Adrienne was worried as she climbed the stairs to the upper management office. Anyone would be when called up, naturally, but this felt exceptionally random, worryingly so.
Adrienne was a middle management person working for Biggs-Lawson Int., a gigantic oil company in charge of drilling, distribution, and the like. She had done her job as usual, nothing came up as an error – especially not big enough to draw attention to herself from the higher-up's. Corrections and chiding usually came in the form of an email, from one of her bosses, definitely not people on the board, or the president, or...whoever else would be here.
She worked very hard to get where she was. It was bad enough dealing with the usual sexism of the business world, her expensive college business degree or no, where nobody thought that a woman could do the job as well as a man, even if they never said it.
In addition to that, she was a fairly pretty woman, with wheat-blonde hair that always hung long and straight. Her hips and legs were slim and shapely, too, but the real draw on her body was her breasts, which – even through the button-up jacket, thick shirt, and very minimizing bra – were visibly large, especially for her frame. It was all too common for men to chat her up for job-related reasons only for her to find out they just wanted to fuck her or get a blowjob.
Disgusted, she had refused all such offers, even if it would help her career. And through tenacity, she had persevered.
She opened the door of the conference room – a large, long sprawling table that seated about eighty people at once, in addition to the window behind them that held a sprawling view of Los Angeles.
This was, after all, the highest floor of their skyscraper. She had been here a few times when meetings were out, a little mesmerized by the dizzying height she was standing at.
There were only two people in the board room. One man she recognized, standing and staring out the window, hands in his pockets. It was the CEO of the company, a late-forties Italian man named Vincent di Bonaventure. He was heavyset, and graying, but had a very commanding presence. She had never met him in person, only seen him once or twice while he moved in and out of board meetings and, presumably, quasi-legal financial schemes. She caught her breath a bit seeing him.
What in the world does he want with me? She thought, more confused than ever.
Another was sitting at the table, making taps at a tablet to write some kind of note. She didn't recognize him, but he was a dark-haired mid-thirties man with a sharp outfit and large glasses. He glanced up upon seeing her, and nodded. “Ah, yes, Ms. Hoff,” he said, and stood up, gesturing to the seat opposite him at the table.
“Uh, hi,” she said, awkwardly, peering at him. But, respectfully, she walked forward and shook his hand, then took a seat.
“I'm Brent Smalls, legal counsel to Biggs-Lawson,” he gave a smile and glanced to the man by the window. “Well, mostly to Mr. di Bonaventure, really, but I operate on multiple levels.”
Vincent, just after, turned and walked over to the table, giving her a very patient smile. He seemed stressed, in ways she couldn't understand. Was he stressed about meeting her? How much sense did that even make?
“So...I imagine you're wondering why we've brought you here,” Vincent said, taking a breath. “And for good reason.”
“It...was a little unexpected,” she agreed. “So...what is it?”
“Well...” the lawyer began, but Vincent put up a hand, and the man nodded and stopped talking.
Vincent slowly put his hands together on the table, thinking a moment. “I'm....going to be frank with you, Miss Hoff,” he said, slowly. “This is a rather...unique situation I'm in. I'd go as far as to say this is probably the first situation of its kind.”
Still confused, and a little scared, she looked between them, mouth a open. “I...I don't do sex for favors,” she began, feeling a little angry. “So you can-”
“No no no,” Vincent said, putting up a hand. “Nothing like that. We just have a problem that we need you to fix, and it will be...” he let out a breath. “A very large commitment. And, well, strange.”
Brent, the lawyer, jumped in then, taking up a folder at his side. “Ms. Hoff, are you familiar with the region of Nurestan?”
She shook her head. “I mean, vaguely.”
He slid the folder across to her. “We're currently undergoing negotiations for a contract with the Nurestan governing body,” he said.
Adrienne opened the folder, and saw a few legal documents and a handful of pictures. There were a few readings and documents that indicated there was a massive oil reserve in that area, in the middle of an uninhabited area. She checked the numbers – and her eyebrows raised. It was a massive quantity, the kind that would bring in billions for the company over decades. Gold mines wished they were this rich.
“Woah,” she muttered.
Vincent let out a chuckle. “Yes, you can see how valuable it is to us. We're having difficulties, though, as the people there seem to regard an international oil company from America with contempt. Imagine that, right?” he smiled a bit, and she chuckled.
“Well, okay, but-”
“We're working on getting them to allow us to drill,” Brent said, suddenly. “But they refuse to budge, and, well,” he let out a sigh. “We're kind of desperate to improve relations any way we can over there. And we made a rather useful discovery...”
Again, his arm dropped below the table, and he procured another folder, holding this one out to her. She pushed the other aside and took it, and opened it up.
More photos, and a long bit of text. But in the photos were cities, giant buildings with religious symbols she didn't recognize. And, in the back, were several pictures of a statue of a woman. It was mostly just the same one, but a few more photos of similar statues were taken as well.
“The Nurestani are pagans, and have a very complicated pantheon,” Brent continued, folding his hands. “But one that stuck out is a focal point of the religion, and the goddess – roughly translated – is named Roxanna, of the Triple Throne.”
Adrienne looked up and down the pictures. The Roxanna goddess was...it was difficult to figure out what she was seeing. A woman seemed to be sitting on a pillow, or maybe some kind of sofa, surrounded in pillows, propped upright with her back straight. She was a little heavy, with a bit of a belly on her, and long, straight hair and a few jewels and piercings on her head and nose. But her boobs...seemed to be gone, instead only pair of flabs of skin sideways, for no reason.
After glancing at it, she realized what she was looking at – long, stretched skin extended from her chest, off to the side, into two gigantic breasts that took up the space around her. She was all but enveloped in boobflesh, each gargantuan, squashed breast filling up the space at either side of her throne. Another glance and she realized the 'triple throne' was named such because she took up one seat, and two more seats at either side were holding her boobs. She could have fit another entire person in the space taken up by each breast.
“That's, um,” she blurted, a little startled by the sight.
“Miss Hoff,” Vincent said, with a breath. “We'd like to offer you a sizable sum, as well as a retainer of men and women to assist you, to go into Nurestan under the guise of being the goddess reincarnated.”
“That's...” she looked at the picture, then back up. “But I don't look anything like her.”
“On the contrary,” Brent said, with a small smile. “You look very similar, in fact. And about her, ah,” he hesitated. “Mammary tissue, we have a solution to that.”
“We pulled your medical file,” Vincent said, and her heart sunk. “And we-”
“No,” she said, leaning away, pushing her seat up. “No no no, I'm not doing this, I-”
“Sit down, Ms. Hoff,” Brent said, sternly. “Hear our offer out before you speak up.”
A little afraid, but knowing they would hound her if she didn't, she sat down, biting back the impulse to run away.
“We became aware of your mammary hypertrophy condition,” he said, politely. “It's a very rare,very unique case. And it might do the job we need, at convincing the Nurestani that our offer is generous. If they see you, as their goddess – or, rather, the divine Vessel or whatever they call it – they will listen. And that would get this contract finished.”
Brent pulled out another folder, and slid it across the table. “We have the contract written out, and you'll find it very generous,” he said, with a permanent smile. “You will be working full time overseas, and your pay rate will be more than tripled for your duration.”
The word 'triple' made her do a double take, even though she was afraid. She could retire off that after working for one year! The folder was flipped open and, right on the line, was her pay rate, and her new one, which was indeed over three times the base amount.
“I understand your...hesitations to our offer,” Vincent continued. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you are as comfortable as possible while under contract with our company. No expense will be spared in this mission, I can assure you.”
“How...how long would I be, uh...working?”
“At least two years,” Vincent said. “Minimum, really. We don't know how long it will take to settle with the government, but we do know the next negotiation is in that time. We...may ask you to stay longer, and you will be compensated until the contract is signed. Whereupon we will take any measures required to make you as comfortable as possible.”
It was quiet a moment as she sat there, looking at the contract and the paperwork, at a total loss. Eventually, she looked back to them, and said, “I...I need to think about this.”
“Absolutely,” Brent said, and then glanced at his phone a moment. “I've already contacted your supervisors, you have the remainder of the week off, paid. Once you have thought about it, please come contact us.”
She nodded, and before she could stand up, Brent slid the contract across the table. “For your own piece of mind, feel free to have a legal adviser look over this,” he continued. “It contains nothing about the job itself, merely your rates and the expected time frame, so don't worry about your unique medical condition becoming exposed. The contract refers to you only as a consultant.”
Adrienne nodded, again, and picked up the paperwork, walking out of the room without saying anything, needing more than anything to get the hell out of her workplace and home to try and process what the hell just happened.
Once she was gone, both men visibly sagged in place and sat back.
“That could have gone better,” Brent said, rubbing his face under his glasses. “I lay you a thousand that she'll refuse by tomorrow.”
Vincent didn't say anything for a moment. “I'm not so sure,” he said, slowly. “She seemed intrigued by the financial offer.”
“Taking my bet?”
Vincent didn't reply. Brent tried to joke, but he was very concerned that she wouldn't accept. And that would make things impossibly difficult. And so, quietly, he hoped that she would consider his generous offer. He had thrown everything he could at her to get it done.
Her hands were practically shaking as they grabbed the key and turned the lock to her home.
She quickly stepped inside, heart still beating like crazy and full-on panic mode in swing. Her mind was racing with wild, frantic thoughts, and she was struggling to shuffle through them all or silence them as best she could.
A shower, maybe, she thought. Maybe that will help.
But, first, she rushed to her cupboard and pulled down a tall, slender bottle of whiskey, one she hadn't gotten out in a long time, and quickly unscrewed the cap. She fumbled it and let it fall to the counter. Her thoughts were still racing, and she could barely focus on more than one thing. Adrienne tipped the bottle up and sucked down a hot, burning gulp of the bitter stuff.
And then she did it again, and again, until she started to feel the happy tingles of numbness radiate from the heat in her gut. Without capping it, she put the bottle on the counter, and turned, pulling the pin from her hair bun and rapidly taking her clothes off.
Her bra wasn't lacy or sexy, it was purely to support the size and weight of her breasts, and try to minimize their appearance. Each cup was more like a sock than a bra, filled to the brim with flesh that pooled out. She unclasped it in the back and tossed it to the ground – her breasts at once dipped low and huge on her frame, flattening just slightly while still reaching down to almost her navel. They were just barely firm enough to have shape. They were pancakes on her tummy.
The breasts moved with a bouncing, swaying motion, each step causing ripples as her breasts slid ever so slightly up and down. But where the average, relatively firm breast had a certain shape that it held while settling on a woman's torso, Adrienne's didn't – they reshaped and shifted and moved around, her nipples pointing every which way as she walked, losing the flatness in small bursts as the fat glands rose up and fell down.
She didn't look in the mirror at her body, refusing to acknowledge the huge, flabby, gross breasts on her frame. Especially today.
Adrienne hopped into the shower and scrubbed herself as much as she could, running her hands over her slender legs and her slim tummy, her tight and firm ass, and her unblemished face. She didn't touch her breasts. She ran a soap-laden hand underneath them, but not over.
Eventually, once she had dried herself and combed her hair, she walked into her sparse bedroom, kicking her cat off the bed, and sat down. Once off the bed, her cat gave her an annoyed stare, and hopped back up, nuzzling her arm.
The small bit of affection, her first bit of sympathetic contact, even from an animal, mixed with the three huge gulps of bitter alcohol sent her down a spiral of self-hate and horror and she burst, loudly, into tears.
She remembered when she had first started developing, at the age of 13. It was weird to look at her own normally flat chest as a pre-teen and see visible bumps developing there, but she was excited, ecstatic even. Boobs! She was getting real, actual boobs, and ahead of everyone else! She excitedly asked her mom to go shopping for bras sometime, and was politely told later, when she was bustier.
A year later, she was even bigger, and moving into regular high school, easily the bustiest girl in the school. And, thanks to her freakishly rapid growth, she was already getting jeered and mocked, being called a slut and a hooker for her chest.
She kept sobbing, drunkenly falling onto her bed while her cat, confused, sniffed at her head and laid down, waiting patiently to be petted.