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Grow and Suck: A Bedtime Story
🕑 Added 2023-05-08 03:35:56 +0000 UTC
Shortly after I added my custom tier, my husband asked, "What the hell is a vignette?" We can just call it a brief evocation, right? And that's what I want to do . . . write things that are evocative that will stick with you. It got me thinking that others might not know what to expect from this tier, so I thought what better way to show it off than to write one for my hubby! So here it is, a very common fantasy for us. Maybe one day I'll tell yours, too . . .
Enjoy it!
Grow and Suck: A Bedtime Story
He’s still fumbling with his pants when I drink my potion.
It tastes sweet, but that’s nothing new. It always tastes sweet when I know I’m about to grow. I drop to my knees as the warmth spreads from my lips down to my toes and back again. He looks at me with a big grin on his face just as his pants fall to his ankles. This is such a turn on for both of us—probably more for me than him.
“Now don’t blow your load until I’m at least fifteen feet tall,” I tell him.
He nods but the implication is there: No promises.
I take his cock between my fingers. It’s a good size, around nine inches, but it won’t matter in just a few minutes. That’s okay. We love this game. We play it every weekend. I give him a few strokes, moving my hand up to the head to collect his pre-cum, then back down to his shaft. We never need lube—the anticipation is enough to get him just right.
I relax a little, feeling my body experience its last seconds of proper-fitting clothes. The jeans and the boots are already tight—but that’s also part of the fun. I love to feel them grow tighter and ultimately, rip apart.
He’s getting restless so I give the head of his cock a kiss, tasting him, coming away with a spindle of pre-cum attached to my chin. He’s never going to last long. The excitement is building far too quickly. No matter. I’ve already taken my potion. I’ve already fallen down the rabbit hole. Now he has only to enjoy it.
As I slide him into my mouth, I feel the first signs of my change. My toes are bunching in the shoes. I’m wearing extra-thick socks so that my own toenails don’t slice into my flesh. It’s a trick I picked up a few growths ago. And at the end of it all, he certainly likes my feet . . .
I lick along his shaft, getting him nice and wet for when I really go to town. My hair is up—a few red strays hanging down my face for effect. The ribbon is short and knotted, giving me the appearance of an uptight school teacher. That’ll change soon.
My thighs and calves are pushing against the pants, squeezing my body in an arousing way. The belt makes a tiny groan, as do the boots. My toes look like little creatures through the thick leather. Steadily, my head starts to rise in the air. Slowly, I climb up his stomach.
My sucking is in full-swing, my growing lips parting around his cock, feeling the veins pop out in protest. I can’t slide all nine inches into my mouth, at least not yet. He makes little moans that drive me wild and hasten my efforts. In and out I take him, feeling him ease smaller with each pump.
At first I think I’ve grown large enough for my hair to pop the ribbon but it’s only his hand, wrangling my locks in his fist. He wraps his fingers around it and pulls, instantly hardening my nipples and sending a warm tingle down my body. I love this side of him—always have. But it’s fleeting. He won’t be calling the shots much longer.
My breasts are pushing out my shirt. The buttons are snug, creating little triangles of flesh in the middle of the material. I continue to rise higher as the first hairline tears appear in my jeans. The stress is at my knees so that’s the first spot my tanned, yet smooth skin pokes through.
Both of my hands are on his hips, pulling him and pushing him out. By now I’m having to angle downward, put a painful bend in my back just to reach his cock. I sit down on the floor with my legs out to the sides and this is usually where I lose him—now he can see the entirety of my body as it grows and shakes off the garments.
He watches as my toes burst through the boots; the socks already shredded. I spread them out, feeling as if my feet are butterflies emerging from cocoons. The pants are tight against my shins but that’s changing—a thin fissure runs from the hem, all the way up my inseam. More of my skin shines through. My buttons have finally lost the battle, firing away like popcorn. My bra—one of my good ones—still puts up a fight.
I am roughly nine feet tall now and his cock is absolutely no problem. I take him in, my lips resting against his stomach. I’m so large now that my clothes are starting to become tatters. The shirt’s sleeves ride up and break apart. I feel the wind on my back, a large gash has appeared in the fabric. My belt pops and my pants blow out at the thighs. The boots, what’s left of them, hang from my toes.
I change positions, getting back to a high-knee just like when we began. Only now he’s standing face-to-crotch, not looking over my head. I smile down at him and flex my arms, the bra bursting above his head. My breasts fall out and rock for a moment before they settle. I gaze down at him hungrily—I want to finish this now.
I am roughly twenty feet tall. I put my hands gently on his shoulders and push him to the ground. He’s no stranger to this game. He cooperates like a good boy. Using two fingers, I hold his cock up straight so I can reach it.
I’m proud of him—he’s lasted a long time. Too long, I think. It’s getting increasingly harder to suck him. My lips barely part around his cock. My tongue does most of the work, running alongside his shaft, keeping him upright, keeping him happy.
With him flat, I’m able to reach him better. His stomach is relatively washboard, so there’s no humps or hills to get in the way. When he starts to grunt, I know I’m onto something. I keep sucking, I keep growing, I keep blasting him with my warm, sticky breath. When I spit on his cock, his lower half is drenched. He loves it. He’s laughing. And in the next minute his toes are curling and his ass is lifting off the floor. He shoots his load into my mouth as I near twenty-five feet tall. I can barely taste it, but I can taste it. It’s mine. I worked for it. I’m proud.
I look down at him, satisfied, breathing hard, happy that a girl who can swipe growth potions is interested in him. I feel myself shudder—I’m at the halfway point.
This isn’t just about him. It never is. But I’ve found that getting him off first makes the second act all the more pleasurable. He’s made me so wet that by the time he’s ready, he’ll slide right into me . . .
