biggerboobdude:

So I found this on Reddit awhile ago, but the author has since deleted their account. I wanted to save this story so here it is! If you are the author and would like this taken down, just send me a message with some sort of proof (I.E, the topic of one of the other stories you posted)

The fabric tears down the seams as I pull on my custom tailored yoga pants. At least, they had been custom tailored, but that was a month ago before my hips had reached over sixty inches around. Now I’ve got huge slits in the fabric up the sides of my legs and one that completely exposes the crack of my ass all the way down and under to display my cunny. I stopped wearing panties a long time ago; even the largest sizes can’t cover a cunt as thick and engorged as mine between these tree trucks I call thighs.

I’m basically a genetic freak, but at times I feel like my DNA pushes even further in to the realm of a cosmic joke. Like God said, “Women get fucked over enough by having every fucking thing about them being over-sexualized regardless of whether it even has anything to do with sex; let’s see what happens if I make one that really is over-the-top over-sexualized.” And over the top I am.

I’m not sure I can really describe myself to you. Like, how would you empathize? Could you even empathize? What point of view could you possibly have that would allow you to imagine yourself in my shoes, not just in terms of what it’s like to deal with this crazy body of mine but the constant mix of desperation and fear that I experience whenever I’m out in public?

I started puberty when I was only six years old. One would think that starting so early might mean that it’d end early too, but nope. I’m a freshman in college now, and it’s still going strong. So strong that I’m in danger of losing my freedom, even if I somehow manage to avoid getting knocked up.

That’s because my tits and backside basically soaked up all the growth I was supposed to get. I’m the only nineteen year-old at college that isn’t over five-feet tall, but I’ve easily got the tiniest waist out of every other girl on campus while simultaneously having the widest proportions as well.

I usually wear skirts, and they flare out from my twenty inch waist to a set of hips that are so big that the only thing that overshadows them are my tits. Seriously, most of the doors on campus are two-and-a-half feet wide, and that gives me only a few inches of wiggle room to walk through.

Except my pelvis is so wide that the sockets in my hips for my legs are so exceptionally far apart that I have to swing my entire pelvis just to get my foot to move in front of the other one. It technically isn’t possible for me to just swing my leg forward alone to walk and keep my balance, because my feet are just barely too far apart to allow for one alone to provide enough support under the center of me until the other touches down. So I’ve to swing my pelvis more than usual as I walk, just to keep from falling over. That means that even with those handful of spare inches in the door frame, I’m still moving too much side-to-side as I walk to avoid bumping my hips in to the frame.

And when I bump in to something, people notice. My ass didn’t grow proportional to my hips, its ratio far exceeds what it should be. There is so much extra junk in my trunk that I’m practically a mac truck. Each ass cheek has grown so fast that my skin can barely stretch enough to keep up. This has given me buttocks that look like a pair of fleshy beach balls stuffed under my skirt, or ones that peek out over the oversized yoga pants that I get custom tailored.

My ass never seems to stop moving. Even when standing still I can feel it’s huge round bulk jiggling, with even small muscle twitches causing it to shake absurdly. When I go to lectures on campus, I have to find two seats side by side with no arm rest, and when I sit down my hip bones feel as if they’re rest on the edge of the seat because all the bulk in my ass is taking up all the space on the seats themselves. I can even feel the fat in my ass pressing against the small of my back as it’s forced upwards whenever I sit down or try to lie on my back in bed. I basically have to use huge pillows to fill in the space under my tiny waist when I lay down.

So much weight puts a strain on my legs, and as you might imagine my thighs are pretty fucking huge. Not entirely cause of the extra pounds I seem to pack on everywhere, but because so much weight means that my legs get a ridiculous work out just walking to and from classes. Professional bodybuilders struggle to get leg muscles as stupidly bulked up as mine, but they’re hard to see since there is just enough fat over them to give them a soft appearance.

Yet despite having such thick legs, my pelvis is still just wide enough that I not only have a thigh gap, but a big one at that. It’s wide enough that you could probably push your entire fist through between my upper thighs and only lightly touch the sides. Yet you wouldn’t be able to, because despite that space being rather roomy, it’s also very well occupied.

That’s because my cunt is fucking ludicrous in how thick my labia and clitoris are. Imagine a pair of really huge sausages pressed together. Now imagine a second, only slightly smaller pair of sausages pushing their way out between the first two. That’s close to how thick and stressed for space my outer and inner labia are, and that’s on top of the clitoral bulge that’s fighting to extend out between then at the top. They say we only see the top of the clitoris, and that the rest of it is internal, sensitive tissue that wraps around the entrance of the vagina and outwards in to the rest of our groin. I swear it’s true, because to me I feel like I’ve got a thick donut wrapped around the entrance to my cunt.

Every fucking step I take causes my wet and swollen labia to slide against each other, pinching my golf-ball sized clit-head while internally I can feel my vaginal passage squelch against itself. I’m always wet. I can’t seem to stop the drool, so I just do my best to limit how long I spend outside in public. It’s just… so difficult to ignore how empty I feel at times. All of this is painful (well, not exactly painful, just frustrating) enough to have to deal with, but puberty isn’t done torturing me.

My tits. I would call them breasts, but at my size they’re really more like udders. Seriously, I’ve measured. I’m bigger than some cows in this area. Gigantomastia or whatever you want to call it, I can’t stop putting on weight in my chest, and I know it’s not just fat. There are glands in there, growing, spreading, and prepping me for the day when I get pregnant. They weigh over thirty pounds each. Not technically the biggest in the world, but close.

When I’ve got no support on, they hang to my hips like a pair of small beach balls mostly filled with water. Hang is the right word, because they don’t really droop or sag. They’ve grown so fast and my cooper’s ligaments seem strong enough that they’ve managed to keep a really nice tear drop shape. They aren’t round in a fake way, but they’re definitely round. They bulge outwards from my torso, and when I get them wrangled into a custom tailored bra, their bulk sits so high that they block my line of sight of anything on the ground in front of me for ten or twenty feet. I’m often hesitant to wear a bra because of this, but given how heavy they are I don’t much have a choice.

And my skin has struggled to keep up, and my areolas are easily the weakest expanse of skin I have so they’ve out stretched faster than the rest. I’d call them dinner plates, but that description really only worked for them a few years ago. Now they’re more like platters, although they’re a bit more bowl like. It’s weird to say that they’re “perky” given how big they are, but it’s true. My areolas bulge out noticeably from the rest of each gigantic tit.

At the center of each one is a nipple as thick as my fist. Even compared to the immense size of each tit my nipples manage to look huge. They’re so big that they’ve become partially deformed. Anyone who knows anything about lactation knows that milks comes out of pores on the nipple, and not some central hole like bad hentai artists draw, yet on me my nipples have gotten so large that they’ve developed dimples in the middle, giving them the illusion of having a huge central hole to pour milk out of.

So that’s my body, and there’s no hiding it. All my clothes are custom made, and I outgrow those constantly. My yoga pants never quite manage to pull up over the top of my bulging ass, and every lewd curve of my labia and clit can be easily seen by how they bulge out the stretchy fabric. Same issues goes for my shirts, as the stretched fabric is often pulled so thin that not only can the detailed surfaces of my bulging areola be discerned from the rest of my breast flesh when not wearing a bra, but folks can also see my nipples with their nipples threatening to tear fist sized holes in the front of my shirt. Nothing is left to the imagination, and if the shirt is a light color, then it’s almost a guarantee that people can see the darkened flesh of my areola against the rest of my tits.

I stand in front of the mirror in my dorm room as I try to pull on a spare set of yoga pants to replace the ones that just tore down all its seams. A combined sixty pounds of tit-flesh hang in front of me as I try to bend forwards, blocking my view as I try to move my arms around their bulk and the bulk of my thighs. I give up and plop down on to the carpet in a wobbling mass of flesh as I work to get my feet in through the pant legs.

The yoga pants end up around my thick toned thighs as I stand up again. At 4’10" most college girls would only weigh about ninety pounds, or maybe a hundred after a few months of cafeteria food. Between my titties and backside, I’m clocking in at almost two-forty, yet my waist has barely gained at all. At most, I feel a bit of a pooch to my lower belly, and when I stroke it I get nervous. I feel as though with a cunt as thick and engorged as mine, then just how overdeveloped might the rest of my reproductive organs be? I feel slight pains in my lower abs whenever I’m horny, as if just getting wet at the thought of being bred might be enough for my ovaries to start dropping eggs.

I shudder. All my doctors have told me, repeatedly, to avoid sex. They don’t know what’ll happen to me if a girl with hormones as out-of-whack as mine were to get knocked up. This is frustrating given how my nethers constantly drip with need every hour of the day. Mom and dad didn’t want me to come to a boarding college, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my chances at a good education just because I was scared of getting pregnant. Of becoming filled with babies. Of becoming so swollen with milk and children that I might never be able to move ever again…

God I’m getting wet just thinking about it, again!

I shake my head, trying to focus as I continue to struggle with pulling up my yoga pants. I need to exercise. I need to keep burning what calories I can during the week. Even though just walking is tough, I still need to do it. I’d be in so much trouble if my metabolism ever slowed down further.

I pull, sliding the skin tight fabric over my immense thigh muscles before yanking the hem of the pants backwards and up over the shelf of bubble round flesh I call an ass. The hem doesn’t make it all the way up. I wiggle myself back and forth, nearly tipping myself over with the inertia of my tits and ass going in opposite directions, and I manage to pull the fabric up a little more. I turn sideways and look in the mirror. A substantial pair of gluteal hills bulges over the top of the pants, pert and full behind my back. My ass crack is basically covered though, so I call it good enough.

As I turn around though I grab each of my tits and pull them sideways apart as far as I can. The stretchy dark fabric of the yoga pants leave nothing to the imagination when it comes to my cunny. The cloth is pulled in taught across each labia lip, and my clitoris is tenting the fabric as if I smuggling dinner roll down there. I sigh as I release my tits, hoping most people would be too distracted by my boobs and ass to notice the hungry cunt struggling to devour the crotch of my pants.

The sports top is the largest I can find, but tit flesh squishes out everywhere. Over the neckline, under the bottom hem, even out through the arm holes. I figure, being totally stretched out, it appears almost like an ill-fitting bikini top rather than a tank. It’s the best I can do though until the latest ones I’ve had custom tailored arrive in the mail. My hand reaches in front of me, barely reaching the expanse of fabric that’s jutting out further than the rest from the huge mountain of areola and the prominent nipple that looks like it might punch a hole through the shirt at any moment. God, it’s so skin tight you can even make out the deformed dimple in the center.

Still, there’s nothing for it. I can either go out and exercise, or stay indoors and… and play with myself. I bite my lip, feeling really tempted by the idea of doing nothing on a Saturday but shoving the head of a hitachi in to my pussy. Not against my pussy, mind you, but right up inside myself. Having an unyielding libido with hormones like mine can really expand your horizons in how far you’re willing to push your limits for feeling vibrations down there.

It’s still the first semester of the school year, and I’m new to the area. I’ve taken a jog… well, a brisk wobbling walk, along the same path near the beach local to my dorm every weekend for the past couple of months, but I’m still discovering new areas nearby. There are places, little parks and such, just outside the campus that I’m not yet familiar with, and so I occasionally take slightly different routes for my jog.

My tits are trussed up as best they can be in my top, with so much flesh bulging out over the neckline that I constantly have to angle myself forwards or to the side just to confirm that I’m not about to trip over anything. I occasionally grab the hem of my yoga pants, just to give them a pit of a pull to keep them from falling down off my ass, but each time I do I become even more aware of the massive wedgie I’m giving myself. My ass wobbles side to side, nearly taking out a kid as I walk past.

Folks aren’t yet used to seeing me. I draw constant looks, glares even, and no few cat calls. I feel disgusted, yet there is a primal part of me that can’t help but feel like prey walking among wolves, and for some reason that’s exciting. I’m thankful that the pants are dark colored, otherwise the amount of moisture seeping, er… drooling out from between my nethers might be easier to spot.

After about half-an-hour I start to make my way back to my dorm via a different path, when along the beach I come across one of those outdoor fitness areas. The kind where bodybuilders like to do their heavy lifting routines in the sunshine and fresh sea air, where the sweat on their bodies can glisten properly.

Oh god, I’m not ready for this, not for what my eyes are falling on. This place must be owned by some sort of private gym club or something, because everyone here looks like they’re all associated with each other for reasons beyond just a passion for body building. They’re fucking huge, everywhere!

This is the first time in years I’ve seen anyone with thighs as thick with muscle as mine, but these were on a selection of adonises that were well over six feet tall. Hell, some of these folks look like they might even be seven feet or more. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but they absolutely loom over my short stature. They have biceps thicker than 2-liter soda bottles, and abs that are so massive that the term six-pack is nowhere near adequate. I can’t understate it enough, the people working out here in this secluded beachside gym are fucking human tanks made of muscle.

…and they’ve just noticed me.

As I walk up it’s impossible to not notice the behemoth sized multi-foot long bulges that suddenly appear down their workout clothes. I can feel my juices gush in my yoga pants I see all these monstrous hard-ons twitch and swell under the gym clothes of these muscle laden gods.

They’re all silent, any conversation having died the moment my tits and ass walked in to view. I phrase it like that because they definitely aren’t looking at me as though I’m a college coed out for a walk. In their minds there’s no acknowledgement that any human being just walked up, only that the biggest set of tits and ass they’re ever likely to see is suddenly within reach. That there might be a sentient girl attached to those tits and ass doesn’t register in anyone’s head.

Their eyes look downward, dropping their gaze to the ground between my feet. There’s tiny pool of translucent pussy juice forming there. Crap… I can feel it. My cunt is drooling so hard, knowing that I’m so close to these gargantuan cocks, that I’m actually managing to ooze an appreciable amount of self-lube right through my yoga pants and on to the ground.

Which means every walking mountain of muscle in front of me knows that I’m horny.

They start walking towards me and I back away. That’s when I see you. You’re the biggest body builder I’ve ever seen. Your shape practically isn’t even human anymore considering how far you’ve pushed every muscle in your body to grow. The others are huge, almost giants, but actually are gigantic. What are you, four hundred pounds of muscle?

I turn, as quickly as I can, but it’s hopeless. My body isn’t built for running. It’s built for what you want to do with it. I try to move fast, but my ass shakes like an earthquake while my tits swing like a pair of wrecking balls. There’s too much weight and inertia pulling me in all directions as all I try to do is just run forwards.

It’s inevitable that I trip, falling tits first on to the ground with an impact that causes my titty flesh to absolutely burst out of my shirt, ripping apart every seam in it. At the tail end of the impact my shaking ass shreds my yoga pants, and everyone can hear my butt cheeks smack together like a thunder clap as I struggle to regain my footing. The fabric of my clothing is scattered around me as I push myself back up, but as I get on to my feet that’s when you grab my wrists.

I’m helpless as you lift me with one hand by my wrists up. You give me a little shake, causing the two-hundred and forty pounds of my hyper-sexual hyper-fertile body to wobble. Pussy juices splatter everywhere, and I can feel more ovaries ache as they churn out god-knows how many eggs in to my womb.

This whole thing is absurd. I love it.

Sometimes there’s no need for subtly, no need conceit.

On the most base level, the perfect woman is an impossible caricature of sexuality. An hourglass figure, unable to properly think or function beyond breeding.