Weird, But Sweet (Complete Story, 1/18/23, Bonus Material added 1/25/23)

[Maxum]

Fantastic chapter! Thanks.

[TQuintA]

Chapter 26

            Ten days later, everything was pleasant.  Mason was as huge as ever without eating uncomfortable amounts of food or going to the gym, the bakery continued to thrive, and we were both in seemingly perpetual good moods.  There were no ill effects from the Epicurean Charm, not even a headache or a sore ass, but we decided to save it for special occasions to not get desensitized to it.  Besides, our sex life was top-notch without a drop of honey. 

            Most delightfully, the magic I was using at the gym was continuing to compound.  I was getting fucking huge.  Not Tank-huge or Mason-huge, but huge enough that everyone was noticing.  I was taking up more space, and my clothes were getting tighter and tighter on me.  One day at the bakery, I tempted fate by wearing one of my smallest shirts, and I ripped clean through the armpit while reaching up to a high shelf.  I was now 213 pounds—over 20 pounds since I started augmenting my workouts with magic.

            This particular day, as per our new habit, when it hit 12:30, despite the bustling business, Mason and I were just about to grab a quick lunch in our apartment.  However, as we were just finishing up our morning, Zack bust through the door.  His feet remained outside the bakery, but he leaned his head and shoulders inside, using the door handle for balance.

            “What’s up, studs?” he said casually.  “You got time to pop out with me?”

            “I guess,” Mason replied, looking at the clock, “as long as we’re back in an hour.”

            “Depends on what for,” I added.  I looked down at my too-small white work t-shirt and my tight, flour-streaked, black drawstring pants.  “And if there’s a dress code.”

            Mason gestured down to his pink Powerpuff Girls t-shirt and white corduroy pants.  He’d had them since pre-muscle growth, but thanks to the boon, they were containing his massive, muscular bulk.  “If there is, I’m not changing.”

            “No dress code.  I found the perfect property for your second location,” he taunted.

            “We’re saving up for our honeymoon,” I reminded him.

            “And we want to make sure our upturn in business will continue.”

            Zack gestured at the packed bakery and pointed at the small klatch of people on the sidewalk waiting for room inside.  “It’s going to continue. Roy’s a genius with flour, sugar, and yeast.  Sammy won’t even consider having people over for dinner anymore unless we get dessert from here—he wishes we knew about this place months ago.”

            “Still, a second location will be expensive,” I insisted.

            “The property owner is uniquely motivated,” Zack pressed, his voice ringing with glee.  “He wants this place leased.  And I talked to your friend Julie at the bank—I even flirted with her a little bit—and she can get you a sweetheart loan if you need one to do any renovation or get new equipment.”

            “You flirted with Julie?” Mason said, shocked.  “I hope her husband Phil doesn’t find out.  He will kill you.”

            “Thanks for this, Zack,” I added.  “But we’re already scrambling to plan our wedding, and setting up a whole second shop is going to be a lot of responsibility.”

            “Look at the place before you say no,” Zack pleaded.  “I don’t want to show it to other clients until you’ve seen it.  It’s perfect for you.”

            “Fine,” Mason agreed.  “As long as we’re back in an hour,” he repeated.

            “Kayla, we’re heading out,” I shouted.

            “Go already,” Kayla cried.  “He’s blocking the exit.”

            When we got to Zack’s car, he said, “Roy, you’re up front with me.  Mason, you’re in the back.  I don’t think the two of you will fit in my back seat together anymore.”  He tapped my arm affectionately, only to realize just how much bigger it had gotten.  “It must take you twenty seconds to knead bread with arms like this.”

            “Have you seen how much bread I make every day?  I use a machine,” I said, getting in the front with him.

            “You are a machine,” Zack responded.

            “What makes this place so special?” Mason asked, redirecting the conversation as he buckled his seatbelt.  His chest was so broad, he couldn’t get it across the expanse, so he poked his torso through the gap and just used the lap belt, the chest strap behind his wide back.

            Zack started driving.  He talked the whole drive there.  “It was most recently used as a restaurant, so it’s already zoned for food and stuff like that.  I expect you’ll still need to get the baking stuff, such as whatever machine it is that kneads bread, but it already has a bread oven.  Plus, it’s in good shape, so there won’t be a lot of reno to do—maybe none.  Also, it’s got great foot traffic and gets a lot of sunlight.  It’s far enough away from your current place that they won’t compete with each other, but not so much of a schlep that you can’t run back and forth between them if you need to.  And, since you’re a he-witch, I should also guarantee you that the place has the right vibe and energy.  I walked in and it felt exactly like Roy’s Bakery.  And if all that weren’t enough, the owner is a fan of yours.  When he showed me the place, I casually mentioned the site was perfect for my friend Roy Whitaker.  And he raved about your chocolate croissants.”

            “Maybe we could knock down the rent if we offer him free pastries,” Mason joked.

            “I doubt Mr. Brooks would go for it, but I like how you think,” Zack said.

            “Mr. Brooks?” I asked.  “Mr. Benjamin Brooks?”

            “Yeah,” Zack said, a little impressed.  “You know him?”

            “That name sounds familiar,” Mason said.

            “Is the restaurant you’re showing us a sandwich shop that closed mysteriously about a month ago?” I asked.

            “Uncanny,” Zack said.  “Is this a witch thing?”

            “Benjamin Brooks is Dalton’s father,” I said to Mason.  “He’s showing us Dalton’s restaurant.”

            “You gotta be kidding me,” Mason said, nearly laughing.

            “Dalton?” Zack asked worriedly.  “The beefy muscular guy Mason stole you from?  The man who cursed Mason out of pure spite?”

            “That’s him,” I said with a heavy sigh, not bothering to correct his witch-grammar.

            “I swear I didn’t know it was his restaurant.  I’ve only dealt with his father, and I didn’t know Dalton’s last name.”  Zack’s posture tensed.  “I’m sorry.  If I’d known, I never would’ve suggested this place.”  He parked the car.  “We’re here,” he said, deflated.

            “We can’t rent this place,” I said, not moving a millimeter.

            “You sure you don’t want to look around?” Zack asked.  “Just for the hell of it?”

            “We’d be getting into a feud between a justifiably pissed off father and his son. A son who, I’ll remind you, has anger control issues and enough reasons to hate us already.”

            Mason undid his seat belt and opened the door.  “Show me around,” he announced to Zack, struggling a little to fit through the car door.

            “What?” I said, scrambling to get out of the car.

            Zack got out of the car giddily.  “You’re going to love this place.”  He unlocked one of the two double doors and escorted Mason (who had to turn a little bit to get through).  I reluctantly followed them in, but stayed by the front door.

            As Mason looked around, Zack explained perks of the building, its various features and assets, and even one or two trouble spots in need of mild repair.  Mason looked around raptly.  I remained by the front door, leaning on the wall near the exit.

            “Why aren’t you looking around?” Zack asked.

            “Because I’ve been here before.  I helped Dalton get it off the ground.  I know where every table, cabinet, and shelf is.  I know about the cracked ceiling panels in the kitchen.  I know about the phone jack that doesn’t work.  I even know there’s graffiti carved into the back of the bathroom door that says ‘DB + RW.’  I’m the RW, and I dated the DB who carved it.”

            Zack was undaunted.  “They’ve replaced the cracked panels, the phone jack has been repaired, and we can sand the bathroom door down.”  He’d reflexively gone into salesman mode.

            “This place is perfect,” Mason marveled.  Even though he was in the kitchen, the space reverberated in its emptiness.  “There’s room for all your baking equipment.  And the bread oven is lovely.  Nicer than ours.  Why wasn’t he baking his own bread?”

            “He was supposed to,” I said.  “But he wanted me to join him here and open a joint sandwich shop/bakery hybrid.  I was never going to, though.  And I told him as much a thousand times.  Deep down, I knew Dalton and I weren’t going to last, so I had one foot out the door even before I met Mason.”

            “Wow,” Zack said.  “That’s a shit boyfriend move.”

            “I was always up front with him about not joining his business.  Besides, he screamed at me constantly and lost his temper over every little thing.  Neither of us was a particularly good boyfriend, but the sex was electric.”

            Mason popped out of the kitchen, a look of consternation on his face.

            “Sorry, Mason.  Shouldn’t have said that.  Don’t worry.  You’re better than him.”

            Mason nodded in approval and went back into the kitchen.

            “I know you’re not going to rent it,” Zack said dialing down the sales pitch, “but thanks for letting me show it to you.”

            “We’ll take it,” Mason called from the kitchen.

            “What?” I said, finally leaving my leaning spot by the door.

            Mason calmly walked out of the kitchen.  “This place is perfect.  You helped set it up, so half the set-up is exactly where we’d want it anyway.  It already has a Roy-approved bread oven.  And between Mr. Brooks and Julie, we’re going to get this place at a rock bottom price.”

            “If we rent this place,” I said, getting close to Mason and holding his wrists, “it’s going to piss of Dalton something royal.”

            “Let it.”  Mason said, slipping his hands out of my grip and looking at the windows to see how much light we’d get.

            “What about Mason being the injured party?” I asked.

            “He raked me over the coals for two years.  He’d gotten his revenge before he cursed me.  He drove this place into the ground, and then abandoned it.  We had nothing to do with that.  I see no reason to let this opportunity pass.”  He turned around.  “We should bring Kayla out here, get her insight.   I assume she’ll be running this bakery while you stay at home base.”

            “Kayla would have no problem running this place,” I agreed, happy to drop the topic of Dalton.  “But can you run the books for two bakeries?”

            “I’m a certified accountant,” Mason reminded me.  “I used to run the books for dozens of different businesses at once.”

            “Do you really think we can get a new bakery off the ground and plan a wedding at the same time?”

            “Of course not,” he said.  “But that’s why wedding planners exist.  I know you’re opposed to the very idea, but I was doing most of the wedding stuff, anyways.  I’ll just decide that for the both of us.”

            “I’m still making our wedding cake, right?”

            “Like I’d trust anyone else,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.  He turned to Zack.  “Call Mr. Brooks.  Draw up the paperwork so I can read and approve the lease agreement.”

            Zack had his phone out lightning fast.  “Mr. Brooks?  Zack Mercer here.  I’ve got a potential renter for you, but he’s going to want to go over the lease closely before he signs it.”  He said nothing, listening while Mr. Brooks spoke.  “That’s right.  And his fiancé, Mason Lombard.”  He listened again.  “I’ll let them know.” 

            Zack hung up, wincing slightly.  He tapped his phone against the back of his head with his eyes scrunched closed a pained look on his face.  Then, he dropped the intense body language, turned to us, and frankly announced, “He’s going to give his son one last chance to reclaim this place.  Apparently, he only put it on the market hoping Dalton would come to his senses.  He never told me that, of course.  I may have extremely wasted your time.  I’m sorry.”  Mason looked crestfallen, so Zack quickly followed with, “If Dalton turns it down, as far as Mr. Brooks is concerned, this place is yours to rent.  So, here’s hoping.”

            “When will we hear back?” I asked.

            “He’s calling his son right now, so I expect his answer within the hour.”

            “That’s fast,” I said.

            Zack explained.  “This prime real estate has been sitting here empty, generating no money for a month.  It was generating no profit for a year before that.  I did say the owner was uniquely motivated.”

            “We don’t need to wait here while…” I started, but Mason interrupted me.

            He teetered around a little, pressed the butt of his palm to his forehead above his right eye, and said, “Roy, honey.  I feel wrong.”

[TQuintA]

Chapter 27

            He was about to grow again.  Somewhere deep inside me, I just knew it.

            As soon as Mason steadied himself, I encouraged him back into the kitchen and out of sight of the display windows.  Thanks to Melody’s charm, no one would find it odd that he would be suddenly piling on all this muscle, but that didn’t mean we had to make a spectacle out of it.

            Zack followed behind us and closed the kitchen door behind him.

            I don’t know if it started in his legs or if I just noticed it there first (because corduroy is a traditionally unforgiving fabric), but Mason’s legs soon became the sole focus of my world.  The thighs were already pressed together with all the muscle mass they held, and soon they were pressing even harder into each other as his thighs swelled outwards, Mason had to adjust and readjust his stance to make more room for the sheer mass that was filling his legs.  The thick, steely columns pressed harder and harder into each other.  He was practically standing bow-legged, and still his legs pressed into each other.  The outer side of his thighs also swooped out further with brawn and beef, the rounded curve taking on a more intense and dramatic shape.  All of it was delectably wrapped in white fabric.  It looked like at any seconds the pants would just fly off him, but thanks to the clothing boon, they just somehow got tighter and tighter, more densely packed in a way that defied physics.  Always threatening to explode, never actually doing it.

            His calves also joined in the pants-torturing demonstration.  His calves already looked like a bodybuilder’s biceps, and now they were taking on the size, girth, and roundedness of a synthol addict’s bicep.  The hourglass shape from thigh to knee to calf was so extreme I boggled at his knees’ ability to connect such superlative mass.  Just his two legs looked to weigh more than he had in his entirety before he was ever cursed.

            Audaciously, I crept around his expanding form to get a look at his ass, the part of him I worshipped with my cock as often as he'd let me.  His ass was already a work of art, an example of gravity-altering structural architecture—one cheek more than filling both my hands.  And with this new round of growth, it grew to absurdly gigantic proportions.  To match is powerful legs, his ass swelled with vital, intense muscle so big, I doubted I could encompass one cheek if I had four hands.  And, oh, was I going to try to squeeze every inch with the two I did have.  As it bloomed further into ripeness like hard melons, I again expected his corduroy prison to burst from the fabric-obliterating stress his ass was putting it under, but the boon held, and the pants encased his massive ass tightly, but fully.

            I had expected his waist to thicken to compensate for all this added weight, but if it did, the other increases made it still look waspishly small, especially with that gigantic ass right underneath it.  I looked up to his back and saw the widest canvas I had ever seen on a man.  It was more akin to a wall or a billboard than a human back.  His back and lats had grown so vast and spread so far away from his spine that doorways were going to be a permanent challenge for him.  And it wasn’t just the breadth of his back.  Through the pale pink fabric, I could see ridges and valleys, mountains and chasms of his back muscle rippling with each breath and micro-movement.  His shoulder blades were alive with intense seismology as his back recalibrated how it would stabilize his growing mass.

            I circled back to behold the front of my grown fiancé again.  Even before this most recent round of growth, his shirt had been so tight that I could make out each distinct ab muscle as it pressed into the material.  Now, though, through the ever-tightening pink fabric, I saw them deepen and intensify, the bricks hardening and intensifying, the fabric being further suctioned in to the deep valleys separating each distinct muscle. And as I watched, new mountains arose on the plain of his torso.  His Adonis belt grew so stark and defined that it poked into the material.  And then, to my utter amazement, two new bricks revealed themselves at the bottom of the previous ones.  His six pack had somehow, miraculously, developed into a fully-fledged eight-pack.  Before I even knew what I was doing, my wandering hands had drawn me to his abs.  I pressed my hands into them, feeling the stony—no, iron-like!—solidness underneath.  I pulled up the hem of his shirt ever so slightly to get a peek at his two new abs.  They were kissed with his chestnut brown body hair, felt invitingly warm to the touch, and had become so defined and adamant in their presence that they practically looked hewn from a granite mountain.

            I lowered his shirt and rose to meet his pecs.  His pecs had been godly before, big enough to be worshipped as deities of the sun and moon.  And as they burgeoned ever larger, each pec eclipsing the size of my head and growing beyond proportions ever found on a man’s body, I realized I’d been worshipping false idols.  His former pecs had been demigods at best.  These two new glories were so massive, so titanic in their bulk, heft, and thickness, that all who saw them would immediately bow down in adulation and exultation.  The chest even gave the impression of staring back at you, the nipples forcing their presence to be known through the fabric.  The volume of his pecs had forced the nipples downward, but they were still clearly visible through the shirt.  With their new, lower location, they appeared to be looking down on all lesser men, taunting them with their own smallness.

            With each inhale of oxygen, I thought the front of the shirt would rend in two, explode into a confetti of fabric, or simply dematerialize, but it just stretched further and further, tighter and tighter.  The cloth was taxed so far beyond practical reality that I could seemingly hear it beg to rip so it could relax and breathe, but the magic stretched it further.  I could see each ripple and striation of his chest through the shirt, so thin was it stretched.  The pink had almost faded to white.  The material was drawn so impossibly close to Mason’s body that his chest hair was poking through the fabric, out the collar, anywhere it could find room to grow. 

            Seeing the chest hair run for space to grow, my attention was drawn to just how distorted the collar was.  The shirt had been a V-neck, but the dimensions of Mason’s body had stretched it into a wide, deep U.  His neck was so thick, thicker than his head, a mighty pedestal for his head to rest upon.  And it was so defined and vascular.  His Adam’s apple protruded severely, tantalizingly, masculinely.  His throat was surrounded by muscle and brawn on all sides, and his definition was so intense that the indentation at the base of his throat appeared a deep, black well.  It taunted me, begging me to fill it with my cum, just to see how much it could hold. 

            All of his upper torso was equally thick and impressive.  His traps rose to kiss his ears, his shoulders rounded into hypertrophied gloriousness.  Each distinct head of his shoulder muscles was apparent through the shirt, the seams highlighting the sternness and fullness.  Even some veins were showing through the shirt, as if the pink material were his own skin, and even his skin was too tight for his blood to be forced to flow through.  The wideness of his shoulders further accentuated just how big of a fucker he was.  Even though he was wearing a t-shirt designed for little girls, he looked like he was wearing full football pads—that’s how wide and broad his shoulders were.

            I followed his shoulders down to his biceps, Mason’s favorite part of his new physique. As I stared at the giant beauties, it looked like he flexed them.  But he hadn’t, the muscle on them was just bloating with mass and meat, creeping ever larger with additional size.  His arms and pecs had already been so large that they fought each other for space.  As his biceps bulged ever farther outwards, they crashed so fully into his pecs and lats that he had to hold his arms away from his sides permanently.  His arms kept growing, though, even bigger, until they crashed into his outwards expanding pecs again.  So he moved them further out.  And still, they crashed into his pecs a third time.  His biceps were now bigger than most bodybuilder’s legs, more comparable in circumference to a small man’s chest than a human arm.  Adding to their exaggerated size, his triceps furthered his march ever wider, rounding out into deep and curved parabolas of muscle.  I thought he’d have trouble with doors when I was just looking at his back muscles.  Add his shoulders, lats, and arms into that mix, and now only the widest of barn doors could accommodate him.  

            His arms were so thick and full that, even with the enchantment, the sleeves receded up over his biceps, the veiny mass on full display.  His forearms were similarly a sight to behold.  They were thick and cable with muscular fibers, and swelled larger with each passing second.  His forearms were putting my calves to shame, and I’m a big man with big legs.  His arms were further decorated with a thicket of hair growing darker, curlier, and thicker.  The veins that crisscrossed his arm traced a roadmap down to his big, beefy hand.  Even his hands hadn’t gotten thicker, buffer, more muscular.  I’d never actually seen muscular fingers before.   I’d seen masculine figures, sure.  But muscular fingers that bulged with brawn and strength… I couldn’t wait for Mason to feel me up, cup my ass, grope my pecs, and stroke my cock.  His hands were erotic all by themselves.

            The thought of my cock, of course, made me think of Mason’s cock.  It was demonically huge before this spate of growth started.  It was swaddled and trapped in his pants, a giant bulge.  And as the growth spread through him, I could see that Brobdingnagian bulge grow even more unfathomably massive.  His balls seemed to drop lower in his pants, heavier, as they swelled with more and more size and weight.  He was already holding his legs further apart just to make room for his legs, and as his balls reached the size of coconuts or melons, he had to broaden his stance even further.  And that was just his balls.  His cock, too, wanted to come into play.  The tube of flesh thickened, snaked, and lengthened, coiling in his crotch forcing the fabric to stretch further to make room for its omnipresent mass, bulk, and thickness.  He wasn’t even erect, and I could make out distinctly the head of his cock and the vein that ran down its length.  There was so much beef on his thighs that the bulge had to protrude further outwards.   He was growing in all 360 degrees.  His back and ass pushed him further backwards, his shoulders arms and lats pushed him further side to side, and his bulging balls and his pec shelf pushed him further forwards.

            I could tell the growth was tapering off, and I just wanted to assault him with a thousand kisses.  And that’s when it hit me that I hadn’t looked at his face.  I was so enamored and distracted by his muscle and cock that I hadn’t even looked at the face of the man I love.  When I looked up to meet it, I nearly fell over backwards.  Mason had always been hot.  Always.  Now, he was sex personified.  His face, on the whole, dripped testosterone.  His face looked buff.  As if the muscles on his face had been working out too, developing and growing with the rest of him.

            His jaw had thickened and broadened to keep pace with his tree-like neck.  His perennial stubble had coarsened, thickened, and filled in.  It was still clearly stubble, not a beard, but from a distance, you’d be hard-pressed to tell.  His cheeks, already model perfect, had both hollowed out further and buffed up.  His face was thicker, more muscular, but his low body fat percentage kept it looking contoured and sharply defined.  His cheekbones had thickened and hardened, giving the illusion of his skull trying to escape his face.  His mustache was as adorable as always, but the juxtaposition of an ironic mustache on such a severe face somehow both hardened and softened his features.

            And his lips.  Oh, god his lips.  His lip had slightly puffed up.  They looked fuller, more kissable, especially surrounded by that savannah of facial hair.  I couldn’t wait to feel those lips against mine, or on my chest, or my nipples, or wrapped around my cock.  As I stared at them, I swear I saw them puff up ever so imperceptibly fuller, teasing me with their perfection.

            I continued my trek up his face to his eyes.  His soulful brown eyes were as gorgeous as ever, but there seemed to be a fire of lust that burned behind them.  And his eyebrows had become more intense, thicker, jutting out over his eyes.  His eyes weren’t sunken in, but the overall impression made his eyes stand out further, enshrined by a facial structure that maximized his beauty.

            He was everything I found attractive in a man, ratcheted up to an exaggerated, fantasy sex-dream level, and wrapped up tightly in the man I loved.

            When things had settled down and the changes were over, I was practically drooling.

            “This is even more than last time,” Mason said, his voice resonating more deeply and loudly.  He twisted around and looked at as much of his body as he could see, trying to take it all in.

            He was right.  It was obvious he was right.  I pointed out the pattern I’d noticed.  “Your cock grew 3 inches when it was 6, 4.5 inches when you were nine.  You put on 65 pounds when you weighed 130, 100 pounds when you weighed 200.  If the pattern’s continued, you just grew 6 and three-quarters inches of cock and put on 150 pounds of muscle, meaning you’re at nearly 20 inches and 450 pounds of ultra-buff sweetness."

            “Then I’m…” Mason started, a rich bass growl in his aroused voice.

            “Twice the size of your 213-pound fiancé?  More than that.  And your cock is 2.5 times his size.”

            Zack began stammering.  “Ppeongchiji ma! Momjjang… noesengnam… I don’t know enough Korean to finish this thought!”

            I strutted up to Mason and said, “In the supply closet, on all fours, now.  I am going to fuck the living daylights out of you.”

            “Roy, buddy,” Zack said, still bewildered.  “There’s a time and a place, and it’s not now.”

            “Smash an egg on my head!” Mason said decisively, with an authoritarian demeanor.  “Or call Gramps.  I’ve clearly been cursed again.  And I’m not going to explode so you can get one last orgasm.”

            Oh, he hadn’t pieced together what I had?  I reassured him.  “You haven’t been cursed.  You never were.”

            “What?” Zack was still confused.

            “I beg to disagree,” Mason said, gesturing down at his mind-boggling immensity.

            I had to clarify.  “A curse happened, yes, but you weren’t cursed.”

            They stood silently, so I filled in the blanks for them.

            “Dalton was.”

[Shahrazad2]

Omigosh, somehow I didn't see that coming! It makes sense! Brilliant reveal!

[citizenies]

Moar!!! Love how the story is going and excited to see more of it

[KeiraCooke]

Holy shit, with those numbers Mason's dick is bigger than my friggin arm!

[Two]

I consistently enjoy your writing. Your growth scenes are composed in such a way that by each one's end I think "This must be it, there's no way he can get any buffer" and yet the next one always manages to outclass its predecessor, opening my eyes to new, hitherto unexplored vistas of muscle growth. At the same time, I like that you don't neglect to develop your characters' personalities as well as their bodies. These are people who exist for more than muscle and sex, and it helps make the fantasy a little more believable.

Now, I am not a he-witch or any sort of diviner, but I do have a prediction on the direction towards which this story might go:

 

"So what you're saying is, Gramps cursed Dalton so that every time he feels resentment towards me, I grow bigger?"

"That's pretty much it, yeah."

"If that's the case, we simply have to make sure Dalton attends our wedding."

"What? Are you nuts?"

"Think about it. What would rile up Dalton more than seeing you up there on the altar with me? I bet I'd grow right then and there, maybe just after we kiss as newlyweds. Wouldn't you love to see me ascend to 675 pounds? I'd be about three times your size."

"Mason, what you're suggesting is so...weird."

"But sweet."

"I guess so. Speaking of, this new bakery of ours needs a name..."

 

[gkgrowth]

That reveal was amazing! It's one of those that makes so much sense in hindsight that I'm almost mad haha. I'm definitely going to reread this when it's complete to catch the little clues you left.

I gotta say, writing erotica is a special skill that most don't have, as is writing a good story with proper plot twists and interesting characters and dialogue. The fact that you can do all of these things is exceedingly rare, and I appreciate that you share your gift with us through your stories.

[TQuintA]

2 hours ago, gkgrowth said:

I gotta say, writing erotica is a special skill that most don't have, as is writing a good story with proper plot twists and interesting characters and dialogue. The fact that you can do all of these things is exceedingly rare, and I appreciate that you share your gift with us through your stories.

This was unbelievably flattering.  Thank you.

[Ayoayoayos]

Everything is so perfect you know just what makes the story that much more satisfying to read.

Mentioning sizes again just when you came back from a waiting time between chapters and we're wondering "where did we leave off?"