print bathing trunks and matching shirt, “We have to get you those.”Though it seemed like hours - feeling the weight of other shoppers’ stares all over us, praying I wouldn’t see someone I knew - it probably only lasted all of about twenty minutes. Our time in the department store gathering clothes for me, for our trip to the beach conference, soon became all about her. Now it’d been forty minutes of girl clothes with no end in sight….“What do you think about this one? Too revealing?” she asked, as the door to her changing room opened.Already I’d been treated to quite the jaw-dropping, palpation-inducing, guilt-wracking fashion show. I’d seen her in three too-tight dresses, four pairs of too-short shorts, countless too-clingy tops and - ugh, my heart - two too-everything bikinis. But the effect was becoming no less dramatic as she peeked her sizeable bust out around the door. As much as I could, I kept my eyes up - a struggle I’d been valiantly fighting this whole time. Her little smile acknowledged my efforts, gave me license to look. “Uh…it’s uh…” My gaze darted down. Holy crap. “Yeah…a little…small?”“This would have been fine two months ago…” she complained, “this darn growth spurt…”Cutely, she blew a wisp of hair off her face, and then set her face in long-suffering determination.  Then her eyes widened, noticing something behind me. We were alone, in the semi-private ladies’ dressing room at the department store, a small room with maybe four smaller private changing stalls off it. “Oo! Measure me?” she asked, bopping out around me and grabbing a measuring tape hanging on the wall in the dressing room. She held it up for me, expectantly.  “M-measure you??” I stammered, “W-why…h-how??” “Around the bust,” she explained, handing me the tape and turning her back to me. She gathered her long dark hair, held it up, “There.”“M-m-m-me?” I asked, incredulous, “I don’t th-think I sh-sh…that it’d be ap-”“Oh, pleeeeease???”  she pleaded, looking over her shoulder at me, all pouty eyes and lips, “I don’t want to hassle the sales lady…she seemed mean…” She had kicked off her shoes and the thought went quickly through my head that somehow she still stood taller than me. She turned back, facing away from me, and left me to my business. This is unbelievable, I thought, as I gathered the tape and prepared myself. With her in this purple tank, I was faced with her strong back, bare shoulders wider than my own. Her skin was smooth, flawless. I could see the band and straps of her solid, red bra. Trying to keep from staring, gaping, gawking, I delicately reached the tape around her chest and pulled it around. “That’s right, around the biggest part,” she instructed, watching my shaking hands readjust the tape. Jesus, she has no waist, either. I was having a hard time reconciling the fact that there are women actually built like this. And- How did I get here?? I marveled to myself, half in fear and half in amazement. “F-forty six inches…” I announced, goggling at those numbers on the tape measure. “That’s two more inches I’ve grown!” she whined in lament, hearing my result, “No wonder those bikinis didn’t fit…”Flashing back into my head was the brief image of her bulging around and out of that white bikini top - which I was allowed to see for all of three seconds earlier. She’d laughed, incredulous herself on how silly it looked, before slamming the changing room door shut again. I couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t have sounded lecherous. “It’s okay we’re doing this, right?” she said with off-handed confidence, posing for herself in the purple tank and a too-tight pair of white capri pants in the full-length mirror of the dressing room, “You’d do this for Sheryl, wouldn’t you? Help her with clothes?”“Yeah, uh-”“I mean we’re friends, right? You and me?” she asked, turning back to me, casually catching me watching her. She saw the apprehension on my face, I knew it. She stepped back into her changing stall. “Don’t worry.  won’t tell if you won’t tell…” she said with a covert little smile and a glitter of playful green eyes that acknowledged my anxiety. She knew I was a married man, and how this could look.And then, in a rare moment that was almost vulnerable, I saw something change in her face and she bit her lower lip, looking at me as she closed the door to her changing room - partway.I stepped back but - through the cracked door - could still see her, as she started to undress, reflected in the changing room mirror. Shocked, I averted my eyes.“I…ugh…hope I can squeeze out of these capris…” she said, immediately drawing my eyes back on their own accord. I secretly watched as, reaching her waist band,  she slowly bent over while pulling her pants down. Flesh, panties, bulges, flesh.  “Nnnngh..!” she groaned, as the waistband dug into her obscenely wide, voluptuous hips, half to herself but obviously loud enough for me to hear, “God I can’t eat so much. I’m getting massive.” “Y-you look fine…” I said, reflexively, turning away again. “Mother used to say big hips make for easy childbirth…” she commented, “…maybe someday…”“I-is it always hard finding clothes?” I asked, feeling like I had to somehow acknowledge the unspoken. I hated how nervous I felt, how far out of my comfort zone I’d let myself be taken. “Well yes kinda but - wanna know a secret?” she said, from inside the changing room, “I’m big, I’m talI. I have these hips…these boobs…”Yeah…not a secret…“Anyway, it all started in middle school, when everything just started to…blow up. I got bigger here, I got bigger there. And things always…fit me differently than the other girls,” she continued, “And…I kinda sorta liked it, actually. I always did. The feeling of always being a bit too big for everything.”“T-too big?” was all I could manage, my pulse beating in my throat.“I mean, I’m not a giant,” she clarified, still speaking through the partially-open door, as she continued to change into a new outfit, “But…I’ve always had the feeling that I’m…a big person in a world made for smaller people. It’s like, a…secret rush.”“That’s, uh-”“Speaking of…” she said, “can you hand me those heels out there? The black platform boots? And that white top?”“Uh, sure,” I complied, going through the rack of items she’d assembled and slipping a pair of (dangerous looking) boots and a white, mid-sleeve blouse to her through the semi-open door. To change into the new top, she closed the room. With the open transom over the door, though, we could still easily talk. “Hm so I love this top too but…haha going to need another size…” I heard her comment. Standing there like a doofus, I just waited, finally offered to ask the salesla-“Ooo and these boots would be so good for going out - “ she continued, “they must give me six inches. When I wear heels like this into a club it makes me taller than, like, all of the guys.”Jesus fuck. ”Y-you wouldn’t wear them to work?” I asked, trying my best to sound clueless. “Why? You want me to…?” she asked, as the door to her room began to open..,oh shit jesus christ.“…They’d make me so much taller than you. I don’t want to, like, emasculate you in front of the girls, being that much taller.””oh, uh..” fuck. me. I had to remind myself: You work with this girl, you’re her boss. I watched her turn at the waist, posing in the mirror. Keep your wits about you… She tugged at the neckline of her top. …and your jaw off the floor. She was in new jeans, with the new boots and white top - which was truly, almost comically, too small, barely containing her. And the heels..?  She took one last, quick look at herself in the changing room mirror and - turning towards me, darted out with her left hand to grab my right - pulled me closer to her. She stepped me right up to her, so we stood face-to-face.My heart nearly stopped. In those boots, she was so fucking tall. I was staring at her throat, and a valley of ludicrously inflated cleavage called irresistibly from below. Her chest was absolutely enormous, and there was so much of it exposed.“See?” she asked, with a devilish smile, “What would this be like at the office? Me at - what? - 6’6”?”I was speechless, looking at her, looking up, looking down, obviously flabbergasted. The boots must have added over six inches of height to her frame, and she now stood taller - much taller - than me. She was an amazonic sexpot, and looked bigger than 6’6”…I mean, I was almost six feet, right? Never “tall” but not…this. She…dwarfed me, standing here in the dressing room. I was muted, this girl lording her size over me, feeling so much smaller than her. And my silence grew, lengthened…it became, quickly, a charged moment between us.“Different, hm?” she purred, with a confidence I hadn’t heard in a while, “Me being this tall?”.“It… it certainly is, uh…,” I floundered, obviously toungue-tied, “…uh..different.”“Strange how some extra inches can make you feel so…” she ventured, enjoying how flustered by her mere presence I was, “hmm, what’s the word I’m looking for?”“P-Powerful?” I offered, before even thinking. She smiled, warmly, as if satisfied by my answer, and nodded. “Yeah.” She looked down on me, bit her plump lower lip, watched my face trying to keep its composure. She was considering me, and finally spoke her thoughts. “Is it funny having a girl taller than you?” she asked, and then inched closer. I took a step back.  “Uhhh…” Again, my pause was too long, too revealing. She could read me like a book. “You…you like this, don’t you!” she said, stepping even closer, her eyes glittering in mirth. “Uhhh..” “It’s okay,” she answered, her voice changing in tone, seeing an opportunity, “lots of men like it. You’re not weird…”Her hand reached out to my shoulder. I could swear she squeezed it, as if just to feel how bony it was.“I know it’s j-just, uhhh…” I stammered. “Shhh…you just…appreciate size,” she said, both reassuring, supportive…and holding back a giggle. She pressed her bust out, trying to draw my eye. This was amusing to her.  “Uhhh…” holy crap. “And I…have a lots of that…don’t I?“ she said as she drew a filling breath, the fastener keeping her top together straining for its life, “The bigger the better, right?” “Uhhh..” I could not believe I was letting her talk like this to me. I am such a weakling…With that she stood even taller, straighter, peering down at me. “Mmm… I just love this new perspective on you,” she purred, finally letting herself giggle, “it’s good information…”“Jeez, M-Melissa we sh-““Would you hush!” she laughed, “You’re too easy to mess with!”“B-but..! I - I - I -…”“Omigod you’re adorable!” she squealed, finally releasing my shoulder and giving it a playful slap. Her smile was wide and brilliant. “You’re perfect and adorable,” she said, booping me on the nose, “and I can’t wait to be on vacation with you!”========================Holy moses so many people to thank. First @iphotoshopu​ for the morph in the purple top that I cropped up and messed with. Second to the incomparable @morphsbymig​ for the face-front dressing room shot (my own meager talents were responsible for the profile-in-front-of-the-mirror morph). And lastly I can’t understate the support, ideas, and edits that my usual cast of characters - FantasticMrMoose, DoubleBurger20, CaptainAmbiguous - helped me with. Thanks for reading! -- source link

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