Author: Y3S on DeviantArt, inspired by Globly’s ‘Not Like Other Bunny Girls’ series
Content warnings: breast expansion, ass expansion, girldick expansion, immobility. All characters are 18+
Body Image Part 1
I wasn’t always curvy. By the time I started college, I was tall, slender, and boxy, with narrow hips and a chest that barely passed as an A cup. Body image was a constant struggle of mine, even before I met my partner Claire. She was my opposite. A foot shorter than me, yet with wider hips than mine, and F cup boobs, she stole everyone’s attention—while I was ignored. That’s just how it was.
My obvious inadequacies aside, the one thing I could secretly brag about was my dick. Between my unassuming thighs I had a member as thick as my wrist and almost as long as my forearm. Feeling my glans emerge from behind my waistband as my dick stiffened and rose, dragging across my stomach and stopping a few inches above my belly button, was heavenly. Claire could actually fit all of it inside her, if you could believe it! Even still… I thought my dick was too small. Claire and I happened to share an expansion fetish, which undoubtedly made my insecurities worse. We’d swap stories, pictures, and videos that put both our bodies—but especially mine—to shame. I was trivial in size compared to the comics and 3D animations of multi-foot-long monsters we often sent each other, and still do today. They’re less monstrous now, though…
My dick aside, I hated how I looked. Claire loved my figure, even back then, but that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t love myself. I hated my lack of butt. I hated my beanpole-esque stature. But most of all, I hated my washboard-flat chest.
I felt incomplete. I could admire other people's curves, hell I could hold them in my arms every night, but I would never have them for myself. I thought that would never change… but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I still remember the butterflies I had when I called Claire into the bathroom to come look at my boobs. Yes—boobs.
Two tiny mounds had formed behind my nipples which could only be called budding breasts. I’d practically gained a cup size overnight! Claire grinned while I cried tears of joy. It was the first sign I might finally have a body I could like! Reflecting on it now, it seems almost mundane—just another inch to my overbust—but back then it was monumental. I grew from that day forward, and never entirely stopped.
Every time I woke up, my boobs felt a little bit heavier. They were C cups within a month. Something else we hadn’t noticed was that my hips were growing too. It wasn’t as immediately obvious as my chest, but it would be soon—and it was just the beginning.
Weeks turned into months, and my measurements turned into, well, bigger measurements! I was blossoming, and before long my tits were as big as Claire’s! My butt wasn’t far behind. My chest was definitely growing faster between the two, but by no means was my butt growing slow; it still widened by the week.
Yet another thing had also become apparent: little me was growing too. Claire noticed the changes first, and sure enough when we measured, my dick had grown by almost a whole inch! This was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. And it only fueled our fantasies further.
Going out in public became a spectacle. The numbers added up: an inch here, a pound there… by half a year, I was big. I looked and felt like a pornstar. At N cups, my girls were significantly larger than Claire’s—much to her envy. Each orb easily eclipsed my head and you could easily see both from behind when I raised my arms. Sharing clothes had been a short-lived convenience: I simply outgrew her.
As for my butt. As big as Claire’s? Try bigger by more than hers was to mine 6 months prior! I gained 12 sizes in just 6 months, and the difference was stark. A shelf formed where my buttock met my tailbone and quickly expanded to the point that my back needed extra support when sitting. We thought I might've been getting taller too, but it was just pure butt lifting me up! The added bulk forced my gait into an unintentional sashay; my hips and cheeks wobbled violently with every step. If I tried to run, they slapped. I wasn’t waddling—not yet—but the toll all that heft had on my mobility was undeniable. Speaking of heft…
My dick had elongated by another inch, sadly making it too long for Claire to fully fit inside of her. My balls seemed to be growing too. My bulge was downright indecent. At that point, if I tried to tuck it under my belt, the shaft snaked out past my hip, making it look like I was hiding something—which, granted, I was. Leaving it sticking up behind my shirt, or stuffing it down one leg, took less explaining. Also thanks to how long it was, as well as how low my boobs had gotten, the tip of my dick bumped against the bottom of my cleavage whenever I got hard. I wasn’t complaining though, by any means. The added length made it an excellent handle for Claire to pull me into the bedroom…
All of these changes combined meant I could no longer wear any of my old wardrobe. I was just too big! But hey—both of us loved it. And aside from buying bigger bras and pants every few weeks, life continued mostly normal.
Finding even custom bras became a struggle, chairs were getting uncomfortably snug, and my body continued to swell. I was relieved at first when my tits grew big enough to rest on my thighs, as that took most of their weight off my shoulders, but as the months went by with no signs of them slowing down, that relief turned into worry. Claire and I both realized we needed professional help. We understandably dragged our feet about it, infatuated with my growth as we were, but we needed answers—or at least advice. Together we visited my doctor.
My boobs, heavy and swollen, pushed my bra size well into the esoteric latter half of the alphabet. They were the size of soccer balls, over 15 pounds each, and felt tight—as if my skin struggled to keep up with the expanding volume inside. They were capped with suckable, inch-long nipples that even the thickest bras struggled to hide. I went braless the day of our doctor’s visit, displaying them proudly like trophies. My tits bounced wildly with each step, lifting my shirt up enough that if you looked closely, you could see the middle few inches of my shaft sticking up from behind my belt, before disappearing between my tits. Yes—between.
I was redefining what we thought “hung” meant. My girlcock was thick enough that Claire could no longer encircle it with one hand and long enough that my apricot-sized glans was now firmly nestled between my tits. The days of comparing its length to my belly button were long gone: it neared my sternum. The damn thing was almost a foot long! It wasn’t there yet, but the days were numbered.
I cannot describe how good it felt to have the two most sensitive parts of my body in constant contact. I was constantly aroused. It took conscious effort to not be turned on just from walking. My cum production and libido had both kicked into overdrive, and my prostate must’ve been growing too based on the number of garments per week I soaked through with my pre-cum—not to mention the gallons of water I drank daily to keep myself from dehydrating.
Our doctor was beyond surprised at my growth. None of my scans indicated anything wrong: I was just… growing. A LOT. Better yet, it showed no signs of stopping. If anything I was growing faster the bigger I got! It was a minor miracle I didn't have any noticeable stretch marks. Having gained 18 cups in under a year, one would expect my skin to resemble a tiger, but nope! I had the fastest growing R cups in existence. And I loved them.
I was putting on a few pounds per week. They cautioned that if my growth continued at the rate it was, it would only be a few months before my mobility became an issue. Hearing that turned me on so much, I was surprised I made it to the car before collapsing in the greatest orgasm yet. I was left twitching for minutes afterwards, cum splattered all over the roof of our car. The sight of me collapsed in our passenger seat must’ve hit a switch in Claire, as what followed when we got home was undoubtedly the greatest car sex we ever had. The upholstery was never truly free of my scent.
So, yeah! My doctor’s visit was over. I was growing crazy fast, but I was healthy—barring impending concerns for my mobility. And both of us were still completely infatuated with my growth.
I had seen the charts—I knew how fast I was growing—but by the time the first year ended, I was still in awe at just how big I had become. My boobs were bigger than watermelons, my hips were nearly twice the width of my shoulders, and my dick had finally broken the one foot barrier. And still I continued to grow.
I started getting a strange sense of vertigo going through doorways, before realizing my boobs barely cleared the frame. Massive and pendulous, knocked against my upper thighs. My chest had become a serious hindrance to my reach. I could only reach forwards about a foot and a half, and two thirds of that was boob. Bras only made it worse. In defiance, I insisted on doing more elbow-height tasks, knowing I wouldn’t be able to for much longer.
My ass was still growing too, of course, and its increased size was causing its own problems. Laying on my back lifted my pelvis enough that my boobs would roll back into my face, so I had to use pillows to prop up my torso when I slept. I was also starting to bump the shifter in our car… After a particular scare on the highway, Claire was promoted to my personal chauffeur, and I was promoted to the back seat. Given enough time, I wouldn’t even fit there.
Thanks to my unstoppable growth, I was voracious. Meals became a challenge of volume, as much as taste. Pasta, bread, fruit, meat, junk food—anything—vanished within minutes, and I was already planning the next plate. Watching my conversion of calorie-consumed to inch of tits and ass, and the struggle the compounding weight added to my everyday life, was unexpectedly hot. Claire was definitely jealous. Yet, if my growing mobility issues were any sign, one of us was going to have to stay small enough to help if the other was going to keep getting bigger. With how the dice rolled, that happened to be her.
We decided to fly across the country to a fetish convention to bolster my budding career as a camgirl. It was an obvious career choice, given how difficult anything else was becoming.
6 months later—1.5 years since my growth began—and I was officially waddling. My girls were as big as beer kegs, hanging down to my knees when unsupported. My rear shelf was big enough Claire could use it as a chair—and happily did for movie nights. With a bust over 3 feet wide and a butt not far behind, I had to pivot through doorways one boob and butt cheek at a time. So as you can imagine, I struggled just to fit down the aisle of the plane, sideways.
Squishing both my 40 pound funbags, and my armchair-smothering derriere into my seat was a challenge, but I did it, eventually. The armrests of our extra-wide first-class seats cut uncomfortably into my hips, while my pillowy breasts pooled over my thighs and filled my lap. We had to convince the flight attendant I was buckled since there was no way they could tell. I broke my chair reclining it in hopes of gaining a few precious inches of space. Claire was hysterical.
As for little me, my dick was now a foot and a half long, and thus no longer little. By any means. When excited, the plum-sized tip would pop out from between my tits, as thick and fat as a soda can, drooling pre all over my expansive boobage. If I was thirsty, I merely had to look down and suck—being extra careful not to over-excite myself, else risk coating the cabin in my cum. With balls as over-productive as they were, the mess I could make was substantial.
Needless to say, the convention was a hit. Waddling down the hall with a butt wider than most doors, boobs bigger than beach balls with 2 inch nipples, and a dick that rivaled the length and thickness of a grown man’s calf, I stole the show. Income never troubled us again.
HONK! HONK! HONK! … HONK!
Claire and I giggled uncontrollably—her from behind the camera, and me from the front seat of our car. She was the mastermind of my current predicament, proposing we record myself squeezing into the driver’s seat, knowing fully well I no longer fit. What we didn’t know, was just by how much.
I was record-breakingly massive. 2 years into my growth, and by weight, I was more tits and ass than woman. Of course, my boobs were the reason the horn was sounding, mashed into it as they were, despite the chair being pushed as far back as it could go. Each of my tits weighed over 80 pounds, and my overbust was over 8 feet around. Last we checked, containing them would’ve required something like a 32Z+42 bra, but cup size was a moot point now… I no longer owned bras.
I could not see, nor reach, the steering wheel around my tits—but I could feel it. God I could feel it. The pressure the unyielding device put on my chest was immense. One tangerine-sized nipple loomed over the central console, while the other hung out of the door. My tits were far too big to fit inside together—never mind my gargantuan rear.
My lower half continued to blow up in every way. Behind me, my cheeks enveloped my lower back; big enough they could have been beanbag chairs each. Like my boobs, my hips were also 8 feet around, and they overflowed the seat so much they completely engulfed the central console and shifter, while still hanging so far out of the car that we couldn’t close the door! I was lifted so high, I had to tilt my head to keep it from brushing the ceiling—though, tilting my head also served another purpose: to see around my dick.
Refusing to be ignored, my pole jutted out from between my boobs like a baseball bat, so long that it blocked my vision. My glans, as big as an orange, had pressed pleasurably against the roof of the car before lengthening across the ceiling and bending toward my face, leaving a wet trail of precum in its wake as it expanded. The speed of its growth, as well as my cum/precum production, had only accelerated since my camgirl career had started, and I had somehow gained another half a foot since the convention—an inch per month, if you could believe it! Even soft, my shaft extended well beyond the length of my knees, making walking even more awkward than it already was—not to mention the problems posed by my pomegranate-sized balls.
I was just so… BIG! Too big. Sure, trying to fit into spaces designed for regularly-portioned people was hot, but it showed just how much my mobility, and agency, had suffered from my success.
I could hardly reach past my own curves anymore… It was a struggle just to navigate our house. Doorways were an incremental task—turning sideways and leaning back into the heaps of ass pooling up behind me, kicking my dick in front of me, while ferrying my boobs through, one massive teat at a time. And still, I grew.
I continued to grow, and grow, and GROW.
My butt? Bigger.
My hips? Broader.
My boobs? Heavier.
My dick? Longer.
By year 3, I looked more like a giant heap of tits, ass and dick than a person—and I loved it. I was too big for walking to be practical, so most of my days were spent sitting, livestreaming, and eating. As a result, the speed I grew only increased.
My boobs defied reason. Each one weighed over 200 exhausting pounds, hanging heavily off my chest like two enormous yoga balls. Either one weighed more than my entire body did 3 years prior. At their furthest extent, over 4 feet away, my fist-sized nipples nearly scraped the ground—not that I could see this, given the distance that separated us.
We had all the important doors widened, but given that our hallways were only slightly wider, the long-term relevance of those renovations was doubtful. We figured I'd become immobile before too long if I kept growing at the rate I was, and after that the only things that would mattered is the size of my room and strength of its floor—and at the rate my pole was lengthening, possibly the height of the ceiling. To be stuck permanently in place by my own curves… it was such a dreamy thought.
Squeezing my 6 foot-wide tits through our too-narrow hallway, I waddled laboriously over to our living room, sitting down heavily on our couch—the entire couch. My cheeks touched both armrests, a staggering 5 feet from hip to mighty hip. I couldn’t even reach their outer slopes anymore. My cheeks had gotten so big they forced me to sit at an incline, rising up behind me high enough they competed with my shoulder blades for space.
Every cam show started with me in a shirt, to add a bit of tease, and thanks to the extra confinement, my tits rose before me like a barricade, blocking my view. It wouldn’t be long before they were taller than me, fabric prison or not.
After a little foreplay, running my hands in wide circles across what I could reach of my expansive chest, my dick began to stir. Beneath my breasts, I felt my balls begin to churn, and my shaft begin to elongate. My kegels flexed in an attempt to dislodge my mighty beast from where it lay hidden, rocking my torso with each twitch. Slowly, my breasts began to part as my swollen head popped into view, then rose up, and up, and up. It reached over 3 feet long if I let it expand to its fullest size—over my head—though I’d usually stuff it into my mouth before it got there, sucking it like a lollipop. Honestly I’m not sure how I managed to fit the tip into my mouth for as long as I did, given it was the size of a grapefruit. Sheer determination, really. I dreaded the day it would be too big—or too far away—to properly get myself off. That day was already dangerously close.
“Eh ehm.”
I heard a polite cough from the other side of my boobs. Craning to look, I saw Claire standing before me, nude. She smiled tenderly, and I smiled back—which was a mistake.
My dick shot out of my mouth with a pop and, rebounding off my cleavage, slapped me in the face. I yelped before watching dejectedly as it engorged further and the tip grew out of my reach. I didn’t stay disappointed for long, though.
Claire chuckled. With some effort, she began to tug off my shirt. The fabric hitched briefly on my 4 inch nipples before my boobs began to slide free, slowly at first, then all at once as tit-flesh avalanched forth, spreading out across my expansive thighs, against both armrests, and on the floor in front of me. Now at rest, Claire came back into view—or at least what I could see of her from behind my delicious pole.
She pushed my breasts out of the way and began maneuvering herself between them, sinking inch by inch into my cavernous cleavage. Once close, she nudged my mighty dick aside, and leaned in for a kiss.
All that effort just to reach my lips…
As we kissed, Claire reached up and wrapped her hand around my pulsing tip, giving it a squeeze. I moaned as my mind filled with sparks and my pre spurted from between her fingers. The viewers of that show were in luck…
As the years progressed, my boobs swelled and swelled until they were so big, they touched the ground even when I was standing. Claire said it was comical seeing me pull their mass around, but as they got bigger, and moving became harder, the comedy of it began to wear off. My ass followed after, becoming so big that my cheeks dragged on the floor. Pinned by my boobs in the front and my butt behind, I was immobile at last.
And so I sat, and I ate. And I ate… And I grew.
I was spending my days confined to our living room—the only room in our house that could still comfortably fit me. My breasts. My glorious, humongous, pendulous breasts. Weighing over 3 tons, each one of my boobs was bigger than a queen bed and spread halfway across the floor, rising almost five feet high. Claire couldn’t see over them. My nipples were downright menacing. She suspected they were the size of my head, though it was hard to tell; I was so buried by my ass that it was difficult to compare.
Bigger and heavier than any couch, my butt spread out below me, behind me, and around me, cresting over my head like two massive doughy mounds. I was reclined into it at all times, which wasn’t particularly upsetting given how comfy it was. My feet hung uselessly from knees that could no longer bend, set into thighs so wide I couldn’t reach half way to their outer slopes, forced into a permanent splits by my titanic balls and absolutely monstrous cock.
My balls were over 3 feet wide, and the volume of cum they could produce was frankly ridiculous. I'm not sure why my body thought it was useful to produce enough of it to impregnate half a continent with each shot, but it could! They churned as I got close to cumming. I was physically dehydrated after every spunk-session, but leaving me pent up just wasn’t an option given how uncomfortable it got when they overfilled so we made a special sleeve to fit around my shaft to help get me off. However, I recently gained a second form of reprieve: the tip started touching the ceiling.
I stopped being able to reach my glans around the same time my tits started touching the floor, and watched it grow steadily further away ever since. My dick’s rate of growth leveled off at around a foot per year, and now, 6 years since my growing began, it was 6 feet long—and as big around as Claire. It was so wide I could barely even see around it. She used it as a body pillow sometimes, after wrestling it out from between my living room-filling boobs.
Honestly, life was bliss. Sure, I couldn’t move, my nipples were 10 feet away, I couldn’t reach anything—Hell, I could barely even see except between my tits and ass, but I was content. I had as much food as I could ever want, I had my gaming systems—with monitors placed conveniently on the ceiling, cameras for streaming, sex toys, my adoring fans… but most of all, I had Claire.
And still I grew…