Mother In Need
One Foot Tall Fiancé
chapter 9
by
copier
· original author:
phantomstriker
“Okay, this next story is a doozy, but it’s what I’ve been trying to build up to.” You explained to the four giantesses sitting before you, hanging off your every word. A faint blush of embarrassment in your cheeks, you cleared your throat. “This was only a few months later from that gardening incident, and though it was awful at the time, it very well changed my life for the better, in every way.”
(FLASHBACK BEGIN)
Deep down, you knew that this moment was coming. Still, watching your nearly nude mother walk over towards you, one hand trying and mostly failing to keep her bath towel modestly wrapped around her, the other hand curled nervously against her chin, a sense of impending dread welled up within you. A bit unconsciously, you took a step back, and soon had to crane your neck higher and higher as your mom came to a stop beside you, towering over you and looking down with a conflicted expression.
You’d been helping your mom pick up the laundry all morning, and it had been fairly uneventful. Truthfully, you weren’t helping much due to your size, but you were able to shout up to her if you noticed something she wouldn’t, lick underwear stuck under her bed, or a loose sock left over in a drawer. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.
Nothing could be perfect for you for long, unfortunately, and your mom soon bumped her butt into her bedside table while retrieving one final piece of dirty clothes from the floor. Instantly, a few bottles of expensive perfume tipped over, lids snapping open, and the liquidy contents dumped all over the basket of lingerie lying below.
The perfume had also fell onto your mother herself, who had been dressed in simple jeans and a blouse. She’d screamed in surprise, then shouted angrily at her soaked and most likely ruined lingerie, stained unsightly colors and already beginning to stink of an unholy mix of several different types of perfume. She’d left you on her bed as she retreated from the room and took a quick shower. At the time, you merely laughed at your mom’s clumsiness.
It was only when she returned from the bathroom, still a bit wet and only wearing a bathrobe that left little to the imagination (much to your dismay, as her son), that the nightmare you were in began taking a clearer shape. The entire basket of lingerie was ruined and needed to be thrown out. Heading over to her underwear drawer, your mom discovered with a sinking feeling that all she had left in terms of clean underwear was a simple pair of tan panties.
When she turned back to face you on her bed, that conflicted look in her eyes and the panties in her hand, that was when you had known what was about to transpire. You mentally grimaced at the very idea, and began to psyche yourself up for a steadfast denial, but seeing your mom creep closer until she towered above you, biting her lip anxiously, and a genuinely upset look in her eyes, your resolve caved.
“Jake…honey…” Your mom said softly, her voice tentative. “D-do you…do you th-think that maybe…”
“Okay, fine.” You cut her off, crossing your arms. “But this is the only time. Ever!” You had, of course, guessed that she needed to use your special squishy properties and mold you into a replacement bra.
Immediately, your mom’s eyes gleamed brightly, and she smiled wide with relief. “Oh, thank you so much, honey! I’d never ask this of you in any other circumstance, never in a million years!” Her smile faded a bit as a light blush of awkward embarrassment lit up her cheeks. “Uh…this will be uncomfortable, but I swear it won’t last any longer than it has to. Once my trip is over and done with, you’ll be free. I’ll definitely do something great to reward you, maybe buy that new video game for you, huh?”
You were about to offer a witty response to your mom’s offer, but your words failed you as your mom let her bathrobe fall off her shoulders and onto the floor. Instantly, you burned a blazing red, and you squeezed your eyes shut tight, listening only to the sounds of your mom sliding the panties up her legs and settling them in place around her butt. Finally, you felt her pick you up into the air.
“So sorry, sweetie, but you’ll need to be nude for this too.” Your mom looked at you sheepishly. “Otherwise, someone might know what’s going on.”
You gave your mom an incredulous look. How would any normal person possibly suspect that mother would ever turn her son into a bra and then wear him around outside. Before you could voice your criticism of your mother’s questionable judgement, she’d ripped your clothes clean off with her manicured fingernails, and then smashed you flat between her palms.
Your gummy-like body had been molded into a bra, but only once before. Other shapes had taken precedence. You’d been panties and thongs several times each, usually at the hands of Tara. The only time you’d ever been formed into a bra was when a particularly spiteful girl a few years back had wanted to torment you for spying on her while she was in the bathroom (while in actuality, you’d only ended up in her bathroom because she’d been too consumed by her phone to notice squashing you under her foot, carrying you off the street and into her home, and then finally noticing you in her bathroom).
Thus, you knew what to expect, but it made it no less horrible because it was your mother handling you. She squashed you flat and stretched your head, chest, and back to their limits. She took your arms and legs, pulled them out to a ridiculous length, forming makeshift straps with with to tie around her back. She then balled up her fists and jammed them down onto your face and lower torso, indenting mounds into your malleable frame.
You know more-or-less resembled a bra, and your mother knew that she’d get the full look only after putting you on. Sparing you one more cringe of shared uncomfortableness, she flipped your body and held you in front of her bare chest. Moving you forward, she carefully slipped one breast at a time into the curved cups that had been imprinted into your body. Her movements were delicate, but there was only so much she could do to make it pleasant for you.
Her breasts were quite large (not Tara-sized, but bigger than average), and it was all your squishy body could do to withstand them. Her right breasts slid into the cup formed out of your head and upper torso, smooth jiggly flesh spilling into every available crevice. Her hot flesh pressed against you tightly, sticking to every inch of you. Her nipple rested right onto your face, and sweat already began to coat your skin.
The other breast was perhaps even worse, as her left boob settled into place in the cup made from your lower torso and waist. It was equally as tight and stuffy, your entire body pulled as taut as could be to support your mother’s mammaries. Her left nipple also jabbed lightly into your flattened crotch, an indescribably horrific experience, both from the discomfort and from the sheer abysmal humiliation of it all.
Your mother bit down on a small smile as she firmly fit her breasts into your bra-shaped body. She hated every fiber of her being for thinking so, but you genuinely were a very comfortable bra, perhaps more so than any she’d worn before. As she dragged your stringy arms and legs over her shoulders and around her back, tying them into tight triple knots, so completely released hold on you, and marveled at how perfectly you supported the weight of her chest. Frankly, it was amazing.
It was much less amazing for you, who felt the crushing weight of your new lot in life as soon as your mother released her hold on you. Your body sagged just slightly, but otherwise held. Your arms and legs screamed with pain at the tension of holding your mom’s boobs, but her triple knots were far too tight to snap easily, and you knew your squishy body wouldn’t leave this shape unless otherwise forced to. Your mom’s tits squeezed into you, her soft flesh pushing into your own body, enveloping it. You hardly covered much of her breasts, just about half of each.
Admiring herself in the mirror, your mom rubbed an affection finger down your back. “Again, so sorry for this Jake, sweetie, but I promise I’ll make it up to you right as I get home from my trip. I’ll take you off, let you reform, and then buy you anything you want.” Your mom reached into her closet for a replacement outfit. “Oh! And I swear I won’t forget you, either. I promise, honey!”
You could barely hear her words, muffled as they were, and knew deep down that your fate was wholly in her hands. All you could do was be a good bra and do your supportive job...wherever her trip was. You didn't even know.
(FLASHBACK CONTINUES…)
(FLASHBACK BEGIN)
Deep down, you knew that this moment was coming. Still, watching your nearly nude mother walk over towards you, one hand trying and mostly failing to keep her bath towel modestly wrapped around her, the other hand curled nervously against her chin, a sense of impending dread welled up within you. A bit unconsciously, you took a step back, and soon had to crane your neck higher and higher as your mom came to a stop beside you, towering over you and looking down with a conflicted expression.
You’d been helping your mom pick up the laundry all morning, and it had been fairly uneventful. Truthfully, you weren’t helping much due to your size, but you were able to shout up to her if you noticed something she wouldn’t, lick underwear stuck under her bed, or a loose sock left over in a drawer. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.
Nothing could be perfect for you for long, unfortunately, and your mom soon bumped her butt into her bedside table while retrieving one final piece of dirty clothes from the floor. Instantly, a few bottles of expensive perfume tipped over, lids snapping open, and the liquidy contents dumped all over the basket of lingerie lying below.
The perfume had also fell onto your mother herself, who had been dressed in simple jeans and a blouse. She’d screamed in surprise, then shouted angrily at her soaked and most likely ruined lingerie, stained unsightly colors and already beginning to stink of an unholy mix of several different types of perfume. She’d left you on her bed as she retreated from the room and took a quick shower. At the time, you merely laughed at your mom’s clumsiness.
It was only when she returned from the bathroom, still a bit wet and only wearing a bathrobe that left little to the imagination (much to your dismay, as her son), that the nightmare you were in began taking a clearer shape. The entire basket of lingerie was ruined and needed to be thrown out. Heading over to her underwear drawer, your mom discovered with a sinking feeling that all she had left in terms of clean underwear was a simple pair of tan panties.
When she turned back to face you on her bed, that conflicted look in her eyes and the panties in her hand, that was when you had known what was about to transpire. You mentally grimaced at the very idea, and began to psyche yourself up for a steadfast denial, but seeing your mom creep closer until she towered above you, biting her lip anxiously, and a genuinely upset look in her eyes, your resolve caved.
“Jake…honey…” Your mom said softly, her voice tentative. “D-do you…do you th-think that maybe…”
“Okay, fine.” You cut her off, crossing your arms. “But this is the only time. Ever!” You had, of course, guessed that she needed to use your special squishy properties and mold you into a replacement bra.
Immediately, your mom’s eyes gleamed brightly, and she smiled wide with relief. “Oh, thank you so much, honey! I’d never ask this of you in any other circumstance, never in a million years!” Her smile faded a bit as a light blush of awkward embarrassment lit up her cheeks. “Uh…this will be uncomfortable, but I swear it won’t last any longer than it has to. Once my trip is over and done with, you’ll be free. I’ll definitely do something great to reward you, maybe buy that new video game for you, huh?”
You were about to offer a witty response to your mom’s offer, but your words failed you as your mom let her bathrobe fall off her shoulders and onto the floor. Instantly, you burned a blazing red, and you squeezed your eyes shut tight, listening only to the sounds of your mom sliding the panties up her legs and settling them in place around her butt. Finally, you felt her pick you up into the air.
“So sorry, sweetie, but you’ll need to be nude for this too.” Your mom looked at you sheepishly. “Otherwise, someone might know what’s going on.”
You gave your mom an incredulous look. How would any normal person possibly suspect that mother would ever turn her son into a bra and then wear him around outside. Before you could voice your criticism of your mother’s questionable judgement, she’d ripped your clothes clean off with her manicured fingernails, and then smashed you flat between her palms.
Your gummy-like body had been molded into a bra, but only once before. Other shapes had taken precedence. You’d been panties and thongs several times each, usually at the hands of Tara. The only time you’d ever been formed into a bra was when a particularly spiteful girl a few years back had wanted to torment you for spying on her while she was in the bathroom (while in actuality, you’d only ended up in her bathroom because she’d been too consumed by her phone to notice squashing you under her foot, carrying you off the street and into her home, and then finally noticing you in her bathroom).
Thus, you knew what to expect, but it made it no less horrible because it was your mother handling you. She squashed you flat and stretched your head, chest, and back to their limits. She took your arms and legs, pulled them out to a ridiculous length, forming makeshift straps with with to tie around her back. She then balled up her fists and jammed them down onto your face and lower torso, indenting mounds into your malleable frame.
You know more-or-less resembled a bra, and your mother knew that she’d get the full look only after putting you on. Sparing you one more cringe of shared uncomfortableness, she flipped your body and held you in front of her bare chest. Moving you forward, she carefully slipped one breast at a time into the curved cups that had been imprinted into your body. Her movements were delicate, but there was only so much she could do to make it pleasant for you.
Her breasts were quite large (not Tara-sized, but bigger than average), and it was all your squishy body could do to withstand them. Her right breasts slid into the cup formed out of your head and upper torso, smooth jiggly flesh spilling into every available crevice. Her hot flesh pressed against you tightly, sticking to every inch of you. Her nipple rested right onto your face, and sweat already began to coat your skin.
The other breast was perhaps even worse, as her left boob settled into place in the cup made from your lower torso and waist. It was equally as tight and stuffy, your entire body pulled as taut as could be to support your mother’s mammaries. Her left nipple also jabbed lightly into your flattened crotch, an indescribably horrific experience, both from the discomfort and from the sheer abysmal humiliation of it all.
Your mother bit down on a small smile as she firmly fit her breasts into your bra-shaped body. She hated every fiber of her being for thinking so, but you genuinely were a very comfortable bra, perhaps more so than any she’d worn before. As she dragged your stringy arms and legs over her shoulders and around her back, tying them into tight triple knots, so completely released hold on you, and marveled at how perfectly you supported the weight of her chest. Frankly, it was amazing.
It was much less amazing for you, who felt the crushing weight of your new lot in life as soon as your mother released her hold on you. Your body sagged just slightly, but otherwise held. Your arms and legs screamed with pain at the tension of holding your mom’s boobs, but her triple knots were far too tight to snap easily, and you knew your squishy body wouldn’t leave this shape unless otherwise forced to. Your mom’s tits squeezed into you, her soft flesh pushing into your own body, enveloping it. You hardly covered much of her breasts, just about half of each.
Admiring herself in the mirror, your mom rubbed an affection finger down your back. “Again, so sorry for this Jake, sweetie, but I promise I’ll make it up to you right as I get home from my trip. I’ll take you off, let you reform, and then buy you anything you want.” Your mom reached into her closet for a replacement outfit. “Oh! And I swear I won’t forget you, either. I promise, honey!”
You could barely hear her words, muffled as they were, and knew deep down that your fate was wholly in her hands. All you could do was be a good bra and do your supportive job...wherever her trip was. You didn't even know.
(FLASHBACK CONTINUES…)
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March 28, 2025
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