Post 273: It's Not My Birthday, p2

...our party continues.

All eyes, all the attention, indeed seemingly all the light in the room had suddenly become laser-focused on her, on Melissa, who in her heels had to duck under the doorway to enter with the abomination she was carrying. It was something like a cake, it was huge, and it was shaped, as you can see, to look like an enormous set of boobs.

Lord god what was happening…?

Two huge swells, shaped like breasts - nipples and all - on a big serving platter. My heart began to race. What had they done??

Immediately they were all, Melissa and her gaggle, singing the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to me. Though I immediately muttered “It’s not my birthday,” I’d barely registered what was going on, still trying to comprehend the sight of my new Office Manager/nascent girlfriend towering over the already statuesque crowd. Her heels must have been eight inches because someone behind me whispered ‘she’s seven feet tall in those’ into my ear. Into my other ear someone else began telling me about the cake, even as the crowd continued to sing.

‘She spent all day yesterday, all morning at home making this cake for you,’ the voice in my left ear said, as I watched wide-eyed as Melissa entered, coming slowly towards me through the crowd with her spine-chilling offering, ‘it’s your favorite, vanilla. With cream filling…”

“…and it’s boobs. Huge boobs,” spoke the other voice, “They’re supposed to be hers. She modeled it on herself.”

This was crazy. This was absolutely crazy, and as the song ended and the atrocity of this not-my-birthday cake was set down in front of me while all the girls started to clap, coo and giggle, bouncing around like teenage girls, I spoke softly to the enormous, raven-haired beauty leaning in towards me, her face inches from my own on my left. “Melissa this is…this is too much…” I muttered. I looked down at the cake.

“It’s life-size…” she purred cryptically, her eyes boring into me like cosmic rays, taking in my silly, wrinkled, oversized Fantastic Four costume and the meek smallness of my body quivering in the little breakroom chair among a crowd of huge, strong, busty women. “Giant size <giggle!> Just like me…”

Next she descended upon me, forcing the last vestiges of any rational thought out of my mind as her actual, incredible breasts filled my vision as she started to giggle anew. Packed tightly and squeezed high up her chest by her own Hooters top and what must be a bra of staggering strength, Melissa’s tits were suddenly all I could see, her cleavage a deep chasm between two bulging mountains. She bent down low enough to speak into my ear, soft boobs now pushed lightly onto my shoulder as she did so. Her perfume assaulted my senses, along with the memories of just how many uncountable times I’d jerked off to old pictures of her in a Hooters uniform. "Relax, sweetie. You know you have nothing to be ashamed about,” she whispered, cutting right to the obvious-but-unspoken fact that - for years now - my staff has always known my fixations, my obsessions, how weak I am for big breasts, and that this party was nothing but an exclamation of that reality. “I know it must be hard to think straight with all these big, beautiful boobies in the room,” she continued, as someone slid the table away from me a bit to open up some space between me and it, “but we’re all just here to show you a good time...”

And then Melissa sat on my lap. Ooof. The weight of her.

“…celebrate Halloween…” she purred, continuing, laying her right arm around my shoulders. She was so heavy.

“Hey do you like my uniform, Dr. J?” someone chimed in.

“And mine??” laughed someone else.

“…wish you a happy birthday…” Melissa continued still, using one finger of her left hand to run itself against the side of her boob-cake, sliding through its frosting.

“It’s n-not my birthday…” I peeped, just before she slipped her finger into my mouth.

“…shhhhhhhhh….” she insisted, smiling as - eyes wide - she made me taste the frosting. Phones were out, around us. Pictures were being taken. The frosting was sweet, sugary.

“Awwww…” came the coos from the crowd as, instinctively, I began to suck her finger. She giggled again, looking proudly down at me, then tilting her head down to rest on mine, smiling for a picture. Her left breast overwhelmed my face, me shamefacedly suckling her finger, the whole embarrassing moment captured for posterity.

“But…it’s not your birthday?” Melissa next said, with a mischievous, playful pout, feigning surprise, “I didn’t know that…” Her finger, still in my mouth, kept me from speaking, replying, complaining. She looked down at me, I up at her best I could, and I’m sure she felt the erection swelling underneath her big bottom, roused to life by her solidly warm, heavy weight. She shifted herself over me, in my lap, rubbing it and causing me to nearly groan.

“It’s not..?” a girl in the crowd exclaimed, as if aghast.

“It’s not his birthday?” said another. They were all, of course, in on the joke.

Melissa giggled again, hugging me closer in her amusement. The white tank and its owl logo deformed itself malleably around my right cheek, her big soft tit mushing into my nose and eye, at least as large as my head. She hadn’t pulled her finger from between my lips yet, allowing me to mouth it. Others were watching, all of them.

“Well, it may not be your birthday,” she offered, “but everyday is boob-day, right?”

“Haha yeah!” someone laughed.

“Around here it is,” drawled another. I think it was Amelia.

“Boob day!”

“Happy Boob Day, Dr. J!!”

They were all, now, laughing, tittering, giggling and cooing and pulled in closer around us. As pathological and terminally humiliating as this moment was, something inside me had stepped aside and was allowing me to relax, sink, let these women do as they will and tend to me, infantilize me. My status, my authority, my place as a man and boss be damned; I just melted and let myself be overwhelmed.

Melissa, I think, realized what was happening, that I had already surrendered myself here to her and her girls. She and they could play with me, toyfully, and I would go along. Their tits, their legs, their tiny waists, bubble butts and long, soft hair was too much stimulation for me to do anything else. Inside my mouth, she pet my tongue with her index finger and urged me to suck. Then she began to sing.

“Happy boob-day to you,” she began, her voice quiet and tender, sultry and low, “Happy boob-day to you…” She didn’t have a marvelous singing voice but I was rapt anyway.

The girls around us were still giggling, cooing and clucking, Josie and Marisela and several others still filming with their phones. They were letting Melissa sing to me, privately; I’m not sure if they saw her ass rolling slowly, rhythmically into my lap, or how - oh christ, oh no - I’d suddenly started to tense as the motions of her shapely hips began to have their intended effect on the erection grown solid down my left thigh. Melissa, also, had begun to turn me a bit, and as I moved my eyes from hers I saw two girls had picked up the cake, on its tray, and were bringing it towards me.

“Make a wish, Dr J!!” someone called, as the cake came closer, closer, a huge pair of knockers layer-baked, slathered in vanilla, topped by pink frosting nipples. Melissa’s ass, meanwhile, was unrelenting. Still slow, unhurried, but its motions were quickly rousing my loins to…oh god, not here…

“Yeah make a wish!”

No candle?

“Kiss the nipple!” called another.

“...Happy big, huge Breast Day, Doctor Jayyyyy….” Melissa continued to sing, as now the cake was right in front of my face, dwarfing it all by itself. She turned me some more, slid her finger from my mouth and drew back a touch. She was allowing the girls to present her cake, her huge, life-size boobie-cake, to me. She pulled back her hair with her now-free right hand. Did she really expect me to kiss that nipple, to make my wish?

“...Happy Boob Day to you,” Melissa finished, just as the cake was being tilted, towards me, that topping nipple right at my lips. I was in the narrow strait between my own personal Scylla and Charybdis: the right boob of the huge cake and the left boob of my Office Manager. I’d puckered for the nipple of the cake, with Melissa’s soft warmth all around me, her ass rolling into my cock and I’d let out a low groan as - no, nnno, noooo - I felt myself, against my best efforts to control it, begin to crest into climax. My jaw shuddered, my torso stiffened... my lips met the nipple…

And the girls shoved the cake into my face.

“Ha!” cried Josie, one of the girls holding the cake, smushing it solidly while Shanette, her partner in crime, pushed from the other side. My head retreated as much as it could but was thrust forward by the firm mass of Melissa’s left breast.The huge right tit of the cake - soft, vanilla, cream filled - mashed around my face, smothering it. Its frosting, and the soft loaf of the cake itself, spread past my cheeks, my ears. My head was covered; the videos being taken would show how I all but disappeared, and how the girls all cheered and hooted, yelling and laughing and pointing, roaring with glee. Would they show, though, my body spasming, right as the cake’s bulk flattened into my face, how my body spasmed and jerked? Would the phones’ recordings capture my climax, or the groans that wracked me, muffled by frosting cream and cake? I was coming, coming, coming, sandwiched between two huge breasts - one flesh, one pastry.

My arms - which had previously been loosely circled around Melissa’s waist - had shot out stiffly to my sides. Two girls held each one, now, keeping me from moving. I could do nothing but groan, let the waves of orgasm pulse through me, soaking the loose spandex of my costume and certainly the underside of Melissa’s enormous rear as it milked and muscled me through it. I could barely breathe, each breath met with as much cream and frosting as oxygen. And what air I did take in smelled of her - even the cake; it seemed infused, embedded, enriched with Melissa’s scent and taste and warm sweetness. It was in my nose, it was in my eyes, it was in my mouth. I gasped, I struggled, I mouthed it and tried to swallow. They smeared it into me, rubbing the big breast of a birthday cake into my face, laughing all the way and finally, finally - at the point where I thought I might pass out - peeled it off of me.

“Oh my god look at him!” someone called.

“He’s covered in it!” came another laugh.

Cheers, whoops, clapping. Chunks of cake falling into my lap. Euphoria and a celebration of female strength. It surrounded me, drowned me, and in the waning spasms of orgasm, I tried to sit up straight but was pulled back decidedly by Melissa, back into her breast. The platter of cake disappeared, and was replaced in my field of vision by a landscape of Hooters owls and female chests, each bigger and more round than the next. They closed in on me as all the girls cheered in ovation, smearing themselves into the cake on my face as they pressed in around me in the most massive boob-hug of all time…

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Thanks so much to the amazing Muad3D for the render, with some asset help from our brother Beetlebomb. Check out each of their Patreons