GITJ Tangent Story: "Mommies Beyond Measure, p1-3" by AgeOfTheGiantess

Ah, a new offering for Bigger Cup Patrons, a GITJ-adjacent tale from the staff here at theBasic. AgeOfTheGiantess has been a longtime reader, creator and friend and has a 9-part piece for us, taking place in the world of GITJ at around the same time in the history of our developing NWO. We have the first three parts here today, and the next six will be in two releases over the next week or so. Please enjoy and leave comments in the suggestion box by the breakroom.

Mommies Beyond Measure: A GITJ Tangent Story

                by AgeOfTheGiantess

Part 1: The Hook-Up

“There he is, newly single and ready to mingle!” My friends shouted out.

 
I laughed good naturedly, as I walked into the bar. The place was a favorite of ours, and it had been a while since we’d all been together. I took the open seat at the table with my five best guy friends, mostly college buddies. They were idiots, ball-busters to a man, but they were mostly harmless. Muttering some greetings, I ordered a drink from the attractive bartender. Damn, she’s new, I let my eyes roam over her long legs as she turned away to take another drink order.

“So, are we happy drinking or sad drinking?” Tyler asked.

“Gotta be sad, right? Losing a pretty young thing with milkers like that!” Erik chimed in.

I smiled and sipped my cocktail. “We’re happy drinking. I broke up with her. Her tits were great, but that bitch was crazy.”

A glass was raised. “To crazy bitches with crazy titties!”

“Cheers!” Everyone sang in unison.

As the conversation settled back to normal (sports, jobs, etc) I tried to convince myself that I was really “happy” with my decision. Sure, it had been the right decision. Sydney was ten years my junior, fresh out of college, and a bit of a ditz. She was interning with a different department when we met at a work happy hour the previous summer. This was a while after the pandemic years, but company get-togethers like this were still kind of awkward. Our company had gone fully remote a long time ago and never went back. So, even though Sydney had been in some video meetings with me, I hadn’t really noticed her until the whole office got together for a social outing. 

She had a beautiful smile and light blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, her big brown eyes held a bit of innocence or naivety, and somehow reminded me of a doe. However, I didn’t notice any of those features at first. The first thing I noticed was her jaw-dropping rack, proudly displayed in her peach colored dress. The dress was conservative, and would have looked modest on anybody else. The cut of the thin-ribbed cotton dress wasn’t really designed to show any skin. But the way the material hung to her every curve, it looked like her chest was going to burst free at any moment.

So yeah, I started flirting with her. Eventually I asked her out to get drinks. She was young and immature, and we didn’t really have a lot to talk about. During our first date she yammered on about office gossip and some new reality show. I politely nodded along and kept up my end of the conversation without showing any genuine interest in her chosen topics. But she didn’t seem to mind my indifference, she certainly seemed excited and eager when I invited her back to my place.

Once we started making out at my townhouse, she let her mammaries work their magic on me. She seemed to know her best assets and endeavored to keep them front and center. She pressed them into my chest and insistently guided my hands to her ripe swells.  Eventually she led me to my own bedroom. That night was total bliss, she seemingly rode me for hours with her big tits in or on my face the entire time.

We’d been hooking up ever since. I was pretty adamant that we keep things casual. Again, she wasn’t proper wife material or anything. Just a fun chick with fun tits.

During that time, my friends would often poke fun at my relationship. They might have had suspicions about what I saw in Sydney, but I doubt they ever really suspected the depth of my growing breast obsession. I’d just laugh it off. So what if I wanted to play out some big-tit fantasies? So what if she was young and unsophisticated? So what if she was “a lil thick”? (their words, not mine). I was just happy to be able to cozy up to her chest whenever I wanted.

So we continued like that for a while. I started texting her less for dates (I didn’t really want to talk about her work drama or her silly friends) and more for late night booty calls. Or boobie-calls, as the case may be.  She was seemingly happy to oblige.

Then, a few months ago, she started dropping hints about wanting to be “more serious.” Subtly at first, but more insistent as time went on. When she started talking about our “next steps”, I knew I should end it. In fact, I tried several times but every time I’d invite her over for the “we need to talk” talk, she’d always show up wearing something to highlight her chest and my well rehearsed conservation would die before leaving my mouth, usually replaced by a nipple. Every time we’d just end up back in bed together, or on the couch, or in the shower with my cock between her slick, soapy tits.

A few weeks back, she asked me if I thought she’d be a good mommy. I rattled off some noncommittal pleasantries while fighting through the surge of excitement in my crotch. That night, she called me “Daddy” in bed, which was fairly common. But when she asked “Does Daddy love Mommy’s big tits?” That was new and unexpected! I’m not sure I’d ever cum so abruptly (or so intensely) in my entire life. These were sorta new urges I’d been having recently, new fixations, and I hadn’t said anything to her about them. As we laid in bed, though, basking in the warm postcoital afterglow, her smirk was a little too knowing. I definitely saw some wheels turning behind her usually innocent eyes.

I assumed, of course, that she wanted me to think of her as “mother material.” I knew then of course that she wanted to get more serious, and I was guessing she was angling for a way to get pregnant. She said she was on the pill and I had just taken her at her word. Dangerous territory, for sure. So I decided, firmly, that it was time to end things. The next time she came over, I masturbated before she arrived, and refused to look at her chest. I stared, pointedly, at the ground or off in the distance during the entirety of my break up speech. She didn’t take it well, but I never really expected her to. At least the yelling and crying had only lasted a couple hours.

That was just over three weeks ago, and this was the first time I’d been out with the boys since. 

So, yeah, maybe I was sad drinking. I was certainly kickin’ back whiskey cocktails at a “drown my sorrows” pace. While I was vaguely following along with the conversation, the table next to us got up to leave. That's when I noticed her. 

Had she been there the whole time? Sitting just beyond my view? Or had she just arrived? I hadn’t noticed her, and normally  I certainly would have. Dark hair, smoky eyes, sitting alone with a martini. Close to my age and oozing a classy sort of confidence. My mouth gaped as I saw her figure, huge breasts practically bursting from a thin white top. She was sitting at the bar, sipping her drink absentmindedly before tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practiced sort of way.



Maybe it was the sad drinking. Or maybe I was just missing Sydney’s prodigious chest. Or maybe I was just looking for some meaningless rebound sex. But my cock surged and I knew I wanted her to come home with me. She glanced over at me and smiled sheepishly. I smiled back, not believing my luck.

My revelry was broken by an elbow in the ribs from my buddy. “Not even single for a whole month and you’re already eye fucking some busty chick from across the bar”

“Dude is like a titty magnet!”

“Or maybe the titties are the magnets!”

More chuckles from the peanut gallery, but my attention was firmly elsewhere. I spent the rest of the evening sneaking peeks at the chesty brunette, intending to wait for my friends to leave before making my move. However, as the last of my friends got up to leave, it was she who approached me.

“Hey there sailor. You leaving with your friends?”

“No, I was going to hang out for a bit.”

“Good choice. Can I sit?”

My two buddies shared a knowing smile before saying their final goodbyes and heading towards the door.

The proceeding flirting was rather textbook. Small talk, innuendos. She asked if I was single, and I mentioned my recent break up.

“Awwww, poor baby. Let me buy you a drink.”

She made quite the production out of the drink order. Ordering in hushed tones with the pretty young bartender and leaning towards me as the drink was being prepared. I took the opportunity to sneak a peek at her glorious curves. Damn, those tits were unreal! The “peek” turned into more of an admiring gaze, as my eyes lingered over her overstrained top. Distracted as I was, it was her who accepted my drink from the bartender. After a curiously long moment, she presented it to me as if she herself had made it.

“One Templeton Sazerac!” She said cheerfully,  sliding the cocktail towards me.

“How did you know my drink order?” I asked playfully, but still genuinely surprised.

“Lucky guess!” She beamed.

We continued chatting for a bit. I was impressed with her directness! She certainly wasn’t being coy as she leaned into our flirtatious conversation. Maybe I had drank too much, because I found my mind (and gaze) drifting back to her chest with regularity. She was carrying most of the conversation as I stupidly nodded along. All I could think of was getting to spend the night (or several nights!) underneath this busty bombshell!

My dirty thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” She asked with a knowing smirk. “We should continue this conversation back at your place.”

—--------------------------------

Part 2: The Hangover

The sunlight coming through my window was painful.

How long did I sleep? And where’s…. What's her name? I looked around for my phone. My cell was sitting on my nightstand (fully dead and not plugged in or charging, grrrr.) Next to it was a little handwritten note with cute, girly handwriting. “Had fun last night. Call me sometime, Big Boy. 646-500-8800. -Eva- “

Eva! Did she mention her name last night? So much was foggy. I looked around for clues of what had gone down, hoping to piece together the end of our evening.

Sitting completely naked (and rock hard) amongst some thrashed bedding, some murky images came back to me.

We had started making out in the back of the Uber. She had me practically smooshed against the door! She was so aggressive! Back at my place, she poured us drinks from my liquor cabinet. She wanted to play music, so I let her connect to the bluetooth. Haha, didn’t she play some weird elevator music? Like, soft piano white noise? We were on the couch, she was on top of me, straddling my lap, right? Vague memories of her whispering in my ear, her tits pushed aggressively into my face. Did we have sex? Looking at my rumpled sheets, the answer had to be…yes? But I couldn’t remember anything after the couch.

How did I get so drunk? I’m usually not such a lightweight.

At the memory of her whispering in my ear, my cock sprung to life. What had she been saying? We had been there for a while, no? Just listening to her ‘music’ while she straddled my lap? Deciding to get out of bed to make some coffee, I was struck by the smell surrounding me in bed. It wasn’t the typical sweaty-late-night-tryst scent, it smelled, overwhelmingly, like her: sweet, fruity, and floral perfume… hyper feminine. The smell strongly reminded me of the beach, despite the fact that it was more peachy in scent than coconut or any tropical fruit. The bouquet seemed to seep out of my bedding. Had she been wearing that much perfume last night? Pretty sure I would remember such an overpowering fragrance. My cock surged again as I breathed in the heavy aroma. I rather abruptly found myself NOT wanting to get out of bed. Coffee could wait. What I really wanted was some relief!

I could relax. It was Saturday after all, and I had no real plans for the day. Taking my member in my hand (how am I so worked up? We must not have had sex last night….maybe she had left on edge?) I reached over for my phone, intending to open some of my favorite new porn sites. Soon after I had started dating Sydney, my porn preferences had gotten insanely breast-centric. Grrr, my phone was still dead.  And my laptop was in the living room. I should just go get it. But, after another deep breath, I found myself not wanting to. Deciding to just let my imagination do the heavy lifting, I started stroking in earnest. Dreams of breasts swimming in my head. I’d be lying if I said Sydney’s chest didn’t creep into my fantasies. I tried to push thoughts of her, my ex, out of my mind's eye, but soon gave it up as a lost cause. A phantasmagoria of images ran behind my closed eyelids. Sydney. Eva. Sydney’s chest. Eva straddling me on the couch. Lost in my erotic day dream, I jerked off with surprising enthusiasm.

Sometime later that morning

Ok, but now I had to get out of bed. For real this time. The physical need for a bathroom trip finally outweighed my desire to lay around in bed luxuriating in Eva’s perfume. Tossing the sheets aside and standing up, I was struck by a slight chill. It caught me off guard, considering the sunny late autumn day that was shining through my bedroom window. Opening my dresser, I found my most comfortable sweatpants and hoodie. This was going to be a lazy hangover day, after all. Stepping into the sweatpants, I adjusted my lingering hardness (hadn’t I already jerked myself off TWICE this morning?). And started going about my day. Bathroom, water, coffee, brushing teeth. Before settling onto the couch. I flipped on the big screen and surfed through the channels. There had to be some sports somewhere. ESPN was playing ladies volleyball. Damn, those chicks were TALL. And those legs! Sports networks had been playing more women's sports these days; it was getting to be a trend. A few months ago, I would have rolled my eyes and kept surfing, but these days I couldn’t help but admire the athleticism of these ladies.

Feeling chilly again, I pulled a crumpled blanket from the otherside of the couch. Underneath it, something bright red caught my eye. Clashing dramatically against the backdrop of my carmel colored sofa, a red lacy bra was splayed out.  A grin crept on my face as my gaze lingered on the bra for a long time. It had to be Eva’s, and it was huge. Plus, the cleaning lady had just been here on Thursday and there's no way she would have missed this. Besides, I had an intimate knowledge of the contents of Sydney’s brassiere drawer and didn’t recognize this particular lacy number.

I thought back to the previous night, on the couch with Eva. A new memory crept into the periphery of my recollection. Her generous chest supported by a red lacy bra, filling my entire vision. Whispered words in my ear. A hand on the back of my head, pulling me into the dark chasm of cleavage. 

Woah. My cock had come back to life in full. Maybe I should have found this recent, overwhelming arousal concerning, but I was more amused than anything else. Puzzled, but amused. Not quite ready to jerk off for a third time this morning, I decided my lazy hangover day was destined to become a lazy and horny hangover day.

I decided to lean in. Abandoning all pretense of watching Women’s Volleyball, I switched the channel to MSIT, the Mens Special Interest Television. It was a newer channel, one that I had surreptitiously watched a few times. It was actually Sydney who had shown me it the first time, a month or two ago. “Have you ever watched this channel before?” She’d asked innocently, “My friend told me about it, I think you’ll like it.” 

I knew the “male gaze” was a thing in Hollywood, but this channel seemed to fully embrace the concept. In the past, I had maybe watched the network for a couple minutes before switching to something else. But today I decided to make a day of it. Why not? Soon the gratuitous tit shots gave way to some interesting stories, I guess. I found myself watching with increasing focus, trying to follow the plot and dialogue of “All Tomorrow’s Yesterdays.” The movie itself was hella cheesy, but goddamn, I’d recently been a sucker for Adrienne Aleppo. This movie was from before her recent blow-up (literally and figuratively), but even back then she was pretty big and made for a striking lead.

The rest of my day was spent on the couch watching MSIT and jerking off a few more times. Sometime in the evening, I decided to order some food. Opening the app I used, I was surprised that nothing sounded good to me. Chinese, Thai, Pizza, Burger…..urrggh, the thoughts of all of them made my stomach turn. Some hangover, I thought. Eventually I settled on the diner down the street. The one with the cute southern waitress with the huge…menu. Maybe it was the chill in the air, but something warm and comforting was sounding really good. I ordered a creamy chicken soup, mac n cheese, and an extra large vanilla milkshake. Dairy wasn’t normally a recipe for hangover success, but it all sounded so good to me! The stomach wants what the stomach wants and I was craving some creamy deliciousness.

The food came quickly. I ate in front of the TV.

Lips wrapped on the straw, I absentmindedly sucked the remainder of my milkshake and watched Adrienne’s chest jiggle around the screen in some dumb RomCom (why was this lead-dude such a helpless sap?) where Adrienne and this tool were co-workers and lovers but her new promotion meant that she’d become his boss. It was kind of funny, I guess. Apparently there was some sort of Adrienne Aleepo marathon today, and I was content to watch each film or show run into the next.

I thought about texting Eva. She had left her number, after all. But then again, I didn’t want to seem too desperate. We had just met yesterday… besides, what would I even say? I felt a small shudder as I thought about texting her. I couldn’t admit it to myself at the time, but I found the idea of Eva wildly intimidating.

After the 4th movie wrapped (the cheesy action one, set in the jungle, with all the Adriene kick-ass fight sequences) I decided on an early bedtime. Tomorrow was a new day, and hopefully I could get some stuff done. At the very least I could go to the gym and get some laundry done.

As I prepared for bed, thoughts of Eva came flooding back. Struck by sudden inspiration, I went to grab the red bra she had left behind. Despite being lacy, the thing was no joke. Big and strong and supportive, no doubt. I carried it back to my bedroom, intending to put it on my dresser until I reached out to Eva. Instead, I found myself carrying into bed. The perfume scent had barely dissipated, I was going to have to open some windows tomorrow, haha. One last jerk before bed, couldn’t hurt.

That night, the bra laying on my pillow beside me, I had such strange dreams. Maybe it was the erotic fog I had lounged in all day, but the dreams seemed vivid and tantalizing. Sydney. Eva. Childhood. Mommy….wait, what? Mommy? Yes. Mommy. Love. Breasts. Helplessness. Weakness….Eva’s words whispered softly in my ear. 

____________________________________-

Part 3: The “Work” Week

The following week was very strange. I was surprised to wake up Sunday morning to find myself cuddling Eva’s bra like a teddy bear and already masturbating. Then, thoughts of her brought me to do it (again!) in the shower.

Come Monday, rather than working from my well-appointed home office, I found myself working from the sofa with MSIT on in the background. “Working” might have been too strong a word, as my attention kept getting pulled back to some reality-style daytime show set at a beach house somewhere. (Damn, I couldn’t believe some of the swimsuits these girls were wearing! And why all the slo-mo shots?) I had worked from home since the pandemic, years now, and it's actually why I bought this townhouse with a sunny office. I had never worked from the couch before, though. I guess I didn’t know what I was missing, because this was awesome. I’d have to do this more often! Without realizing it, I had carried the bra from the bedroom to the couch, it laid across my lap while I slowly responded to some emails.

That week I spent more time on the sofa, alone with Eva’s bra and my newly supercharged libido. Eva must have been some lay, because something carnal had awoken inside me! Soon, almost subconsciously, I found myself carrying her bra almost everywhere around the house.

By midweek, I had every number on the bra’s tag memorized. They lived in my head, rent-free, practically playing on a loop.

34J

34J

34J


I found myself sleeping with the bra every night. The dreams had become, if anything, more explicit. But I could never fully remember them when I woke up. On Friday I woke up clutching the bra with my thumb in my mouth, also already jerking off! Haha, WTF?!

Friday after work (I was definitely going to have to try to get more work done next week, lol) I found myself wrapping the lacy bra around my cock. Thinking of Eva’s tits, I pumped with reckless abandon.

Finally, Saturday morning, I could hold out no longer. I had to text Eva. My obsession with her was becoming crippling. I had to get it out of my system, if nothing else. She’s just a busty chick, after all. Maybe texting her and (gulp) meeting up with her would humanize her a bit, make her less of just an idealized fantasy woman in my head. Yeah, that’s what I need...

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Expect Parts 4-6 soon