Cameron To Candy

Candy was hot. Not flushed, or embarrassed, just physically hot, like the air had stopped circulating, probably due to some Paddlewician statute. She fanned herself with a folded pamphlet from the side table and muttered, “Why is it always like this after beer?”

Marcus looked up from his paperwork. “Because you’re sitting too close to the fire and you’ve had two mugs. You’ve got to slow down. You don’t have the weight you did as Cam.”

“Oh, right.” She squinted at the hearth. “That... those would do it.”

She stood, tugged at the collar of her blouse, and without thinking said, “I’m just gunna—” And then she pulled her top off. Not dramatically, or playfully; just the same absent, practical motion Cameron had done a thousand times after a long day: shirt off, heat problem solved. Candy exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank the gods—”

She stopped. looked down and froze as her brain tried to reconcile the image and failed outright. There was a long, empty second where nothing connected.

“…What?”

Marcus made a strangled noise and turned around so hard he smacked his shoulder on the doorframe. “Candy!”

She stared at herself, frozen.

“That’s… that’s not right.” Her hands hovered uselessly at her sides, like they’d been disconnected from the rest of her. “These aren’t,” She swallowed. “These aren’t mine.” She lifted one finger and poked experimentally. It sank into her soft breast flesh like one pointing the wrap on a sponge cake.

She recoiled like she’d touched a live wire. “Oh hells! What the… oh right, right right! I have boobs now! Marcus, look, I have boobs!”

Marcus grabbed the blanket off the back of the chair and thrust it toward her without turning. “Cover. Please. Right now!”

She wrapped herself automatically, heart suddenly hammering. “I forgot,” she said, half-horror, half-incredulous. “I just… forgot.”

“I know,” he said, voice tight but controlled. “That happens.”

She looked down again, carefully this time, like they might do something unexpected if she startled them.

“They’re… huge,” she said faintly, letting the blanket fall off herself.

Marcus stared very intently at the wall. “We're not weighing them right now!”

“They weren’t there a second ago,” she insisted. “Wait… were they?" She shifted her weight, and her ample bosoms shifted with her.

“…They move when I move.”

“Candy.”

“This is so weird. For the love of Proportia!" ¹Minor goddess of unfamiliar proportions, awkward adjustment, and living in a body that changed faster than the mind could follow.

He took a breath, steadied himself, and said, “You’re overheated, a little drunk, and running on old instincts. That’s all. Just put a shirt on and go sleep it off.”

“Look at them move!" She wondered, shaking her chest, watching her tits bounce, jiggle and sway. "They don’t even feel attached the way arms do. It’s like...” she searched for the word, “like furniture someone bolted on wrong. No! Furniture that moves the opposssite way that you do when you sit down! Ha! Can you imagine that! Oh, that sounds like a game show waiting to happen! I call trademark! No stealing my idea MARCUS!” she yelled pointedly.

“It’s all yours! Just put a top on, please! In the name of Bacchara of the Thrice-Fermented Cup, cover up!” he begged, voice strained.

“And the ssskin feelsss differant,” she continued, genuinely troubled and perhaps a bit verbally off. “It’s sooo soft. Too sensitive. Like, like it’snot meant to be expossseded to air. Why, why would anyone design this? Here, feel them, you won't believe how sssoft they are. Oh, and hello nipples! They’re pointing! That’s not polite nippies! It's not polite to point!” she said, looking down at her own stiff pink nipples, a scene practically out of the literary society women's fantasies.

“Marcus’ eyes bulged. He quickly reached down, grabbed the blanket and repositioned it around her.

“Ok, listen again. You drank too much. You drank like Cameron, forgetting you’re a solid 100 pounds lighter now. So I’m putting you to bed, and we will hopefully never talk about this ever again.” He said as he guided her toward the stairs.

They made it halfway up the stairs before her foot caught the edge of a step. Candy pitched forward with a startled yelp. Marcus reacted on instinct, grabbing her before she could tumble. Unfortunately, the direction of the situation worked against him. She fell chest-first into him and his hands, meant to catch her shoulders, landed squarely around the full weight of her breasts. His fingers closed reflexively before his brain caught up. For one catastrophic second he froze, accidentally squeezing them like someone testing bread dough at a bakery. Candy gasped. Marcus made a sound that could only be described as a strangled prayer. He immediately let go and shoved her upright.

Candy stared at him in stunned confusion. “Did you just squeeze them?!”

"No! I mean, uh yeah, but it wasn't—"

Candy threw her arm back, readying a grade-A slap, then stopped suddenly. "Uh, I don't feel so good." Despite her pain Marcus, who'd tensed in preparation for the slap, relaxed.

"Yeah I bet, let's get you to bed... I'll leave a bucket next to your stand."

She nodded, grateful for the structure through the drunken haze. “Okay. Yea. That ssssounds… sswwwelll.”

Marcus got her upstairs and tossed her a garment to put on. He heard her struggle while he fetched a bucket, and when it stopped, he finally risked a glance, immediately regretted it, and looked away again. She’d gotten it halfway on, but her beautiful teardrop-shaped tits were still exposed.

“Nightie please!” he yelped.

She squinted. “The comfffy one?”

“Yes.”

“The one with the low—”

“The one you’re literally half in!”

She looked down and squinted hard at it. “Oh, yeah...”

“I am fighting for my life,” he said. That got a short, startled laugh out of her.

She shuffled toward the bedroom, blanket clutched tight, muttering, “I can’t believe I forgot. I forgot I have boobs now! Who forgets something like that? And damn are they perky! Is it becaussse they're new? No time to sssag yet?"

Marcus followed at a careful distance. “I don’t know, you’re the only man I know who grew tits in a minute.”

She paused at the doorway, looked down once more, then shook her head in disbelief.

“…Thessse, are ridicolus.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “They are.”

She stumbled into bed and quickly disappeared into the blanket. A moment later, he already heard snoring. Marcus leaned his forehead against the wall and sighed in relief before leaving the room.

He went downstairs, shaking his head. He really hoped she wouldn't be hungover tomorrow. Greg was coming over to help him with some yard repair, and they were going to watch an old favorite movie. The last thing he needed was Candy being off because she'd been drinking too much and saying something she shouldn't. Hells, they'd been lucky so far that no one had found out about their situation. And to make matters worse, they were scheduled to do her maintenance spanking that night. That clearly wasn't happening. He'd have to give it to her tomorrow after Greg left.

He moved through the kitchen and into his study, stopping at his desk. He started working when something gave him pause. He leaned over and clocked the stairs, making sure Candy hadn’t stumbled down. When he was satisfied she was still in bed, he dug a key out of his pocket, stood, and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. He fished out a magazine, plopped back down in his seat, and began turning the pages. As he did so, a slow smile began to creep across his face.

Ancient Paddlewickian Saying