Bimbo beer

chapter 3

“Well, what?” I asked, adjusting my legs. “I’m drunk – I mean, I’m buzzed, so I need it broken down Barney-style… oof…”
I didn’t bump against Sam on purpose – not really – but I wasn’t trying not to bump into her. Still, when I pulled my legs from my cross-legged position, Sam moved at the same time, making the couch cushions shift enough to send me careening into her upper arm, toned, yet soft against my face. It was heavenly.
“You bimbo,” Sam snickered girlishly.
“Bimbo?” I craned my head up towards her face, rubbing my cheek against her. “Me? A bimbo?”
“Yes,” she giggled, making her body shake pleasantly against mine.
“I can’t be a bimbo! That’s a girl thing!”
“You’re a girl… girly man,” slightly confounded by her increasing levels of intoxication, Sam sighed and stretched her arms over her head. As her back arched, her boobs pressed tightly against her shirt, flesh oozing around the visible outline of her cups. In hindsight, I should’ve noticed something was different by then, (contrary to what every male artist on DeviantArt thinks, girls don’t wear bras a couple cup sizes too small), but I was distracted by the sensation of her warm skin against mine, of her every breath as I rested against her, of the thought that if I shifted ever-so-slightly closer, we could be touching from shoulder to knee.
“So I see you like it,” I smiled at her as she swigged her second bottle freely.
“Huh? Like what?”
“The beer? In your hand?”
“Uh… duh!” Sam swigged again for good measure. “This is the best beer, like, ev-er!”
“That’s epic,” I rested contentedly against her, still unaware of the latest developments.
Sam shared my contentment, sipping happily on her second bottle of Bimbo with lacklustre abandon. By the time Xerxes decided it was time to see what the Spartan “tribe” was doing to his army, Sam had gulped her second bottle dry. Clearly, she had forgotten that she was supposed to take it easy.
“Mmm,” she smacked her plump lips against each other. “They’re so good.”
“I’m so glad you like them,” I smiled, rubbing against her shoulder.
The moment didn’t last. Sam suddenly raised her arms and stretched herself with a long, sensual groan. This made me fall behind her on the couch.
“Whoa, careful!” I warned, watching her bend forwards to grab another of my beers. “Don’t lean b – hey, let me out!”
“You’re so funny Michael…”
Sam’s ass was against my face, trapping me against the back of the couch. Had this been planned, I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed the sensation of her soft cheeks against me. As it was, I wanted to watch the movie – and breathe.
“Let me out,” I slapped my free arm wildly against her thighs. “Out!”
But as my hand slapped her thighs, I finally noticed her transformation. Sam’s thighs were noticeably plump, and soft to the touch. With each slap, her flesh jiggled lightly, moulding against my touch like a memory-foam mattress.
“You’re, like, so clumsy Michael,” Sam shifted her ass against my face, which I suddenly realized was beginning to bulge. “Ugh! This bra is so tight on me. Let me chug this real quick…”
As I watched helplessly, Sam’s cheeks slowly began to expand in all directions, stretching her shorts and pressing against my face. Desperately, I pushed back with my free arm, struggling for breath with muffled screams.
“Unh!” Sam gasped, as if she had chugged a third bottle without breathing. A brief, tormented moment later and she loosed a deep, casual belch before leaning back contentedly.
At this point, I was squishing her thighs with my fist and biting her butt as my legs flailed helplessly against the couch pillows.
“Oh!” Sam started. “Michael! You kinky bitch…”
Snickering to herself, Sam stood up from the couch. As I inhaled my first free breath, I watched her wobble on her feet and crouch low. She looked back at me over her shoulder, a sly, grin spreading across her face as she reached for the hem of her shorts and slid them over her ample, motherly hips. I gasped at the sight of her panties, bunched thong-like between swelling ass cheeks, each supported by a curved, thickening thigh that rubbed snugly against its twin.
“What can I say?” Sam straightened-up and reached for her bun. “I feel so hot in here, and my clothes are so tight…”
When she shook her locks loose, they cascaded over her back like molten gold as she swayed her hips from side to side. Once again, she looked at me over her shoulder, satisfied with my apt attention to her.
“Sooo tight,” she twisted around, revealing huge, swollen breasts barely contained within their bra, swelling upwards and pushing against her shirt with each breath. “I can barely breathe in this thing…”
Reaching under, she unfastened an unseen latch, leaving her chest free to swell against her cotton shirt like soft cantaloupes. The way she was growing, they would be like watermelons soon.
Freed of a laced, pink bra that fell to the floor from under her shirt, Sam turned to stand before me, hands resting comfortably on widened hips, a confident smirk adorning a face with long eyelashes and pouted-lips.
“What, you’re not going to say anything about my tits?”
I blinked, unprepared for the moment life granted my every desire at once. “I… what’s happened to you Sam?”
“Well…” she snickered. “It wasn’t really a concussion. I totally lied about that.”
“So…” I gulped as she rested first one, then her other knee on the couch. Her weight sank the couch cushion beneath us as she edged ever closer to me. “What… is it, really?”
“Hnn,” her teeth spread across my field of vision. “There’s two of us. The Id… and the Ego.”
“You mean…” I stared down at her huge breasts squishing against my chest. “You’re bipolar? Or something?”
“Shhh…” she rubbed a finger against my lips. “Sam’s sleeping. You get to play with me for a little bit… until morning.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Sam,” she shrugged. “But… you can, like, call me Dominique. Now hold me… tighter… we still have three more beers… and I’m not sharing a drop of it, honey-bun.”