Eclipse  or  The Waning of John Blake  By greapos  Comments

Eclipse  or  The Waning of John Blake  By greapos  Comments

Illustrations by Capp

Asuka's Note: Excellent illustrations and a big thank you to capp for sending

htem to me.

Comments (appreciated) to [email protected]

Disclaimer – This is a piece of erotic fiction. Some would find it very

naughty. Please do not read it if either you or I would be fined, thrown in

jail or generally yelled at if caught doing so. It is not intended for

minors or the illiterate. Otherwise, enjoy.

I.

John had shown no movement for six days. He had made no sound. He was only

recently released to his present hospital room from the strictly

quarantined, Infectious Disease Intensive Care Ward. He hovered in a state

of half-consciousness as his wife Julia, finally allowed at his side, held

his hand as she listened to the man in the white jacket at bedside. "Well,

at least we know whatever bug he’s got is no longer contagious," said the

doctor, one of the country’s leading specialists in tropical diseases, "but

this thing still has a nasty hold on him. He’s not unconscious – in fact,

he may be somewhat aware of what’s going on in the room – but he is very

weak and completely unresponsive. You’re lucky, Mrs. Blake, that the virus

seemed pretty uninterested in you."

John Blake had decided to bring his wife to a remote island off of Africa’s

west coast in celebration of their fourth wedding anniversary as well as

his new position as Chief of Plastic Surgery at the medical center. Soon

after their arrival at the small, exclusive resort, both had contracted

vague, flu-like symptoms: slight fever, stiff joints and mild headache.

While Julia recovered quickly, it soon became apparent that John would not.

He became progressively weaker, could take no food and finally slipped into

the semi-consciousness in which he now lay. Immediately rushed back to the

States and into the care of top physicians, John showed no improvement and

baffled all the experts.

"His vitals are fine. Better, in fact, since you’ve been in the room with

him. He must have missed you." Julia Blake looked with loving concern down

at her husband. She was a beautiful woman. If she was perhaps a bit

secretly vain, it was not undeserved. Her 5’7", lightly muscled frame and

perfect curves had served her for several years before her marriage as a

slightly successful figure model. While John, a rising young physician on

the university’s plastics staff and five years her senior, considered her

at first a "trophy wife" of sorts, their relationship had developed well.

He was proud to have, in natural form, what many of his colleagues in the

department created through their science and surgery: a wife of perfect,

classic features and flowing, blond hair, with a flawless, light tan

complexion and long, lean, muscular legs. And then there were her breasts.

He loved her breasts, and he knew it would take a miracle, even with all

his skills, to approach creating anything as beautiful as Julia’s naturally

full, round, 34D bosom. Their lovemaking routinely centered around her

breasts; she was always eager to please Jack and would hold him to herself

and pamper him in ways that he loved.

A bride at 24, Julia absolutely adored her husband. Her modeling career,

such as it was, ended with her marriage as she took to homemaking

full-time. She was content just to make John happy. Cleaning and decorating

their spacious new home. Developing her already fine skills as a cook.

Keeping herself in fabulous shape through hours of workouts. She took great

pride in her appearance and her body, and it thrilled her to know that John

found her so sexy. Always there for him when he needed her, always more

beautiful. Eventually, he promised, when it was right for his career, they

would have children. But until then, she would be more than happy just to

take care of him.

"And he needs you more than ever now," the doctor continued, "he’s been

getting weaker and slowly losing weight as his body continues to reject any

nourishment we try to give him. We’ve attempted feeding tubes, IV’s,

everything….it all just runs right through his system. If your presence

here gives him any strength, you’re welcome to stay all throughout visiting

hours." John had seemed to brighten a bit as she first approached his

bedside some minutes before, and even made a small sigh as she stroked his

face in greeting. It was the first sound he had made since his admission to

the hospital. Julia Blake, though not a woman of outstanding intellect, was

a wife with great resolve. She would stay by her husband’s side and do

anything in her power to make him feel better, to get him back home with

her.

Looking around the room, she was reminded as to just how little she liked

hospitals. Before he got sick, it was always his responsibilities in the

hospitals that kept John away from her during the day – and many nights.

But now, she had other reasons. Monitors hummed and chirped noisily, oxygen

hissed and bubbled as it flowed into the tube running below his nose. She

felt its warm mist as she approached him closer. It all felt so alien, but

she knew this was where she should be.

"Maybe you’d like some time alone with him," The doctor said as he ushered

several technicians from the room, "we’ll be right outside." With a small

frown on her full lips and a brow furrowed in concern, she brought her hand

once again to her husband’s face. It seemed to settle his breathing. She

passed the back of her hand across his cheeks, which brought a series of

small sighs from him. He did seem to respond to her touch, while previously

he showed few signs of life. "Oh John," whispered Julia as she began to

stroke his face, "my poor baby." She began to realize that it was she who

would have to take care of him now, while she was so used to the opposite.

Her long, delicate fingers passed gently over him, near his mouth. His lips

parted and quivered in response. Slightly heartened, she began to caress

his lips slowly, brushing them with her long fingernails. His lips began to

purse and release slightly, searching for her fingers, as if for a kiss.

Gently, hesitantly, she placed the tip of her index finger between his lips

and he received it with a pucker, trying to draw it inwards with his

breath. She paused, thoughtfully. Julia then slowly slid her finger deeper

past his lips as he began to feebly suck. "Oh, John," was all she whispered

again as she gazed down into his face, now seemingly content and

miraculously moving as his mouth suckled her finger like an infant his

bottle.

She felt a fluttering, a stirring in her chest. Oh, how she wanted to hold

him! He looked so helpless. She could scarcely believe that the confident,

strong-willed man she married was lying on this hospital bed, sucking on

her finger for strength. It was then that she noticed an additional change

in John’s condition: his hospital gown had risen between his legs with an

erection beneath. She eyed it questioningly, and gave it pause. "Oh my,"

she said, returning her bright blue eyes once again to her husband’s

peaceful face enraptured with her finger, "what are we going to do?"

As the doctor, flanked by several students, returned to the room, she

quickly pulled her finger away. "I think he needs his rest now, Mrs. Blake.

We’ll see you tomorrow morning." Julia stood abruptly, gathered herself,

thanked the doctor, and left the room quickly. Her drive home was full of

excited thoughts. Maybe there were ways that she could help him where the

doctors could not.

II

John’s night was fitful and full of confusing dreams. Dreams of smothering.

Of warmth. Images of Julia. Her face. The curve of her hips. Her parting

lips. Her breasts. Eventually the night passed and he faded back in to

half-consciousness aware of his hand in Julia’s. Her hand seemed so warm

and alive. He was always a proud man and took the dominant role in their

relationship from the start. But now his feelings for her disturbed him, as

ill as he was. His need for her touch was consuming, almost instinctual –

and his libido had increased to the point where the very thought of her set

him afire. And, though it bothered him, he could do nothing to fight it. He

knew that if he had the use of his limbs he would not be able to stop

himself from masturbating constantly. Focused solely on the soft comfort of

her grip, he felt as if all his energy came from her. He became aware of

her voice mingled with others in the room, though he could not process the

speech. The day went on as he drifted further in and out of reality.

After many hours, the room became quiet as the others left. Her hand left

his. He heard her footsteps across the room and a latch click on the door.

Though he had not the energy to open his eyes, he could hear her approach

back to his bedside, almost smell her grow nearer, sense her weight settle

into the chair to the left of him. "I’m here for you now," she whispered as

she removed the oxygen tube from his upper lip and brought a manicured nail

to his lips, "we’re all alone." She watched as he wrestled weakly with his

instincts for a moment, but the feel of her soft touch was too much for

him. His will collapsed in the face of overpowering oral fixation; she

smiled warmly as he took in her finger and again began to suck.

"There we go," she whispered. She felt the same stirring in her chest as

yesterday, though today she recognized it…not as something sexual, but

rather almost…maternal? "Julia’s going to take good care of you." With that

she raised his gown, eyes still transfixed on his face, and cupped his

waiting erection in her left hand. Her smile broadened with the change in

his expression; he almost withered with pleasure. "Does this feel good?

Hmmm?" she cooed as she started her gentle caresses, just as he liked it

back at home. So happy to make her husband feel good. Her soft palm

encircled his shaft at its base. So happy to take care of him. Her silky

hand began a slow rhythm. Her eyes widened as his left hand began to move

slowly, coming to rest on her wrist as it lay on his hip.

"That’s good, honey," she said as her eyes returned to his face, "that’s so

good." Her rhythm continued. "You moved for me," she whispered to him,

still suckling him with her fingertip, "now relax." She began to slide her

finger through his lips at the same rhythm her left hand passed over his

swollen member. "Relax." Small moans escaped the back of his throat as his

face drew taut. "Relax." His erection stiffened as she cupped him in her

palm, sensing the climax. "Relax." He came with a shudder that rocked his

body, flowing onto his belly and chest. Her left hand cradled him until he

was spent, slowly massaging the last of his juices from him. Finally, with

a kleenex from the nightstand she wiped his skin clean. It was then that

she noticed something strange, how warm and electric his fluid felt through

the tissue. She lifted several drops from him with her fingertip and

watched as it curiously was absorbed into her skin, leaving only a tingling

sensation behind and her skin dry.

She looked again to his face as his sucking weakened and his mouth went

slack. He faded off into sleep, looking more peaceful than she remembered

seeing him since his illness struck. She was convinced she was doing him

good. More than all the medicine in the world. She rose and unlocked the

door, several nurses casting her a quizzical look as they passed her in the

doorway. On her walk to the car she noticed her pumps were uncomfortable,

and removed them for her drive home. In fact, her slacks felt confining.

Maybe I’m retaining water? She thought. Maybe I’m not exercising enough?

When she weighed herself back at home after a light dinner she was aghast

that she had put five pounds onto her 110-pound frame. She quickly shed her

remaining clothes and stood in front of her full-length mirror. Where did

she put on the weight? Did she look fatter? No, in fact, she looked great,

she admitted, especially considering the stress of the past week. You’re

still built like a racehorse, she thought, sleek and muscular. And, oh my,

quite busty...Her breasts, she noted with interest, were noticeably bigger.

Perhaps not enough to account for five pounds, but certainly a full cup

size. That’s not a bad change, she thought. She smiled secretly to herself

as she looked at herself again in profile, and then half-turned and slowly

pressed back her shoulders. Not bad at all. The rest of her though, looked

as lean and firm as ever – if not more so. Nonetheless, she hit the

stairmaster and weights for an extra hour that night, possessed with a

boundless energy.

III.

The next day she rose early, anxious to get back by her husband’s side. Her

previous distaste for the hospital was fading somewhat as she began to feel

more a part of his healing process. She had a job to do and, for the time

being, the hospital was the best place for it. Her head shook in quiet

disbelief as she squeezed into a pair of frayed denim shorts, an old pair

of her loosest white tennis sneakers, her largest bra and a small white tee

shirt that now clung to her swollen breasts. She paused for a moment to

pull her hair back in the hallway mirror on her way out to the car. She

looked radiant Back at the hospital, the room was full of medical students

as she entered. Their gazes lingered over her body as the doctor reassessed

John’s situation for her, "His vital signs have remained great and he’s

been slightly more responsive to deep stimuli since leaving quarantine.

We’ve taken him off the oxygen, which he’s tolerating well. His nights,

though, are fitful and he’s still not taking any nourishment and slowly

losing weight."

She spent the day holding his hand and watching the ebb and flow of

caregivers from the room, eager for the chance to be alone again. She could

sense he was anxious, also. When finally the doctor promised her some

moments in private, she again locked the door. She seated herself on the

bed with him and raised his head up into her lap. He responded with a sigh,

luxuriating in the warm, smooth flesh of her golden thighs. "There we are.

Isn’t that nice?" she asked as she playfully passed the fingers of her

right hand, one by one, through his lips, settling finally with her index

finger. He began to suck. As she raised his gown, he moaned in

anticipation. She propped him up higher on her lap, putting a pillow below

her knees and took him in her hand. He squirmed and turned his head towards

her, brushing his cheek against the shirt over her breast. What is he

doing? She began to stroke him with a feathery touch, her eyes wide and

alive, reading his face. He moaned again, turning more, the corner of his

mouth now up against a swell of breast, his nose sniffing at her.

Her thoughts raced as she caressed him further. It’s not this that he

wants. She slowly removed her finger from his mouth and used it to tilt his

face closer to her, cradling his head in her arm. His lips began kissing

her breasts weakly through her shirt and bra, searchingly. I know what it

is. She moved his head slightly, and turned her shoulders a bit, presenting

the swelling nub of her nipple below her clothes to his mouth. A noiseless

gasp passed through her as he attempted to take her into his mouth beyond

the fabric. He wants my breast. Her instincts sang as she could feel his

lips working her flesh and gazed down lovingly into her husband’s face. A

tender moment passed while a deep warmth grew in her chest. She felt so

full of love for him at that moment that she was near bursting. Holding him

like this made her feel complete, like she was fulfilling her life’s

purpose. Is it wrong for me to feel this good, she thought, when he feels

so bad?

Any faint twinges of guilt were suddenly replaced by an eager fascination

as she felt a wetness gather around her nipple. Was that moisture building

near his mouth on her shirt? His saliva…or could it possibly be…? His weak

suckling became more fervent as he sensed something change. She hadn’t

noticed it before, but now she saw that his hand has come to rest atop hers

as it stroked his member. He needs me, she told herself, he’s like a little

baby. I can nurse him back to life. He continued to mouth her through her

shirt as his hips began to twitch in spasm. "Oh, darling, come for me," she

whispered. His orgasm burst from her hand and drained onto him.

Exhausted, he drifted quickly off to sleep. Spending some time to relish

the moment, she looked reflectively down at his fluid spattered across his

skin. Hesitatingly, she brought her hand to it and wiped part of it from

him. It felt good as it dissolved into the flesh of her palm. She gathered

more and rubbed it into her hands and wrists, onto her arms and legs.

Again, it was absorbed with a pleasing warmth that seemed to travel

throughout her body. What could it mean? Julia placed her husband’s head

back on a pillow and rearranged his bedclothes with care. When he was all

tucked in again, she kissed him gently on the forehead and turned to leave

the room for the evening, covering the wet areas on her chest with a

sweater thrown over her shoulder. In the doorway she paused, turned to blow

him a kiss, and breathed "dream about me tonight, honey."

Feeling uncomfortable in her sneakers, which seemed to fit better that

morning, and noticing the rips that were beginning to creep up the sides of

her shorts, Julia made up her mind to go shopping before heading home. If

she was gaining weight or retaining water or whatever it was, she deserved

a spending spree to pick up some new clothes that fit. Getting in her car

and pulling the seat back a few inches for comfort, she headed off to the

mall.

Having decided halfway through her ride that her tennis shoes were just far

too tight to wear, she walked through the mall and into the shoe store

barefoot. She noticed that the boy who measured her – somehow her feet had

grown from a size 6 to a nearly a 7 - could not keep his eyes from her

long, bare legs. Finally deciding on a pair of sandals, some open-toed

flats and a new set of cross-trainers, Julia gave in to temptation and

walked out in a pair of four-inch black pumps. My legs look fabulous in

these, she thought, a fact which her salesboy’s lingering gaze confirmed

for her as she exited. The thrill of her next purchases at several high-end

clothing stores – a few tops, a couple of swim suits, some skirts, shorts

and pants – almost distracted her from the discomfort of her bra, which was

now pressing into her flesh uncomfortably.

Her stop at Victoria’s Secret brought a giddy feeling of surprise when she

discovered that she had grown beyond the 34DD that she had assumed she’d

need. Her breasts were bigger, she realized, as she stood before the

fitting room mirror, even bigger than last night. Rather than alarming her,

the extra mass felt good, seemed to ground her more solidly in her body.

She drew a sense of newfound power from her larger bosom. If she was going

to nurture John, she might as well look the part, she figured wryly. Her

purchases did not end with the numerous pieces of lingerie, however. As she

was heading back to the mall exit, the sign for a maternity supply store

caught her eye. She entered that shop with thoughts of John, a mischievous

curiosity and a plan taking shape in her mind.

IV

John dreamt again that night. As he seemed to be having more awareness of

reality during waking hours, so did his dreams seem more complete, less

disparate in imagery than previously. In his dream, John lay awake in

semi-darkness, in what seemed to be a long, oversized bed many feet off the

floor. The ceiling soared a great distance above him. There were wooden

supports, or bars of some type, rising from all sides, blocking any exit.

He was surrounded by huge, soft pillows and cotton blankets. His anxiety

began to grow as he realized it was not a bed he was in, but rather a giant

crib, lying naked on the sheets. He could barely move; to his best efforts

all he could manage was to flail his limbs about impotently. His attention

was drawn to a huge, brightly-lit doorway past the foot of his crib as a

silhouetted figure slowly filled its space. It was a gigantic form of

voluptuous curves, clothed in an apron, and it began to advance into the

room toward him. Now at the end of his crib, the impressive swells of her

body caught the light and drew his eyes. She began to bend forward towards

him. Her full, matronly cleavage beckoned him from her low-cut blouse as

she leaned into the crib. He could not avert his gaze from the shadowed

valley of her enormous bosom, the soft expanses of flesh approaching him.

He was filled with equal parts dread and awe-struck wonder as light fell

across a smiling face, revealing his wife Julia, grown to massive

proportions. She was so beautiful; her face held no malice, but he was

frightened nonetheless. Her arms reached out for his body, the size of a

newborn in comparison, as her smile beamed and she casually announced,

"feeding time."

He was awoken by the sound of a nurse in conversation with his wife. The

voices seemed muddled, but he was able to hear most of what was being said.

"He’s ejaculated again during the night. His semen – and other secretions -

still contains a high viral load, though it remains a dormant,

non-infective form. So, as before, he’s not contagious. The doctors aren’t

sure if any of this is significant, but we thought you should know. By the

way, did you ever get down to the lab for the additional blood work the

doctors wanted on you?" His wife responded in the negative. The nurse left

the room as several physicians entered. Again, he missed much of the talk,

mostly about nourishment and fluids, electrolyte levels and weight loss.

All he knew was that he was hungry and weak and filled with sexual tension,

but could not summon the energy to open his eyes, let alone speak or move.

The presence of his wife next to him during the day calmed him somewhat; he

could understand her voice more easily than those of the others. She spent

the day talking to him of trivialities. The wonderful weather, her shopping

spree, her workout last night. "I’ve been spending sooo much time in the

gym without you around. Stairmaster. Treadmill. Aerobics. Weights. I want

you to come home. I need my training partner back." She smiled and eyed him

mischievously, "I’ve been getting stronger, you know," a giggle, "you

should see how much I can leg press now." She looked at her leg with pride,

which had become so firm and muscular. She then passed her hand over his

thigh, noticing how already it had begun to atrophy. She hesitated in a

moment of guilt, but could not help but playfully gloat, "I can do as much

weight as you used to be able to do." She felt her protective urges for

this man well up in her chest, and thought – but did not speak - more of

last night. Of the additional nine pounds of weight since yesterday. Of her

breasts. And of the nearly three inches she’d grown. How that had occurred,

she wasn’t yet entirely sure. But the tape measure did not lie: she had

sprouted to almost 5’10". She was growing larger and stronger even as her

husband dwindled and became weaker. Her emotions were conflicted, but she

had always wanted to be taller, especially during her modeling years, and

this was a dream come true. Would she get any bigger? How much? She could

only hope…or maybe, just maybe, she could do more than hope.

The maternal feelings burgeoning in her were being joined by others more

sensual, more selfish. She brought back thoughts of how even the doctors

today looked at her. They noticed the tightness of her t-top, the shortness

of her skirt. Maybe she could give them all more. She moved her hand slowly

up her husband’s thigh, pulling his robe away. His erection was already

there to meet her. Leaning over, she pulled something from her handbag, and

whispered in his ear, "Now, tell me, what have you been dreaming about when

I’m not here?" She brushed her fingernails up from the base of his member,

"Something naughty, hmm? Well, I hope you saved some for me." Her fingers

danced along him. He sighed a long, rattling breath. "I brought something I

think you may like." She began to stroke him with her familiar caresses and

brought the object from her purse to his face. He felt something rubbery

press gently against his lips as she spoke. "The doctors tell me you don’t

want anything they feed you. Now, I want you to try this." A drop of liquid

appeared on the surface of the rubber nipple and ran into his mouth. The

taste of it nearly shocked him. It was like nothing else he remembered and

seemed to fill his throat with warmth. A cavernous hunger immediately

overtook him and his need for nourishment controlled his actions. His lips

took in the end of the bottle and began to suck, drawing fluid through the

nipple. A milky liquid, seemingly imbued with a natural energy, filled his

mouth with its sweetness. He swallowed and felt it run down his throat into

his stomach, quickly permeating into every cell.

"Good. That’s good," she whispered as his sucking became regular, "drink it

all down." Perhaps this is what he needs, she thought, to keep him alive.

She smiled at the concept. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to get stronger

too quickly; she rather enjoyed their new roles for the time being. She

could scarcely believe that she, the little country girl from down south,

born and raised in poverty, had come to this point. She had fled her

family’s trailer home while still in her teens, made a modeling career for

herself and, with the help of a little speech training, dropped her heavy

twang for a trace hint of a pleasant drawl. With her coltish beauty and

etiquette-school charm she had won a rich doctor for a husband, a man bred

for success in his affluent, WASP family. He had her enthralled with his

aplomb, his wealth and his patrician charm. And now she had him right where

she wanted him.

Her hand continued its gentle ministrations along his shaft as he was

gradually finishing the contents of the bottle. Soon, however, she stopped

her rhythm. She took his hand, which had come to rest on his hip near hers,

and placed it gently on his own erection. She could sense the trepidation

creep across him, but his libido was all consuming, and he did not pull

away. His lips continued their work at the bottle. Slowly, with a glint of

anticipation in her eye and a thin half-smile on her lips, she began to rub

his palm up and down the length of his stiff member. She closed his grip

around it, and continued to guide his motions, building again to a slow

rhythm. With hesitation, she removed her hand; his movement continued. Her

smile grew in victory. She had brought movement back to him. She looked

down tenderly. He was jerking himself off as he finished the milk from her

bottle. When it was sucked dry and John’s strokes continued to quicken, she

unscrewed the nipple from the glass bottle. "That’s right, John. Doesn’t

that feel good?" A fingertip caressed his face. "Are you all full up?" She

brought the glass bottle down toward his quivering manhood. "Well, there’s

more where that came from, I promise," she took his chin in her other hand

and peered into his face, reading every hint of expression. His eyes were

clamped shut while hers were wide and alive. "Do you know what that was,

honey? In the bottle?" His every muscle stiffened. "I think you do. You

just don’t want to admit it to yourself." He teetered on the brink of

orgasm. "Why, it was my milk, of course." Her words pushed him over the

edge. His release came in a torrent; she moved immediately to gather him in

the bottle, placing the glass over the head of his shaft as it spasmed.

"Mmmm..now this is what I wanted." She waited patiently as he squeezed the

last drop from himself, into her waiting container. His hand fell away, his

body went limp. Sleep tight, baby. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle

and returned it to her purse and said "Now, that’s for later." Her hand ran

through his hair as he sank into a deep sleep. She kissed him again on the

forehead and rose to leave.

V

Back at the house she was bubbling with excitement to try her experiment.

She had weighed and measured herself in preparation: One-hundred and

twenty-four pounds, five foot nine and two-thirds inches. She stood clothed

in front of the full-length mirror, bottle of her husband’s semen in her

hand. Unscrewing the cap, she sniffed its contents. Along with its briny,

musky odor there lingered a scent of electricity. She tipped the bottle

back and drank it down. Like swallowing molten lava, it nearly lit her

throat afire. She gasped in ecstasy and shut her eyes as its energy flowed

into her, carried like a current into every nerve ending. As it faded to a

gentle warmth that filled her body, she opened her eyes and watched herself

grow. Ever so gradually, she could see the reflection in the mirror

expanding. Though the change was subtle, the hem of her t-top crept slowly

away from the waist of her silk skirt, which was drifting

millimeter-by-millimeter up her thighs. Her legs grew longer, more solid.

Her calves cut impressively beneath her skin. She kicked off her pumps as

they began to bite uncomfortably into her feet, and unclasped her

constricting bra through the back of her shirt. She glowed with pride as

her chest pushed the bra from her, filling the front of her top with its

lushness. Her breath slowed, became even as the growth tapered. Stepping

eagerly to the measuring tape on the wall and the scale alongside, she

nearly burst into cheer with the results. One hundred and thirty-eight

pounds. Six feet tall. And never, she knew, had she ever looked so

beautiful. If only they could see me back in Louisiana now, she thought, My

father would probably have a heart attack. Sick fuck.

Gazing, enraptured with her own image, into the mirror, she tossed the long

waves of her golden hair about her head and let it fall over her breasts.

Oh god, her breasts. How they filled her with authority. John won’t be able

to resist this, she thought, running her hands over her curves and thinking

of their time together earlier today, I’ll hold him like a little baby. She

felt a bit somber for a moment, knowing that her growth was a direct result

of his sickness. But, if some good could come of the situation, let it. It

was meant to be, she decided to herself, there must be a purpose. I’m

getting bigger for him. Her need for his body against her was palpable at

that instant.

She drifted to the couch where the breast-pump lay from last night. Sitting

down and removing her shirt and bra with great ceremony, she looked down

upon her majestic bosom. So full of life for him. She picked up the pump

from beside her and, bringing it to her chest, paused reflectively. Though

almost craving its suction, she resisted, and mused over the possibilities.

With a knowing smile she dropped the pump and rose, heading for the gym and

anticipating with excitement what the next day would bring.

VI

"Well, John, there’s good news and bad news." The doctor addressed him

though he still lay motionless, his eyes shut, among his sheets. Though a

confident, well-respected tropical disease specialist, he was clearly

unnerved by Julia’s presence. He hadn’t remembered her being so…statuesque.

Must be wearing some big heels, he thought. "The good news is that we’re

all heartened by your alertness," he turned to face Julia where she hovered

behind him, "he’s been responding slightly to vocal stimuli and pinpricks

overnight. We’re quite sure he can hear us." He passed a gaze down Julia’s

body as she turned her eyes back to her husband. She was wearing flats.

But, Lord, look at those legs. "His electrolyte levels have become good,

blood sugar’s normal. In many respects he seems better." She turned to him,

batted her eyelashes and flashed a smile which made his heart stop as she

asked, "What’s the bad news?" He stammered, and continued, "W-well, he’s

started to lose weight at a much faster pace. We’re not really sure why.

He’s gone from one hundred and sixty five pounds before the illness to one

thirty-two today. Twelve of that he lost just last night." One thirty-two,

hmm?

Julia Blake turned away from the doctor and back to John. Tumultuous

thoughts and eager hopes raced through her head, yet she remained calm. "Is

that bad?" she asked. "Well, yes, of course it’s bad, Mrs. Blake. If he

continues to drop weight like this, he can’t last long. He’ll waste away to

nothing in no time." She pondered the doctor’s words as she regarded her

husband. He looked small and frail, maybe because she had become so big,

but not thin enough to account for more than thirty pounds of lost weight.

"We’re doing all we can to make him comfortable," he concluded, hands

outstretched as he backed from the room, "but if he doesn’t turn around

quick, we may lose him. Sorry."

The door clicked shut quietly. His heart quickened as he felt the weight of

her lean with her elbows onto the bed besides him. She was quiet, but she

dominated his senses. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was

something ominous about her powerful presence. He almost had a taste of

fear. "John, I have a lot I want you to know," she began quietly. "I’ve

always loved you more than you can imagine. Seeing you get sick almost

killed me. I felt so helpless. But I think what’s happened can bring us

closer." He could feel her smile faintly and caress his cheek. "You used to

take care of me, but that can’t happen anymore. So, I’ve started to change.

I’ve had to get stronger. I can take care of you now." She brought the back

of her hand down his neck, and rubbed his thin shoulder. "I think you know

that you’ve started to change, too, but you need to change more. You have

to let go of your pride and accept the fact that you need me to keep you

safe. To keep you warm." Some kind of amorous, maternal aura was emanating

from her, settling over him like a cloud. "To feed you." What was she

saying? What did she mean? Her tone frightened him more. "Do you remember

my milk last night? Yes, you do." She drew closer. "You need my milk to

survive. I can make all you’ll ever need." His mind raced behind his closed

lids. If anything, the milk had made him lose more weight. She must be

insane. Driven mad by the stress.

"I’ve changed in other ways, too, darling. And you did it to me. Open your

eyes and look at me." She turned his head slightly on the pillow to face

her, his eyes still closed. "Your love has made me bigger. And stronger.

And more beautiful. So I can take care of you." She pulled down his sheets,

and smiled at the erection that already divulged his arousal beneath his

gown. Shame welled in his throat. "John, look at my breasts. See how big

they’ve become. They’re full of milk for you. Just like last night." She

moved even closer, intentionally brushing the softness of her breasts

against his face. "I know how much you like big breasts. You always did.

You used to cuddle up against mine. Like a little baby boy. Well, mine are

huge now, and all for you." His breathing had become erratic, and his hand

lay near his swollen member below his gown. She pulled his clothing up to

his chest, allowing him access. "There there. Think about that. Think about

how good it could feel. Think about my big breasts pressing into your face.

Think about how good it all would feel. How good it would feel to let me

take care of everything for you." He began to whine softly. She backed away

a fraction. "Open your eyes, John," she undid the top button of her blouse,

"I want this to be the first thing that you see." He struggled mightily

within himself, not knowing whether he should keep his lids shut or open

his eyes to what was in front of him. He feared he would lose himself in

her if he looked.

He couldn’t help himself. His eyes fluttered open and began to focus. She

was leaning on the bed next to him, on her elbows. Things became more

clear. She was wearing a light denim shirt, which swelled out towards him,

and she was slowly unfastening the buttons. "Welcome back, baby. You’re

going to like what Julia has for you." She undid the last several buttons

with taunting care and began to slowly peel the shirt away. Her smile was

beatific as she watched her husband’s eyes grow wide. Holy God, he thought,

Sweet Mother of Mercy. Her Breasts. What’s happened to her breasts? He

could see their milky grandeur shadowed braless behind the fabric. She

passed her left hand below the mass of her right breast and, her right hand

drawing her shirt away, hefted it towards him, round and massive and firm.

He gazed, hypnotized, at his wife’s enormous white breast. His every cell

yearned unnaturally for it. He fought himself, but the deepest parts of his

soul cried for him to go to her, to cling to her for dear life. "Look at

me, baby," she purred as she drew the shirt from her other breast, "look at

how big I am." It was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on.

She raised herself up on her hands and let her overly full breasts hover

only inches from his face. He closed his eyes. He summoned every last ounce

of strength in his frail body for a last defense and, when he opened his

lids again, he stared straight into her huge, dazzling blue eyes. She saw

right into him. She saw his weakness. She smiled a knowing, unpleasant

smile. He crumbled. She reveled in her strength as it increased tenfold.

Get used to this, little man, she thought, as she stared him into

submission, I’m all you’ve got.

He looked away. To her hair. How blond she was. So soft, so beautiful.

"It’s ok, baby, you can look at me all you want. I won’t bite." His eyes

slid down the golden locks to her graceful neck, to the front of her

blouse. "My breasts are big, aren’t they? You can hardly keep your eyes off

them," she said almost playfully, "do you like them big like this? Hmm? I’m

such a big girl now." She laughed and leaned into him, dragging the

heaviness of her soft teats across his face as she dropped to her elbows.

"I’m bigger than you, now. Do you know that?" she drew his face deep into

the valley of her cleavage. A moment of silence. The balance of power

perceptibly shifted a bit more. He began to kiss the flesh of her bosom

feebly, almost as if in fealty. She looked down at him, holding the top of

his head in place, and began to whisper gently, "And I can get even bigger.

You just need to show me how much you love me." She eyed his quivering

hand, so close to his erection. She dragged her great breast across his

face, and drew away from him the slightest bit.

He lay there, staring up at the nipple only inches from his mouth, and the

woman who held his life in her control beyond it. Hunger like none he’d

ever known bored through him. His member pained, aching for release. To

give in now would mean a life of utter dependency, she would start to

overshadow him completely. To refuse would likely mean the end of his

existence. He didn’t think he could refuse if he tried, he was so

spellbound by her. "Do it, John, show me I’m the only one for you." His

hand trembled more and began to move. Her nipple began to swell before his

eyes. "I’m so big for you. So full. Give in, John. Just touch yourself, and

it can all be yours." His fingers shook and hung over his stiffening

erection, the last of his dignity fighting valiantly. A glistening drop of

white formed on Julia’s nipple as she let down her milk. Oh god, he needed

her like nothing else. "So warm. So sweet. Remember how it tasted so good?"

The shame welled within him. He could not believe what he was about to do.

"Let me breastfeed you."

She watched this incredible sight with wild fascination. Her husband took

himself into his own hand and began to masturbate below her magnificent

bosom, which she lowered to his waiting lips as he closed his eyes. She

could sense his pride withering away. Triumphant, she began to nurse him

there, on his sickbed, her copious milk flowing into his mouth. She grabbed

the back of his head firmly and pulled him into her smotheringly. Suddenly

all was right with the world. His mind became a blank, filled only with the

sensation of her massive, motherly breast against his face and her milk

filling his body. His skin began to tingle, and every muscle seemed to

twitch. Yes, he would give himself to her completely, he thought, and his

hand began to move more vigorously over his shaft with excitement. "That’s

right, baby," she cooed as she massaged her breast gently against his face,

"give it all to Julia. Doesn’t that feel good? Isn’t this what you’ve

always wanted?" They both realized this was so, a thought that empowered

her and further shamed him. His stroking continued to escalate. "You’ve

always fantasized about this moment, haven’t you, from the time you were a

little boy, all through our marriage. Well, here you are, suckling on your

wife’s big breast, beating off." He began to whimper, and pump faster. "And

she’s going to get bigger for you. Much bigger." She squeezed him closer;

her milk ran in rivulets down his cheeks. His hand reached a crescendo.

"So." His sucking abruptly stopped and his mouth opened in a silent wail.

"Much." Her eyes sparkled. "Bigger."

He lost all sense of himself as he came like a geyser within his own hand.

He sprayed up onto her breasts, anointing her with his semen. As it

continued to flow onto her, she massaged it into her soft flesh with

relish, allowing some of it to dribble to his cheeks. She smiled as she did

this, and rubbed more of the fluid across her breasts and onto his face.

Again, it quickly absorbed into her skin, yet remained pooled and sticky on

his. Funny, his head looked a bit smaller than earlier, though she knew she

had only just started to grow. As his strength to continue sucking began to

wane, she removed her nipple from his mouth and rubbed her breasts against

his face, drawing up the remaining liquid. She luxuriated in a warm bath of

growth that ran over every inch of her body. Can he feel me growing? Can he

feel me getting bigger? What could he be thinking? His eyes rolled and

locked with hers for an instant. She met him with a warm smile.

Everything’s going to be all right from now on.

VII

He was able finally to look around his room early the next morning. He had

been raised to a half-seated position and could occasionally summon the

strength to open his eyes. Though he had to admit he felt better

physically, thinking back to the events of yesterday left him emotionally

and mentally crushed. To what depths had he sunk? What kind of future could

possibly lie ahead of him, if he were to live? Depending on the care of a

woman who had obviously begun to lose her grip on reality? One so drunk

with some unholy sense of power over him? The possibilities were both

terrifying and – at the same time – inexplicably arousing. He could no

longer fathom the idea of resisting her will. Her smothering, maternal hold

over him was oppressive, fueled by his own irrepressible libido, physical

weakness and driving hunger for her milk and warm embrace. At least he had

the comfort in knowing he was safe in the care of the hospital staff,

though they obviously had no idea of these developments in the situation.

He was still unable to speak, though his strength was slowly returning and

someday soon might allow him to voice his alarm.

His eyes grew wide as she entered the room and stood in the doorway. He had

not seen her standing erect since he first opened his eyes the day

previous, and the sight chilled him. She smiled wickedly at his expression

and approached his bed silently, growing taller, it seemed, with every

step. She was certainly dressed for his benefit: a long, tight navy blue

skirt, slit high up the thigh, outlining endless legs and full, strong

hips. A matching, high-necked sweater of thin cashmere clung tightly to her

impossible curves. Her makeup was done flawlessly, her lips painted in

shimmering mocha brown. Hair pulled back, strands falling elegantly onto

her long neck. At his side, she straightened to her full height and peered

down at him. "You like?" she asked, arching an eyebrow coyly, "I’ve been

taking my vitamins." His fear welled in him again as he realized they were

alone, and his shame redoubled as he recognized that he was secretly

thrilled. "You look well. Sitting up. Eyes open – mostly," already his lids

had begun to feel heavy from exertion, "was it something you ate?" He

flushed visibly and a shiver ran through him as images of their last

encounter surfaced. "Well, it certainly agreed with you," she laid a hand

on his head and straightened his hair.

"I liked our little talk yesterday, but I don’t think we had the chance to

discuss my wardrobe. I’m going to need to…expand it a little bit." With

that she slowly inhaled, and said with a pout, "I just don’t seem to fit

into any of my old clothes anymore." He felt his heart stop as she slowly

thrust out her chest, nearly obscuring her face from view. He goggled

momentarily at her bosomy display, and then gave in to exhaustion and shut

his eyes. "I’ve just been getting bigger and bigger," she said with mock

concern, "Do you know how tall I am now? Six foot one and a quarter. Though

my waist has only gone up two inches to twenty-four, my hips are almost

thirty-eight inches. But it’s all solid muscle." She turned her rear to him

and bent ever so slightly at the waist. His eyes flicked open for a brief

instant and he moaned at the sight. She smiled. "And my bust measurement is

going off the charts. Do you remember how big they were yesterday? They’re

even bigger now." Numbers and bra sizes, usually so important to him both

in his profession and his fantasies, sped through his brain. How big could

she be? He needed to know. "I’ve had to go to specialty lingerie shops.

Very expensive." As she paused to let all this information sink in, he

shuddered at himself as he became more and more aroused. "So you won’t

mind, of course, if I open a few new credit accounts? You do want your

little wife to look her best for all your doctor friends, right?"

As if on cue, the attending physician swept into the room and halted, dead

in his tracks, at the sight of her. "Oh, M-Mrs. Blake, you’re here early."

By God, she is tall. She towered over him, though he took some uneasy

comfort in the fact that, today, she had on a vicious pair of heels. Her

lips parted invitingly as a haughty spark of mischief lit her eyes. She

paused. Let him look at me for a moment. He’ll think of this when he’s in

bed with his old, fat wife. "Well, someone has to take care of my poor

baby," She clasped her hands behind her and arched her back, looking down

at John and then sideways at the doctor, "don’t you think I’m up to the

job?"

"A-as I s-said, I assure y-you we’re doing a-all we can." The poor little

man, she thought, he can barely speak. "But that b-brings up our

conversation on the phone last night." The doctor started to gather himself

as she relaxed her posture, releasing his gaze mercifully. He concentrated

with all his efforts towards his patient. "Yes, he has had another dramatic

weight loss. Nearly ten pounds since yesterday. And, something else is

puzzling. How tall was your husband before he fell ill? We have him listed

at five eleven. Is that correct?" Excited thoughts ran through her. Could

it be true? "Yes, doctor, that sounds right." What was he going to say to

her? Hopes and prayers danced.

"Well, your husband is shrinking. He’s obviously demonstrating generalized

loss of long bone tissue, which explains in part his weight loss. His

vitals are, somehow, still excellent, which baffles me. He should be

showing high calcium levels, difficulty breathing, pain, many things. But

he keeps plugging along – and is even a little more alert today."

The doctor put his hand on John’s shoulder. What is he saying? I’m

shrinking? John’s thoughts became confused. How can that be? And then it

all fell together. The virus. It wasn’t just in him, it was still in her,

too. The viral bodies in his fluids were causing her growth, and those in

her milk must be making him shrink. And no doubt it was affecting their

personalities and drives, also. It was building her into the penultimate

viral reservoir, and turning him slowly into a parasite, unable to derive

nourishment from anything but her. The realizations filled him with silent

horror, but an alien, inner voice slowly soothed him. She’s here to comfort

me.

"So, doctor," she tried to remain composed, hiding a smile despite the

elation she felt, "how tall is he now?"

"Five six. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s lost about five inches."

Her heart leapt. It was better than she dreamed! "Which brings me back to

my point," he continued, "since there’s obviously no more we can do for him

here at this institution, he has no need for any further medication or

treatment, and seems to be without pain, I think we can go ahead with your

request of last night."

"You mean…" she looked to the doctor expectantly.

"Yes." The doctor almost regretted his words as he looked to her face,

which held an obviously false expression of remorse and subtly disturbed

him. But it was too late. "He’ll be more comfortable. You can take him

home."

VIII

Oh God. John’s thoughts became newly frantic. Oh no. He recoiled at the

doctor’s words. The possibilities, the inevitabilities, made him cringe.

They can’t be serious. They can’t send me home with her. I’ll disappear.

His eyes shot open and an arm raised into the air, searching to catch the

doctor’s attention. But he was already nearly out the door, with his back

turned. "I’ll get the staff to get John dressed, gather his things and make

sure a transport van is ready," were his parting words.

"Thank you, doctor," Julia called after him. A smile returned to her face

as she brought her gaze back down to her husband. "Now won’t that be

better? Back in your own house. In your own bed. With your wife there to

take care of you." Disturbing images flashed through his mind. What were

her plans for him? She was obviously beside herself with satisfaction.

"We’re going to have so much fun together, all alone. No one to disturb

us." She ran her hand up his leg and began to slowly massage his member,

already semi-aroused, through his robe. He stiffened painfully. "Think of

what we can accomplish." Her eyes met his. She grasped on more firmly to

him, sheathed in cotton, and gently began to pass her hand up and down his

length. "Imagine what we could be together." She smiled thinly. His eyes

closed as he began to lose himself in her touch and her hypnotic words.

"That’s right. Picture it. Picture you and me." He saw them in bed, he

locked in her embrace. He saw her standing over him, her head soaring

towards the cathedral ceilings of their home, he curled at her feet. A

swell of hunger rolled through him. "It can all come true. I can fulfill

all your fantasies for you." Her hand felt so good. It held him so

confidently, squeezing and stroking him in perfect rhythm. She’s right.

She’s all I ever dreamed about. Electric tremors began to run through him.

"Everything you ever wanted in your deepest, most secret desires. I can do

it all for you. We can do it together." Christ. He was going to come. There

was no stopping it now. He hated himself for it. For his weakness. "Soon,

John. Soon I’ll have you home. So very soon." He decided fighting was

useless and let himself go.

"Woops!" she exclaimed softly as she abruptly dropped his member and

straightened his gown. His eyes were suddenly wide. What happened? Why did

she stop? A nurse had entered the room and was looking straight at him, her

eyes and mouth agape in shock. His every muscle was coiled, his hospital

gown tented and quivering. "He must be excited to see you," Julia said

wryly to the nurse while sitting demurely by his side. He tried to stop but

could not. It was too late. He clamped his eyes in shame and came into his

robe. The nurse gasped, sputtered something nervously, and spun from the

room. His orgasm was fading as Julia placed her hand back on him and rubbed

his wetness into his skin as she whispered into his ear, "That was a

freebie. But the rest, love, are for me." She rose. He turned to watch her

leave the room, her hips swaying lasciviously, firm flesh undulating

beneath her skirt.

In the doorway, without as much as a glance, Julia passed the nurse as she

returned with an armload of John’s clothing and clean bedding. "Well, Dr.

Blake," the nurse intoned as she began to remove his robe with obvious

distaste, "I guess you’re going home." He soon dropped into a deep sleep.

IX

"Welcome home, baby!" He woke with a start. He was seated in a wheelchair

and being pulled from the back of a van. Julia smiled exuberantly with arms

outstretched in greeting as she watched the pair of EMTs lower her husband

to the ground. She bent at the waist and hugged him tightly to her, kissing

the top of his head. "Was your ride ok? Are you still alright sitting up?"

He squinted at the setting sun, which burned at his retinas, and noticed

his dull aches of hunger. It was early evening. He couldn’t remember a

thing since that morning at the hospital. Julia was snapping orders at the

men wheeling him towards the front door, obviously displeased that his

discharge took so long. They were leering obviously at her body, which at

one time would have made her uncomfortable. But she was done with being

intimidated or overly impressed by the attention of men. Her husband. Her

father. Her realization of the power she had over them was growing by the

day. "Follow me this way. We’ll set him up in the bedroom." She could feel

the silent heat of the men’s stares as she strode ahead of them; they gazed

at her lustfully. Like dogs.

Through the great room and into the master wing, the trip brought back

memories to John of a life long past. Wine by candlelight. Hanging canvases

over the mantle. Extravagantly prepared breakfasts hurriedly consumed en

route to early morning surgery. Ancient history. That life was over. He was

wheeled into the spacious bedroom suite. From this point onward, all that

mattered lay right in front of him: his tall, beautiful wife who stood with

hands clasped in front of her, and an enormous bed.

Shrinking or not, he thought, that bed is huge. What happened? "I didn’t

think our king-size was going to be quite big enough anymore," she offered,

interpreting his bafflement, "I had this one custom made. Industrial size.

Industrial strength." That thing, he thought, is big enough for a…giant. He

swallowed nervously. The EMTs looked to each other and shrugged as they

moved to lift John from his chair.

"No, stop," she commanded, stopping them in their tracks, "I can do this."

The men stepped back with apprehension as Julia approached her husband.

With a confident smile and her eyes locked on his, she bent slowly. John

cringed. Oh no, he thought, she wouldn’t. Her arms slipped around him, one

behind his back and one below his thighs, and she hoisted him into the air.

Holding him in her arms, she gazed deep into his soul and watched his pride

melt away even further. He’s mine, now. All mine. She walked the several

steps to the bed, eyes still fixed on his, and lowered him gently into his

huge, warm nest. He felt lost on the mattress’ wide expanse.

She turned her back to him and waved the others out of the room. As they

left with the wheelchair, she propped him up with some pillows and

whispered playfully to him, "I’ll be right back. Now don’t you go

anywhere." She followed after the pair to show them out, affording him

several moments alone to surmise his situation. The bedroom was, aside from

the arrival of this gargantuan bed, much the same as it had been left

before their vacation. The ceilings soared past twenty feet, as they did

throughout much of the house. Decoration was sparse but elegant. Large

skylights allowed for an open, airy atmosphere. Across the room – to him it

may as well have been a thousand miles – the bedroom door hung open. As all

the doors in their home, it was a huge, dramatic portal of heavy oak

hanging on iron hinges. Would he ever pass through it again? His emotions

lay in a tangled mess of sadness, fear and, he had to admit, anxious

excitement and anticipation.

"Are you still ok in there?" he heard her call from the adjacent changing

room, "They’re gone now. You can relax." His mind did ease a bit as he

listened to her voice, which sounded – for a change - quite sober and

levelheaded. Maybe things have changed. He grasped at a leg of hope. Maybe

I have my wife back. "You know, I gave my old agent a call yesterday. I

thought I might get a photo shoot arranged. To see how the ‘new me’ looks

on camera." Why would she want to do that? he thought, we certainly don’t

need the money. His disability - and life, if it came to that - insurance

was more than adequate to keep her living in the style to which she was

accustomed. "I told him I looked a little different. He was reluctant, but

said he’d meet with me at his office tomorrow. This could be the start of

something big for me." His thoughts began to get a bit more confused. Where

was she going with this? The image of her posing in front of a camera swept

several emotions through him – jealousy and apprehension, but most of all

arousal. She knew she was slowly changing into a veritable sex goddess. And

now, it seemed, she wanted the world to know about it. "I thought you might

like to help me choose out something to wear."

All hopes that she had returned to her senses were dashed when she

reappeared in the doorway wearing little more than an evil grin across her

face. In truth, she was wearing what, on anyone else, would be called a

striped blue tube top and a pair of tiny white bikini briefs. On her, it

could hardly be called clothing. He could not stop himself from ogling her

from head to toe. There was so much of her, and in such proportions. She

looked so soft, yet so strong. He physically felt his jaw drop. "I know

it’s a little small," she teased, delighted with his reaction, "it was even

a little small on me before I started to grow. But I think you always liked

it." She approached his bed, sashaying her tan, muscular hips to and fro.

She knelt by his side and pulled the sheets from him, noticing the bulge

swelling in his sweatpants and affording him a fine view of her cleavage.

"And it looks like you still do." She stood, inhaled deeply and

straightened her back, thrusting her breasts forward. The sharp sound of

fabric ripping brought a gleeful "Ooo!" from her as she quickly threw up

her hands in a vain attempt to cover the wide expanse of her breasts, her

top falling to the floor. She seemed delighted. Though her hands obscured

her nipples, the rest of her heavy, firm, round flesh hung exposed for his

eyes. "That was fun! But, I guess I won’t be wearing that tomorrow!" She

turned her fine rear to him and tossed a look over her shoulder, hands

still at her chest, "any suggestions?" He met her wi

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