GITJ Post 295: Painting His Apartment, p1

“You missed another spot over there, by the window,” I corrected her, looking up from the paint tray I’d just started to refill and pointing my chin over to the beige blotch peeking through the, uh, new color.

“Omigod haha I did…!” Melissa laughed, blowing a strand of long dark hair away from her face and stepping forward with her roller to squeeze a bit more paint onto the wall. Like I’d been doing all day any time I had the chance and despite my best efforts to resist, I ogled her while she wasn’t looking, this time from behind, in her tight jeans. We had, at her insistence earlier this morning, been painting the meager little studio apartment that I called home in the new, um, color that she’d picked out for me. While I was, uh, getting my finances back on track I’d been living there, at the whim and generosity of my ex-wife who owned the entire building, downstairs office suites and all. The apartment probably hadn’t had a fresh coat of paint in the fifteen years since the place was built, and Melissa was right: it needed it, a change of, urr…color. So, here we were, she and I, spending a rainy Sunday together on a project. It was a nice way to pass time, hang out and, jesus…the woman woke me this morning with a handjob in bed, plus she smelled great. It was nice to feel productive for a change and a secret, lurid delight just to watch such a tall, voluptuous woman move around. Even if she was painting my room to match her favorite lipstick. Pink. Or, as she called it, ‘mauve’.

“No no no, wait,” I directed, seeing her results with the roller, shaking my head as I tried to come to grips with how my place was going to look in a new coat of p-, excuse me -  ‘Twilight Blush’. “Here. Refill the roller first,” I instructed, “You should redo that whole little section or it’ll look uneven.” I’d spent some summers as a teen painting houses and sorta considered myself a minor-league authority on all things…painty.

“Haha I’m still terrible at this,” she laughed, turning and crouching down across the tray from me and arresting my gaze with her glittering eyes and sharing her brilliant, dimpled smile. My heart fluttered at her warmth and beauty; even at her most disheveled and casual, Melissa was a knockout. She’d worn a faded old pair of too-short-at-the-ankle jeans which strained to contain her thighs, the crouch challenging their worn fabric mightily as her quads swelled inside them, and a softly pink, ribbed sweater that likewise clung to her every dramatic curve. It was away from the depths of its v-neck that I was currently struggling to keep my eyes as the soft jiggles and swells of her upper bosom beckoned from it.

Refilled with paint, Melissa stood, turned and stretched her tall, curvy body to reach the highest parts of my apartment's outer wall with her roller. I watched slack jawed from behind, once again in rapt admiration of her nearly superhuman figure. Her legs were long, well-muscled and looking ready nearly to burst from her tight jeans from ankles to hips. Likewise the glorious globes of her huge behind seemed all but painted with denim, which was stretched thin over the expanse of her haunches. As she reached high, her trim waist stretched and the dramatic flare of her ribcage and upper back flexed with muscles, dark raven hair flowing behind her shoulders.

"Am I getting everything?" she asked, playfully casual, now looking back over her shoulder and catching me staring. I turned quickly away, dropping my gaze, but her smile told me for sure that I'd been caught. "Keep your eyes on the paint job, mister!" she giggled, biting her lip and wiggling her more-than-shapely rear in my direction. She was a certified gym bunny, I knew that, and proud of the size that the hours at the squat rack had built.

“uhhh…” was all I could manage.

"Do you think it'll need another coat?" she asked, pulling the roller off the wall and wiping a touch of paint from her hands with a rag. She took a step closer and leaned against the unpainted wall aside me, making sure I could see her big breasts in her tight top. God, she was built! And, at my shrunken height I had very little choice but to look right at her chest.

"I'm not s-sure," I answered truthfully, "it all depends on how it dries. Might also look different when there’s more sun." The day was kinda gloomy, rainy outside. Tough for all the girls from the office who’d gone to that crazy women’s rally downtown - which looked like it ended up being surprisingly huge. Melissa and I had turned on the TV and watched a little of the news coverage as we ate the sandwiches she’d brought for lunch earlier. The rallies were going on all over the country, drumming up support and excitement for the New Women's Party that was going to try to get some elections of this coming Tuesday to swing their way. Well, it looked like they had both support and excitement in spades; there were literally millions of women at these things, coast-to-coast, and they seemed, uh, energized, to say the least. How Melissa felt about it was hard to judge; she’d decided not to go to the local rally in the city with her friends this morning, but at the same time I could see the enthusiasm in her eyes when we’d caught some soundbites from some of the speakers describing the changes to women’s (and men’s) rights they planned on making. To me, none of it seemed likely to happen, and the rain at today’s rally looked miserable; inside here I had all the lights on and together we were nice and warm.

Melissa smiled at me, turning her head slightly and setting her shoulders, offering me a better glimpse down her top. "How's it look now?" she asked, with a mischievous smile, pushing her arms together just enough to bloom her full cleavage up into the neckline of her shirt.

"Th-the…the paint job..?" I stammered, laughing, “I-I hadn’t noticed.."

"Oh really?" she teased, and winked at me. "Well, I should get back to it…”

I watched, again, as she set to work with her roller. She was so tall that she could reach floor-to-ceiling in some parts of the room. Others, though, were vaulted a bit; she’d need a chair or the step ladder we’d snagged from the basement again when we got to those. I’d just started teaching her how to use the roller, as she’d never painted a room before. We’d spent the first half of the day prepping the walls and trim and cutting the edges, and yes I had her up on a ladder a bit. She was, honestly, horrible at first but improved remarkably quickly. By the end her cutting lines were as straight as mine and she barely needed the painter’s tape. Quick study, I guess, well-coordinated.

But now we were on to rolling. Since she’d bought just one roller I was resigned mainly to just watch her and ostensibly teach her technique, which was a little haphazard at first. While she worked, we chatted and laughed. As I’d done a few times before, casually, I asked and she explained briefly about her childhood and younger years. She’d always been strangely vague on the topic, but today she was a bit more open about it than she’d been in the past.  She talked about moving about the country as a kid with her mother (dad didn’t seem to be in the picture), never staying in one place too long until they landed here, when she was in middle school. But then they started to travel and she’d missed a lot of schooling, it sounded, with the forays to other countries on which her mother would drag her. Huh. I’d never pictured Melissa as the worldly type; she’d always come across as sort of provincially naive. But that would explain, maybe, why she didn’t have a lot of experience in the home-improvement arena. Her rolling, at first, was atrocious. But again, she got better quick, and with her wingspan was able to reach most things aside from- whoooooah..!

“Omigod haha what are you doing..?!?” I yelped, as - after she’d handed me the full roller and put her hands behind my hips - she lifted me into the air.

“Haha you do this part!” Melissa laughed, hoisting me high above her head in the farthest corner of the room, near the one part of the apartment with a vaulted ceiling, where she wouldn’t be able to reach without the ladder. She held me by the hips, had stretched her arms up to full extension, and quickly I was looking down from more than eight feet off the ground. My eyes goggled, shocked at the sudden change in altitude and in flabbergasted awe of her obvious show of strength. Jesus! She did that so easy! I couldn’t help but marvel, How strong is this girl?!?

“Yikes okay…” I agreed, still in shock but immediately setting roller-to-wall, applying ‘Twilight Blush’ to the highest parts of the apartment. With her boost I reached easily and, as my legs dangled helplessly below me, I covered the area as quickly as I could.

“You missed a spot over there…” she instructed me, stepping casually with me to the right a bit, towards the corner where yes a little beige still peeked through. She giggled, and was obviously being playful with me. And, yes, I felt like a plaything, but had immediately felt my cock surge in the old pair of cut-off sweatpants I’d been wearing, even as I painted. Lord the feeling of being picked up like a toy by this giant woman was turning me on!

“I-is th-that better?” I asked, and Melissa stepped back from the wall, to get a better look. She still held me effortlessly aloft, like I weighed nothing, holding most of the weight of me over her head with outstretched arms like I was light as a feather. The thin plastic drop cloths on the floor crinkled under her feet, and she regarded my handiwork.

“Yes I think that’ll do,” she giggled, and gently lowered me to the ground, my roller still in hand, facing the wall to peer up at what I’d been able to do. “Ooo I dropped my phone!” she suddenly exclaimed, and turned herself to back up a step, bend over and - oof! Slam her butt into me!

“Hey!” I yelped, “Watch out!” I’d found myself, now, pinned to the wall, pressed into fresh paint by the accidental yet forceful appearance of her giant ass against my midsection. My right hand held aloft the paint-sodden roller and my left, equally awkwardly but for support, came to rest on her round left hip and started to try to push her away. Nnf!

Melissa paused, having reached her phone on the ground, and turned her head to look over her shoulder at me behind her. She seemed calmly surprised that the simple gesture of her bending over had effectively imprisoned me, trapped me between her and the wall. She felt my effort to push her away and free myself; it didn’t seem to phase her. In fact, I felt the squish of wetness on my back as she, if anything, pressed me slightly more firmly into the wall with the muscular mass of her giant, jean-clad glutes. I pushed against her, as hard as I could now for escape, but I might as well have been trying to move a mountain. Her massive ass had me pinned, from ribcage to navel, helpless. “This wall’s still wet!”  I laughed, realizing she had no intention of immediately releasing me, “I’m going to be all pink!” For sure this old t-shirt and these sweatpants were goners, interior latex eggshell all up the back of them both.

Still looking over her shoulder, still regarding me with curious interest, and still with no obvious intention of letting me go, Melissa addressed my complaints. “It’s ‘mauve’ not pink,” she calmly reminded me, “like my lipstick.” I couldn’t feel her trying to keep from giggling, like I might expect.

“Okay okay mauve!” I laughed, still struggling as best I could against her butt, feeling the slippery squish of wet paint behind me, “you’re getting me all mauve!”

She pushed back against me again, making me grunt as air left my lungs. Something in the space between us had just changed, and I could see it in her face as she considered me, our positions, what she’d just done. She pushed again once more, pressing more breath from my body, and then began to roll her hips more languidly into me.

“H-hey…” I stammered, trying to chuckle, “h-having a little trouble breathing here…”

Again, she seemed unconcerned, and I smelled a change in her perfume as her ass proceeded to squash me further. This was…this was interesting to her: I really couldn’t get away, could I? And, what could she do, if she really wanted? I know I was suddenly wondering it myself: could she really hurt me? Break my bones? Crush my ribs and organs? Something about the moment, the blatant difference in our respective sizes and strengths, the obvious physical power she had over me was fueling an electricity between us. Exciting her, starting to frighten me.

When she spoke again, there was a new, husky purr to her voice. “Could Lakshmi do this to you, when she was here?” Melissa asked, reminding me of one of the few girls in the office whose rear end could come close to rivaling her own. Yes, Lakshmi had been up here in my apartment a month or so ago in that figure-fitting orange dress, and she’d nearly made me climax just by sitting on my lap in Josie’s car before the party downtown (and actually had with her hand the next day after). I wasn’t sure - had Melissa known about all that? “Lakshmi has a nice big butt. Some of the girls call her ‘BoomBoom’ now…do you?”

Obviously she had heard something.

“Haha no,“ I laughed, nervously, grunting against the pressure of her overwhelming mass, “You’re the only ‘BoomBoom’ for m- …nnnf!...for me. Just…just please be careful with that thing, o-okay?”

“Don’t try to tell me…” she began, the wry smile on her lips mirrored in her voice, “that you don’t freaking love it.”

“Oh…s-sure…nnf!!...I love being squashed like a bug by the world’s biggest butt.”

“What?!?” she laughed, gasping in mock outrage, and suddenly turned, releasing me from the pressure of her hindquarters but throwing me back against the wall with the strength of her mere left hand, “The nerve!!” Standing straight, now, she looked down at me with an imperious mischief in her eyes and took my face in her right hand. Remember - she was at least 6’4”, and I was barely 5’2”. The moment made my heart stop; she quickly made me feel like a child. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk about a lady like that?” she scolded, and turned my head to my right, pressure on my left cheek and jaw. With her right hand she pressed my face, my right cheek, into the wall behind me; I felt the wet paint slick and sticky, and was sure I now had it on my face.

“Hey!!” I laughed, my complaints pitiful, my voice cracking like a teen’s, “STo-op!!”

“MMMhm, nope,” she giggled, making sure my cheek was appropriately smeared with pink paint, paint the color of her lipstick.

I reached up with my free left hand and grabbed her wrist, tried to pull it away. She was so strong! I couldn’t fight back! “C’mon!” I laughed, squirming in her grasp and thinking I could start kicking her but knowing that that wouldn’t be a good look on me.

“This’ll teach you to tell a girl she has a big butt,” she replied, drolly, as she released my face. Immediately I peeled it away from the wet wall as she was taking the paint roller from my right hand. “Now, put your arm out, against the wall,” she told me.

“M-my arm?”

“Yes, that one,” she said, nodding down towards my right.

Tentatively, I raised my arm and laid it - also sticking to the paint, bare as I was from hand-to-shoulder in a short-sleeve tee - against the wall, outstretched. She still had me pinned by my chest to the wall with her powerful left hand. What was she…?

“No!!” I laughed, as I watched helplessly as she took the roller, wet with pink paint, and rolled it out the length of my arm, starting nearly at my shoulder. It left a sticky, pink trail, and then she rolled it back again, from my wrist back to shoulder. “No no no!! Stop!!” I cried, laughing again.

“And now the other,” she directed, heedless of my protests and - as I refused, started squirming my left arm away, she merely caught it with the roller, squashed it to the wall, and also painted it, wrist-to-shoulder, in ‘Twilight Blush’.

“What are you doing!!?” I pleaded.

“I’m just marking you,” she explained, plainly, with finishing touches on my lower arm, “making you mine.”

“You’re painting me...mauve,” I whined.

“It's not mauve…” she corrected me, her eyes flashing with a dark thrill as she bent down at the waist, lowered herself so she could look directly in my face, hers fractions of a breath from mine, “…it’s pink...”  At that she took the roller and pressed it to my face, against my clean left cheek, and rolled it a gentle inch upwards.  “...and it matches my lipstick.”

And then she kissed me.

Sparks flew, lights exploded behind my goggling eyes as her larger mouth took mine, the power of her ardor forcing my head back so now my hair - my hair! - was stuck into the wet paint behind me. I groaned, immediately, and my toes curled as her tongue took over, her lips eclipsing mine. I allowed my eyes to flutter closed and let her have her way with me. I submitted to her kiss and let her take me any way she wanted, wet paint be damned.

If I was consumed by the kiss, I could tell she was equally swept away, passion building. She groaned into it, rattling my skull. “I want to kiss you so hard that you’ll never get the taste of me out of your mouth,” she said, in a breathless advance, breaking the kiss for a gaze into my eyes.

“yes, d-do it…” I stammered, barely knowing what I was saying, my arms still stiffly outstretched against the wall, crucified, “do it…”

She groaned again and her passion exploded now tenfold into her kiss. Again her tongue was in me, shed dropped the roller, and now her big hands were on my shoulders, keeping me pinned with more force than she needed. She crushed my soft body from the outside and seemed, with her tongue outmuscling my jaw and pushing towards my throat, to want to stretch it from the inside. She heard me whimper under her force, and the noises she began to make - growls, grunts - began to worry me. She was, I admit, so much stronger than me. Her body could break mine, but she didn’t need its brute strength to dominate me. All she needed was her kiss, and she was set on proving it. Lip-locked, she inhaled my breath, stealing it steadily from my lungs until I felt my chest threaten to cave inwards. She then held my air for a few heartbeats and then slowly metered it back, refilling my lungs at the pace she controlled, allowing me air once more, air that she had warmed inside herself, permitted me to have. She drew my breath out again, held it, and then again allowed it back. I was breathing her air, and she was showing me what she could take from me, what she could give. I began to whine, which only inflamed her further.

Soon, though, her mouth broke from mine and her lips began to cover my face - the parts, at least, unsullied by ‘Twilight Mist’. “Could the other girls do this with you, when they were here?” she growled, “Could Marisela take your breath away like I can?”

I realized, of course, that she knew about Marisela, the drunken night in the waiting room. I hadn’t realized, though, what I was hearing in her voice now: she was, she was showing a little jealousy. I looked in her eyes, and shook my head ‘no’.

Still leaned down into me, she crouched at the knees a bit, so we could continue our kissing. “Good boy,” she purred, before she drove her tongue into my mouth again. Now, in this position, her huge, soft chest was squashed into my upper torso, her hands on her knees. We kissed like that for a long moment, the luxurious weight of her breasts making my own knees quiver and pinning me to the wet wall.. She again broke our kiss and looked into me with eyes that would melt glass.

I found that I now had my hands on either side of her marvelous tits, sinking into the firm mass of boob held tautly by her ribbed pink sweater and what felt like a sturdy bra underneath. Her breasts were much wider across than my chest, even more so with them pressed hard into me. They actually had me sort of pinned between them, with her glorious bosom almost touching the wall on either side of me. “God, you’re so big…” I found myself marveling aloud, my gaze now dropped down to the cleavage which blossomed up towards her throat and towards my chin.

She chuckled, giggling. “They do seem even bigger now that we’re pressed together like this, don’t they?” she mused, looking down now herself, proudly, into her own bosom. She then did one of the sexiest things I have ever experienced. She looked me in the eye, arched her back and took a big breath. At the same time, pressing her tits into me, Melissa began to stand up straight. I felt my feet leave the ground and I realized: she was pushing me up into the wall with her tits! Such was the upward pressure against my body, I was so surrounded by her chest, that she didn’t even need her hands! The wall, slowly and wetly, slid down behind me and soon she was standing fully erect, staring me in the eye with a bemused smile, my feet nearly a foot-and-a-half off the ground. My mouth gaped in amazement and my jaw quivered, and she held us there, letting me take in the moment. I was so much smaller than her, so much weaker. I was light, easy to carry and hold, and I was being held aloft by her tits.

Plus, I was hard as a rock.

She’d already felt it, pinned against my stomach, her hand having snuck its way in to grab hold, possessively. She was still looking me in the eye.  “Looks like they’ve got you trapped,” she purred, “My boobs.”

“y-y-yeah…” was all I could manage. I was at her mercy.

She cocked her head, regarded me, pondered for a moment. “Could Shanette do this with you, when she was here?” she asked, thoughtfully.

“Uhhh….” I muttered, recalling the titfuck Shanette had given me, here in my apartment, on my couch, my outsized erection slid up into her white tank top while she sat on her knees over my lap. It had been glorious, soft and enveloping…but it hadn’t been this. Melissa had my entire upper body engulfed in her chest, held up like a doll. “N-n-nuh…” I grunted, watching the swells of her breasts squash me, ballooning up past her collarbone.

“Or Randi…could Randi have taken you all in, like I did, even your balls and sac in my mouth. Could she do that when she was here?“ she further pressed, “Or when you were in her car?”

Randi…Randi’s mouth was…jesus, huge. No one had ever been able to do with me what she had…until Melissa came along. Melissa was able to take me all in and then some. She had nothing - nothing - to worry about, with these girls, with my feelings towards them or what they could do. But still she sounded…jealous.

I tried to tell her as much. “M-Melissa?” I began, looking into her eyes again now, my gaze open and honest, “Y-you…your friends, the others-  nngh!”

She squashed me, firmly, into the wall.

I’d grunted, but I continued. “They…they don’t mean anything to me, not the way you do,” I said, “you’re…you’re so much more than they are. So much more than any woman I’ve ever known…” How I put that sentence together, in the state I was in and in the position I’d found myself, I’ll never know. But I could tell she heard me, and I added: “You don’t have to…to worry about me, or…us.”

She smiled at me, a strange smile. There were things going through her head I know she thought I wouldn’t understand. “Sweetie,” she began, “the last couple of days…well, weeks…months…my emotions have been, well a little stronger than usual. Happy, sad, angry - haha crazy - they all come and go, so quickly. They’ve been…really intense, since I’ve met you. Sometimes I worry…”

I felt her heart beating, through our plastered chests, and understood what she was saying. These feelings, with her and her strength and me and my…smallness, could be dangerous. She was doing her best to control herself, many times…even now.

“As I get bigger,” she continued, speaking earnestly but plainly, “it’s not just my body that’s getting stronger, it’s my emotions too.” Her breath was coming shallow, hissing through her nose. “I worry, sometimes, that it might….keep getting worse. I want to be with you, so bad, but…but…can you handle that?”

I looked into her eyes, my mind racing. What was she telling me? What was she saying?

“Wh-what do you mean,” I finally asked, “when you say ‘bigger’?”

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Thank you to Joshua67 and his AI assistant/harsh taskmistress for the pic